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moonstruckme · 3 months ago

Note

I am clean from sh for about 6 months now (yay me) and lately, idk why, I’ve just kinda been struggling with accepting my scars and the fact that I’ll have them probably forever and your writing is really comforting and actually helps, so I wanted to ask if u could maybe write something with Spencer helping reader feel ok with having them on reader‘s thighs?

totally understand that that’s a touchy topic and if u don’t wanna write it, I also completely get it, thanks anyway for even reading this xxx

Ahh yay you!!! Congrats baby, and thank you for requesting <3

cw: past self harm, some nudity that's really not sexual but they joke about it a bit

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You’re sweltering. D.C. doesn’t usually get very warm, but for the last week you’ve been on a streak of record-breaking temperatures that’s made your clothes stick to your skin and has caused even your perpetually chilled boyfriend to refrain from putting on his cardigan until he gets inside his work each morning. Just walking between your car and various air conditioned buildings is enough to make you consider moving to the Arctic.

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping inelegantly down on the bed to peel your jeans off. “Can we turn the A/C down to sixty, please?”

“Let’s start with seventy,” Spencer negotiates. You hear his footsteps stop halfway down the hall as he adjusts the monitor. “I think we still have some lemonade left, if you want some.”

“Ugh, yes.” You tear your jeans off your ankles with enough force to nearly send them flying across the room and sigh blissfully as the A/C kicks on.

You change out of your sweaty shirt too, going for your pajamas despite it being hours from darkness falling. You have no plans to go out into that hellscape again until tomorrow. You hesitate over a pair of pajama shorts before slipping on loose pants instead, not quite as cool but still light enough to allow some air flow.

“I love you,” you tell Spencer when he passes you your lemonade as you come into the living room, sitting beside him on the couch. Ice clinks inside your glass, which is already forming little beads of condensation. You have the urge to rub it on your face. “I mean, unconditionally, but especially right now.”

“I’ll take it,” he jokes back, tilting his head back so his face is in the path of the A/C vent. When he looks up, he finds you pinching up the fabric of your pants around your knees, trying to create a pathway for the air to move up your legs. “Why are you wearing those?”

You know what he’s asking you, and you intentionally misunderstand. “I felt like it was pajama time. No way am I going outside again today.”

“Right, but aren’t you warm?” Spencer tilts his head. He looks like a particularly cunning puppy, brown eyes soft and inquisitive.

“A little,” you admit.

“Then why not wear something shorter?”

“That’s awfully forward of you.” You do your best to give him a smile. It doesn’t stick around long in the face of your boyfriend’s serious expression, increasingly worried. “Maybe I don’t feel like parading my legs around for you.”

You can see the cogs turning in Spencer’s brain, and the usually fascinating process is suddenly almost painful to watch. You know he’s thinking of what you refusing to wear shorts used to mean, how nobody ever thought anything of it because, again, D.C. doesn’t tend to get very warm. How evasive you were about it then, too. An uncomfortable weight settles in your stomach.

“Is there a reason you don’t want them out?” he asks, and his voice is gentle but his gaze is unflinching.

You try to hold it as you shake your head. “I’m still clean.” The words seem to take more air than they should. Your guilt and embarrassment are enough to choke on. “I promise.”

Spencer nods. “I believe you.”

His eyes don’t so much as twitch down to your covered thighs. Relief like a cool breeze passes through you. It’s no small thing, his trust in you. Not after you’d gone so far out of your way to hide the evidence of your hurt from him before.

“But it’s still related to that, isn’t it?” He lifts his glass, taking a sip before wiping the corner of his mouth. You almost smile, picturing your boyfriend in an interrogation room asking questions with this same gentle tone and wide open, curious expression. You don’t think Spencer could ever be harsh.

“Yeah,” you say. What felt like something private and humiliating a minute before you suddenly want to share with him. Spencer tends to have that effect on you; he makes divulging your most gut-twisting secrets feel natural and easy. “My scars just haven’t gone away. I don’t really want to see them.”

Spencer’s mouth pinches. “You know they won’t ever fully go away, right?”

“Yeah.” You sigh, but it doesn’t feel like letting anything out. “I know.”

“They will probably fade, though.” His fingers circle your ankle loosely, calluses skimming softly over your achilles tendon. “Is it that you don’t want to see them, or you don’t want me to?”

You rub your lips together. Shrug. “Both, I guess.”

He tilts his head. Like your answer is expected, but nonetheless perplexing. “I don’t care if I see them,” he says. His hand coasts up your leg, over the fabric of your pants, until he grasps it by your knee. “Can I?”

You nod. You know he’d let it go if you said no, but it’s not worth begrudging him. “Sure.”

Spencer brings both hands to the fabric at your hips, and you lift your bum up off the couch as he pulls downwards. Your legs are happy to breathe, the cool air coming out of the vent even nicer than you’d thought it would be. Spencer keeps going until your pajama pants are balled up underneath your feet.

“You really were hot,” he says. It’s neither teasing nor gloating, a simple statement of fact. His fingers come to rest at your ankle again, and it’s the only kind of warmth you’ll allow. “Is it actually worth it?”

You look down at your thighs. Your skin feels better than it had covered up, but it’s also a physical reminder of things you’d rather forget. “I don’t know,” you reply.

“I understand why you don’t like them,” Spencer says. When you look up, you expect him to be as stuck on your scars as you are, but he’s looking at your face. His stare is calm and unmoving, like they don’t command his attention the way they do yours. “But I think they may be with you for a while. It might help to start trying to get used to them.”

You blow out a breath. “I want to.”

“I know,” he says. Easily, the way he’d said I believe you. And you think that he probably does know. Spencer has things from his past he can’t fully leave behind, too.

His forefinger moves slowly up and down the back of your ankle, an absentminded gesture for him and a comfort for you. Slowly, his eyes dip down to your legs. You fight the urge to squirm and hide.

“You know,” he muses, “there’s actually one thing I sort of like about seeing them.”

Your top lip starts to curl automatically, your brows pulling together. “What?”

“Just, that they’re old.” Spencer seems not to have noticed your reaction. His gaze is contemplative. “I mean, it’s not that I’m looking for them all the time or anything, but it’s nice to see them and know there aren’t going to be any new ones. These ones will fade, and then that will be it.”

Something new clogs your throat. It’s just as heavy as before, but far kinder.

Spencer looks up at you. He looks sheepish, the corner of his mouth uptilted self-consciously. “Sorry, it’s a weird line of thinking. I don’t want you to think I’m always checking on them.”

“No,” you swallow, “I get it. That’s nice, Spence.”

He shrugs. “It’s the truth.”

You could almost laugh. He makes things so simple. “I’ll change into shorts.”

“You don’t have to,” he says. “If you’re already cooling off.”

“Oh, yeah?” You keep your voice light, grinning at him as you shuffle over to straddle his lap. His fingers brush over a couple of the lines on your thigh as he brings them around your back, and the sensation doesn’t make you feel as shuddery as usual. You hug him with your arms around his neck. “You’re cool with me just staying like this then? No pants?”

“Not if you don’t want to wear them,” he says agreeably.

You laugh and hug him harder. “Thanks,” you tell him sincerely.

Spencer only makes a soft dismissive sound as he hugs you back.

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juststoriesintheend · 4 months ago

Text

I. Crossroads

Series Pairing: eventual Master Sol x Reader

Chapter Content: force visions, implied stalking

i suggest looking over the full list of content warnings on the masterlist page as this fic contains some darker themes

《 [series masterlist] 》

The Ushruu City Spaceport is less crowded than Helios would have anticipated, being that it serves as the main travel hub for the entire planet and the nearby hyperspace lanes. He would have liked to have a bit more cover, but there is only so much he can plan for. As it stands, he fits in better than on any other planet he’s visited recently - the population seems to be mostly human scattered with a handful of insectoid Surronians and pachydermic Aki-Aki.

He glides between disembarking passengers, his hood pulled up over his head. There is a thread that runs through this planet to the heart of him, damp and trembling like morning dew on a spider’s web. It hums when he plucks at it, sending out ripples in the Force that sound like a child’s nightmare or an adult’s scream - it’s the purest concentration of fear he’s ever felt. The Enchantress’ temple. He’s sure of it.

Encouraged, Helios cleaves through the crowd with renewed fervor and comes stumbling out of the spaceport into the multi-layered suburbia of the city. Sprawled across the valley floor are countless rows of stone and wood buildings, damp with the lingering remnants of the last monsoon. There’s enough light left from the waning twilight that Helios can make out a trail of lights leading from the city to the outskirts, somewhere in the foothills and encroaching slopes of the surrounding mountains and their impenetrable forests. When he focuses again, he’s rewarded with a subtle confirmation through the Force.

Fear is a powerful tool. He’s learned it well these past years, learned to accept its fury and its righteousness, learned how to stand strong against its current when it batters him against the short of his heart, and he knows now how to use it, to bend it to his will. So, when he pulls at that string again, he chases its responding cry and lets the sound drip down his spine to pool in his gut. But the string, he finds, doesn’t lead him to the chasm that sits at the edge of the valley, carved by water and the steady passing of time. It leads him to an apartment crowded beneath the canopy of a great tree.

Helios frowns. This is… not the temple of the Enchantress. He surveys the line of parked speeders and the clothesline strung from a branch to a window on the second floor, then the thinning streaks of paint on the front door - wood, oddly enough - and he wonders if he has finally lost himself to old age and idiocy. But no, no he hasn’t. Up on the second floor, behind the window, he feels a ripple in the Force, a cry that comes from within the mind rather than the mouth.

Sparing only a moment to ensure no one is around to watch, he closes his eyes and simply feels, his arm outstretched, his fingers curling around empty air. The Force shows him what he cannot see, it speaks to him in the voice he’s been hearing, the voice crying for mercy from a dream that cannot be eluded. A figure lies behind the window, curled up on a threadbare mattress and trembling in a thick fog of fear.

This is the string he had pulled, the dampness of your sweat slicking the web of fate as you fell further and further into your own despair. Helios marvels at the strength of it. No living Jedi or Sith should be capable of this much strength and vibrancy in the Force, not enough to entirely derail his focus and eclipse the signature of a vergence, but it might be possible if you were drawing upon the vergence. He knows first hand the sort of magic that can manifest itself in the wake of a vergence, intentionally or not.

The wooden door gives way easily to his persuasion, and the security chain on the inside hangs loose when he enters the apartment. A holoscreen on the far wall is playing something that looks vaguely Mandalorian and a figure sleeps on the sofa below, bathed in its light, but it isn’t you. He takes the stairs two at a time and steps into your room with hardly a sound beyond the gentle whisper of his cloak, and is rewarded with the image of you in your bed, your mouth and brows deeply furrowed as you twitch through your dreams.

A cursory glance is all he needs to view them. Terror and confusion go hand in hand here, elevated above a cascading wall of water that means to drown you. Helios hears a voice in the water, too distorted to fully discern but the pity reads loud and clear, accompanied by flashes of people and places that he can only assume are your own memories. It’s too much, too loud, too suffocating, and he stumbles out of your mind with enough force to drop himself to one knee.

It feels like twenty years pass in the recesses of his mind, twenty years of cycling through that awful day, the day that everything changed. He sees a mother’s face and her daughter’s eyes, and he very nearly suffocates under the weight of it, but he comes to in the end, breathless and crying and so very weak, but planted firmly in reality once more. Helios blinks. Then he blinks again.

You’re incredibly strong. Vergence or not, your sensitivity to the Force is enough to trigger his own memories. He studies you, letting his breath come back to him as he picks you apart like a puzzle he doesn’t have the capacity to solve. The Jedi should have found you as a child, yet you remain on Ushruu, unmapped and unknown like the very vergence he came here to find, and something deep inside him thrills at that realization.

Nearly twenty years worth of forgotten dreams flood his senses in a single instant. Things he thought he’d grown beyond, things he thought no longer served him, they call to him now in the light of your strength. The Force brought him here. It had to have done that for a reason. And suddenly, the pieces of his life tainted and marred by impulsivity and a broken desire for something more, they all come screaming into place.

Stumbling back onto two legs with all the grace of a drunken Devaronian, Helios understands now what he must do. He tries to sort out the fractured images of your soul that you branded upon him as he casts his eyes about your room, cataloging each printed holopic, streak of paint, and paper book he sees. He wants to make a map of you and connect the points between your bleeding heart and Force-fueled terror, and he hopes - more than anything - that he’ll find himself caught at one of your many crossroads.

The shop is quiet when you enter. The market outside continues to squabble and barter, of course, but here it feels faint and far away. The familiar scent of incense and freshly carved bark hits your nostrils as you drop down from one step to the next, steadily lowering yourself further into the heart of the room.

“Morning, Dada.”

The Aki-Aki glances up at the sound of her name, but quickly drops her head back to her work. “You’re annoyingly chipper. What’s wrong with you?”

“Saw your beautiful face and all my problems melted away.”

This time, when she looks up, her eyes stay fixed on you. “Don’t try your charm on me today, kijana.” She wags her wrench in your direction, thoroughly unimpressed. “You’re late again.”

A glance at the wall chrono confirms as much. It’s embarrassing, honestly, but explaining why will just make you sound even crazier than Dada already thinks you are. “I know,” you groan as you squeeze behind the counter. “I’m sorry. I’ll be early tomorrow, I promise.”

The datacenter beeps when it scans your comm, and its intercom clicks, stalls, then reboots before finally processing. “Daily shift: started. You are twelve minutes late.”

“Yeah, thanks, I know.”

Dada just shakes her head. She’s a kriffing saint for putting up with you for so long, but you’re not planning to ask her why she does just in case she changes her mind and fires you. “Deliveries are on the back step. You’ll have to stop by the old fishery.”

You’ve already meandered into the back room by then, but the mention of your destination already has you curling your lip. Just thinking about that place sends shivers up and down your spine, let alone actually having to go inside… There’s nothing you can do about it now except grin and bear it.

The screen door whines when you swing it open, which mercifully covers your frustrated mumbling. “Or you could just not sell to that old kook and then I wouldn’t have to go there, but that’s a silly idea, isn’t it?”

She doesn’t hear you, which is for the best, really. Dada needs the money as much as you do; she’ll sell to anyone with credits, doesn’t matter who, where, or what they are. It’s not her fault that place makes you want to crawl out of your skin and die.

Your speeder’s packed up several minutes later, the little hoverbox attached to the back filled almost to the point of overflow as it always is at the first of the month. A nicely patterned kerchief strapped in place over the top gives you enough confidence that nothing will be falling out along the way, and, with a final farewell and a promise to be back before sundown, you’re off.

It’s just late enough in the morning that most merchants have already opened their shops and formed their own tiny flocks of customers, but the crowd thins out the further you travel from Dada’s apothecary. When you come to the trickling edges of the city about an hour later, there’s hardly anyone around. It’s just you, the trees, and the fishery that waits for you at the end of a little dirt path, beaten down by the weight and wear of time and footsteps too numerous to count.

It’s just your imagination. That’s what you tell yourself every time you come here. The horrible, inky darkness that consumes your heart when you deliver old Brijul’s medicine, it’s just your mind playing tricks on you, summoning demons where there are none. The images that swirl behind your eyes, always bloody and violent and so, so dark, they’re nothing but the result of an overactive imagination, unchecked anxiety, and the generations worth of stories passed down from mother to child.

So why does your skin still crawl when the fishery comes rolling into view? Why do you look over your shoulder, terrified you’ll find something wicked and dark breathing down your neck? Why do you feel like you’re drowning every time you pass under its shadow?

Brijul’s a sweet old man. His hearing went long ago and so did the majority of his teeth, but he always greets you with a smile and an extra credit for your troubles. You tell him you hope he feels better soon, and he gestures his thanks, and then you speed out of there like the darkest depths of hell itself are biting at your heels, but the fishery and its shadowy, spindled fingers dig into your mind long after you’ve gone.

You pull over into the nearest unfenced yard and clamber off your speeder gracelessly, palms digging into your eyes as if you could claw yourself free of the voices, the watery deep, the faces of men long dead that rise each night to haunt you. You’re distantly aware of your knees hitting earth and the brush of grass on your face, but the sensations are muted in comparison with the visions, these hallucinations you’ve been cursed to endure. Over and over again, you see things you wouldn’t wish on any other soul - fire-streaked eyes that glow unnaturally in the dark, a faceless man with a blade of white-hot fire in his hands, the cold abyss that lies at the bottom of the river, calling you by name.

Make it stop, make it stop, please!

Something touches you and you scream, and the darkness fills your vision before suddenly flashing white. Your body catapults forward. There’s nothing for a very long moment, just the pounding of your pulse and the rush of blood in your ears, and the vaguely shaped idea of a world around you, bits of blue and a cacophony of green. And brown. Not the reddish-brown of the earth, but the coco-colored warmth of a hearth in the winter, streaked with soot. You blink, and then you realize it’s not a hearth at all, but a man.

“Are you alright?”

The streak of brown you’d seen a moment ago is his cloak. It looks far too big on him, like the billowing sleeves and large hood were made for someone of a greater stature. The soot marking his frame are his eyes and the shoulder-length bit of hair, dark as charcoal. How had you managed to confuse yourself so badly on the basics of the human form? The world spins around you as the man helps you to your feet, and you find yourself blanching in horror at just how lost you feel. It’s never been this bad before, not in your waking hours.

The man gently clasps your shoulder, and the pressure from his fingertips jolts you back into reality. He repeats the question, slower and with a lower intonation, as his eyes survey you.

“I-I’m fine. I’m fine, thank you.” You politely wave away his concerned expression. “I’m sorry. Was this, um, your yard that I crashed into? I can pay you back if I damaged anything.”

It’s not much of a crash seeing as your speeder’s still hovering in place exactly where it ought to be, but what else can you call it? A ‘day-terror induced panic attack’?

“Just passing by,” the man says after a minute. His hand is still settled on your shoulder. “Are you hurt? You screamed when I touched you.”

This is awful. It’s agonizing, feeling so exposed and awkward in front of a total stranger because of some stupid anxiety attack that you can’t even control. Your discomfort manifests first as a grimace, then morphs into something smile adjacent. “No, I’m okay. I think something might’ve stung me, that’s all.” And it’s the worst lie you’ve ever told.

The man narrows his eyes, not exactly suspiciously, but he’s clearly unfazed and unimpressed by your lie. He looks like he wants to say something, and you’re about to pry yourself out of his hands and book it, when a shout comes from across the yard. It’s the woman who lives here.

“Are ya alright?” she shouts from the stoop. “Ya took quite a tumble!”

Bless this woman, she’s kind and she’s the perfect distraction to tear yourself out of this stranger’s grasp. “Just fine, ma’am, thank you! I’ll be out of your hair in just a sec.” To the stranger you offer a nod of thanks. “I appreciate your help, sir, but I have to get back to work. Have a nice day, okay?”

He doesn’t say anything else, but his eyes linger. You feel them on your back until the road bends and takes you out of sight.

Discontent pools in your belly. This is turning out to be one of the worst days you’ve had in years.

taglist: @wolffegirlsunite @thatlittlered @evyiione @padawancat97

#master sol x reader #master sol x you #master sol #the acolyte #star wars #x reader #sith sol #sith master sol #dark side sol #sol patrol

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tag-that-oc · 7 months ago

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QUESTION! Are there any obvious ideas I missed for an OC I will share that will flesh them out more? (I say obvious because developing unique ideas isn't your job. I'd like to ask, since you as a collective blog have experience with original characters).

Essentially, her name is Koda, and she is a twenty-one-year-old human(oid) who's a bit messed up. I intentionally autism-coded her (and have been debating/nervous about making it canon), since I am autistic, and I wanted to give her a few traits that I feel 'boiling' inside of me. She's particularly interested in creating stuff from other things, especially exotic materials (from, say, exotic sources).

More specifically, she's an absolute fan of monsters and freaky animals. Even more specifically, she makes crafts out of them, such as manipulating hard pieces of animal to create weapons (blunt heads, blades, mechanism shells for more complex stuff), using skin to create unique leather, either for style or for unique purposes (a fire-based monster's leather being fireproof? Good for a journal, maybe?), and finally, making meats and organs into foods.

Her past isn't the best. Her (supposed) biological parents died protecting the town they lived in while she was young, being adopted by a soldier who had found her wandering. This man, named Elmer, was mostly nice, but he intentionally isolated her from groups of people he didn't like (which is dangerous, since the world is rather strict about hate-fueled actions), which mostly included people who went against the typical stuff of nature (the queer community of that world). She did have internet access, but since she believed him, she also believed that she was reading nonsense (as he had told her).

A stranger who was injured met her, and she managed to dig up the courage to help him to a clinic. He helped her gain the confidence to socialize with others by listening to her rambling as they walked. Not only that, he asked questions and was generally a nice person in return for her helping him.

This let her interact with people she didn't understand fully and slowly began to come to an understanding. The nonsense she read online was real--and these people weren't bumbling idiots, they were genuine people, who weren't forcing anything onto anybody. Because of the people Elmer tried to hide from her, she learned more about herself than she ever would with him alone. She was attracted to women, as opposed to men, and it added a little more sense to her life.

When confronting Elmer with this, however, he grew irrationally angry and grew far more aggressive than he had EVER been in her life--alongside this, he did something for the first time and punished her with actual pain and injury. In his manic state, he forced his own daughter's hands into their furnace, and although it was only for a few seconds, the damage had been done.

He made her go outside and seemed to regret the irrational and violent reaction, but not before a familiar stranger had wandered the streets he had before and caught his eye on a silhouette familiar to him. The man who had unintentionally given the courage to explore approached her. She didn't cry, yet her blankness explained more than enough. The man looked inside the building to see another man he recognized, and not positively. The furnace, the familiar man, and the cowering young woman with seared hands, it was not hard for him to piece it all together.

The familiar stranger curtly explained for her to sneak in, take her things, and flee somewhere, intentionally trying to engage her survival instincts so she could be safe from Elmer. As she blearily complied, he ran in with his blade and raked scars across the man. She had given him a request, blurry yet clear, and he complied. The man was left sobbing, blaming Koda as she blankly ran with blood streaking down his flesh. The man with the blade imparted to him that he would not hurt her again, and knocked him unconscious.

The series of events was unfortunate, but she went to the only other place she knew for real; her parents were not from the village she was born in, and so, she made her way to a place known as Timu town. It was a respectable journey on foot, but she managed to make it, nearly falling unconscious just as she stepped into town. Yet, a woman found her. Not only did she find her, she took her to her home, and nursed her until she awoke.

For a while, although the woman let her stay, Koda remained closed to her, not even exchanging names with her. Yet, the woman pried into her with wisdom that could only be responded to with respect and comfort. Her name was Rhoane, and Rhoane listened to what Koda had to say with a similar respect to the familiar stranger who had given her this opportunity.

And, so, Rhoane allowed Koda to live with (as long as she contribute to the household of course), and Koda's life has been alright since!

Yet, (spoilery for her story), she doesn't realize that Rhoane is the mother of the familiar stranger, *and* her grandmother!... And that the familiar stranger is her father.

Uhh... sorry for rambling. Again, if there are any easy ideas I'm missing to flesh her character out, please point them out! If not, just have my rambling.

She sounds really interesting!! sounds like you've done a really good job of fleshing her out already. Not a specific idea, but I find that if a character needs fleshing out more something that helps is putting them in various different situations that they wouldn't end up in canonically to figure out how they would react in those situations. And sometimes you find out new things about them in the process!

#themrmoki #oc show and tell #moss answers #abuse #tw abuse

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disturbedbydesign · 3 years ago

Text

A Night At The Museum

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Length: 4K

Summary: Your job as a museum tour guide was growing tiresome until a mysterious stranger showed up to claim what was his.

Warnings: Dubcon (slight mind control), Violence (mild), Light Bondage, Explicit Sex (oral, vaginal). 18+ only, no minors.

_____________________________________________________________

Your last tour of the day was about to start and all you could think about was getting off work and meeting up with your sister for drinks. You had always dreamed of one day working at the British Museum, but having been a tour guide there for the past year—doing the same thing, so many times a day, every single day—you found yourself growing tired of it and anxious to move on. Much as you loved art history (you did go to school for it, after all), you had grown thoroughly bored with your job. You wanted some excitement in your life. You needed it.

When you first started, you had been one of the museum’s most enthusiastic guides, always trying to engage all the members of your groups and fielding even the strangest of questions with grace and ease. These days, you were just going through the motions, especially for tours this late in the day. Over the course of the year, you had become adept at instantly identifying the one or two people in any given group who actually cared about the subject matter, and you found it simpler to focus on them and ignore everyone else.

As you performed your perfunctory scan of the last group of the day, you saw the usual suspects: a group of unruly children with intentionally oblivious parents; a travel group of obnoxious middle-aged Americans; an older gentleman, alone, who looked like he could be a professor of some sort (he was the one to pay attention to); and a young couple, clearly on one of their first few dates, who would have eyes only for each other.

And then you saw him.

You were immediately taken aback, struck by the fact that, for the first time in a long time, you couldn’t get a read on someone. The man was tall—really tall—with long, black hair slicked back. His skin was almost inhumanly pale and smooth, like he was sculpted of the same marble as the statues surrounding you. Despite the summer heat, the mysterious man wore a black suit and tie, a white dress shirt, and a long black coat with a scarf. He carried an ornately crafted cane, which seemed more an accessory than a walking aid. Compared to the rest of your tour group, he seemed a man out of time.

And then you saw his eyes—his impossibly green eyes. You could see them from across the room, almost glowing and staring at you, unblinking. your breath caught in your throat and all of a sudden you felt very, very cold.

As the hour-long tour progressed, you went through your practiced speeches about each artifact, moving across the room in the pre-established order and fielding questions here and there. As anticipated, the older gentleman was very engaged in the tour and asked intelligent questions, which you happily answered. Also unsurprisingly, one of the loudest Americans (probably trying to impress his friends) kept asking questions that he thought would make him sound smart and cultured but which, in reality, had the opposite effect. After one particularly ridiculous question, you had to turn your head away, pretending to be thinking about the answer but really trying not to laugh. That’s when you got caught in the emerald stare of the mysterious man with the cane.

He hadn’t taken his eyes off of you the entire tour—hadn’t so much as glanced at any of the art that he was ostensibly there to see—and up until then you had done your best to avoid meeting his gaze. Something about him absolutely terrified you, although you couldn’t pinpoint what exactly you were frightened of. He was standing completely still at the back of the group, but he was so tall that he towered over everyone and you could see his face as clear as if he were right in front of you.

His piercing eyes were locked onto you; they moved where you moved. His gaze was intense and menacing, but it was more than that: you could physically feel his eyes on you, penetrating you all over, making you feel naked. You wanted to look away but you felt like some strange power was holding your eyes onto to his. You stood dumbfounded and locked in a silent stare with the dark-haired stranger until the loud American spoke up, demanding an answer to his previous inquiry. You had never in your life been so happy to answer a stupid question.

You managed to make it through the rest of the tour without meeting eyes with the man with the cane, although there wasn’t one second that went by when you didn’t feel his presence in the room. You even went so far as to forgo asking if anyone had any final questions at the end that they wanted to stay after and discuss with you. You ducked out of the exhibit hall as fast as you could, feeling the man’s gaze boring into your backside as you exited the room, and headed for the staff room to gather your things. You didn’t notice until you got to the employee lounge that you had been holding your breath the whole time.

The museum was officially closed for the day, and as you left the staff area you couldn’t help but notice that the usual security guards posted around the building were nowhere to be found. In fact, there was no one around at all. The main lights were dimmed and the place was impossibly silent; the only sound you could hear was the echo of your own footsteps as you quickly made your way across the building to the exit. You were rounding a darkened corner when you felt an ice-cold hand reach around from behind and clamp over your mouth.

“Don’t be afraid,” hissed a smooth voice in the darkness. “You’re going to like what comes next.”

Before you could think to cry out, you were spun around and face to face with the dark-haired man. He wore the devil’s grin as he leaned down to you, his face barely an inch from your own. One hand still clamped firmly across your mouth, he brought his cane up with the other and traced a gentle line down from your temple to your chin. He let the tip rest under your jaw, pressing in on your throat just a little too hard. He put his lips to your ear and whispered, “Come with me, my pet.”

In one swift motion, he swung you up and over his shoulder and held you there with one arm, the other arm brandishing the cane, which clicked rhythmically against the marble floor, keeping time with his long strides. You were still dazed and breathless from the force of the cane’s tip on your throat and before you knew it, you found yourself in some dark recess of the museum basement, on the floor of a room you hadn’t even known existed. It was filled with strange artifacts the likes of which you had never seen in your extensive studies. There were no lights on but the room was bathed in an eerie shade of blue, which seemed to emanate from the relics themselves. You managed to mumble out a few words.

“Where am I?”

You saw the cane flip once in his hand as he strode toward you and then felt only searing pain as it came crashing across the side of your face.

“Did I say you could speak?” he asked.

You brought your hand to your cheek where he’d struck you, expecting to feel a bloodied gash, but when you took your hand away and looked there was nothing. The blow had left no physical mark, only an icy hot streak of pain. He reached down and traced the line of his blow with a long delicate finger, and suddenly the pain was gone and replaced with a pleasurable tingle.

“As you see, I can inflict both pain and pleasure,” he said, his voice like honey. “What happens next is entirely up to you.”

You should have been terrified, screaming, looking for some outlet or escape, but you found yourself completely paralyzed by his gaze. Going against every survival instinct screaming inside of you, you dared speak again.

“Please… please just tell me who you are and what you want.”

You closed your eyes and braced yourself for another blow but it did not come. You glanced up to see him looking at you inquisitively from the corner of the room, resting his long, lean frame on the tip of his cane.

“You are a bold one, I see. Deserving of my punishment, yes, but also worthy of the pleasure I can give you. I am going to ask you three questions and you are going to answer them honestly. If you lie, I will know, and you will suffer for it. Now tell me, do I frighten you?”

“Yes.”

“Do I excite you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to leave? And before you answer this last and most important question, know this: If you say yes, I will let you go. I will not harm you. I will not follow you. You will never see me again. But you will also never know who I am or what I am here for, the memory of this night will haunt your dreams forever, and no one will ever believe your story. Within a week, you will go mad wondering whether I was a dream or reality.”

In one seamless motion, he crossed the room and yanked you to your feet by your shoulders, holding you an inch from his face, which seemed to glow with its own light.

“Now answer the question. Do you want to leave?”

The final answer flew from your lips before you even knew what you were saying. “No,” you whispered, and he eased his harsh grip on your shoulders, a sly smile spreading across his lips.

You stared at him, motionless and feeling almost paralyzed as you waited for permission to speak.

“Well,” he began, “I suppose it’s only fair that I offer you the same courtesy you have allowed me, so you may ask me three questions and I will answer them honestly. Choose your words carefully, because you get only three.”

He released his grip on you and returned to the corner, watching you and waiting.

“Who… who are you?” you stammered.

“Ah, a good question and excellently phrased. Had you asked just my name, that is all you would have received. But who I am is much more complicated.”

He sauntered toward you and lifted his cane, pointing it in a sweeping circle around the room.

“You see these things here? I am not so different—I was just another stolen relic from another world, locked away until someone might have use of me. But I have broken free of my shackles, and I have come to claim what is mine. You as who I am? I am a God. I am your God.”

You should have thought him completely mad, but you believed him. For whatever reason, you believed him.

“What do you want?” you asked.

He shook his head and chuckled low. “That’s far too vague a question, my pet, for I want many things. I could tell you simply that I want a glass of water, and I would not be lying. But since you are such an exquisite creature and so well behaved, I will answer the question you meant to ask, which is what is my purpose here.”

Something was happening to you, something strange and terrifying and wonderful. You were mesmerized by the way he spoke and the way his long, cold fingers brushed your cheek when he had called you exquisite. You hung on his every word and could not take your eyes off of him.

“I am Loki of Asgard and I have come to reclaim what was stolen from me. This room holds all that I need to take my rightful place as your master and overlord—to claim humanity as my own and rule the people of Earth as your king.”

You searched your racing mind for the words needed to get the answer you so desperately wanted, but your brain would not cooperate.

“One last question, my pet. And don’t keep me waiting.”

Finally, the words come to you in the correct order. “Why have you chosen me?”

Loki smiled lasciviously down at you. “I could tell just by looking at you that you crave subjugation,” he said, his voice smooth and so deep you felt it everywhere. “You were made to be ruled, and you will be the first to kneel for me.”

In a flash he was on you, grabbing your hair hard and pulling you into a deep kiss. His lips felt ice cold but his breath was hot and moist as his tongue twined around yours. You raised your hands to run them through his hair when he abruptly pulled back and caught you by the wrists. He spun you around and bound your arms behind your back with his scarf, pushing you to your knees once he had secured you.

“I told you to kneel,” he growled.

He was behind you and you could hear his ragged breathing, the rustling of clothes, and the soft thump of fabric hitting the floor. When he spun you back around, he was completely naked and you drank in the sight of his pale skin and lean, powerful body. His cock was enormous and rock hard.

“Pleasure me, my pet. I know this is what you crave.”

He grabbed you by the hair and shoved the whole length of his shaft down your throat repeatedly, fucking your face until you almost passed out for lack of air. When you thought you could take no more, he yanked you off of him, tilting your head back and looking down at you with glowing green eyes.

“Very good, my pet. Now slower. Worship it as you will worship me.”

He grabbed the base of his cock, holding it at an angle above your face and willing you to lick it. You complied, running your tongue slowly from the base to the tip, feeling his blood throbbing in the veins that ran the length of his massive shaft; the blood was hot but the flesh was icy cold—a very strange sensation, but one that fascinated you. He let out a series of short, carnal grunts as you swirled the tip of your tongue around his head. You took just the tip into your mouth and began to massage it gently with your lips as he ran his hand lightly up and down his shaft. You could taste his leaking juices as you tongued the slit, and the taste of him was like nothing you’d ever experienced before—it was delicious, addictive even, and it made you insatiable and impossibly wet. You moaned onto his cock as you let it drip down your throat, sending vibrations of pleasure running through his entire godly frame and causing him to groan in ecstasy.

Before you knew it, you were on your feet and your wrists were freed from the scarf that bound them. Holding the scarf between gritted teeth, he ripped your blouse open and straight off your body. He cupped and squeezed your breasts in his icy hands, and your already hard nipples became almost unbearably erect against the lace fabric of your bra. He unclasped it and let it fall to the floor next to you as he yanked your skirt down around your ankles. One hand cradled the back of your neck and he let the other trace a line in between your breasts and down your stomach. When he reached the top of your thong, just above your mound, he stopped.

Your breath caught in your throat and you looked at him. He took the scarf from between his teeth.

“Turn around,” Loki commanded.

You did as you were told and he brought the scarf around your head, blindfolding you. You felt his strong arms lift you up and moments later you were bent over a cold metal table, facedown and arms over your head, gripping the steel. You felt his breath on your pebbled skin as he ripped your thong off your body with his teeth, and he pushed your legs wider apart with his knee as he traced down the length of your spine with two fingers. When he found your entrance, you were already soaked for him—an almost unnatural level of wetness that you’d never felt before in your entire life—and he plunged two long fingers deep inside you without ceremony. You cried out your pleasure as he moved them furiously in and out of you before he slowed and found your sweet spot with his middle finger, working it violently until he started to feel your walls tighten around him and your cries faded to jagged breaths. He stopped just before you found release and you whined loudly.

“You are ready,” he said—telling you not asking you. “Now we shall see where your loyalty lies.”

You were left wanting and stranded on the verge, and the absence of sight heightened all your other senses. Every inch of your body was buzzing and the sound of your own heart beating was deafening in the silent room. That’s when you heard the rhythmic clicking of the cane moving slowly toward you and then stop.

“Who is your God?” Loki asked, his voice cold and commanding.

“You,” you wailed. “You are my God.”

He brought the cane down across your bare ass with all the power of Asgard and you screamed out in delicious agony.

“I said, WHO IS YOUR GOD?”

You tried to answer but your mind could not form words. He brought the cane down on you again, three hard lashes in quick succession, and you made a noise that sounded inhuman in your own ears.

“I’ll ask you one more time: who is your God and your King?”

The sensations coursing through your body threatened to put you over the edge of consciousness, but somehow you managed to yell out to him through the haze of pain and pleasure.

“LOKI! Loki of Asgard is my God and my King!”

He laughed maniacally and you could hear the clatter of the cane dropping to the floor. You felt his magic fingers trace a line across the searing flesh of your ass and the white-hot agony turned instantly to a pleasure unlike any you had ever known. You almost achieved release just from his touch. He untied the blindfold and he rolled you over on your back, pulling you up to face him. His eyes seemed warmer as he leaned in and grazed your ear with his lips as he spoke.

“You have proven your loyalty to me, my pet. I know that you will worship me as I deserve. Now you will be rewarded.”

He stood between your legs and cupped your face in his hands as he kissed you slowly and deeply, more passionately than he had before. For the first time, when you went to touch him, he didn’t try to stop you. At last, your hands found his long black hair and you grabbed fistfuls of it as you pulled him down on top of you, the tip of his cock teasing your opening as you devoured each other. He pulled his face away and buried it in between your breasts as he massaged them, taking one nipple in his mouth and nibbling it lightly as he rubbed the other between two fingers. Every flick of his finger or tongue on your body dragged a sound out of you that you didn’t know you could make. You untangled one hand from his hair and found his massive cock, gripping it firmly and stroking it up and down as you rubbed it against your clit.

“Fuck me, my King. I beg you. Take me any way you want me.”

He lifted his mouth from your breast. “Not so fast, my pet. I must taste you first.”

He pulled you down to the edge of the table and threw your legs over his shoulders as he settled between your legs. He licked you slowly up and down a few times before latching onto your clit, holding your hips firm as he swirled the tip of his tongue around and around, faster and faster until you started to cry out and buck against him. He brought a hand down from your hip and teased your slick folds with one long finger as he continued to work your clit with his tongue and his lips. He brought another finger to your entrance, sliding the two fingers together from the top of your folds to the bottom, and when he plunged both fingers inside you, you came so hard you nearly fainted. His touch was godly, and you knew then he had ruined you for all mortal men.

You had barely recovered from your climax when he sat you up and took you all at once, shoving his cock inside you to the hilt, filling you with ice and fire. He grunted like an animal with each forceful thrust and you screamed with pleasure as you clawed at his back. Your hands found his muscular ass and you gripped it tightly as you screamed his name, keeping time with his rhythm.

“Loki… Loki… My God… My King...”

You brought your arms up around his neck as he lifted you off the table, his strong hands gripping your ass as he walked you over to the side of the room. You clung to him with your legs wrapped tightly around his waist and your arms at his neck as he fucked you senseless against the cold basement wall. The light of the otherworldly artifacts tinted his skin an inhuman shade of blue; it was beautiful, he was beautiful. He quickened his pace and then stopped, remaining motionless with the full length of him still throbbing inside of you.

“Such a good girl for me,” he whispered. “Such a good little pet. I think maybe I’ll keep you.”

He walked you back over to the table and laid himself down on it so that you were straddling him. You moved up and down on his cock slowly, almost teasingly, wanting to feel every inch of him inside of you. As you rocked up and down, he brought his cold thumb to your clit, circling it while you rode him and bringing you close to the edge again. He began to buck underneath you as you fucked him and you knew he was close, too. You leaned in and grabbed the hair at the back of his head as you continued to slam yourself onto on him.

The words fell from your lips—“Fill me with your God seed, my King, I want every last drop you have”—and even as you said them, you had no idea where they came from, almost as if they were planted there and forced from you.

That had Loki’s eyes rolling back in his head and he moaned deep as he sat up, grabbing your hips as you rocked back and forth on his lap. He tightened his grip on you and quickened his pace, pounding into you hard and fast. As the muscles of your tight walls rippled with pleasure and you cried out your reverence in his ear, Loki found his release. He held your squirming body tight against him, your muscles shaking uncontrollably as he came roaring into you. You felt his warmth spread inside of you—such a contrast to the chill of his flesh—and you stayed locked in his embrace, completely limp with exhaustion.

“Thank you, my King,” you whispered, and Loki brought his fingers to your face.

The last thing you remember is two cool fingertips pressed to your temple. When you awoke, you were naked and alone in the basement room. The artifacts that had filled the room were now gone and there was no sign of Loki but for a pile of clothing next to you on the table—new clothes to replace the ones he had destroyed in his lust—and a handwritten note that said only “Fit for a Queen.” You put them on, wondering if he would ever be back for you. You were nothing now without your king. You knew you were made to be ruled.

#loki x reader #loki x you #loki laufeyson x reader #loki fanfiction #loki smut #loki laufeyson #tom hiddleston

168 notes · View notes

javier-pena · 3 years ago

Text

take

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x f!reader

Word Count: 3k

Rating: Explicit (that means 18+/no minors!!)

Summary: Javi and you are enjoying breakfast on his yacht until things take an unexpected turn.

Notes: I saw a picture of Javi and all I could think was, “I wanna feed him berries”. So that’s the reason I wrote this fic. That’s the only excuse I have. Oh and also that I want Javi to call me a bad girl but whatever, we don’t need to talk about that. Anyway, as always, I owe most of this to Dani @javierpcna, literally everything I write should come with Dani’s name listed as co-author, her support knows no bounds, she literally drops everything when I send her a fic to proofread, and this was no different. And she also lets me use her brilliant lines from time to time, for which I can never repay her.

Notes II: I have neither seen the movie nor have I read the script, so if there are any spoilers in there (I doubt it) I didn’t put them in intentionally.

Notes III: Artwork by @honestly-shite | Moodboard by @frankiemorales

***

One.

He lets you feed him one berry, but only after you tell him how good they taste, how they melt on your tongue, how they fill your mouth with a soft sweetness. He raises an eyebrow at that, and you know what he’s thinking, but he doesn’t say it. Instead, he takes the small blueberry from your outstretched fingers, leaning on the laden breakfast table to make it easier for you to reach him. The berry is so small it’s impossible for him to pull it in between his lips without the tip of your finger vanishing, too. You shudder at the sensation, shudder despite the heat, despite the hotness of his tongue brushing against your sensitive skin.

Javi hates breakfast. He hates dedicating time during his busy day, during the mornings when he feels most productive, to eating when it can be done en passant. You keep telling him it’s not healthy to eat while he’s distracted, and you’ve been trying to convince him to have breakfast with you for a few weeks now.

Why, babe? You said distraction is bad for me when I eat.

He still doesn’t eat during the mornings, only drinks his heavy, smoky, black coffee, but he keeps you company now whenever he can. He reads to you from the morning paper, he tells you about his plans for the day, or he listens to you talking about a dream you had last night or about things you would like to do with him one day. And today … today he even made time to take you out on his yacht, to anchor it in a secluded bay where there’s no noise except the lapping of the waves against the bright white hull of the ship and the cries of the seagulls circling above, hoping to snatch a crumb of the croissant on your plate. Today, he’s made time to be with you.

Two.

You try it again, another berry, another taste of sweetness, another burst of flavor and color and sugary juices. This time it becomes clear he’s chasing something else, craving something else, as he sucks on your finger, just for a brief moment, just under the pretense of getting the sticky juice off your skin, but he also isn’t shy about it, he also doesn’t try to hide what he’s doing. Your skin prickles when he releases the digit, and you pull your hand back across the table too quickly, too hastily. He notices and leans back on his expensive outdoor couch with a satisfied sigh.

You dry your finger against the hot skin of your leg, already burning up with the heat of the approaching day, even though you keep to the shadows. Only your feet rest on an empty chair in direct sunlight, while you keep the rest of your body safe under a wide canopy. Javi is doing the complete opposite. He’s lounging in direct sunlight, and you’ll never understand how he can stand it. Your skin always starts to tickle and itch from the heat, while he looks like he was made to live in a Mediterranean country and spend his days in the sun.

The bright, orange shirt he’s wearing is unbuttoned to expose half his chest. His bronze skin is covered in a sheen of sweat, and you cannot tear your eyes away from it, imagining what it would feel like to run your fingers over it, how hot it would feel under your hands, how he would sigh and relax into your touch. His chest is your favorite place in the entire world. You feel safe when you rest your hand on it, when he softly runs his fingers along your arm, tells you how beautiful you look, how he will always take care of you, no matter what, how you’ll never need to worry about anything ever again because you’re his and he’s yours. And you feel oh so secure when you’re trapped under it, when you feel its weight pressing down on you, when your sharp nails leave angry, red scratches on his soft skin as he whispers into your ear – encouraging, soothing, filthy.

Three.

You want to see it move, see the muscles flex and strain as he leans forward again to accept a third berry from you. And this time he’s not shy about it anymore. This time, he does suck your finger in between his lips, the berry forgotten, and you see his eyes widen behind his dark sunglasses. You suck in a sharp breath at the sight. He releases your finger with a wet pop and suddenly this isn’t enough. Suddenly you need more, more of him, but you lower your gaze to your plate instead to hide your shining eyes. There is a time and place for these things and the deck of his yacht in broad daylight isn’t it.

But you cannot deny what your body wants, even though your mind tells the aching between your legs to shut up. You push yourself out of your chair fast and within a few steps you’re leaning against the railing, hoping to catch a breeze to soothe your flushed face. But there is none, only unbearable heat.

When you turn around again, you feel a different kind of heat; Javi’s gaze is on you as he takes you in. You know he loves to do this, especially when you’re wearing something he bought you, like you’re doing this morning – an expensive black bikini that leaves little to the imagination, one you found on your bed one morning with a small note that made you shudder, so you decided to save it for a special occasion. And you were right to do so because he’s unable to tear his eyes away from you.

You walk back to the table as slowly as possible, determined to finish breakfast, but something pulls you toward him, like an invisible rope slung around your waist, like his gaze is enough to make you lose all sense of control. And before you know it, you’re straddling his thigh, while he pulls you into a kiss, one that lasts forever yet not long enough, one that sets you on fire more than the sun on your back yet makes you want to expose more skin so more of you will get burned.

The second his teeth release your lip his hands fly up to rest against your hips, his grip firm but easy to get out of if you wanted to. “Is there something you wanted, baby?” he asks you, innocence written all over his face, as if he truly is completely unaware of the effect he has on you, of the things he makes you want to do when his eyes follow you around like you’re the eighth wonder of the world.

You bite your lip, bite the spot that still feels raw from where he sucked on it moments earlier, and then you start rolling your hips, start chasing the friction to relieve some of the hot, searing pressure that’s been building between your legs since he sucked your finger into his mouth. You see his eyes lower dangerously when he realizes what it is you want from him, and everything shifts, shifts as if the yacht is hit by a strong wave. You’re all too familiar with this change and you know exactly what it means, and what it entails.

One of your hands lands on the collar of his shirt out of its own free will, your fingers clawing at the material in a desperate attempt to steady yourself. The palm of your other hand presses against his warm, sun-kissed chest, your nails eager to leave marks on his skin. But instead of pressing into your touch, he leans back and watches you with mild interest.

This is all the permission you need. You grind your hips with a sense of purpose now, and when you feel the muscles of his leg tense between yours, a small whimper escapes your lips.

He smirks at you, and you know his eyes are sparkling, even though you can’t really see them. “Come on,” he urges you, pressing up into you, “make yourself feel good.”

With a desperate moan, your head falls onto his shoulder, your forehead scraping against his shirt, and you bite your lip because it’s the only thing stopping you from biting the exposed skin of his neck. You know he’d like that, he likes it when you are rough with him, but it also unleashes something in him you want to keep locked away today. You know it’s selfish and greedy, but all you want to do this morning is take, and not think about him.

He makes that resolve very difficult to keep.

“You like that, don’t you?” he asks you, a hand at the back of your neck, trying to get you to lift your head.

You don’t answer him, you can’t, but you indulge him and lift your head again. You pick up the pace, determined to show him how much you like it, how good it makes you feel, but he only smirks at you again, like he doesn’t need an answer anyway, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

And suddenly, suddenly that selfish streak is gone, and you want him closer to you, all over you, inside of you. You don’t care that you have to give up the last bit of control you cling to, and give yourself over completely to him, you don’t care that it’s broad daylight and that another boat could sail into your tiny bay any second now, you don’t care about being discovered or about this being, strictly speaking, illegal. You just care about him fucking you like he does when he has you to himself, sprawled out under him, trapping you with his broad chest and toned arms, forcing you to take whatever he gives you.

But before you can tell him any of that, the hand at the back of your neck is gone and he lifts up his sunglasses and tosses them aside, so you can look right into his eyes, so you can see that you’re not the only one who’s affected by all of this. His gaze roams all over you, from your eyes shining with hazy lust to your legs squeezing around his thigh and your hips rolling with an urgency, pushing you steadily closer to finding the release you’re chasing. But this isn’t enough, you both know that; it’s enough to keep the fire going, but not enough to push you over the edge.

His free hand brushes against the exposed skin of your belly, his fingers run along the seam of your bikini top, and you push yourself forward, willing him to cup your breasts, pinch your nipples, anything, anything to relieve the ache and burning, the feverish craving you feel for his touch, his lips, his words that leave no doubt about who is in control. But he doesn’t give you any of that. Instead, his hand moves to your back to steady you, to hold you in place, and all he does is toy with the strap of your top holding everything in place at the back of your neck.

You don’t know what makes you look down to where your bodies are connected, but you do, and he follows your gaze. You both watch as a dark patch forms on the light fabric of his slacks, as it spreads more and more with each thrust of your hips.

“You’re making a mess,” Javi breathes quietly, so quietly you almost don’t catch it over the sound of the water against the yacht’s hull. His gaze is transfixed, his attention is on the evidence of your arousal as he watches with great interest. You feel heat spread from your chest along your arms and up your neck to your face, but you don’t stop.

“Look at you, princess,” he goes on, his left hand gripping your side tighter to slow you down until you drag yourself along his leg painfully slowly. “Look at how you’re getting daddy’s trousers all wet, they’re probably ruined now.” He pauses at your sharp intake of breath. There’s a dark glint in his eyes when he speaks next. “You’re a bad girl.”

You’re pretty sure the sound you make isn’t human. He lets go of your side and rests his hand on your thigh, letting you set the pace again.

“Please,” you whine, and you don’t quite know why you say it, what you want him to do, you just know he needs to do something, or you’ll go crazy. “Please, Javi,” you repeat. “Please, just … touch me,” you finish, and it’s stupid, he is touching you, just not in the way you mean, but you cannot come up with anything else to say.

“You’re always so greedy,” he observes, not making any move to fulfil your request. “I’m already giving you what you want and still you want more. Don’t you want to be daddy’s good girl?”

You don’t know the answer to that question. You wouldn’t know your own name if he asked you right now. Not because of the things he’s saying but because he raises his leg ever so slightly to push up against your clit and every coherent thought you might have had is drowned out by incoherent sounds leaving your mouth. You press down against him, grinding down with so much force he’s bound to lower his leg. Only … he doesn’t.

“Sorry, I didn’t get that,” he says, a picture of calmness and poise. “Can you repeat that for me?”

You absolutely cannot because you can’t remember what you said in the first place, but you give it another try. “Javi, please, give me something,” you swallow, “anything. Touch me, please.”

“No,” he says, but his voice sounds strained now, like uttering that two-letter word takes a lot of effort. “I want to hear you beg.”

“Please,” you say again, knowing it won’t be enough. “Please, I can’t …”

“Why not?” he wants to know.

“It’s not enough, I ...,” you swallow again, your throat completely dry, “why are you doing this to me?”

“Oh, baby, you’re not even trying to get yourself off,” Javi chuckles. “I know you can do better than that.”

“I am trying,” you tell him, but it’s nothing more than a desperate whine.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he asks you.

And he’s right, it is, it was ten minutes ago when you thought all you had to do was look pretty and he’d fuck you, but now that he’s seen right through you, now that he has decided he doesn’t want to give you anything more than he has to, it isn’t anymore. You want so much more than this, and you know there’s just one way to get it.

With a small movement you change your position slightly until you roll your hips against where he’s straining against the fabric of his slacks, and a low hiss is your reward, followed by a sharp slap to your ass that makes your hips stutter, and you lose your steady rhythm. Both his hands are on your hips again and he pushes you down hard against the firm muscles of his thigh.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he tells you. “I’m gonna give you what you came here for, nothing more, nothing less.”

“Javi,” you groan.

His hands move your hips, his arms straining with the effort of keeping you in place, and you let him, even though all you can think about is his hard cock only inches away from you. You think about him pushing into you, about the filthy, wet sounds it would make, about how he’s the only one who can reach so deep inside of you he makes you see stars with every thrust.

“All right,” Javi says. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “You can have it.”

You’re sure you misheard. You’re sure he didn’t just say that. After all he’s put you through, he won’t give in that easily. But you clench around nothing nevertheless, clench around thin air at the thought of him inside of you.

“Later,” he adds, and your heart almost stops. “I’m gonna fill your pretty mouth, but only if you’re good for me.”

You want to, you’re trying to, but you cannot do this anymore. If he’s not going to touch you, if he won’t fuck you, you have to do it yourself.

One of your hands leaves his strong shoulders and you frantically push the fabric of your swimsuit aside, pressing a finger against your aching clit. You moan in relief, but it only lasts a moment, because his left hand closes tightly around your wrist without any warning, and he twists your arm until he has it in a firm grip pressed against your back. The ring he wears on his little finger digs painfully into your soft skin.

“You were doing so well,” he says with a disappointed sigh.

“It’s not –,” you start, but you’re not allowed to finish the sentence.

“No, it is enough,” he tells you firmly, his eyes boring into yours.

But he does reach up, he does pull the string of your top until it comes loose and your tits spill out. He lets go of your arm but before you can decide what to do with your newfound freedom, his fingers close around your throat at the same time as his mouth closes around one of your nipples.

That’s all it takes.

You arch your back with a scream and come right there on his thigh in broad daylight, while he holds you in place with hands and mouth. It goes on forever, or at least it feels like that, and he’s unrelenting, first sucking one nipple into his mouth, then biting down hard on the other. When it becomes clear he’s not planning on stopping, you grab a fistful of his soft curls and pull him away from your chest with a sharp tug.

“Had enough?” he asks, his lips shiny and slightly swollen.

You nod slowly because you don’t trust your voice right now.

“Well, I haven’t,” he growls. “And I will tell you when you’ve had enough.”

taglist: @badbatches, @darksber, @doin-stuff, @filthybookworm, @for-my-satisfaction, @frannyzooey, @javigutierrez, @karkii, @pann-malii, @raspberrymama, @silksaddle, @skeletonstwins, @skyshipper, @sunnydunnydays

#the unbearable weight of massive talent #javi gutierrez x reader #javi gutierrez x you #javi gutierrez #pedro pascal #fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #i hope it makes sense #i'm high up in the mountains so if it doesn't it's the lack of oxygen

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electricshoebox · 3 years ago

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I posted 1,514 times in 2021

213 posts created (14%)

1301 posts reblogged (86%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 6.1 posts.

I added 3,749 tags in 2021

#queue - 965 posts

#fallout - 723 posts

#fallout 4 - 695 posts

#art - 481 posts

#deacon - 204 posts

#fic recs - 165 posts

#gifs - 163 posts

#maccready - 144 posts

#a line in the sand - 115 posts

#my writing - 94 posts

Longest Tag: 128 characters

#and like i'm sorry but you aren't going to convince me it's been a couple and their platonic roommate living in a house together

My Top Posts in 2021

Okay I gave in and did the incorrect quotes generator thing and I'm rolling

74 notes • Posted 2021-04-12 20:37:19 GMT

Fired up Fallout 4 again for reasons (research) and while standing in the middle of a destroyed lab, MacCready goes, "This place is cleaner than my own house."

Mac. Mac we are literally standing next to a skeleton in a lab coat. Mac we are crawling over a pile of wall pieces and asbestos. There is blood on the wall. MacCready. Mac. MAC.

77 notes • Posted 2021-01-26 17:52:48 GMT

leverage spoilers for season 4 for first time watchers below

okay so here's my tin-hat cork-board conspiracy theory that i have zero evidence for except eliot's body language: they were starting to intentionally build the ot3 by the writing of the Boys' Night Out Job in season 4. he sounds wicked jealous when he talks about the mark parker's out with and then his whole "that implies i ever think about you and parker, which i don't" is VERY lady doth protest too much. and at this point i'm probably projecting but his relationship advice sure does sound like "i want your relationship to succeed because if i can't be part of it you should at least be really really happy without me" and it BREAKS MY HEART and is also 100% an eliot thing to do. and that date at the end? totally smacks of "see look how much i'm not getting in the way of you guys" while he reaches out and cops a feel of hardison's bicep as he's leaving.

my further evidence is how fondly he smiles when hardison heads out into the car lot and then in the next episode when he breaks into a huge grin when hardison gets him to promise to make him ribs. and then feeding him wine facts through the ear buds... i'm just saying. I'M JUST SAYING.

108 notes • Posted 2021-02-25 00:58:27 GMT

Every OTP hug I ever write is inspired by this hug. The neck grab. The neck grab.

127 notes • Posted 2021-07-02 00:02:01 GMT

You know, I'm a big fan of headcanons where Deacon lets his hair grow out after the Institute is dismantled. Just letting himself go full curly ginger for the first time in probably at least a decade. But have we considered: he grows it back out and it's got streaks of grey in with that red?

I'm just saying. Silver fox Deacon has some definite possibilities.

156 notes • Posted 2021-03-30 04:04:02 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #Deeply delighted that Silver Fox Deacon came out on top #personal

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mithrilwren · 3 years ago

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Fanfic ask game for procrastinating on writing, which as of this week is actually accurate, since I’m finally writing again! (or, more specifically, editing what I wrote two months ago so I can get back to writing.)

Tagged by @essektheylyss! Thank you, this is exactly the kind of activity my brain needed tonight.

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

72! I was hovering at 69 for quite a while, sad to break the streak haha

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

~550K, which is somehow both more and less than what I expected

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Many, lmao. According to my Ao3 (omitting any blanket tags) I’ve got 22 there, plus at least two more over on ff.net from back in the day, and probably a couple more just on Tumblr. Most of them I’ve only written one fic for, though. I think the only fandoms where I’ve written more than one are Critical Role (35), Supernatural (15), Haikyuu!! (3), The Exorcist (2), Dimension 20 (2), and Yu-Gi-Oh! (2)

4) What are your top five fics by kudos?

Pick a Number, Any Number

Surprisingly, my number one is NOT a Critical Role fic, nor is it even one of my longer multi-chapters! It’s actually a one-shot I wrote for Haikyuu!! back in the day that took off far beyond what I expected. I wrote it for DaiSuga week, which was a ship I (to be completely honest) wasn’t even terribly invested in, but I had a fun idea and people seemed to like it! (It’s also much fluffier than what I usually write, which might be part of its broader appeal ;))

A Winter’s Ball

Unsurprisingly, the next four are all CR ;). This one was a M9 x VM crossover that I primarily wrote between the hours of 3-8am over the course of two insomnia-wracked nights and honestly, I think it shows in its uncharacteristically unstructured format (compared to my typical style, which tends to favour shorter scenes with very intentionally-placed breaks between, as opposed to scenes that flow into each other without pause). That’s not to say I think it’s a bad thing! The story, which follows Beau as she drifts through a party in Whitestone and observes the interactions between the various guests, actually flows better without that kind of interruption. This was also my first Beaujester piece. I started writing it right before Beau’s confession aired, and published it the week after, which definitely pushed me to make what had been only subtextual in the first half of my draft into the emotional lynchpin of the story.

Only the Nightingale Sings

I’m really glad this one still ranks as high as it does, because this story is absolutely my pride and joy. At one time (though I’m not sure that’s true anymore) it was the longest gen fic in the fandom, which is pretty cool! Plot-heavy, twist-heavy, angst-heavy, with seven points of view to follow and multiple interwoven storylines, it was a beast of a thing to write, and took almost exactly a year to finish, but the long process was oh-so worth it. Literally nothing makes me happier today than seeing a new comment or kudos on this story.

Closer Still

One of my earliest shadowgast fics, this one asks the question “how can you make the ‘stuck in an elevator trope’ fantasy?” The answer is, as always, demiplanes. This fic, perhaps more than any of my other shadowgast fics, is interesting to revisit, because it was written before the ep 97 reveal, but literally everything Essek does in it would suggest otherwise. It reads like I already knew he was a spy working with Trent, and yet I was firmly in the “Essek is NOT the spy” camp at the time. Gotta chalk that up to Matt telegraphing his growing guilt into the preceding episodes - even if I couldn’t see it, it was clearly there.

your dust from mine

My other novel-length CR multichapter, this fic brought me so much joy in the otherwise bleak summer of 2020. Most of my best memories of those four months come from working on this story. A Fjorclay adaption of The Goose Girl (my favourite fairytale) this story is about healing, growth, and figuring out what happiness means to you. While I know most people don’t read stories for this pairing anymore, for obvious reasons, I still cherish your dust from mine for how much of my heart I poured into it, and I look back on it with a huge amount of fondness.

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I do my absolute best to respond to every comment someone leaves on a story of mine, even if it occasionally takes a month or two. Replying to comments is one of my favourite parts of the fic-writing process - it gives me a chance to revisit peoples’ kind words and (often, incredibly insightful) observations, and I hope it also shows how appreciative I am of each and every one.

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Though I write a lot of angst, I honestly tend more towards bittersweet endings than straight-up sadness. The only one I can really think of is What You Own - mind the tags if you follow the link, this is definitely one of the gnarlier things I’ve written for CR - whose ending is, admittedly, bleak. But this story so far removed from canon that I don’t think it’s the kind of angsty ending that lingers with you, as much as it packs a punch and then lets you go on your way.

7) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I tend to enjoy thinking about crossovers moreso than actually writing them. I’ve brainstormed a few, but none have ever made it much farther than the first page.

8) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

A few times! Not often, thankfully. Only one time in particular really sticks out to me, mostly for how it rocked my confidence in a way that I don’t think any comment could now, since I’ve had a few more years to build up faith in my own writing.

9) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Very, very occasionally.

10) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I hope not!

11) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

12) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Oh man, back in the Glee days... yeah. Yeah, I have. Nothing that ever got published, though ;)

13) What’s your all time favourite ship?

Not sure I have one! Ships come and go with the seasons, and sometimes they’re best left in the era you found them.

14) What’s a WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

The Shadowgast figure skating AU. It’s never going to happen, but I wish it had.

15) What are your writing strengths?

I would say probably structure, in terms of constructing narrative arcs and through-lines. I’m organized with my writing in a way that I am in few other areas of my life, haha. I’d also say my sense of place - I think I’m pretty good at constructing living, breathing settings and exploring how my characters interact affect/are affected by them.

16) What are your writing weaknesses?

I have a tendency to be wordy (which you might surmise from the length of this post, lol) and repeat myself, usually by going over emotional beats that don’t need the extra reinforcement. On the other hand, I tend to underexplain certain elements (particularly, important plot details in fic, and character motivation in original writing), which can lead to confusion.

A couple years ago I would have said dialogue, but I’ve put a lot of practice into it and I honestly think I’ve improved a lot, which is pretty cool!

17) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I’ve never done it myself, and it’s not generally my favourite thing to read (like @essektheylyss said, it makes me hyper-aware that I’m reading words on a page, especially if I have to follow a footnote somewhere). That said, I’ve definitely also seen it used effectively, so I think it’s more down to whether it suits the particular story!

18) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Yu-Gi-Oh!

19) What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

As mentioned above, Only the Nightingale Sings.

#tag meme #this took me about an hour and i dont regret a minute of it #personal

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kookie-doughs · 4 years ago

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Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader

-Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 6: WE HAVE BATHROOM INCIDENT

We passed the volleyball pit. Several of the campers nudged each other. One pointed to the minotaur horn Percy was carrying. Another said, "That's him."

Anxious if all the attention, I scooted closer to Percy holding onto his arm. Most of the campers were older than us. Their satyr friends were bigger than Grover, all of them trotting around in orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirts, with nothing else to cover their bare shaggy hindquarters. The way they stared at me made me uncomfortable. Though I am aware the attention was on Percy. I still felt like they were expecting me to do a flip or something.

I looked back at the farmhouse. It was a lot bigger than I'd realized—four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale seaside resort. I was checking out the brass eagle weather vane on top when something caught my eye, a shadow in the uppermost window of the attic gable. Something had moved the curtain, just for a second, and I got the distinct impression I was being watched.

"What's up there?" Percy asked Chiron.

He looked where I was pointing, and his smile faded. "Just the attic."

"Somebody lives there?"

"No," he said with finality. "Not a single living thing."

I got the feeling he was being truthful. But I was also sure something had moved that curtain.

"Come along, you two," Chiron said, his lighthearted tone now a little forced. "Lots to see."

We walked through the strawberry fields, where campers were picking bushels of berries while a satyr played a tune on a reed pipe.. . . . . . . . . .

Chiron told me the camp grew a nice crop for export to New York restaurants and Mount Olympus. "It pays our expenses," he explained. "And the strawberries take almost no effort."

He said Mr. D had this effect on fruit-bearing plants: they just went crazy when he was around. It worked best with wine grapes, but Mr. D was restricted from growing those, so they grew strawberries instead.

I watched the satyr playing his pipe. His music was causing lines of bugs to leave the strawberry patch in every direction, like refugees fleeing a fire. I wondered if Grover could work that kind of magic with music. I wondered if he was still inside the farmhouse, getting chewed out by Mr. D.

"Grover won't get in too much trouble, will he?" I asked Chiron.

"Yeah, I mean... he was a good protector. Really." Percy added.

Chiron sighed. He shed his tweed jacket and draped it over his horses back like a saddle. "Grover has big dreams, Percy. Perhaps bigger than are reasonable. To reach his goal, he must first demonstrate great courage by succeeding as a keeper, finding a new camper and bringing him safely to Half-Blood Hill."

"But he did that! He brought two!"

"I might agree with you," Chiron said. "But it is not my place to judge. Dionysus and the Council of Cloven Elders must decide. I'm afraid they might not see this assignment as a success. After all, Grover lost you in New York. Then there's the unfortunate... ah... fate of your mother and Y/N's parents. And the fact that Grover was unconscious when you two dragged him over the property line. The council might question whether this shows any courage on Grover's part."

"He'll get a second chance, won't he?"

Chiron winced. "I'm afraid that was Grover's second chance, Percy. The council was not anxious to give him another, either, after what happened the first time, five years ago. Olympus knows, I advised him to wait longer before trying again. He's still so small for his age... ."

"How old is he?"

"Oh, twenty-eight."

"What! And he's in sixth grade?"

"Satyrs mature half as fast as humans, Percy. Grover has been the equivalent of a middle school student for the past six years."

"That's horrible."

"Quite," Chiron agreed. "At any rate, Grover is a late bloomer, even by satyr standards, and not yet very accomplished at woodland magic. Alas, he was anxious to pursue his dream. Perhaps now he will find some other career... ."

"That's not fair," I said. "What happened the first time? Was it really so bad?"

Chiron looked away quickly. "Let's move along, shall we?"

But I wasn't quite ready to let the subject drop. Something had occurred to me when Chiron talked about Percy's and I's parents' fate, as if he were intentionally avoiding the word death.

"Chiron," Percy said. "If the gods and Olympus and all that are real..."

"Yes, child?"

"Does that mean the Underworld is real, too?"

Chiron's expression darkened.

"Yes, child." He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. "There is a place where spirits go after death. But for now... until we know more... I would urge you to put that out of your mind."

"What do you mean, 'until we know more'?"

"Come, Percy. Let's see the woods.". . ..

As we got closer, I realized how huge the forest was. It took up at least a quarter of the valley, with trees so tall and thick, you could imagine nobody had been in there since the Native Americans.

Chiron said, "The woods are stocked, if you care to try your luck, but go armed."

"Stocked with what?" Percy asked. "Armed with what?"

"You'll see. Capture the flag is Friday night. Do you have your own sword and shield?"

"My own—?"

"No," Chiron said. "I don't suppose either of you do. I think a size five will do you both. I'll visit the armory later."

I wanted to ask what kind of summer camp had an armory, but there was too much else to think about, so the tour continued. We saw the archery range, the canoeing lake, the stables (which Chiron didn't seem to like very much), the javelin range, the sing-along amphitheater, and the arena where Chiron said they held sword and spear fights.

"Sword and spear fights?" I asked.

"Cabin challenges and all that," he explained. "Not lethal. Usually. Oh, yes, and there's the mess hall."

Chiron pointed to an outdoor pavilion framed in white Grecian columns on a hill overlooking the sea. There were a dozen stone picnic tables. No roof. No walls.

"What do you do when it rains?" Percy asked.

Chiron looked at me as if I'd gone a little weird. "We still have to eat, don't we?"

Finally, he showed me the cabins. There were twelve of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. They were arranged in a U, with two at the base and five in a row on either side. And they were without doubt the most bizarre collection of buildings I'd ever seen.

Except for the fact that each had a large brass number above the door (odds on the left side, evens on the right), they looked absolutely nothing alike. Number nine had smokestacks, like a tiny factory. Number four had tomato vines on the walls and a roof made out of real grass. Seven seemed to be made of solid gold, which gleamed so much in the sunlight it was almost impossible to look at. They all faced a commons area about the size of a soccer field, dotted with Greek statues, fountains, flower beds, and a couple of basketball hoops (which were more my speed).

In the center of the field was a huge stone-lined firepit. Even though it was a warm afternoon, the hearth smoldered. A girl about nine years old was tending the flames, poking the coals with a stick.

The pair of cabins at the head of the field, numbers one and two, looked like his-and-hers mausoleums, big white marble boxes with heavy columns in front. Cabin one was the biggest and bulkiest of the twelve. Its polished bronze doors shimmered like a hologram, so that from different angles lightning bolts seemed to streak across them. Cabin two was more graceful somehow, with slimmer columns garlanded with pomegranates and flowers. The walls were carved with images of peacocks.

"Zeus and Hera?" I guessed.

"Correct," Chiron said.

"Their cabins look empty."

"Several of the cabins are. That's true. No one ever stays in one or two."

Okay. So each cabin had a different god, like a mascot. Twelve cabins for the twelve Olympians. But why would some be empty?

I stopped when Percy stopped.

"Percy?"

He stood in front of the first cabin on the left, cabin three.

It wasn't high and mighty like cabin one, but long and low and solid. The outer walls were of rough gray stone studded with pieces of seashell and coral, as if the slabs had been hewn straight from the bottom of the ocean floor.

I held his hand and we got closer to the cabin. We peeked inside the open doorway and Chiron said, "Oh, I wouldn't do that!"

Before he could pull us back, I caught a glimpse of the interior walls glowed like abalone. There were six empty bunk beds with silk sheets turned down. But there was no sign anyone had ever slept there. "Come along, you two."

Most of the other cabins were crowded with campers.

Number five was bright red—a real nasty paint job, as if the color had been splashed on with buckets and fists. The roof was lined with barbed wire. A stuffed wild boar's head hung over the doorway, and its eyes seemed to follow me. Inside I could see a bunch of mean-looking kids, both girls and boys, arm wrestling and arguing with each other while rock music blared. The loudest was a girl maybe thirteen or fourteen. She wore a size XXXL CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirt under a camouflage jacket. She zeroed in on me and gave me an evil sneer. She reminded me of Nancy Bobofit, though the camper girl was much bigger and tougher looking, and her hair was long and stringy, and brown instead of red.

I kept walking, trying to stay as close as I could to Percy. "We haven't seen any other centaurs," Percy observed.

"No," said Chiron sadly. "My kinsmen are a wild and barbaric folk, I'm afraid. You might encounter them in the wilderness, or at major sporting events. But you won't see any here."

"You said your name was Chiron. Are you really..."

He smiled down at me. "The Chiron from the stories? Trainer of Hercules and all that? Yes, Percy, I am."

"But, shouldn't you be dead?"

Chiron paused, as if the question intrigued him. "I honestly don't know about should be. The truth is, I can't be dead. You see, eons ago the gods granted my wish. I could continue the work I loved. I could be a teacher of heroes as long as humanity needed me. I gained much from that wish... and I gave up much. But I'm still here, so I can only assume I'm still needed."

I thought about being a teacher for three thousand years. It wouldn't have made my Top Ten Things to Wish For list.

"Doesn't it ever get boring?"

"No, no," he said. "Horribly depressing, at times, but never boring."

"Why depressing?"

Chiron seemed to turn hard of hearing again.

"Oh, look," he said. "Annabeth is waiting for us."

* * *

The blond girl I'd met at the Big House was reading a book in front of the last cabin on the left, number eleven.

When we reached her, she looked us critically.

I tried to see what she was reading, but I couldn't make out the title. I thought my dyslexia was acting up. Then I realized the title wasn't even English. The letters looked Greek to me. I mean, literally Greek. There were pictures of temples and statues and different kinds of columns, like those in an architecture book.

"Annabeth," Chiron said, "I have masters' archery class at noon. Would you take Percy and Y/N from here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cabin eleven," Chiron told me, gesturing toward the doorway. "Make yourself at home."

Out of all the cabins, eleven looked the most like a regular old summer camp cabin, with the emphasis on old. The threshold was worn down, the brown paint peeling. Over the doorway was one of those doctor's symbols, a winged pole with two snakes wrapped around it. What did they call it... ? A caduceus.

Inside, it was packed with people, both boys and girls, way more than the number of bunk beds. Sleeping bags were spread all over on the floor. It looked like a gym where the Red Cross had set up an evacuation center.

Chiron didn't go in. The door was too low for him. But when the campers saw him they all stood and bowed respectfully.

"Well, then," Chiron said. "Good luck, Percy, Y/N. I'll see you at dinner."

He galloped away toward the archery range.

I stood in the doorway, looking at the kids. They weren't bowing anymore. They were staring at us. I knew this routine. I'd gone through it at enough schools.

"Well?" Annabeth prompted. "Go on."

So naturally Percy tripped coming in the door and made a total fool of himself, almost taking me with him but I had let go of him as he fell. There were some snickers from the campers, but none of them said anything.

Annabeth announced, "Percy Jackson, Y/N L/N, meet cabin eleven."

"Regular or undetermined?" somebody familiar asked.

I didn't know what to say, but Annabeth said, "Undetermined."

Everybody groaned.

"Now, now, campers. That's what we're here for. Welcome, Percy and Y/N. You can have that spot on the floor, right over there. Y/N can have the bed over there."

"Luke." I smiled. He replied with a grin and ruffled my hair.

"Uh?"

"This is Luke," Annabeth said, and her voice sounded different somehow. I glanced over and could've sworn she was blushing. She saw me looking, and her expression hardened again. "He's your counselor for now."

"For now?" Percy asked.

"You're undetermined," Luke explained patiently. "They don't know what cabin to put you in, so you're here. Cabin eleven takes all newcomers, all visitors. Naturally, we would. Hermes, our patron, is the god of travelers."

I looked at the tiny section of floor they'd given Percy. He was a few spots away from mine.

I looked around at the campers' faces, some sullen and suspicious, some grinning stupidly, some eyeing me as if they were waiting for a chance to pick my pockets.

"How long will we be here?" Percy asked.

"Good question," Luke said. "Until you're determined."

"How long will that take?"

The campers all laughed.

"Come on," Annabeth told us. "I'll show you the volleyball court."

"I've already seen it."

"Come on." She grabbed Percy's wrist and dragged him outside. Percy took my hand to come with him, I could hear the kids of cabin eleven laughing behind us.

"See you at dinner." Luke waved.

When we were a few feet away, Annabeth said, "Jackson, you have to do better than that."

"What?"

She rolled her eyes and mumbled under her breath, "I can't believe I thought you were the one. Maybe it was Y/N."

"What's your problem?" Percy was getting angry now. "All I know is, I kill some bull guy—"

I gripped his shoulder trying to calm him.

"Don't talk like that!" Annabeth told me. "You know how many kids at this camp wish they'd had your chance?"

"To get killed?"

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Hahah typo and originality go brrr

Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000

#Percy Jackson #Percy Jackson X Reader #Percy Jackson X Y/N #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #Y/N L/N #Y/N L/N and the halfbloods #X Reader #Book 1 #Lightning thief #luke castellan #Luke castellan x reader #Chapter 6 #Fanfiction #fanfictions

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suddenlysackler · 4 years ago

Text

Nice to Meet You

How you met each of the boys

Adam Sackler

Adam hit you with his bike

He promises he didn’t see you stepping off of the curb but you think he did it on purpose

He can’t help but laugh at how dazed you look at his feet, once the initial “oh fuck I hurt someone” wore off

And you were pissed about it

Scrambling to your feet and screaming and yelling at him, poking his chest and calling him every insult you knew

He’s still laughing because, fuck, you’re fucking adorable

No, you’re stunning

About two minutes into your raving and ranting and his laughing at the absurdity of it all because it was and accident and he did apologize, he notices the scrapes on your arms and knees

Insists that you let him take you to his place to clean you up because it’s not more than a two minute walk and you could yell at him more on the way and he promises he isn’t a weirdo (HA)

And despite your better judgement, you follow him with your tail between your legs, feeling so bad because you’d just chewed out this guy who doesn’t seem like a total asshole

The ten minutes it should have taken him to clean you up turns into almost five hours perched on his kitchen counter while he sits just below your feet where he had ended up after swiping antibiotic ointment over the last of your scrapes

You just talk, you don’t know how it happens but he’s candid and so fucking easy to talk to, it’s like talking to an old friend

When you see the time you curse and say you’ve gotta get going

He rolls his eyes and tells you to stay

When you ask if his girlfriend will be pissed if you’re here when she gets home he shuts you up with a kiss

After he pulls back he wonders out loud if he misread the room

You answer with a kiss of your own

Clyde Logan

You and Clyde meet through mutual friends

You and your own friends had trekked over to Duck Tape after a long day at work, needing something, anything to take the edge off

And, apparently, one of your friends knew one of Jimmy’s friends, the two hovering around the bar while Clyde worked

You saddled up next to one of your friends, sort of off to the side of the action, and rested your elbows on the bar

Introductions are hastily made between your two smaller groups and Jimmy’s friend mentions Clyde’s name and you almost convulse right there when you catch a glimpse of gentle eyes and just the hint of a smile tugging at pouty lips

Clyde got to you last and could have kicked himself for making you wait, my oh my you were beautiful and someone that beautiful shouldn’t be kept waiting

As he asks what you’ll have to drink, his drawl hits your ears sweeter than honey

After he brings you back your drink, you bat your eyelashes, talk all soft and such, try just about everything to anchor his attention on you

You’re successful and Clyde swears he hasn’t talked with a customer that wasn’t family so much ever

Duck Tape easily becomes a staple in your week

So does Clyde

But despite your initial boldness in getting him to pay attention to you, you’re just as shy as Clyde is

Who makes the first move at Jimmy’s insistence

Poor boy is so nervous he asks you to get drinks after he’s done for the evening

As if you weren’t sitting in a bar

So you ask him if he wouldn’t mind coming to your place so you could show him the different drinks you know how to make

When he asks what you know and you answer “I can crack you open a bottle of beer” he gives a hearty laugh

It’s the first time you hear it, the first time you see his breathtaking smile

And after that night, it most certainly wasn’t the last.

Daniel Jones

Dan and you get tasked with running internship programming in the Senate

It’s not exactly what you wanted this summer and you’re begrudgingly participating until your partner walks in all tall, dark and handsome in a nicely pressed suit

He’s quiet until your supervisor suggests paying by stipend so the interns can be paid less than the minimum wage

Then he goes the fuck off

And shit if you weren’t sold on Dan now, that was the straw that broke the camel’s back

While you can’t necessarily straight out flirt, you slowly start taking lunch breaks with Dan

He’s really grateful for the company

You’re a welcomed interruption in his stream of consciousness while he works

A gentle reminder to eat and take care of himself

And you are more than capable of going toe to toe with him when your discussions get more heated

Dan really falls for you when the interns get there

He likes watching you work with them

You’re patient and willing to teach and explain everything

And when did you get that fucking beautiful

So he starts intentionally walking past your office

Strikes up conversations when he can and even starts figuring out where you’ll be at certain parts of the day (he swears it’s not creepy don’t judge)

At the end of the summer, you finally break and ask him out

He kisses you right on the steps of the Capitol building when you do

The best yes you’ve ever received

Flip Zimmerman

Flip gives you a jump start after you get stranded in Colorado Springs

You’re driving cross country to meet your new niece between jobs and your car breaks down on one of those quiet country roads and you know the police department isn’t a tow company but you literally don’t know who to call

So you call the police

And Flip happens to be one of the only people available to come jump you, given the fact that he’s between cases

So he grumbles and heads out to the closest landmark you had provided and just about loses it when he sees you

You’re so perfect, he hasn’t ever seen anyone as stunning as you

When he gets out to jump your car he flirts, asks you questions and makes you laugh without trying

And scrambles back to his car for a piece of paper to scribble his number down, leaving you with the promise of a phone call when you reach your destination

After three days and no word he feels dejected

And then the phone rings

It’s you, asking for an Officer Zimmerman

Honestly? Flip is over the moon and hangs on your every word through the receiver

He asks you to stop by and let him take you on a date on your way back home and you gladly accept and, ultimately, take a permanent detour in Colorado Springs

Ronnie Peterson

Ronnie and you meet after you both argue over the last copy of a new book on it’s first day on shelves

Honestly it’s a bit comical how the two of you go at it

It’s like watching two middle schoolers

Finally, you two compromise

Split the cost, take turns reading it because neither of you are interested in waiting to read it

So you buy it and develop a stupid little schedule for you two to read it within the first couple of weeks of buying it

Your little trade offs turn into little book club meetings

Until Ronnie finally asks you to actually get coffee and sit down and discuss it

When you agree and you’re sitting under the warm lighting of the coffee shop, Ronnie is taken aback at how gorgeous you are

And is pissed that he missed it because he was so obsessed with the stupid fucking book

But absolutely doesn’t regret that your argument had gotten him your number and what seemed to be at least a blossoming acquaintanceship

On the other side of the table, you’re just as taken with Ronnie

And your heart almost bursts when his glasses fog up from his hot drink

So you take a chance and ask if he’d want to see the movie adaptation of the book with you when it came out in a few weeks

He immediately says yes

Even asks if it’s a date

Kicks himself again when you turn bright red because, yeah, you want it to be a fucking date

Needless to say you keep getting coffee in the weeks to come and get to know each other even more

And he kisses you for the first time outside the movie theater

He takes you back to the car early, maybe like half way through the movie

He wants to make out

You want to make out

The movie sucked anyway

Paterson

You accidentally get on Paterson’s bus on your first day commuting to your job by public transportation after your car breaks down

Pat smiles when you pay your fare, fingers twitching as his mind swirled with the tomes of paper he could fill with prose about your eyes

He won’t lie, he was more than a little concerned when the bus approached the last stop on the route and you were still in your seat

His concern only heightened when he noticed the tears streaking down your cheeks

And yeah, he’s more of an observer, but he can’t help himself as his feet carry him back to sit next to you after letting the last of the passengers out and pulling over

You explain that you had taken the wrong bus and were now over an hour late to your job as a professor at Columbia

He m e l t s

Tells you oh so softly what bus you actually need to get on and even tells you where his route connects with that route

Fuck he even offers you cab money he feels so awful that you’re late to work

You decline but smile at how sweet he is and even move to stand and hold on to the pole closest to him and chat over the thirty minutes it takes you to get to the right stop

You thank him profusely as you step off and Pat drives away, knowing that he’ll be writing about you at lunch, that much is inevitable

Two days later you get on his bus again and he raises his eyebrows skeptically

You give him a scrap of paper and a smile before moving to the back and sitting down, getting off at the same stop he had shown you before

He looks at the paper at lunch and could have passed out at your number and a request for a thank you cup of coffee, which he gladly accepts

Charlie Barber

You meet Charlie at a Broadway Cares/Equity Fights Aids volunteer meeting

You run in late with a latte in your hand and plop down right next to him, hair windswept, cheeks pink, and smelling like coffee beans

Literally, Charlie thinks a piece of heaven just sat down next to him

You apologize to him for the interruption, double taking when you see how handsome the man next to you is

And for the next hour, you two nudge each other and make jokes under your breath

You get assigned to the same site for the next fundraising effort just by chance

And while you get to know the other four people in your group, you and Charlie stay stuck to each other like glue

Even though there are plenty of people you both know through work

You had just kind of clicked

And at the end, you find yourself lingering in the small auditorium the meeting was held in

Neither of you really wanting to split although you’d see each other again soon

So Charlie takes a chance and asks if you’d want another latte

His palms are sweating because he literally hasn’t asked someone out in years

That’s what this was right?

But you say yes and let him pay for your second latte

And hold his hand

“It’s cold and you don’t have pockets on your sweater or gloves”

He walks you home even, laughing when you tell him where your building is and remarking that his building is two blocks away

You give him your number anyway, mumbling something about not wanting rocks thrown at your window at 3:00am

And he hugs you so tight before you head upstairs

It’s the tightest hug you’ve ever gotten

182 notes · View notes

forehead-enthusiast · 5 years ago

Text

Viscaria

Pairing: Crown Prince!Jeno x Reader

Genre: fluuuuuuuuuffffff (my friend described it as cavity inducing sweetness), royalty!au, somewhat a cinderella!au tbh

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: The prince is throwing a ball, and even commoners like you and Jeno are invited.

A/N: sorry this wasn’t up sooner!! even though its a bit late, i hope you’ll give this a read thank you!! also look up ‘viscaria flower meaning’ if you want

"Have you heard about the ball the prince is throwing?"

Only from every other customer that'd strolled into your store today with their clothes to be mended and gossip to be shared. Still, you could humor your most frequent visitor.

"Oh do tell, Jeno."

The boy leaning across your counter beamed, his handsome features scrunching boyishly. He'd made a habit of dropping by, always with some small request he'd use as an excuse to chat. You never minded, happy for any company, but especially his. He'd energetically tell you about whatever was buzzing about the village, and small stories about his everyday life- that is, when he didn't giggle too much to recount them properly. He’d tell you about his work as a gardener, tending to flowers and befriending ladybugs.

Jeno was not a gardener.

It was the only lie he'd told you. Even that pained him, but it was necessary in order to avoid a commotion every time he snuck away from the castle and his princely duties. Whenever he grew too overwhelmed, too bored, too frustrated, he'd shed his usual clothes and replace them with ones he borrowed from the castle's actual gardener, and head straight for you.

He'd first stumbled into your store without meaning to, dodging a few castle guards coincidentally walking by. Once he'd gathered his bearings, though, and looked around, he knew he'd have to come back again. He'd seen sprawling gardens, majestic paintings, buildings made of gleaming marble, and yet had never seen anything as beautiful as your little store. Vivid scraps of fabric and thread littered the floor, like a patchwork made of other people's lives, with little bits of their memories strewn about. Streaks of light speckled the floor from a window made hazy from dust. Pins and buttons glittered in the blurred sunlight, more dazzling than any jewel. It was breathtaking.

And then he saw you.

Jeno had never believed in love at first sight, or in angels, but you changed both of those beliefs in an instant. He watched as you dusted off your hands and swept your hair back with your palms, your brow furrowed as you focused on your work. He didn't speak a word, too captivated to risk breaking this moment.

"Oh, hello! I'm sorry, I didn't see you. How can I help you?"

"...What?"

You looked at him questioningly. "How can I help you? What do you need repaired?" Your gaze fell upon a large tear in his cloak. "Oh, I see." He looked around, then followed your eyes to the same rip, and realized it must've happened just before.

"A-ah, yes. That."

"Well, I can fix something like that quickly, if you don’t mind waiting a few minutes."

He nodded eagerly at the chance to spend even a second longer with you, and wondered how much clothing he could intentionally tear in the future before you’d realize his true motives.

Now, many months and many visits later, Jeno was perched in your store yet again, eyes alight at the prospect of a ball.

"So it's said to be held at the end of this month, and everyone in the kingdom is invited!"

"Oh, how exciting for them!"

He practically wilted at your response. "Them? What about you?" It's not as though he'd planned this whole thing just to have a chance to dance with you or anything. It's not as though he'd imagined holding you in his arms as you swayed to the dreamlike music in his head countless times.

You laughed. "Jeno, please. What would I do at a ball? Besides, I think they'd take one look at me, all covered in grease and rags and turn me away before I even got inside."

"Well, first of all, you would dance." With me, he yelled internally. "And there'd be delicious food and wonderful music. And even if you just wore what you're wearing now, you'd still look b-beautiful."

You blushed to hear those words from his lips.

"Well, I- thanks." A kind of pink pause hung softly in the air. "B-but still," you composed yourself, "I wouldn't feel comfortable around all the fancily dressed people. I'd just want to curl up and hide."

"So if you had a fancy dress, you'd go?"

"Yeah, sure," you replied casually, expecting this to be the end of the conversation.

"Then I'll get you one!"

"...Does the gardening business pay that much better than I suspected?"

Jeno wracked his brain for an excuse that would soothe your suspicious expression.

"M-my sis-" You already knew he had no siblings. "My mo-" That just seemed weird for some reason. "My, um, my aunt! Has a dress. That she could lend you. Definitely. And if it doesn't fit, you can just tailor it yourself! She won't mind at all, I promise. It'll be perfect!"

You struggled to find an excuse, but despite all his stuttering, it didn't seem like a bad plan. Plus, he was clearly dying for you to go. You wondered if he was just desperate to go himself, and needed another commoner to make him feel at ease, and hesitated to reject his offer.

"You should go, I'll-" his voice caught in his throat as he tried to think of a way to be honest without, you know, giving away his whole identity. "I'll meet you there."

"Jeno…" Not entirely persuaded, you turned to protest, only to look into his expectant eyes and relent. "Fine, I'll go. But if I end up looking awful or spilling something on the royal family, that's on you."

He grinned. "No problem!"

Jeno paced the castle corridors, thinking up ideas for the dress he'd give you. It didn't actually exist, after all. He'd thought up a plan- ask the royal tailor to whip up a dress, slip him a few extra coins for his silence, and sneak it out to you. It felt a bit odd to order anything from a tailor other than you. However, that feeling was greatly overpowered by the fact that he got to choose a dress for you. He didn't know much about clothing, yet infinite ideas filled his head when he pondered about what would bring out your beautiful eyes, what would look nice on your skin tone, what you would like, most of all.

He used every ounce of brain power he had, rainbows of fabrics swimming around within his mind. Eventually, he spat out a haphazard combination of all his ideas to the dressmaker, and just hoped for the best. He flushed when the tailor chuckled at his request, and sighed with relief when the man promised to keep it a secret.

Now all Jeno had to do was wait.

It wasn't as easy as it sounded. He wanted desperately for it to be done, to bring it to you, to know for certain you'd be at the ball. He tried to busy himself with the organization of the event, but could never prevent his mind from wandering to you.

Finally, what felt like decades later, he visited the dressmaker again, anxious with anticipation. With a glint in his eye, the tailor unveiled his creation, and watched with satisfaction as Jeno's eyes widened.

"Y/n! It's been awhile! I brought my…" What had he said again? Oh, right! "My aunt's dress!"

You looked at the bag he held out eagerly, and hesitated to take it. "She's really lending it to me? And letting me alter it if I need to?" You took it gingerly from Jeno, and marveled at the weight of the parcel. "How can she afford things like this?"

"She's, uh… in crippling debt."

"That's terrible!"

"Um, yep! It's so bad. I actually can't stay, but I'll see you at the ball!"

Jeno hurried out the door, with last minute preparations for the ball to complete. Or, as you assumed, incredibly urgent gardening duties.

You felt rather remiss he had to leave so quickly. Of course, you were happy to have the dress and a ball in your future, but you treasured his little chats far more. He seemed busier and busier these days. You missed the idle time you shared with him, and flushed as you wondered when he'd become such an important part in your life.

The morning of the ball arrived. Despite your original reluctance to go, your heart pounded as you washed yourself and combed through your hair. You weren't exactly an expert in the appearance field, but you did your best to make yourself look as high class as you could, and were fairly proud of the results. You slipped into the dress, more luxurious against your skin than anything you'd ever experienced. It luckily hung long enough to cover your shoes, which were simply your own, and desperately outclassed and unfit for a ball. The dress, much more suitable for the occasion, hadn't needed many alterations, but with a little hemming here and there, it truly looked like it was made for you. Which it was, but you never would’ve guessed that.

You looked at your reflection in your dusty mirror, and felt your breath hitch in your throat. Your eyes fell to take in the beauty of the dress directly.

It was a masterpiece. It was like a watercolor painting, with a myriad of colors layered upon one another. The skirt was covered in lace and embroidery of small pink and purple flowers, like a whimsical meadow draping over your legs. You wondered what kind of flowers they were. The fabric was light and airy, and seemed to float on the wind at every movement you made. Words simply couldn't do it justice.

Jeno's aunt had marvelous taste.

You hurried towards the palace, careful not to let your skirt drag on the ground. As you reached the steps, you felt that same reluctance you once had about attending return. The building before you could've fit countless of your stores within it, and its magnificence intimidated you. This wasn’t somewhere that you ever imagined welcoming you. You closed your eyes, and thought of how Jeno's eyes sparkled when you agreed to go. You walked up the steps, your old shoes taking you towards him.

Jeno waited for you inside, licking his lips nervously. What was he even so nervous for? You said you'd come, and he knew you wouldn't go back on your word. Still, it was killing him to sit around and smile at everyone except you. He'd danced with a few others, politely making small talk, all the while wondering what you were doing. His eyes flicked towards the entrance every few seconds, and he was always disappointed when you weren't there.

And then suddenly, without warning, you were.

Jeno’s heart stopped.

He forgot how to breathe when he saw you. He’d seen the dress before, he’d seen you often enough to recall your every detail, and yet, he couldn’t fathom how stunning you were in it. You seemed almost iridescent in the light of the chandeliers- every inch of you glowed as you stepped in. He stared at you unblinkingly, desperate to burn the image of you into his mind. The way the opalescent petals cascaded down on you, the way your hair curved around your cheekbones, the way your star-filled eyes flicked around the room, the way he knew they were looking for him- everything about you made him fall in love all over again.

He knew eyes were following him as he approached you slowly, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Your eyes lit up as they found him, and you hurried over to him. In your carelessness, your heel caught on the bottom of your skirt, and you cursed yourself as you toppled forward. You scrunched your eyes shut and waited for the pain of falling to come, but it didn’t. You cautiously looked up as you recognized the feeling of smooth fabric against your cheek.

Jeno was beaming above you, still a little awestruck. His hold on your shoulders was more tentative than usual. It almost felt as if the whole room was looking at you two together, although you couldn’t imagine why, and you flushed.

“H-hi, Jeno.”

“Hi.”

He helped you straighten up, and you laughed awkwardly, annoyed that you’d embarrassed yourself already. Jeno didn’t seem bothered, and you envied his easygoing nature.

Once you’d gathered your bearings, you took in the ballroom around you. It was truly stunning. You’d never seen anything like it in your life. Everything seemed to sparkle- a far cry from your dust-covered store. Melodies flowed sweetly into your ears. It was as wonderful as Jeno insisted it would be; you couldn’t deny it. Your gaze circled back to Jeno’s smile, the most breathtaking sight in the room, and fell onto his outstretched hands.

“What is it?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Did you forget that you’re meant to dance at these? Or… wait, do you not want to? ‘Cause if that’s the case I won’t make you! I shouldn’t have asked, I-”

Jeno’s mouth clamped shut as you took his hands with a laugh.

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to.”

Jeno shoulders relaxed happily, and he led you onto the dance floor. Your skirt just grazed the marble tiles every time he spun you, as if it were dancing too. You wondered where a gardener learned to dance so well. He guided you with unexpected confidence, graceful as a swan gliding across a glossy sheet of water. Your heart had always had a habit of racing around Jeno, but looking at his elegant self now, and feeling his hands firmly holding you, you wondered if you might die from the way it quickened.

The song finished, but Jeno didn’t let go.

His hand pressed against the small of your back, pulling you tighter against his chest.

“Just… a little longer. Please.”

The feeling of your body against his, the rhythm of the music still pounding in his chest, the way your breath tickled his jaw- it was more intoxicating than all of the fantasies that had persuaded him to throw this ball in the first place. He wished the clock would stop ticking, and allow him to just live in this moment for eternity.

He finally let you go, a reluctant smile on his face. You wondered if he’d felt your racing heartbeat through your bodice, and tried not to show how breathlessly enamored with him you were.

With the natural grace you still weren’t used to, he led you outside to a nearby terrace, and grinned as he saw you take in the view from the balcony with wonder.

“Jeno, isn't it just the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?”

His eyes followed the moonlight melting on the curve of your nape, the outline of your shoulders.

“...Yes.”

You turned around to see him sitting on a marble bench, watching you blissfully. Lifting your skirt carefully, you hurried over and plopped down next to him. The layers of your gown rippled into a hypnotic melange of hues, and you found yourself admiring it for the thousandth time.

“Thank you for getting me here, Jeno. For the dress, the dance, the persuading,” You laughed, remembering his persistence. “For everything.”

Jeno gazed at you as you dreamily looked off into the distance, and wondered what he should confess first, his feelings or his title.

“Y/n, I… I want to tell you something.” He still hadn’t decided what when the words fell from his lips. Your eyes slid over to him, your head following suit, and you inched closer to him, waiting for him to continue.

“Y/n, I… I’m… I don’t know how to say this, but…” Words like “royalty” or “prince” caught in his throat, and he hesitated, averting his eyes.

“I think I know what you’re trying to say, Jeno, I… feel the same way.”

He stiffened.

“You- you what- wait, that’s not- I was going to- I do, but-”

“Your highness.”

You looked around in confusion until you saw the royal attendant standing a little ways back. He didn’t seem confused, but you certainly were.

“Prince Jeno, the king requests your presence.”

Your eyes widened, and your heart dropped. You stood up, at a loss for words as the pieces began to fall into place. You looked at Jeno’s face for confirmation and got it.

“Y/n, wait!”

“Your highness-”

“Not now!”

Jeno struggled to force his way past the attendant as you ran off. You didn’t know what to think- all you knew was that you wanted to go. To leave, and return to your store and see the gardener you were in love with waiting for you. To forget what you heard, to forget the guilty look in his eyes, to forget the way his hands fit in the angles of your body.

You raced down the steps with all the haste you’d avoided throughout the night, removing your shabby heels the second they caught on the hem of your dress. You left them behind, too desperate to escape all the beauty of the palace. Your carriage raced off at your demand, just as Jeno reached the top of the staircase. He watched as your carriage was lost in the swarm of others just like it, and sighed with frustration, sitting down right where he stood. He huffed, trying to catch his breath.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a pair of slippers laying on their side a few stairs down. They were dull against the polished steps of the castle, and he walked slowly towards them. He picked them up gingerly, and pictured you walking barefoot down the dusty cobblestone road back to your house. He took it with him as he trudged back inside.

“Jeno, your behavior last night was frankly unacceptable.”

Jeno only half listened to his father’s scolding, too depressed to do much of anything.

“Dancing with some unknown girl, leaving with her, and to top it all off, dashing through the ball yelling like some madman? What on earth were you thinking? Were you even thinking at all? Of course you weren’t.”

“...Uh-huh.”

“And that girl, why, she was out of line too, causing that disturbance. I was overjoyed you took the initiative to hold a ball, but why did you bother if you were just going to spend time with one girl?”

“Because she’s the only one that matters.”

The king looked taken aback by Jeno’s answer. His gaze softened as he looked at his son, always so full of energy, slumped over with sadness.

“What happened?”

“She didn’t… she didn’t know. About me, about you, she thought- she thought I was a gardener.”

The king chuckled at the idea, although discovering you were just a peasant wasn’t exactly ideal.

“I love her. I think she loves me too. Loved me, maybe. She found out and-” He buried his face in his hands as he recalled your betrayed expression. “She ran and I ran and she didn’t turn back and she just looked so hurt and I’ve ruined everything. God, I love her so much. I love her.”

“Are you going to go see her?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. She probably doesn’t even want to see my face ever again. I don’t want to just… make things even worse.”

“Knowing you, you probably will.” Jeno finally looked up to see his father grinning, before his features hardened into a serious expression. “But as the future king, you are forbidden from cowardice. You cannot lead people if you yourself are lost, and that is far more inexcusable than running through a ball.”

Jeno’s jaw dropped. He wasn’t exactly expected to be encouraged, even in this stern manner.

“What do I even do? She knows I’m not a gardener now, but she doesn’t know the ‘prince-’”

“Don’t go as a fake gardener, or a guilty prince, just- drop the roles. Go and be honest. Work from there.”

“...Thanks, dad.”

Jeno’s father waved him off nonchalantly and sighed as he left, wondering if he might’ve just lost his heir. So be it, either way. There wasn’t any point, any justice to keeping around his son as just a shell of himself, forever longing for something. He wondered what you were like. He hoped he’d get to meet you some time, and smiled to himself. Not to the him that was a king, but the him that was just a father to one foolish son.

Jeno ran down the streets he knew well, clutching what you’d left behind in his hands. He’d only wrapped a cloak around himself, and knew he must be getting recognized by at least a few villagers, but couldn’t worry about anything but you. He burst through the familiar door.

“Y/n!”

“Je… Your highness.”

There you were, your eyes red and shoulders stiff. You hadn’t managed to sleep. You were half expecting he’d come, but prepared for the future where you’d never see him again. Yet, now he was here, gasping for air in your entryway.

“Do you need something?”

Your thoughts spilled out of you, as inappropriate to say to a prince as they were.

“Was it fun? To mess around with a peasant and play pretend? To make me believe even for a second that you, that someone like you would ever care about someone like me? Was it funny to see me get my hopes up, to see them completely dashed, was it funny?”

Jeno didn’t answer, absolutely speechless, and you fought the urge to cry even more.

“Is there something I can do for you, or what?”

Jeno’s heart slowed, and he felt a lump in his throat grow as he looked into your eyes. He took a few deep breaths. Cowardice was not an option. Cowardice, hesitation, that had led him into this crisis in the first place.

“Um, yes. I have these shoes, you see…”

He held up the slippers you’d abandoned, and you reached for them, embarrassed to see them in the hands of royalty. He pulled back just in time, and you only managed to grab air. He smiled, his heart still shaken.

“They belong to a friend of mine. Well, friend is kind of an understatement. They belong to the person who means more to me than anything. They, they belong to the person that I’m in love with, you see,” he gulped, unable to meet your eyes as he spoke, “And I might have screwed up everything with that person, which is, well, it’s devastating to be honest, but I still love them more than they could ever know and I always will, and, and, and, I don’t know what else to say except how much I love them, and how much I love you and-”

“Please stop talking.”

Jeno looked up to see streaks of tears on your cheeks, ever so slightly smearing the remnants of last night’s cosmetics.

“...I’m sorry I lied to you. i’m so sorry. I liked just being Jeno with you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I’m in love with Jeno.”

“W-what?”

“I said I’m in love with Jeno. But you, you’re not Jeno, you’re a prince and one day you’ll be a king and I’ll still be here, sewing up tears and hemming pants and wishing Jeno was here.”

“I’m still me, y/n.”

“I know that, but…”

“I’m Jeno. And I am a prince but if you don’t like that, I can be whatever you want! I don’t care, being a prince means nothing to me. I can be a gardener for real, or I could be a tailor with you, but you’ll have to teach me how to sew. I could be a- a- a butcher, or a cobbler or a baker or anything, I can be anything you want me to be.”

You smiled despite yourself, and tried to keep your voice from quivering.

“...I just want you to be mine, Jeno.”

Your slippers fell from his hands onto the floor as he embraced you. You wrapped your arms around him too, still uncertain about most everything except your feelings for him. The warmth of his hands on you was familiar, unchanged. You breathed in his scent, the one you knew by heart. It was your best friend in your arms, the one you knew all too well and were hopelessly in love with.

“I’m yours.”

His thumb slid under your chin, lifting it slightly so he could press his lips to yours. He held you tightly, the way he had when you spun beneath chandeliers, and you could hear those melodies in your mind as you memorized the shape of his lips. He tasted almost floral, and his breath in your lungs was sweet like dew on petals and fresh air after rainfall. Your hands glided up his arms, then to his shoulders, up his neck, until they touched his windswept hair, still messy from when he’d been running. It was messier now, with your fingers woven into it, and softer than you’d imagined in the times when your mind would drift off.

It was hard to think much as he kissed you, about his hair or anything else for that matter. His lips pressed eagerly against your cheeks, your nose, and you found yourself giggling at the ticklish sensation. He smiled too, his lips returning to yours, and you leaned into his kiss. “I really do love you,” He murmured quietly, as if unaware he was speaking at all. His whispered confessions melted into your skin wherever he kissed you, covering your body in promises of love.

“I love you too.”

Jeno looked at your breathless smile, hugged you tighter, and lifted you off the ground to spin you around with ease. Scraps of fabric were swept into the air, fluttering around in feathers of all colors, falling slowly through the hazy sunshine. He set you down gently, ever so slightly dizzy.

It was a far cry from a ballroom, your cramped little store. Dusty sunlight instead of glowing chandeliers, and no gorgeous gowns or elegant music to be found. Still, Jeno’s arms were around you, and you swayed to the sounds of each other’s blissful sighs.

His hand didn't leave yours as you sat down on the patchwork floor, and you flushed when he squeezed tighter.

"Y-you don't have to hold on so tightly."

"Of course I do." He threw you a sly sidelong smile. "Can't have you running away again."

"I won't!"

"Yeah," he breathed as he leaned against you shoulder, "I know."

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alarawriting · 4 years ago

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Inktober 2020 #21: Sleep

Based on the prompt from @writing-prompt-s, “The worst thing a wizard can do is sleep-talk.”

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Words spoken by a person without the power thrumming through their veins were just words. Even the Words of Change, the secret language the universe was built in, meant nothing to the people without the power. But for the people who had it, words needed to be guarded carefully. “Umhaha”, for instance, unraveled thread. An easy mistake to make; almost every young wizard had a story about accidentally rendering themselves and everyone in the room with them naked, just by laughing a certain way after saying the word “Um.”

“Kefzhizoss” should have been a word that no one would ever say unless they meant to say it.

The young man was crumpled up as small as a human could make himself, on the bench in the police wagon. No one had confiscated the amulet of protection from his neck; like most such amulets, it wouldn’t come off while he was under emotional stress, pain or fear. But he was under a silencing charm, and the amulet didn’t protect him from being silenced.

The cleric was arguing with the detective on the scene. “It’s obvious he didn’t mean to do this,” he said, waving his hand at the devastation of what had been the young man’s home, with his parents and siblings. The broken remains of the wards that had contained the word, made sure the destruction spread no farther than their property, would have stopped the word if it hadn’t been spoken within their house, and there were other fragmentary charms present. One to prevent fire. One that would probably have protected books from water damage. There was one, still intact, that purified air as it went into the lungs of birds.

There were no birds in the wreckage, or bird cages. Neither were there human corpses, or any human beds, except for the one the young man had laid in. The destruction had been too thorough.

“Look, Elimiss, maybe I agree with you. Could be accidental sleeptalking. But four people are dead, and the damage was clearly done by the Devastating Word, and the only survivor’s a wizard. You see why I can’t just let him go, right?”

Tears ran down the young man’s cheeks, but there was nothing physically wrong with him. Either he was tremendously talented for one so young, or one or both of his parents had been very skilled wizards, to have created an amulet that had perfectly protected him and the bed he had been found on from the Devastating Word. It didn’t matter anymore.

“He’s traumatized! He needs a temple, not to be held indefinitely under a silencing charm—”

“Oh, for the love of all your gods, the kid can still read and write. But I can’t let a man who killed his entire family just traipse off to a temple to have his trauma healed. Did it occur to you that maybe a guy who killed his parents and brother and sister maybe deserves to have some trauma?”

“It was obviously an accident! He was wearing pajama pants, for the love of Merenethe Who Heals All Wounds! What kind of devious, evil killer wears pajama pants and lays down in bed before blasting his entire home to ruin?”

“The kind who knows that people like you will assume it was an accident from that,” the detective said sharply. She was irritated that the cleric had felt the need to provide his god’s entire name, like he was offended that she’d invoked all his gods instead of his specific patron. “He needs to be interrogated, and we can’t let him speak until he’s told us his story.”

The man raised a tear-streaked face, brought up his cuffed hands, and with just one of them, signed, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over again. Both hands, he might have been trying a sigil, though the detective was an experienced enough wizard herself to catch that before it accomplished anything, if he’d tried it. One hand, it was obviously sign, and she relaxed. Only about half of all wizards knew some kind of sign language, which was stupid given the control wizards needed to keep on their speech. Sigils were much more complicated and couldn’t be done accidentally.

“Babababawa” brought a light, misting rain… into a building, if that’s where the wizard said it. It was a hazard of raising wizard babies, that some of them came into their power so early they couldn’t really talk yet, and their baby babble could very easily accidentally land on that one. “Sh’shoot,” an expression thaumnulls might say any time if they started to say “shit”, thought better of it, and instead said “shoot” as a full word without just following from the original sh – more than one wizard teenager had been found that way, growing up among thaumnulls, not knowing what they shouldn’t say. It made existing electrical current surge in power, and could very well blow every circuit in a house, or start a fire. “Kolonel” was a big problem with people learning the language as adults, who didn’t know how to not pronounce the word “colonel”. The only thing it did was create an impenetrable darkness that flowed out to the nearest boundary, if indoors, and a mile or two outdoors, until a wizard said “Kohanoel” to turn it off and restore the light… but people who’d said it by accident and hadn’t known they were wizards didn’t know how to turn it off.

The Devastating Word, however – the detective, being a wizard, did not even think the syllables to herself – was commonly thought to be impossible to say by accident. The “zh” sound wasn’t even common in this language; most native speakers around here wouldn’t even make that sound in their sleep. And here was Elimiss, the mandated social worker who worked with the cops to de-escalate situations and help folks with mental illnesses, insisting that obviously the man – boy, really, he probably wasn’t even out of college – had said it in his sleep, because that was what the plainly traumatized boy had told the cops when they’d arrived. Because a perp couldn’t possibly carefully plan out the excuse he’d use to get treated like a trauma victim and charged only with negligent manslaughter, maybe even go free, after he’d murdered his family. Right.

“Sanavah. I know we have to get his full story from him. But do we really need to treat him as if he’s a dangerous killer?”

Detective Sanavah ofWinterfall looked over at the destroyed house, and then back at the cleric, an expression of disbelief on her face.

Cleric Elimiss Elidanson, adept of Merenethe, sighed deeply. “Yes. I know he killed his family. But if it was an accident—”

“How does anyone say that word accidentally?” Sanavah exploded. “It’s just… not a thing you’d say!”

The boy signed. “We were studying it today. The Dire Words. I’m in magic school.”

Okay, so he was out of college. Magic school, like law school and medical school, was a graduate school; you needed at least a two-year degree to get in. “Why the hell would you be studying the Dire Words?” Sanavah snapped. “How fucking irresponsible would your teachers have to be—”

“Be professional, Sanavah,” Elimiss advised, and she wanted to punch him.

“It’s advanced work. Magical theory. We have to take the Words apart to determine why they work and have so much power,” he signed. “K-E-F-Z-H-I-Z-O-S-S was fascinating, I was working on an analysis all day… but I would never say it intentionally! I was calling it the Kef word.” He signed the individual letters, but ended it with the sign that indicated he was replicating a pronunciation, not a spelling.

Oh. Well. Maybe that changed things. Maybe not; it might still be a really good story. “You know we’ll follow up with your school, right?”

He nodded. “I don’t care what you do to me,” he signed. “Any kind of punishment. I deserve it. I killed Mom and Dad and Lifah and Raoun. But I want the world to know, it was an accident! I loved them! I’d never have said the Kef word in my own house, not without containing it first!”

“This the first time you’ve sleep-talked?”

“No… Mom said I’ve been doing it since I was a baby. Raoun insisted I had to move out and get my own room when I was eight because I was keeping him up at night. My parents turned my dad’s study into my bedroom.” He picked up the amulet. “Mom gave this to me so I wouldn’t accidentally hurt myself by sleep-talking, but I guess she never thought… I mean, I never thought…”

“I’m going to charge his teacher with negligence contributing,” Sanavah said tiredly. “Gonna charge you, too, kid. At least. I’d charge your mother, too, but she’s dead.”

The boy began to cry again, sobbing soundlessly into his hands.

“You believe me now?” Elimiss said. “I’ve had a feeling from Merenethe all this time that this boy isn’t a killer. Not intentionally.”

“That’s great. Very nice of Merenethe. I’m sure ‘a cleric of Merenethe had a feeling’ will be great evidence in court. He’s still coming down to the station.” She spoke to her forensics team. “You about ready to wrap up?”

“Yeah, pretty cut and dried. I think we’ve found all the evidence of standing charms we’re going to, and the Devastating Word would ruin any evidence of any other active spells,” Sofrani, the head forensic wizard, said. “We can head on back now if you want.”

“BTW, got a name,” the analyst, Charron, said. “Bylan Evertide.”

“That is not a real last name.”

“It absolutely is. Got it out of the city database. There’s a whole Evertide clan in and around the city here.”

“It’s going to be all right, Bylan,” Elimiss said. “The police and court, I mean. If you’re telling the truth, we’ll be able to get confirmation from an oneiromancer or a cleric of Morosma. We’ll clear you of wrongdoing.”

“Aside from the negligence and sheer stupidity of a guy who talks in his sleep learning Dire Words and then not putting a silencing charm on himself when he goes to sleep,” Sanavah said. “Elimiss, don’t make promises to the kid that you can’t make good on.”

“I know it’s my fault,” the boy signed. “Charge me with whatever you want. I won’t fight it.”

“Not how it works,” Sanavah said. “You’ll get a public defender, and if you want to plead guilty, you’ll have to convince her that you actually are before she’ll let you plead it.” She looked over at Elimiss. “You took your own pheasant over here, or did you get a taxi?”

“Taxi,” Elimiss said. “I don’t have a place to take care of a pheasant, I live in an apartment.”

“Take Elimiss back with you,” she instructed the driver of the enclosed auto-wagon. “I don’t think the chief’ll be thrilled if he expenses another taxi.”

“Will do,” the wagon driver said, and spoke a word under his breath, that made the magical engine that drove the cart fire to life. Elimiss got in the wagon, and the forensics team either got on their own pheasants, or into pheasant-drawn carriages, because no one got rich enough on a cop salary to ride around in an auto-carriage.

As she saddled up her own pheasant, who squawked in mild irritation because the beast had been enjoying plucking seed pods off the nearby mimosa tree and snacking on them, she gazed over at what had been the Evertide home. “Hell of a thing,” she murmured. “Come on, Basil, let’s get back to the station.”

Basilica, a middle-aged hen pheasant who was known for her reliability and love of sunflower seeds, snorted, flapped her wings, and took off. Running pheasants – named that because they were actually faster on the ground than in the air – had native magic that allowed their wings to work despite their enormous size, and they could easily bear a human or two through the air. A running pheasant could cross the distance back to the station fast enough, if it was through open or forested territory, but being on the ground, in traffic, mildly upset most of them and absolutely freaked Basilica out, so Sanavah had to fly back to the station every time.

#inktober 2020 #alara's october 2020 prompt fics #writing-prompt-s

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holdyourbreathfornow · 4 years ago

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Like Father Like Son (ch.3)

(3rd and final part. I really took some liberties with headcanons, especially with a headcanon I had about Gordon so feel free not to post if it’s too out of touch with your canon. Admittedly kind of phoned it in near the end but I wanted to make sure I didn’t run out of motivation and leave it unfinished)

Coomer double checked the control panel screen displaying Gordon’s vitals for what must have been the hundredth time. He knew they were all stable, but he couldn’t help a bit of parental over-caution.

Gordon had been out of the danger zone of temperature fluctuations since he’d first woken up, briefly, almost nine hours ago. It’s why Coomer’d been able to convince Bubby to finally change over watch of Gordon to him and go to sleep in the first place. He’d assumed that, after alerting everyone to Gordon having no longer been comatose (to everyone’s great relief), Bubby would be glad to finally rest, but instead Coomer had had to argue that there was almost no chance for any kind of relapse at this point for nearly ten minutes before Bubby finally relented (a headlock might also have been involved at some point).

Bubby had been adamant about staying, despite his clear exhaustion, to the point where Coomer almost worried Bubby doubted in his ability to do so himself, but Bubby had gotten cagey when Coomer pressed him for the cause of his hesitancy. He drew into himself and quickly agreed to give up his vigil, hurrying away before Coomer could inquire further.

Certainly not an entirely comforting sign in regards to Bubby’s emotional state, but Coomer couldn’t say he was faring very well himself. He’d barely been able to sleep at all, jerking awake every time he drifted off, thinking he heard the blaring of Gordon’s tube’s vital readout alarm, indicating another temperature spike or drop in blood oxygen levels or erratic heart palpitations.

Coomer hated seeing Gordon in that tube.

He and Bubby had discussed, back when they first conceived (ha!) of the idea of creating their child in a fashion similar to Bubby’s own creation, the likely necessity of supplementary time in a growth tube later on in Joshua’s life. Bubby had needed many throughout his life and, though Gordon’s creation and genetic structure was much more stable than Bubby’s had been initially, due to being based off of existing DNA, instead of entirely from scratch, as Bubby had, it was still likely that, somewhere along the line, his body might need a “tune up”, so to speak.

They’d planned to build him his own tube around ten years old for that purpose, but then…well, they hadn’t ended up needing to.

So now, instead, Gordon floated inside an old tube of Bubby’s they’d specifically made for emergencies, ever since a terrifying incident back when Bubby had first been able to live outside of Black Mesa and they’d moved into this house together. The sudden changes and stress of living outside of Black Mesa for the first time caused Bubby’s molecular structure to almost entirely destabilize.

The frantic drive back to the laboratory, Bubby in the passenger seat, condition rapidly deteriorating, was one of the most frightening experiences of Harold’s life.

Since then, they’d made sure they always had a tube similar to Bubby’s at Black Mesa available outside of the facility. Years of fine tuning had stabilized Bubby’s physical makeup significantly, and eventually they’d moved the tube to storage, not having needed it in many years, but still wanting to have it available in case of emergencies.

Coomer supposed that was part of what made seeing Gordon like this so terrible.

This tube was one tied to painful and terrifying memories. Unlike Gordon’s original one, which was associated with the creation of their child, and even Bubby’s tube at Black Mesa, which at least held memories of how they met, this one was associated only with things going horribly wrong.

And how wrong they’d gone now.

Coomer had seen Gordon hurt before, of course, during the Resonance Cascade, but it had been different this time, to an extent he hadn’t expected.

Since learning of Gordon’s true identity, the memories of every time he’d come to harm, come so close to death, during their journey through Black Mesa and Xen, had haunted him, of course, knowing retroactively that it was his own child that he’d seen so battered and broken.

Coomer hadn’t expected just how different it would be seeing Gordon hurt while already knowing it was his child. He’d felt sick to his stomach, like he was going to break down or pass out. Luckily, Harold Coomer was nothing if not good at compartmentalizing, and had managed to keep it together while they worked to stabilize Gordon.

Now, thankfully, it seemed Gordon was out of the woods. His skin had grown back, to at least some extent, over nearly every burned area, and his temperature was completely stable, if still high. Likely, it was as low as it was going to get without him intentionally lowering it.

Which was precisely why Harold was making very sure everything was in no danger of sudden change for the worse. He needed to leave for a moment to talk to Bubby. Gordon’s temperature was still high enough to simmer the fluid around him and he’d likely need instruction from Bubby on how to control his newly developed powers before he could be released from the tube. The sooner such instruction could begin, the better.

One last check, and Coomer was confident enough to leave Gordon alone long enough to fetch Bubby.

Climbing up the basement stairs into the main hallway, he glanced into the living room.

Benrey and Tommy were fast asleep, leaning shoulder to shoulder on the couch, having apparently worn themselves out with worry.

Coomer smiled. He was glad Gordon had the two of them, it was clear how much they all cared about each other. He didn’t see Bubby in the room however, nor in the connected kitchen, so he didn’t dwell there.

He headed towards the room to his and Bubby’s room, but paused as he reached the door. He could hear a faint noise coming from inside like a soft sniffling and uneven breathing–

Oh.

He opened the door just a crack to see Bubby sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands and body shaking with soft sobs he was clearly trying to muffle.

Coomer rapped his knuckles against the door.

Bubby startled, and whipped his head around to see Coomer. His face was red and his cheeks streaked with tears.

“Fuck–I-” Bubby roughly wiped at his face to clear away the tears, and fumbled for his glasses on the nightstand. “Harold, I didn’t…I didn’t hear you…”

Coomer simply sat on the bed next to him as he composed himself.

“How’s…how is he?” Bubby asked, after clearing his throat. He stared at the floor, not looking towards Coomer.

“He’s stable. Tissue regrowth is coming along well. He’s as stable as I think he’ll be able to get until he can bring his temperature down,” Coomer replied. “I think it’s best to start teaching him to control it sooner rather than later. If he can learn at least how to regulate his temperature while he’s still in there, he’s far less likely to lose control again as soon as he comes out of the tube. You can work on teaching him all your flashier tricks once he’s out.”

Coomer chuckled, lightly.

Bubby, however, only turned even further away from him.

“Do…do you think that we could…” Bubby trailed off, then started again. “That tube is made for post decanting genetic alteration. If we could just…if we could nullify or remove the gene responsible for pyrokinesis…”

“What?!” Coomer cried, agape. “Bubby you can’t be serious! You know better than anyone the risks involved with that! That tube is made for emergency stabilization, not tampering with genetic code when there’s no reason!”

“No reason? There’s a damn good reason!” Bubby said, turning at last to face Coomer. “Look at him! Look at what’s happened to him! That’s the reason!”

“But you’re living proof that’s something that he can control! Something that doesn’t have to hurt him!”

“You don’t–you couldn’t understand!”

“The fucking hell I couldn’t!” Coomer snapped. “He’s my son, too! You think it doesn’t break my heart seeing him like this?”

“But it isn’t your–!” Bubby cut himself off.

“My what?”

Bubby grit his teeth.

“My what, Bubby?!”

“YOUR FAULT! IT ISN’T YOUR FAULT!”

Any rage that had been building in Coomer was doused instantly.

“Not my…Bubby, do you think…?” he stammered, almost at a loss for words. “This isn’t your fault, Bubby.”

Bubby stood up, sharply, hands gripping at the side of his head.

“Don’t you see?!” he cried. “Everything that’s happened to him is my fault! Everything that’s happened since I included my DNA in his design. I should never have included my DNA. I didn’t want to! I told you I didn’t want to! Why? Why did I let you convince me?!”

Tears were streaming down Bubby’s face again.

“We agreed to include both our genetic codes together!” Coomer said. “We wanted a child. One that was both of us, not a clone. I’ve had enough of those. We wanted a child that would be like us both.”

“Don’t you understand? He is like me! And I wouldn’t wish those words on anyone!” Bubby sobbed. “Seeing him like that I just–Everything they did to me. Everything they put me through–they would have done it to him, too. All the awful tests, all the cruelty, all the pain, oh god…he went through it all. Because of me! They took him because of me!”

“Bubby, we’ve talked about this a thousand times, he was sick and we were both scared. It wasn’t–”

“Not just that! I read it in his file! It wasn’t happenstance, Harold! They targeted him! Because he was on their record! Because he was…” Bubby’s voice broke. “Because he was mine. They took him because he was mine…”

He choked out a sob.

“They took him and they hurt him in every way they hurt me, and more. And now he finally gets out…and he’s just hurt more. Because he’s like me. Because he inherited my powers,” Bubby hugged his arms around himself, shaking. “Pain and misery…is all he got, all he could have ever gotten, from having me as a father…”

Coomer stood, slowly, from the bed, and placed a gentle hand on Bubby’s arm.

“Tell me how your powers work,” he said.

“You know how they work.”

“Tell me again.”

Bubby shook his head.

“I-I don’t–I can’t talk about that now,” he choked.

“Bubby, please,” Harold said, insistent.

“I…I absorb direct and…and ambient thermal and electromagnetic radiation and expend it at will, controlling…controlling my external temperature to induce localized combustion,” Bubby said, voice still shaking.

“What do you absorb?” Harold asked, his voice lilting as to imply a conclusion Bubby wasn’t drawing, but Bubby wasn’t in the mood for guessing at it.

“Damn, it Harold, why are you asking this now?” he snapped.

“Just say it one more time, out loud. Please, Bubby.”

“For the love of God, thermal radia–”

Bubby cut off as the pieces finally clicked into place.

“Radiation,” he breathed. “I absorb radiation.”

Coomer smiled, softly, as he saw realization dawn on Bubby’s face.

“Gordon absorbs radiation!” Bubby exclaimed, grabbing Coomer by the shoulders. “He absorbs Xen radiation! His cells absorb and expend it instead of being destroyed by it! He didn’t die from being sent to Xen because he absorbs Xen radiation! He didn’t die because…because…”

“Because he’s like you,” Coomer finished. “I had my suspicions from the moment they explained how Gordon was able to build up a tolerance from just the exposure to Benrey’s low levels of Xen radiation, and with so few negative repercussions. Once this happened, my suspicions were all but confirmed.”

Bubby released Coomer’s shoulders and sat heavily back down on the bed, as if his legs had been turned to gelatin. His eyes, red and puffy from crying, were wide with disbelief.

“They took him because they were cruel and evil people,” Coomer said. “He lived because he’s your son.”

He gently cupped Bubby’s cheek and guided his face up to look him in the eye.

“And your son needs you now,” he said. “Not to try to remove any trace of yourself from his genetic code. To show him how to accept and control what he inherited from you.”

Bubby breathed in a deep, steadying breath and nodded.

–

When Bubby returned to the basement, Gordon was just blinking his eyes open again.

With his facial skin growing back rapidly, his cheekbones no longer looked so gaunt and pronounced, but Bubby still saw his own defined bone structure reflected in them.

Not entirely alike, but not entirely different.

Not entirely a stranger, but not entirely himself.

Someone who was a mix of things that weren’t him, and of things that were.

For the first time, Bubby felt like that might not be a curse after all.

#submission #you can't see it but I'm rubbing my hands together and cackling manically #i love these so much!!!#AND THE SCIENCE #DIFFERENT KINDS OF RADIATION BEING ABSORBED CAUSES BOTH THE PYROKINESIS AND GORDON'S XEN DEPENDENCY #YOU'RE A GENIUS #family of three au

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spicysawdust · 5 years ago

Note

I just saw that you did omegaverse👀👀 and here i am in your ask box. Hi hello, yes umm, i request? If not just delete this. But okay! So alpha denki, with a fem omega s/o, who goes into her heat during a sparring session? -💤

Yes! I accept requests😊

I’m just kind of new to Tumblr and I’m not really sure how to set everything up. Sorry😣. My whole account is just a mess

Warnings: NSFW

Denki Kaminari x female reader

3,673 words

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Being one of the only omegas in class 1A was difficult since you were stuck in a classroom with a lot of alphas with different scents. It was sometimes overwhelming and you’d often have to leave the room. When applying to UA it was required that you filled out a separate document informing the school if you were an alpha, omega, beta or anything else. Heat suppressants and rut suppressants were provided to all students attending the high school but that didn’t stop the occasional “forced mating.” You had heard stories about a few alphas forcing themselves onto omegas because the suppressants didn’t work 100% of the time. Since UA had so many students the best, most effective suppressants were passed up in favor of the cheaper ones. Quantity over quality. You were very cautious around all of the alphas in fear that if you let your guard down an alpha would forcibly breed you. You trusted them but there is no such thing as being to cautious. Right? You would still hang out around some of the alphas and betas because they were your friends and you knew they would never intentionally hurt you. Some of them were even childhood friends of yours, but the student you had known the longest was Denki Kaminari. The two of you had pretty much been friends from birth since you were neighbors growing up and went to the same school every year. He was an alpha but you still trusted him with your life and you knew he genuinely cared about you. You felt the safest when you were with him since you knew he would protect you. If your heat suppressants ever failed he would often guard your door in case any alphas caught a whiff of your sweet scent, determined to keep you safe while you were vulnerable. The scent that emitted from your room occasionally became difficult for him to bare but he wouldn’t dare leave you. You were his princess and he was your knight. You two were best friends.

You shivered as made your way from the dorms to the main high school building, the chilly wind giving you goosebumps all over your arms and legs. To your embarrassment your nipples had also pebbled, the firm little nubs poking through your bra and shirt causing you to zip up your jacket as you took your time walking. It was quiet. Peaceful. The only sound that could be heard was the wind rattling the leaves in the tree, that is until you heard rapid, running footsteps approaching you quicky. Before you could even turn around someone picked you up into the air from behind, whoever it was you could tell that they were much much larger than you and you had no chance of wiggling life of there grip. You would have screamed if you didn’t hear his voice greeting you. “Good morning Y/N!!” You immediately fell limp in relief. It was Denki. He gave you a tight squeeze before releasing you from his bear hug. You could feel your heart pounding against your ribcage with each beat as you tried to calm yourself down. “You asshole! You scared me!” You scolded as you playfully punched at his chest. “Oh yeah?” Kaminari chuckled quietly as you continued to swing at him, your soft hits eventually stopping as you took a deep breath and sighed in relief. “What if I thought you were another alpha and pepper sprayed you?” You asked, the slightest hint of worry lacing your voice. “Hmm, then I would have deserved it I guess,” he shrugged and started walking with you, patting your head almost apologetically but deep down you knew he liked scaring you. He would take every chance that he got and even go out of his way to scare you. Torturing you was like a hobby to him, but you knew he meant no harm. He was aware of the pepper spray you carried with you since he was the one that had bought it for you to protect yourself. He knew how dangerous it was to be an unmarked omega in a school practically full of alphas and the occasional beta. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have any water on you. Would you?” He asked. “I’ve got this really bad pounding headache,” he explained and rubbed his temples as he continued walking with you. “Oh! Yeah I do,” you said before stopping and taking your backpack off, rummaging through it for your water bottle. “These damn pills give me really bad headaches. It sucks,” he explained and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, mine make me feel nauseous,” you said as you handed him the water bottle. He started to chug the water you had given him, watching his throat as he repeatedly swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbing ever so slightly. You didn’t realize you were staring until he pulled the water bottle away from his lips and wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. He handed the half full water bottle back to you before rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Heh, sorry. I didn’t mean to drink so much,” he apologized to which you just shrugged, not minding at all. “I’ll forgive you if you let me ride you,” you said and looked up at the larger man in front of you, taking a step closer and entering his ‘personal space bubble.’ His face reddened immediately and his breath caught in his throat. “Y-You want to…,” he started to speak but was interrupted by you hopping onto his back, your legs wrapped around his stomach and your arms over his shoulders to hold yourself up, your backpack back on you. “See, it’s not so bad,” you said as you started playing around with his hair, running your finger along the black lightning bolt streak in his hair while resting your head in his shoulder. He took a few deep breaths before starting to carry you to the main high school building.

Once everyone had arrived and class began, you were almost immediately sent to go change into your hero costumes before physical training. While the class was on its way to go get changed, Kaminari wrapped an arm around Jiro’s shoulders and tried out a really cheesy, cringeworthy pick-up line on her. Hearing the flirting made your stomach feel tense and uncomfortable as if it was something you shouldn’t be hearing. You shouldn’t be jealous though, why would you be? Kaminari and you weren’t dating meaning he was fair game. But it still bothered you when he got all flirty with other girls that attended UA. When the class had arrived at the changing rooms the males and females split up into their appropriate locker rooms before changing and heading out to train. You couldn’t help but peek over at Jiro while she was changing, feeling a little dirty for watching her but mostly upset and maybe even a little jealous. The way her bra held her perky breasts up, how her waist was slim and perfect, the way her panties hugged her round rear so nicely made you almost hate her even though you knew that wasn’t fair. She hadn’t wronged you at all but you still couldn’t stand her. She had a gorgeous body that anyone would find appealing any you were just… you. You knew Kaminari had a thing for her. He was your best friend and you wanted him to be happy and if being with Jiro was what made him happy then he deserved it. After changing everyone headed to the gym for physical training before being paired up by Mr. Aizawa. Thankfully, you were paired up with Denki, causing you to let out an audible sigh of relief that he was your training partner. Your smile was bright as you linked arms with the taller male. The size difference between the two of you was extremely noticeable, him being one of the more larger alphas in the class. Once everyone was paired up they were sent to scatter around the gym so everyone would be given an even amount of space.

Kaminari scooped you up in his slim but muscular arms and tossed your upper body over his shoulder and held you with one arm by your legs. “D-Denki!? What are you doing!?” You squealed as your cheeks flared up. “Come on, we’re gonna train. Just me and you,” he said and pat the back of your thigh causing you to squeak again. He liked your reaction and started to slap at the back of your thighs as if they were drums causing you to squirm and wiggle. His scent seemed to get a little bit stronger, either that or your nose was becoming more sensitive. You knew that was a sign that your heat was starting but you took your suppressant pills this morning so you were all good.

Right?

“You’re so embarrassing,” you whimpered and clutched to the fabric on his back. Denki had always loved to tease you, being the kind of person to never pass up the opportunity to make you blush or cringe. He carried you over to the other side of the cement mountain where you were out of view from the teachers and most of the students, but still not in private. When he eventually set you down you playfully punched at his chest a few times. “Don’t carry me over your shoulder like that! It’s embarrassing,” you couldn’t help but whine a bit. “I’m not making any promises,” he chuckled as he pat your head. “Alright, you ready to start?” He asked as he started to stretch before cracking his neck, then knuckles, then his back. “Yeah! I’m ready to kick your ass,” you shot back with a smirk before readying yourself. There was a sudden burst inside of you, feeling something like a volcano erupting or overflowing, making you crumble to the ground. Your arms were around your stomach and your eyes were squeezed tightly shut. “Ow, ow,” you trembled as you clawed at the ground. “Y/N? What’s wrong? What happened?” Denki wrapped an arm around you and tried to help you up. “N-No! Back up, please back up,” you begged pathetically, his scent overwhelming you. “Is… is this one of your heats?” He asked as he helped you to your feet, your knees shaking as you leaned on him. “Hey, let’s get you out of here. I don’t want any other alphas in the class to smell you,” he said and let you lean on him as he helped you shuffle your way over to a walk-in utility closet that was full of training equipment. He closed and locked the doors before helping you to sit on the floor, your scent becoming much stronger. He was pretty used to the smell of your heats but they still had an effect on him. He stood in silence contemplating what to do. “Y-Your scent has gotten too strong, it would be dangerous for you to go out in the open in your condition but you can’t stay in here either,” he thought out loud. “D-Denk-ki… i-it hurts,” you whimpered causing him to quickly sit beside you in attempt to comfort you. His strong, alpha scent drove you crazy and you couldn’t help but bury your face in his shoulder with one leg on either side of his lap, your body nearly on top of his as you took in his alpha scent.

“H-Hey, you’re gonna be okay. Alright?” He said as his large calloused hands rubbing up and down your back in attempt to comfort you. “P-Please… make it stop,” you whimpered with tears in your eyes, the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach beginning to feel more and more painful. “What do you want me to do? I don’t want to leave you here like this and I-” he was abruptly cut off by you. “M-Mate with me,” you said it so blatantly and out of nowhere causing Kaminari to temporarily forget to breathe. “I-I know you probably think it’s weird and gross because we’re friends but it would r-really help me. Just try thinking of it as helping instead of being loving. P-Please?” You had pulled your face away from his shoulder just for a moment to be able to speak before hiding your beat red face in humiliation. “Y-Yeah, it’s okay. I can do that,” he said and cautiously began to undress you, taking his time and giving you plenty of chances to tell him to stop but you never did. He left the upper part of your costume on, only removing what was needed for him to reach your leaking entrance. “Here, I’m gonna stand up so it’s easier. Is that okay?” He asked for your permission before acting, causing you to nod in acknowledgment. He picked you up in his arms before standing up and pinning you to the wall, his hands under the back of your thighs in order to hold you up. Taking one hand away from your leg he began to undo his belt buckle then the button and zipper of his pants. You continued to keep your face hidden in his shoulder, refusing to face him out of pure embarrassment. The whole situation felt so wrong and uncomfortable and you hated it. He was your best friend. He shouldn’t be holding you up by your nude lower half while trying to get himself hard in between your legs. “I’m gonna put it in now, okay?” He wanted to warn you and give you one last chance to tell him to stop before deflowering you. All you did was nod in response, surprised at how quickly he had gotten hard. Maybe it was his strong your scent had gotten or maybe it was the sight of his childhood friend’s drooling pussy just for him to ravage. Disgusting, perverted thoughts flooded your mind as you felt your clit throb in excitement. The second you felt the head of his cock press against your wet folds you grabbed at the fabric of his shirt as tight as you could. “D-Denki,” you whimpered softly causing him to pull away from your entrance with a worried expression. “Yeah?” He asked. “I-I know right now isn’t the best time to say this b-but… I-I love you,” you said with glossy eyes from your tears, the pain in your stomach making you feel dizzy. Kaminari was silent for a moment before looking down to make eye contact with you.

“I-I know you probably have a thing for Jiro but… I needed to tell you,” your small body was trembling against his chest, preparing to be rejected as you clung to him. You suddenly felt full as his thick cock slid into you with ease, the tip pressing against your cervix as he pressed his lips against yours with a sudden fiery, passionate lust. Your eyes watered as you were stretched to your limit, not in a painful way but instead in a way that made you feel finally whole as if he were the piece your body had always been missing. He hesitantly pulled away and rubbed your hip in a small circle with one hand. “I love you too Y/N. I really really do and I should have said something sooner so you wouldn’t have to have experienced any pain. "I’m sorry hun,” his voice sounded husky and smooth at the same time and you wanted nothing more than to be dominated by him in that moment. “R-Really? You really love me?” You asked as warm tears of joy ran down your cheeks. “Yeah, I have for about a year or two,” he softly caressed your cheek with his gentle touch. “You’re beautiful and amazing and I love everything about you. You deserve the world,” he said as he pressed his forehead to yours. He gave a soft test thrust but there was little to no friction between the two of you. “Don’t clench around me like that baby. Just relax and let me take care of you,” he said and began to lick and suck all over your jawline, neck and shoulder. You relaxed and allowed him to move around a bit as he began to thrust up into you with a slow bit consistent speed. “Mmm, fuck baby girl. Can I mark you? Please?” He asked, if almost sounded like a beg to which you immediately tilted your head to the side and nodded. “Y-Yes Denki, mark me. Make me yours. I want to be your little omega, no one else’s,” you said and wrapped your leg as around his waist to help hold yourself up. His excitement increased and you could tell by how his thrusts had began to get faster and deeper, the sounds of skin slapping filling the medium sized closet. The sounds of other class 1A students drowned out the wet sounds of skin slapping against each other. “F-Fuck baby girl, you feel so good. Your tight little cunt is slurping up my dick. It’s so hot. You’re going to take my knot like the good little omega you are, aren’t you?” His dirty words caused your pussy to contract around him, ceasing his movement temporarily.

“M-Mark me first,” you almost demanded. You were desperate. Desperate for him to claim you as his forever and for him to fuck you full of his pups. You wanted to be his pregnant little housewife with your belly large and round with your tits swollen with creamy milk. The fantasy playing out in your mind was interrupted by a sharp stinging pain at the base of your neck. “A-Alpha!” You cried out as he bit down on your neck, making it bleed. He was quick to lick up the bloody mess he had made on your skin with his tongue before starting to pound back into you mercilessly until your eyes were rolled into the back of your skull and you were barely able to breath. “Good girl, call me your alpha. You’ve gotta work hard for my knot princess,” he growled into your ear, his scent becoming overpowering as he bared his somewhat bloody teeth. “Y-Yes Alpha! Your my alpha! I want- no, I need your knot Denki! Please!” You were shaking and trembling as he continued to fuck you senseless. “Fuck babe, you’re so cute when your crying and begging for your alphas hot cum to fill up that tight little pussy of yours. Shit,” he groaned as his knot began swelling, making it a little bit more difficult to thrust in and out of you. You intentionally clenched up around him just to tease him, making him moan out in surprise and making his knot swell up twice as fast. It got big enough to the point where he could no longer pull out, locking himself inside of you. His hips bucked frantically, trying to get any kind of friction in order to release inside of you. He was frustrated and worried that he would lose his climax if he couldn’t cum soon. “Say please,” you whispered into his ear with a devilish smirk. You knew he was having trouble releasing and you knew just how to help. “F-Fuck, please baby girl. Let me fill you up to the brim with my cum,” he growled into your ear before biting at the lobe. You smirked, satisfied with his plea and began tightening and relaxing your kegel muscles, making it feel like a tight, hot throbbing around his cock while rolling your hips in fast grinding circles. You reached down and frantically began rubbing at your swollen clit, making your pussy clamp down on his dick even harder.

“Ahh! God damn it baby girl. Fucking take it,” he groaned harshly as rope after rope of his thick, potent cum pained your pulsating pussy walls. Your whole body felt like it was buzzing almost like static electricity shooting through your body which only amplified your orgasm. “Ngghhh~!!” Your voice broke as you cried out as an overwhelming orgasm took over your body. You were shaking as you eventually came back down from your climax only to realize he was still stuck inside of you, his knot still swollen. His legs twitched and trembled ever so slightly as he did his best to continue holding you up. You released his waist from between your legs and tried to stand before your legs gave out. He was quick to catch you and both slowly and carefully brought you down to the floor with him, still holding you on his lap while inside of you still. “God, I love you so much,” he huffed into your ear while wrapping his tired arms around you. He held you in that position for what felt like forever until the swelling of his knot went down but even then he kept himself inside of you, finding your warm walls comfortable around him. “I love you too Denki,” you whispered back, half asleep. At this point most students and a few teachers had definitely noticed you were missing but it didn’t matter to you. The only thing that mattered to you at the moment was the blonde haired man beneath you two lied in your afterglow. “I love you Y/N,” you heard him whisper. You replied with an ‘I love you too’ but it was barely audible and sounded muffled in the fabric of his shirt. He was your alpha now and all you could think about was your future with him.

#anime #denki #kaminari x you #denki kaminari #kaminari x reader #oneshot #kaminari oneshot #bnha

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akkeyagentofhelheim · 4 years ago

Text

Agents’ Imbalance

[1071.03.24 - 02:00]

Trips to the Jaw were kept to a minimum ever since the Rebellion took their residence there. Akkey and Liam had begun experimenting semi-regularly with his newfound ability, but other than that one instance where she went to him--it was perfect timing, truly, seeing Yun and Nala’s spar--, she would ask him to come to Yrus instead, to the cove. Tonight, however, she had a different purpose for visiting. A question that nagged her at the back of her mind for the past few weeks.

A portal stretched open in a place towards the far north of the old god’s bones, where the stronghold was the thickest and most isolated from people other than the scheduled entries. It was well into the night, not a cloud to be seen, swathing the landscape in light.

“I swear to Hel, you’re getting more and more difficult to find.” Akkey grumbled, one boot planting firmly into the bare ground, her arms crossed as she regarded the tall, lean figure that stood underneath a lone tree, perfectly in the guardtowers' blind spot and hidden from sight.

“Language,” Juro turned to give her his usual crooked grin. His scarf fluttered at both the motion and the wind that decided to blow in that moment. He returned her gaze properly, “Is that how you speak about your divine mother?”

“Oh, shut up.”

He let out an annoying chuckle, before sombering slightly. Particularly since they were on the topic of maternal figures. He asked quietly, “How’d that day go? The 13th...” Her mother’s death anniversary and her original birthday was extremely recent after all.

She was slow to reply, but when she did, there was cautious satisfaction in her voice, “...better than usual, actually. Shadowing’s been helping a lot, I think.” Her eyes were cast to the side when she said that, always a little iffy on the subject.

A leaf crunched as his foot shifted, amber eyes watching her carefully, “That’s good to hear.”

“Yeah…”

Their gazes met once again, locked between colleagues that could’ve been friends, but there were too many layers to uncover, a gap between them that couldn’t meet. Physically, Akkey was older, but Juro had an ancient aura around him that seemed to keep people at a big, unreachable distance from him, despite both of them entertaining their childish side more often than average. Two powerful agents contracted under Helheim.

The wind blew again, and her long dark hair and his light fringe moved in simultaneous waves. There was a shift in energy as Akkey opened her mouth in careful question, finally deciding to break the silence, “Why are you here, Juro? Is there something wrong?”

The Bookkeeper raised his brows, smile pleasant on his handsome face despite being in shadow, “...merely enjoying a moment of solitude to myself before returning inside. What’s with the sudden interview?” His tone was low to match her caution.

She shook her head, "No. You know what I mean. Why are you here? Now?” She raised her wrist slightly to motion towards the Jaw, and Juro followed the movement with his eyes. The quiet tension between them remained.

“The battle against the Conclave was progressing. I needed to witness it for the Library.”

“By risking life and limb to save Yun?”

The mutual apprehension tangibly heightened when she asked that, and the wind dropped with it in contrast. Juro blinked. His face remained unchanged, lazy grin and calm regard towards her, but Akkey knew she had hit something. That was why she came here in the first place.

“...no.” His reply was even.

“I saw you, Juro.” She wasn’t letting it go. Unlike their last conversation as agents, when she finally understood timelines and alternate souls, and broached the topic of his neutrality. She let it slide then, but the inconsistency and sheer strangeness of it wouldn’t let her this time.

There was an effort to keep himself steady now. She didn’t miss it, as his smile became stiff. Her ears picked up on something, although she couldn’t put a pin on what it was exactly.

She continued anyway, “I felt your portal. You intentionally opened Virion beside the construct, that was no accident. The sword. The stun. You screamed…” She pressed forward with a step, and Juro involuntarily reacted, taking his own backwards.

“When the construct was finally defeated, you were right beside me. I know what you were up to--I was doing the exact same thing. Every decision you made leading up to that point was for the purpose of rescuing the time jumper, even ignoring Stonegit, who was just as fucked up as Yun was.”

His breath was shallow as his cadence faltered, "I didn't…"

“No help, no harm. For twenty years, you keep preaching that obnoxious mantra to me. Neutrality, and whatnot,” she jabbed a finger in the air, pointing towards the construct that peeked over the canines, “None of that was neutral.”

The sound became clearer. It was metal against metal, linking then pulling at intervals, like they were adjusting and positioning themselves. Juro was becoming visibly agitated, and Akkey could tell he wanted to teleport away. She understood. She would have as well, if it were the past. That’s why she had to be quick.

“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate it. For fucking once you helped without me having to beg for it with a story. But you don’t get to break your oath, your Bookkeeper code, something that I know for a fact that you follow with every will and breath you have, so much so that you would let innocents die before your eyes--” Akkey grit her teeth at the memory from their old days, but she pushed it away, and went on, “--and then now that suddenly doesn’t matter because Yun was trapped?”

His hand had come up to his chest. Akkey saw it tremble once as the space behind him bent out of invisibility and into Virion’s physical form. Its wings were raised slightly, bristling. Juro shook his head, almost desperately, “It does matter!”

“Then why did you save him? I was right there for Stones! I could have helped him for you, and you fully know that! I don’t go by your dumb rule! What is so special about this kid that you would do that?”

Akkey was less upset and concerned now, and just more confused as she thought out loud, albeit aggressively, “He’s… he’s… we barely know him! Sure, he told us about the Conclave in the first place. And now he’s here to fight Frigga, don’t get me wrong, I‘m grateful, I’m hopeful, I’ll be supporting him any way I can, but other than him and Milae having the same soul, he’s noth--”

Wait… she stopped short upon the realization.

Her head swiveled to look at him, “...Milae.”

Juro jolted at the name, “Don’t…” Virion flapped its wings threateningly, hovering slightly off ground between both agents. The air from the movement blew outwards, and the wind picked up, hair and clothing beginning to flutter wildly.

“It’s because he’s Milae, isn’t it?” Akkey pressed. She eyed the golem with caution, but she was certain now, “You knew that from the beginning. With Milae… you are super--” her hands waved slightly panicked as she tried to settle on a word, “--I don’t know, weird about him.”

She paced as she put two and two together, the breeze turning into a gale with her, “I thought I was imagining things. It may not be by a lot, but I know you better than a lot of people on Aidorin. You don’t stick around one person for very long other than me, and that’s only because of work. It gets in your way.”

“But you did that favour for him, with Frigga, and ever since then I saw you with him more often. Like--like a curious kid. Following him around. You went to the Fallfeast and--” She squinted. The festival was a little hazy, she was drunk, but even then… “--every time I think back to seeing you there you were with him, talking, laughing. And here… after the mass teleportations. He was worried about you. He stayed by your side.”

“Akkey, please--” It was unmistakable now. It was the scrape of chains that filled the air, coming from nowhere yet also everywhere. A raucous cry came from the golem, training all six of its eyes in anger towards the nix. But Akkey didn’t stop, instead her brow creased further in her need for an explanation.

“You like him. Not like Dario does, no, but you--Jin Juro, Agent of Helheim, Bookkeeper of Neutrality… are no longer neutral. You’re attached to Yun Milae. A friend.”

The rush of air, clinking chains, and animal screeching that had continued to build in waves over the conversation suddenly ceased, like the world had stopped to take a breath, going completely white like it was covered in snow. Then like a dam, it broke into a torrent of magic, the golem bending out of its form in streaks of grey-blue and white, twisting in the space between them as Hel’s given magic surged above, before collecting, shrinking, and drawing itself into Juro’s staff that had appeared in his grasp.

The Bookkeeper held the stick in both hands like a sword, in a form with which Akkey was familiar, but only from him, as it morphed into what looked like a mirage of a different weapon, the base staff still in his grip but giving an illusion of a long, sharp, slightly curved blade with dancing cranes engraved into it, and a simple, squarish hilt peppered with golden flecks in the black canvas.

He was right up at Akkey in a sudden burst of speed before she could blink, and she only managed to throw up an elemental blade of her own right on time. Weapon clashed with weapon in an explosion of energy and ice as Juro bore down on her, using his height and raw power to make up for his lack of comparable combat skills. Akkey grunted at the effort to keep herself upright as the pressure from above increased. Virion’s grey-blue and white energy pulsed once, casting Juro’s face half in shadow and half in light. It was a dull amber that stared back at her, lifeless and lacking his usual spirit, his face blank.

It sent a shiver up her spine.

A portal opened below her and she slipped through, causing Juro to lose his balance as she appeared behind him, arms raised high, ready to slash downwards in an attack from above. But he turned at the nick of time, meeting her blade of ice in a wide arc up. Again, magic collided.

The surge of Hel supplemented power blew their hair back violently, whipping Akkey’s dark locks wildly in the air. An olden, intrusive memory of another swordswoman Juro knew that looked like her crossed his mind in barely an instant, but it was enough to intensify the sound of scraping chains.

They were locked in the struggle for another breath, before Akkey twisted her grip and sent out two shards flying from her makeshift weapon. They caught the Bookkeeper on the shoulder, slicing skin in quick succession. The pain shifted his grip and both blades slipped, and they pushed off each other in the momentary lapse, increasing the distance between them once again as power levels continued to rise, sending forceful gales in opposite, outward directions.

“Juro!” Akkey called out in agitation. This was a Juro she had never, ever seen in her life. They had sparred many a time, absolutely, but he always approached it with humour, amusement, a teasing grin pulling at his face. But this… this was nothing.

His hold on the sword became slack for a moment, letting it almost touch the ground as he trained his gaze towards her. Red began soaking the torn fabric on his shoulder as he bled, but it was short lived. Light shone from the wounds, magic pouring from it but in blues and golds instead, until it stitched the cuts close. The dark splotches of blood stopped growing.

Akkey started at the display of energy, uncertain if it was controlled or not. It definitely didn’t look intentional, but the colours and the power from it were familiar… and it wasn’t Hel’s.

“That’s yours,” she breathed, almost nervously, as she recognized it only due to recent events, “That’s from before, you used that on Yun. After the construct…” He lifted his head, and his face was finally illuminated properly by the moon, still completely void of emotion. The scars on his jaw caught light and seemed to glow unnervingly, casting a strange, unrecognizable aura on the blonde man.

Akkey clenched her fist as she approached him again, gradually picking up speed, unable to quell the annoyance in her at his refusal to give any type of straight answers, “You said you didn’t have any! Since when did you have your own magic? Has it always been like that? Why have you never used it before?!”

Juro predictably had no reply. Instead, his enforced weapon slipped into the belt of his pants and out the side, mimicking a sheathed sword, his stance widening as his right hand hovered above the handle, eyes watching Akkey’s approach quickly closing the distance, waiting for the perfect moment.

It came in a flash of silver and a water tendril, shooting out in a dangerously fast streak of light when Akkey threw her left arm forward like she would a ball, but much quicker and much more easily missed. But Juro met it head on. His staff unsheathed at lightning speed, swifter than any sword movement Akkey had seen before, and cleanly knocked her attack away.

But Helheim agents would as agents always would, as both twisted in a second attack hidden behind their first. Akkey threw her right arm up at the exact same point and time that Juro swept his sword arm around and willed his golem to open at the end of his weapon.

Portal collided against portal.

The characteristic hums turned into a high pitched, ear grinding whine, two frequencies twisting, looping, turning into one, then booming into a massive roar, deafening with the sound of chains that continued to scrape against the back of their heads. Agents strained as gravity and dimension warred against each other in immense tension, churning, curling, each unwilling to give in, contracting smaller and smaller into a disc as it pushed into the other, surging and fighting in a nauseating twist of magic. It crawled against skin and bone and muscle, bending, warping, pulling space and water unnaturally to its extremes in their struggle for power, building higher and stronger and bigger over the other in suffocating layers--until it could no longer hold itself in.

It exploded.

The pressure that contained it fractured, an eruption of energy flooding from between them. There was an outpour of light and colour many meters high into the darkened sky, splashing against each other then cascading with a perfect split in the middle-- blues and golds towards Juro, purples and bluey-greens to Akkey. It was bright, blindingly so, as it shattered the landscape and blew them apart, sending them flying fast and far, bouncing and rolling painfully against the cold, hard ground as the air was knocked out of them, bruising and scratching their skin.

Akkey cried out as she landed heavily on her side, covering her head while the force of the detonation of energy kept her down, a cacophony of chaotic magic that gushed across the flats of the Scrublands and crashed against the side of the Jaw like a wave of ocean water on the shoreline, but immediately dissipating upon impact. It was many seconds before it died down, the wind calming itself and the overwhelming light finally fading back into darkness, leaving only the moon and stars behind.

The sounds of the sudden short battle disappeared, and she got to her feet painfully, cautiously observing her surroundings as it cleared, searching for her colleague. Juro was nowhere to be seen at first, but finally she saw him in the far distance, his prone figure on the ground.

Shit--! “Juro!” She immediately appeared a few feet away from him, running as quickly as her thin legs would take her.

But she couldn’t reach him before Virion burst from the weapon he used, which had fallen out of his grip and returned to its mundane pen form when the impact rendered him unconscious. It rose to its twelve foot form and surged forward in a blur of feathers, catching her torso and arms cleanly underneath one talon and dragging her into the ground, dirt piling up around her as its weight had her completely trapped.

“Gah!” She grunted as her back hit soil once again. Virion bent its head down, six beady eyes glaring into hers as his wings bristled in anger at the provocation the nix had brought onto its master.

“V-Vir.... Let her go…” a rough voice strained to make itself heard from behind the golem as it screeched its vexation over her head. Virion twisted its long neck around to regard its master questioningly, as Juro stirred, carefully picking himself up. It bristled again in disagreement for a few seconds, but relented soon after, lifting its leg off her and sweeping its wings to land beside him, helping him up to a sitting position. He shook his head, a tiny smirk slowly creeping its way back onto his face, “I was the one who attacked first…”

Virion could only croon in dissatisfaction, nudging him to lean against it as he caught his breath. The Bookkeeper obliged, without the energy to put up a fight, as he turned inwards for some introspective examination.

The initial attack was a haze to him, in similar fashion to the incident with Sylar's body. The barrage of questions as Akkey had gotten closer and closer to the truth placed an intense amount of pressure on him, and her realization regarding Milae finally voiced things he had been denying, ignoring, finding loopholes around, and it escalated into that uncontrolled surge of emotion, forcing him to turn all senses off and let body take autonomy. 'Friend' echoed unwillingly in his mind and he threw it aside in a panic, hurriedly bringing his attention to the seal instead.

It was dangerous for a while there, but it seemed intact, starting with the Modern Bookkeeper first, his direct opposite yet the closest copy there could be that wasn't an offshoot from his timeline. Lines to several broken and jittered timelines had unfortunately snapped a little early, snuffing out their Bookkeepers' lives, but frayed threads like those were due for fracturing soon. Every time his seal was threatened, especially as of late, they were the first to go, to keep all other unbroken, stable threads unharmed. It would have ended much more disastrously if this happened to anybody other than Akkey. It was a close call.

He sighed in relief to find everything still in place, then slowly turned his head to face her, who was sitting up with great care, feeling where she would expectedly be sore in the morning. She groaned and cleared her head, “What the fuck, Juro…”

Green locked with amber, and it was a tumultuous range of emotions, anger, shock, confusion, and concern--but it was all one sided. Juro’s break in character was expectedly temporary. His mask had returned, with a lopsided grin and a raised brow, and Akkey let out a long, annoyed exhale at that, "My confusion is valid, alright, if I have to work with you until one of us dies--probably me--and you've begun acting like this, with magic of your own, then I deserve some sort of explanation--"

“My answer hasn't changed, Akkey...” he interrupted. His cadence was even once more as he referred to their conversation up in the rafters, "My Helheim contract, the Library and the Bookkeepers, my neutrality… I still won't explain. Even if you ask."

She felt a wave of unexplainable sadness wash over her when he said that. The light in his eyes went empty for a moment, a deep loneliness crossing in them, resigned to his fate of solitude and silent suffering.

Resigned? To describe it like that was slightly incorrect, but she couldn't place it as accurately as she would like to. Intensely dependent… Unhealthily so…

Her brow creased in further worry, "Juro--"

He shook his head, wincing slightly as pain flared up down his back, yet firm in interrupting her thought, "There's a disturbance on the timelines right now, and my involvement in the battle was in the interest of that. Hence why I'm here, why I appeared near the construct." That was only half the truth, and both were highly aware. That's why Juro said it almost forcefully, unarguably the end of that conversation.

It was several moments of stubborn egos that played tug of war, but she huffed in eventual surrender. Still, not before Akkey added a final thought, "Fine. I'm sorry for prying. I won't ask anymore," The slight insult at being kept in the dark remained, but only temporarily as she softened, regarding him with care and worry that was almost motherly, if the nix were even capable of instincts in that vein.

"But suppressing it and running away like this will only bring you greater pain later on, and you'll end up regretting it," she said. They both knew she spoke from some experience, "There is no comfort in living like this, faltering, wavering, walking the neutral line. You'll hurt a lot more people than you want to."

Her eyes bore into his this time, and he took it, unchanging, two souls who end up finding each other sometime, somehow, across timelines, in a ripple of cause and effect.

The moment was interrupted with a shout from above, and they broke their gaze to see several guards and their dragons flying towards them, as they had noticed the explosion of power from their positions. Their fight wasn't exactly subtle, no matter how short.

"Ah shit," Akkey cursed, feeling the familiar wash of meek regret at the constant consequences of her impulsive actions. There was barely any physical damage, thankfully, but it was light and sound that definitely was not inconspicuous, "Lila might kill us…"

"And this is where I take my leave," Juro cracked a wider, cheekier grin, the previous tension forgotten, "The Commander will have my head before yours." Virion immediately swirled into a portal for a place Akkey knew she couldn't follow.

"Hey! You bastard--!" she whirled around in indignation as the Bookkeeper escaped, "Don't you fucking dare run!"

She stomped up to him, standing taller than where he sat, when his smirk lessened slightly as his tone became serious, "I am not. I think I might have some more information about Frigga, but I have to research a little more. If anyone asks… I'll be at the Library," he tilted his chin up to meet her eyes again. Akkey paused, then nodded in understanding, "Alright."

It was another heartbeat before he split his face into that exasperating smile once more, and fell backwards into the open portal, "See you later, Chief." He disappeared from sight as the dragons landed behind Akkey, who was massaging a temple in annoyance, left to deal with the aftermath by herself.

#agents' imbalance #juro #akkey #virion #2-3 pages i said #turned into 7.5 #in which akkey Pushes Things Too Far Again

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eyesofsteelandsky · 4 years ago

Text

FFxivWrite2020 Prompt 24: Beam

CW: Blood and violence, arena based combat and blue mage bullshit

Coming out of a mid-fall short translocation was something she could never shake off the disorientation from entirely, but practice had allowed the roe to aim herself and one of those massive blades at the hulk of xaela that had just sent her sprawling. One good gash from that blade and she could put this whole thing to bed. His winning streak against her, her year-long struggles upon the sands, and one last time raising her hand up as champion. One good blow.

As Brem’s blade is moments from digging it’s way to a victory carved out of the opposing champion, the man fires a concentrated burst of energy directly at her unprotected chest. The strike not only cuts every onze of momentum she had clean away, but actually propels her head-over-heels backwards through the air until her body crashes into the Game Master’s dais, crashing the wooden structure and most of what was on top of it down around her. A pair of fleeting seconds of blackness claim her, giving just the briefest moment before the pain starts flooding in from the rest of her body. Broken bones, half-healed gashes reopening, muscles torn and bruised; all of it became searingly apparent in one moment of violent awareness.

Standing was immediately out of the question, she knew her legs were useless at this point and even making the attempt would show it to everyone else. They might be too distracted fishing Kadour out of the rubble to notice it right away, but it was sure to get the fight called in the smug Oronir bastard’s favor.

He. Cannot. Win.

Not again, not when there wasn’t any layer of excuse left to give. Clawing her way out of two proper fights and assault by an enraged guard captain wouldn’t be enough. If he wont this time, then he would have that trophy to hang above her head, intentionally or not. Coarse palms snatch the grips of her blades and drive them down into wood and sand to haul herself forward from the wreckage so she could set eyes upon the man again. A seething hate poured out of her expression, dripping as readily as the blood from her torn abdomen. He had done something very few had ever properly done in her long career in the arena or in the sky. He had made her more than simply defeated, but weak. The sort of weakness she had felt in Ishgardian chains.

He. Cannot. Win.

Crawling her way over to hack off his ankles wasn’t a viable plan by any means. And it wasn’t how she could let things end anyway. This is the tale of Bremwyda Abylnpfefwyn, and it was not going to feature such a pathetic finish. He was already approaching, likely knowing the win was his to walk away with at this point. He had got the fight he wanted, her at her best, with the twin blades. His excitement had been all too clear at the start of the fight and Oronir was prepared to claim his prize.

He. Cannot. Win.

As her blade dug into the sands properly outside of the ruined wooden structure, a mote or two of displaced aether catches her eye. Even with her own reserves taxed beyond reasonable health, and her body catching a disqualification that never quite finished getting voiced, she could feel the well of energy that had been sitting under their feet all day. Years of spilled blood, boasting egos, and hopeful cheering had been poured into the arena and down into the sands. A pool of violence, energy, and hopes left untapped by the long standing rules on aetherical combat. She was the Queen of these sands, their Champion. Who else had the right to call upon their bounty, to finish the story the way it was meant to be told?

He. Cannot. Win.

What’s left of her magical control goes delving into that well of bloodied aether, drawing it back into her broken and battered form greedily. The source is all too ready to give, flooding into the Sea Wolf as her gaze stays locked upon the figure still moving her way, ready to finish her. To show off her weakness. The energy is almost immediately overwhelming, going from feeling most of what’s left of her power seeping out of her to instead becoming a bloated tick of aether. More than she ever would have had naturally even at peak health and preparation, more than even her body had any right to handle. The roe could already feel the excess burning away at her, lighting the nerves that weren’t aflame from her wounds to join the chorus of pain.

He. Cannot. Win.

The aethertek eye set within her face plate focuses down on the man ready to snatch things out from under her, to make all the bodily trauma and the broken trust worthless with a final swing. She swiftly works through adjusting the shape of the aether flowing through it, building a funnel for the energy her body was brimming with, inverted from it’s normal purpose to serve as the peak of the arcane geometries for one last spell. From the outside there’s little hint of what’s to come other than a flash of intensity within the red glow, but as the shape of the spell falls into place the vacuum of aether created with it starts the violent expulsion from her. A violent torrent of over-filled power comes bursting from that forged orb as stream of levin bolts twisting around one another until they impact the xaela’s chest. The violet stream pours through his core and out the other side to impact the wall behind, causing a burst of light as it drives through the protective shielding and sunders a chunk of the arena walls. Through the entire ordeal the fires of excess aether don’t lessen with the departing of her body, if anything the magical searing gets worse from the focused assault. Every drop of what she had left was being wrung from her.

He. Cannot. Win.

Even as he fell as an unmoving husk, she could feel the snap in the shape of her spell. Not only had she pushed her body past it’s natural limits, she’d done the same for it’s synthetic ones. The last few crackles of energy flew from her metallic eye before the red glow gave out. The chalice of her spell had shattered, but it had lasted just long enough. With people already rushing to the Oronir’s aid, a smile pulled it’s way over the nearly dead giant’s lips.

The price wasn’t important anymore, because she had won.

#FFxivWrite2020 #prompt24 #Brem #PG #Proving Grounds #Kojhin Oronir #the grand finals #her eternal state of 'yeah but I won'

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