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frogtanii · 4 years ago

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tw. mentions / descriptions of a panic attack

bokuto was excited — more excited than he’d been in weeks!

he was finally getting the time to spend time with his beloved, his puppy, for the first time in forever thanks to the recent onslaught of drama the house had been embroiled in.

he figured he should thank you for bringing it all on because now, as he stood in front of meiko’s room, he had a chance.

“puppy!” bokuto called out, knocking on her door enthusiastically. after a moment of muttering, shuffling around and a loud curse, the door opened up just a crack to reveal meiko clad in only a thin bedsheet with her thin lips wrapped around a cigarette.

kotarou peered over her head and into her room where he spotted a quick flash of dark brown hair before meiko stepped out and closed the door behind her.

“who was that?” he questioned innocently, assuming that it was one of the other housemates. meiko narrowed her eyes at him and blew out a puff of smoke.

“what do you want bokuto.” her voice was steely and cold, nothing like her usual peppy self. still, bokuto couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was in there who shouldn’t be.

“you know,” kotarou began hesitantly, studying her face for reactions. “iwaizumi doesn’t like anyone in here who hasn’t signed a contract. and also you’re not allowed to smoke.” his nose turned up at the smell, disgust for the cigarette written clear on his face.

meiko rolled her eyes at him before taking another drag and blowing the smoke out straight into his face. bokuto tried to hold his breath for as long as he could but his lung capacity wasn’t so great. i need to work on that, he thought as he heaved and choked on the smoke circling down into his chest.

the love of his life adjusted her sheet covering before dropping the cigarette to the ground and stomping it out with the end of the blanket. “i asked you a question bokuto. what the fuck do you want?”

the harshness in her tone made him pause. was what he was here for actually important? or would it just bother her unnecessarily?

no, he resolved. bokuto missed her and he wanted to spend time with his kinda-but-not-really-girlfriend! especially after he waited all this time!

“i, i wanted to spend time with you...” with every word, his hesitance grew until he was muttering, the look in meiko’s eyes sending chills down his spine.

“no,” she said and turned back to enter her room. “wait!” bokuto’s hand shot out to grab her arm, very gently pulling her closer to him. “please,” he whispered, tears beginning to rim his wide, golden eyes.

meiko stared back up at him with absolute rage in her eyes as she snatched her limb out of his hold. “listen to me right now bokuto, and listen well,” she sneered, taking a step back towards her bedroom. “i have never liked you. you’re so fucking childish and clingy and annoying! i literally cannot understand how anyone cares to hang around you.”

bokuto felt something inside him shatter at her words, a sharp gasp escaping his parted lips. “but-“ “no buts! you are fucking nothing to me! all you were was a warm body to sleep with but you weren’t even good for that,” meiko’s chest heaved as she finished speaking, her dark eyes trained on the tear tracks on bokuto’s cheeks.

gently, he lifted a hand to his face, barely registering the water that covered them, his mind desperately trying to understand what had just occurred. in the back of his head, he briefly noticed the sound of a door closing and muffled giggling but it was covered by the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

how... could she? he loved her and she, she only wanted to fuck him? he poured out his entire heart, his very soul to her and for what? for her to take it and stomp on it until there was nothing left?

bokuto’s chest felt heavy — he wasn’t breathing. quickly, he took one breath, and then another and another and another until he was collapsed on the ground, heaving for air as he sobbed.

why him? what had he done to deserve this? maybe it was karma — he’d let a plastic bag float by him into a stream when he was 7 even though he knew littering was wrong. maybe it was because he didn’t kiss his mother goodbye the last time he saw her. or maybe the universe was punishing him for everything he’d done to you.

oh, you — the person who meiko had tried so hard to convince him to hate, and he had! his beloved had no reason to lie to him, or at least that’s what he believed until this moment. she lied to him about loving and caring about him so why wouldn’t she lie about everything else?

bokuto’s head was pounding as he tried to rationalize where he’d gone wrong, his usually bright eyes, dull and trained on the ceiling as he attempted to regain his breathing.

it felt like his whole world was collapsing on itself like a fallen star, just waiting to implode and destroy everyone and everything until there was nothing left and—

“hey, look at me, you’re ok,” a soft voice rang out over the buzzing in his head, his eyes beginning to focus on... your figure.

what were you doing here? he so desperately wanted to ask but the words were caught in his throat, trapped behind a wall of despair and anguish.

“don’t try to talk ok? just focus on my breathing, try and match it. i’m going to touch you now.” your soft, small (so much smaller — were you eating enough?) hand wrapped around his own and brought it up to your chest where he could feel the steady rise and fall of your breathing.

bokuto’s breath was shaky and definitely not as smooth as your own, but you didn’t seem to mind, instead holding his hand to your heart until his breathing became level and even.

he must’ve knocked out because by the time he came to, the hall was dark and you were gone, the only memory of you being a box of tissues and a glass of water on the ground next to him.

he reached for the glass first, chugging the whole thing down in only a few seconds. all that crying must have dehydrated him immensely, he realized as he searched for another cup.

standing on shaky legs, bokuto attempted to maneuver to the kitchen, holding onto the walls for stability as he crept through the dark corridors.

he quickly filled up his favorite owl mug (a gift from she-who-will-not-be-named) with water once he made it to the kitchen, extra careful not to make a lot of noise just in case someone was asleep.

bokuto swiftly gulped down his water, placing the cup in the sink where he knew it would not remain because if anything was sure, it was the clean state of the house that meiko kept.

ugh meiko. the whole situation hurt to think about so he didn’t, instead choosing to bury it in the deep recesses of his mind, never to be seen again.

as bokuto trudged upstairs back to his bedroom, he noticed the big black trash bag sat at the end of the hall near daichi’s room. he debated on taking it out himself but was ultimately convinced not to.

it’ll be gone tomorrow, he reasoned as he slipped into his room and bed before quickly falling asleep.

...

it was not gone the next day. neither was the cup in the sink, or the hair on the floor in the bathroom, or the laundry strewn all over the living room.

the whole house seemed to be in shambles and it remained that way for the entirety of the week. meiko was nowhere to be seen, flitting in and out of the house at random, escaping to only god knows where with god knows who.

bokuto didn’t care anymore. she ruined his life so why should he give a half of a shit where she was? what he did care about, on the other hand, was figuring what to do about you.

he wanted to thank you and apologize but he wasn’t sure how to do so! he knew he said some horrible things to you and was determined to make it right — not just for you but for himself too.

℗ poker face

shattered

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - ok writing this genuinely made me cry???? bokuto is my comfort character so making him go through this i just </3 i hope it came across ok? it’s literally 1 am so there may v well be typos and massive mistakes but i hope u guys enjoy this miserably sad chapter LMAO don’t forget to feed me <3

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @sazunari • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @syndellwins • @jooleuuh • @amberalisa • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saikishairclip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @ris-illustration • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @babierin • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

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jaskiersvalley · 3 years ago

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Witchers didn't have daemons, that was a known fact. They were terrifying in their solitude, unfeeling and unaffected. Monsters made to fight monsters, they didn't need part of their soul for that. What the general public didn't know though was that the daemons weren't imprisoned somewhere, nor were they dead. The mages had figured out a way to separate daemon from child and force it into the most unnatural of shapes, another human. It meant two Witchers from a single child and the best part was, neither child nor daemon felt any connection to their counterpart once the process of the trials was complete.

In an effort to make sure full separation was certain and not even a sentimental link remained, daemons and children were separated and trained in different schools. Lambert had arrived at Kaer Morhen, still tripping over unfamiliar human feet and seething at being separated from his human. Over the years he tried to remember his human but, like all Witchers, they were given new names when they got their medallions and Lambert didn't think Luca still went by that name, nor would he be the scrawny kid Lambert remembered him as.

Whenever Lambert met another Witcher, he couldn't help but wonder whether it was his Luca that he was meeting. Though he wanted to believe that there would be a spark some kind of recognition there. He had been a little relieved when he met Letho and there was nothing there between them.

Of course Geralt had to be the first one to find his daemon. The smug bastard had found a bard who told people his daemon was a flea which was just like him; unnoticeable until he causes a nuisance. Most pitied him but Geralt had seen through the charade. He watched the bard without a daemon, curiosity and caution allowed him to permit Jaskier to tag along. The story tumbled out eventually.

"My great grandparents bought me. I was some kind of freak novelty some merchants were selling."

That was all Geralt had needed to hear and he was all but dragging Jaskier back to Kaer Morhen in the winter. Nobody had expected Vesemir's face to close off completely.

"I remember you!" Jaskier said in way of greeting. "You were a dick."

"Julian." The reply was terse and tight.

Lambert got a front view seat to seeing Geralt's face flit through more emotions in one second than he usually did in a whole year. The embrace was tight, Geralt's nose buried in Jaskier's hair.

Jealousy trickled through Lambert's veins. For all he knew, his human was already a dead Witcher. There was no link between Witcher and daemon, the trials severed it all completely so when one died, the other didn't even notice, let alone die from it.

"Why isn't he a Witcher?" Eskel asked, eyes glued to the happy reunion.

"Kaer Morhen needed money. Your cohort, the daemons didn't become Witchers. We sold them to the highest bigger."

Lambert didn't expect Eskel to punch Vesemir across the jaw but he was sure as shit glad he saw it. It meant he didn't need to do it on behalf of Geralt and Eskel. For the first time though, Lambert had an optimistic thought.

"It might mean he's living a happy life somewhere. I mean, look at Jaskier. He's had it better than us."

That was a topic that came up repeatedly over the next few weeks. They dreamed up all sorts of fancy lives Eskel's daemon could have lived, the wonders he would have seen. Through it all, Lambert bitterly wished his daemon could have been anything but a Witcher. Alas, Vesemir rapidly disillusioned him from that idea.

"He's become a Witcher, probably dead by now. And if you met him, you'd probably wish he was."

"Is that so?" Lambert drawled, emptying his tankard with a disappointed sigh. He couldn't believe it was empty again.

"You suffered the same shit fate I did. Your human was trained by Cats. Guxart turned into an utter dick."

The words were muttered darkly and Lambert tried not to take it to heart how much hatred Vesemir oozed. It made him all that much more determined to not go the same way as the bitter old man. Instead, he turned to Geralt with a leer. "So, is it gay or is it masturbation to want to get off with your own daemon?"

To say the table erupted in uproar was an understatement. Geralt was scowling somewhat fierce, arms crossed over his chest in protest. It only egged Lambert on further.

"I think it's incest," he declared with a shit eating grin. "Technically it's part of your family because you have the same parents."

"It's masturbation at most." Geralt was growling and glowering. "Because the daemon was still part of you."

Through it all, Eskel stayed rather quiet. It was only when the other two looked to him for opinion that he leaned forward, propping himself up on the table with a serious crease to his brows.

"I think-" the words were low and measured, "-that as long as everyone involved consents, it's fucking hot is what it is."

"The only thing it is," Vesemir finally butted in, "is a disaster waiting to happen. You don't want to meet your counterparts. Trust me."

Except that only made Lambert all the more keen. He wanted to both prove Vesemir wrong and also have what Geralt and Jaskier seemed to be hurtling towards. So, come spring, he set out with the intent of fulfilling one contract only. It was one that he would pay himself for in emotional fulfilment. He was going to find every Cat he could until he found Luca.

He met Gaetan along his travels who laughed in his face and said he was much more into snakes than wolves. That was an encounter Lambert was more than eager to cut short because he did not want to think about how Letho and Gaetan were oddly complementary. It was also another jolt of bitter jealousy, another Witcher and daemon had been reunited while he was still out there looking for his own. Assuming Luca had survived.

Meeting Guxart was a bit of an accident and Lambert wished he'd not encountered the old Cat. He growled and hissed about his stupid daemon who would probably have turned into a useless pigeon if left alone. There was obviously no love lost between them and Lambert desperately hoped he wasn't going to have the same fate.

Third time lucky, as the saying went. Lambert had trailed the new Cat for a few days, learning his habits and watching him work. There was no ounce of recognition or familiarity. But then again, the last time Lambert saw Luca, they were being dragged away from each other, foreign hands on his rapidly shifting body so his eyes could barely adjust enough to see the screaming, tear filled face of his human. It was quite possibly the worst last image he could have had of Luca.

Satisfied that the Cat wasn't someone Lambert wouldn't want to associate with, he approached in the evening when the campfire was still bright but slowly settling.

"I was wondering when my shadow would make himself known," the Cat said easily enough, barely glancing up from where he was whittling something.

The last two times Lambert had tried to be careful with exploring the idea of the Cat Witcher being his human. He was tired and cut straight to the point.

"Luca?"

By the fire the man froze. It was only luck that meant Lambert could hear the shuddering exhales of someone trying to keep up the façade of calm and collected. Finally, the man set his carving aside and stood with an easy smile that felt like a thousand lies.

"I go by Aiden." It wasn't a reply and Lambert knew it.

"I don't remember my name," he admitted softly, desperately hoping he wasn't about to make an utter tit of himself. "People call me Lambert. But I'm looking for my Luca."

He didn't expect to suddenly have an armful of Witcher clinging to him like their very lives depended on it.

"It's really you!" Aiden sounded close to tears. "You never did have a single name, usually going by Idiot, Pain In The Butt, Menace and so many other equally flattering names."

"Guess that never changed," Lambert laughed wetly. He held Aiden close, wishing he could feel as he used to when they were connected. "We have a lot of catching up to do."

It was just that start of something Lambert never thought he'd have. Easy companionship, shared disdain for the whole Witcher thing, stories upon stories of contracts gone well, gone wrong, or just plain gone. By the time winter rolled round, Lambert was firmly of the opinion that he and Aiden would travel together, fuck the Path and all the teachings about it being lonely. If Geralt could have his bard then they sure as hell could have each other.

Getting to Kaer Morhen, Lambert gleefully had an arm slung around Aiden's shoulder, introducing him to the rest of his family. He especially delighted in the flaring of Vesemir's nostrils as he took in the situation.

"Cats and Wolves don't mix. You of all people should know that."

"And you should know it's my life's mission to prove you wrong, old man," Lambert shot back.

Perhaps the most curious part of the whole winter was that Geralt was already back with not one, but two guests. Jaskier was a known quantity and Lambert greeted him warmly. The other though was a near silent man who watched them through eyes that looked way too old for his body.

"This is Cahir," Geralt said when the man didn't even introduce himself. "We'd heard rumours of a Nilfgaardian without a daemon and went to investigate."

"Not a Nilfgaardian," Cahir grumbled with a half-hearted glare.

It took Lambert a moment to figure out just why Geralt would bring such a man back before his eyes widened in delighted realisation.

"You think that-"

"Mhm."

That was the extent of their conversation because Lambert was cackling in delight. He looked Cahir over with a newfound interest. Young, like Jaskier but so very different in behaviour. As much as they'd wondered about Eskel's daemon's fate, this wasn't one they'd predicted.

Three days later Eskel was leading Scorpion into Kaer Morhen's courtyard. Lambert and Aiden were all but bouncing with excitement, not wanting to miss the moment Eskel met his daemon. In their opinion Geralt was drawing things out and making it less fun by not having them all meet in the stables. Instead, Eskel was allowed to venture into the kitchen in the company of Lambert and Aiden who were vibrating in anticipation.

"Eskel," Geralt greeted him with a warm hug. Jaskier and Cahir were behind him, even Vesemir had ventured out to see what the outcome would be. "It's good to have you home. Allow me to introduce you to Cahir."

The two looked at each other with guarded gazes and Eskel gave a terse nod. It was as anticlimactic as fuck. No recognition, not interest, nothing. Just a slow once over which, if Lambert had thought about it, was pretty much a mirror image of each other, equally considering and closed off.

Despondent, he dragged Aiden off, helping lay the table for a shared meal. Vesemir was quick to follow, there was no way to tell whether he was disappointed or relieved by the lack of drama. Geralt and Jaskier wandered out, oddly deflated. Not two seconds later there was an almighty crash from the kitchen and they were all racing back. Only to turn right around and flee after a glimpse of Cahir pinning Eskel to a wall and kissing him like Eskel was the last gasp of air for a drowning man.

"So, are they?" Jaskier asked, glancing towards the kitchen. Something else crashed and thumped but it was best not to investigate.

After a moment it was Vesemir who tiredly said, "Does it matter? It doesn't seem like they much care."

All in all, Lambert didn't think he cared either. Cahir and Eskel seemed happy enough in their new acquaintanceship, trying to figure out their past could wait, if they even wanted to explore it. Though Lambert had a hard time imagining Cahir as a goat. Over the years he'd heard Eskel lament enough about how his daemon preferred to take the form of a goat.

Regret came the next morning at breakfast when Eskel and Cahir appeared at the table, seemingly indifferent. If the rest of them hadn't see the two almost violently making out in the kitchen before disappearing to a bedroom, they wouldn't have guessed anything had gone on between them.

"Hey Geralt," Eskel called, face passive. "You know the difference between a goldfish and a mountain goat?"

"A mountain goat could live in Kaer Morhen but a goldfish couldn't?"

Eskel rolled his eyes. "No, a goldfish mucks around a fountain."

"And a mountain goat fucks around a mountain," Cahir finished the joke. He and Eskel high fived without looking at each other. Lambert only smacked his head on the table when Cahir continued, "And I am no goldfish."

#geraskier #lambden #eskhir #geralt/jaskier #lambert/aiden #eskel/cahir #unhappy vesemir/guxart #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #aiden #eskel #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #vesemir #daemon au #tldr: witchers' daemons are humans when the connection between them is severed

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khaotic-kitsunes · 3 years ago

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Adventures at Sunset

So, this wasn’t a request at all. I’m just, really trying my best to get SOME kind of writing done and the past few days I’ve been thinking of Tamaki a lot and yeah...so, please let me know what you think? It’s been like, five fucking months since I last wrote smut.

Soooo, yeah, let me know what you think and enjoy the merman Tamaki!

Also, maybe click the navigation...send in some reqs? Dragon au has my interest currently but, anything is welcome.

Navigation

Cheeky Kitsune 🦊💋

“Hey, Tamaki…”

Tamaki hummed faintly in curiosity from beside you as you stared up at the night sky, cold ocean water lapping gently at your skin while you floated peacefully beside your closest friend. It still felt unreal to you, how you had befriended a merman; such a shy and awkward one as well. However, you had known him for nearly an entire year at this point, such novelties should have worn off by now.

“You’re being really quiet tonight” You frowned slightly at your own words, moving so that you were in front of the now fidgeting octopus merman; watching as his cheeks took on the loveliest shade of cherry red. Though why he was so embarrassed seemed to escape your notice.

“I don’t think I’m being that quiet” You raised an eyebrow in response to his soft mumble, swimming around him until you were able to embrace him from behind; taking your perch on his back while he stuttered beneath you, turning his head to look at you as if it would help him figure out why you were currently climbing him like he was your very own playground.

“You reckon? I’ve heard rocks say more than you have in the past few hours…we’ve been floating in silence since sunset and it’s starting to get boring!” You pouted, shuddering when two of his tentacles moved to wrap around your arms; keeping you steady on top of him. Yet another thing that you weren’t used to, his tentacles.

They could move like they were arms; they were strong as well, but having them against your bare skin was something else entirely. You weren’t sure if you enjoyed it, or if it simply freaked you out, so for the majority of the time; you avoided having them against your skin, always doing your best not to offend the anxious octopus.

“Sorry, I was just thinking” Tamaki looked away from you as you spoke, prompting you to rest your chin against his shoulder; trying your best to get a good look at his face. You weren’t the best at reading people’s emotions, but you were always willing to give it a go.

“About?” You reached up as you questioned his silencing thoughts, poking your finger against the surprisingly warm skin of his cheek; squishing it until he let out a quiet grumble of protest.

“I’m not gonna be able to see you for a while” He frowned down at the water’s surface while you blinked in surprise, leaning over his shoulder to get a look at his expression; curiosity already eating away at you. You loved your nightly swims with the awkward octopus beneath you, if they had to stop then you wanted to know why and for how long.

“You can’t come here anymore, okay? Not til Summer…” Tamaki continued speaking, lifting his head to look at you before a startled noise escaped him at the close proximity between your faces; his lips having brushed against your own with the heartbreaking information.

“But…Tamaki…” He shook his head, his tentacles wrapping around your body and removing you from his back. Instead, depositing you in the water in front of him while he tried his best to avoid your inquisitive gaze.

“No buts, don’t come here until Summer. Okay?” He managed to glance at your face as he spoke, watching you for the briefest of seconds before suddenly, he was gone. The only sign that he had been there in the first place was the ocean’s surface bubbling from the movement of his lightning-fast escape; leaving you swimming there alone. Confused as to why you couldn’t see your friend for such a long time and frustrated at the lack of explanation.

~ ~ ~

You groaned out softly, reaching up to rub your head as you tried to sit up into a more comfortable position; a dull ache already settling in the back of your head while you attempted to figure out what had happened to you. The last thing that you could remember, was that you had gone to the beach at sunset, looking for your favourite octopus.

Technically, he had told you not to show up during Spring, but it was only two weeks into the season when you had decided you couldn’t go that long without Tamaki’s company.

“You’re awake…!” You blinked in surprise, looking towards the worried-looking merman that sat in the shallow part of the water; a few of his tentacles spread out over the damp rocks that littered the ground. Apparently, the two of you were beneath the large jetty that was located near your meeting spot. It made sense to you, given that it was so dark beneath the structure that any passer-by wouldn’t be able to see the two of you; it was as if you didn’t exist to the rest of the world.

“I…yeah, I guess so. What happened?” Tamaki grimaced at your question, looking away from you while you moved to crawl towards him, the sand crumbling beneath your weight as you did so; causing you to partially sink down, too wet to actually support the movements that you were trying to make.

“I’m sorry, it was my fault…this is exactly why I told you to stay away until Summer!” Tamaki groaned out the complaint, reaching up to tug at his hair while you managed to land a hand on one of his many tentacles; shuddering at the way it curled around your arm, practically yanking you up against his chest.

“Tamaki, I don’t understand. What happened? How is this your fault?” You frowned as you mumbled out the questions, gently pressing a hand to his chest in an attempt to put some space between the two of you; his body too hot to be against currently. You already struggled not to stare at him on a good day, but the warmth that he currently provided was in no way helpful to you. It simply made you want to get closer to him.

“Spring is…it’s basically mating season for merfolk (Name), it gets hard to think clearly. So, when you got in the water and I saw you…” He trailed off as his tentacle pulled you closer, Tamaki’s face now buried against your neck with his laboured breath sending shivers down your spine. An entirely new experience for you.

“Ah…I remember…” You trailed off, your eyes going wide as you recalled the way his tentacles had dragged you beneath the water’s surface. They had curled around you in places that had made your head spin, refusing to let you go and apparently causing you to black out.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry (Name)…” Tamaki trailed off, his arms snaking around your waist as he leaned into you more; the sudden shift in weight causing the both of you to go crashing back, Tamaki landing on top of you and pinning you to the wet sand below.

You groaned out softly from the impact, squirming beneath him to try and regain some form of steadiness so that you would be able to get out of the embarrassingly intimate position that you had landed yourself in.

“Don’t…!” Tamaki bit out the demand in a low groan, causing you to freeze beneath him, eyes wide as you lifted your gaze to meet his hungry one; heat rushing to your cheeks. The usually shy and timid man above you, was now a hot mess and you, well you were the poor soul trapped beneath his starving gaze.

“Do you…understand why I told you to stay away now?” Tamaki spoke in a hushed voice, leaning down until your noses were touching; his lower half pressing down against your body and leaving you completely trapped. It was because of that, that you shook your head silently, gulping at the low groan that escaped the man above you; finding the sound a little too attractive.

Before you could think of anything else to say, Tamaki’s mouth closed over your own. His lips rough and demanding against your own while the tentacles attached to him began to wind up around your legs; a hesitant tip pressing up between your thighs and rubbing against your bikini bottoms, pulling a cry from your startled form.

Tamaki took it as an invitation, his hot tongue pushing into your mouth and enticing you into a foggy headed war. Oxygen seemed to be declared unnecessary while your body leaned up against his own, surrendering yourself to the soul-stealing kiss.

“I tried to warn you…” Tamaki groaned out the words quietly, trailing a series of kisses down your neck while his hands explored your vulnerable body; practically swallowing you whole as you tried to regain your breath. Cheeks flushed with your head spinning. It was amazing what a simple kiss could do to you.

“I didn’t want to scare you away…!” He bit down on your nipple through your bikini top in his frustration, causing you to cry out his name breathlessly. The very sound encouraging his exploring tentacles to slip beneath the cloth of your bikini bottoms, rubbing up against your slick-covered folds firmly; Tamaki desiring more of your noises.

“Tama…ki…hold on…” You moaned out the words softly, squirming beneath him while he began to travel lower, his lips practically scolding hot against your skin the lower he went; a needy whimper escaping you when his tentacles removed your bikini completely, allowing Tamaki’s mouth to close around your sensitive clit.

“I can’t. I told you.”

You moaned out as his tongue worked against your clit mercilessly, his hands grasping at your thighs desperately; pulling you closer to him while his tentacles moved higher on your body, wrapping around you and rubbing against you until you began to turn into a squirming mess.

“I’m not saying stop, I’m saying hold on!” You cried out loudly, curling your toes when his tentacles suctioned against your nipples the same time that he flicked his tongue against your clit firmly; sending a jolt of pleasure throughout your body.

You whined softly, leaning your head back as he paused his ferocious advance on your body; taking the deep breaths that you needed. It was a lot to take in all at once, especially given the treatment that he was giving you. You had no time to think, to consider what this would mean for the two of you.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you…” You mumbled out the words in a whisper as Tamaki moved back up to look down at you, his head hovering over your own once again while he licked his lips; a look of curiosity reflecting back at you.

“But…is this really just because of Spring?” You closed your eyes as the question left your lips, squirming beneath him when you felt his tentacles move against your body; embracing you and exploring you all at once. Such a strange feeling.

“Spring is when we breed” You pursed your lips at his confirmation, frowning up at him as you opened your eyes. Even though you had expected that to be his answer, it didn’t make it hurt any less; you had wanted a different answer, one that you likely wouldn’t get.

“But usually, I hide away in my cave, where no one else bothers me.” Tamaki leaned down to place a kiss on your cheek as he spoke, smiling faintly at the shocked look that covered your face.

“…I told you to stay away, but I still came here to wait for you…” He admitted with a hesitance that sounded so much like his usual self, you couldn’t help but reach up to poke his cheek; a quiet giggle slipping past.

“For two weeks?” He nodded in response to your question, making you gasp out loudly with a simple grind of his hips; his previously concealed dick now rubbing up against your folds, throbbing and dribbling precum.

“Do you want me?” He whispered out the words nervously, burying his face against your chest while you squirmed beneath him; the sand beneath you almost as uncomfortable as the desire that your anxious octopus had stirred up.

“Mm, I want you.” You hummed out the words he was oh-so-desperate to hear, gasping out his name when the hands on your thighs tightened, holding you still while he buried every inch of his aching cock into you; stretching you around him and filling you more than you had previously imagined possible.

His hips moved harder than you could keep up with, your body bouncing up and down with each thrust while his mouth trailed over your chest and neck, covering you with harsh bites and tender kisses.

“Tamaki…! Oh my go—mmph!” Your eyes widened as one of his tentacles invaded your mouth, stuffing it and pushing deep inside to silence your too loud moans. Even though no one could see the two of you beneath the jetty, they could still hear the two of you and apparently, Tamaki wasn’t going to allow the two of you to be busted.

“Shh, you can moan as loud as you want later, when no one can hear us” Tamaki mumbled out the words, groaning low as he continued to fuck you; every now and then grinding up against you and making you whimper around the tentacle in your mouth, tears building in the corner of your eyes.

With each of his thrusts, he was managing to hit your sweet spot and those slow grinds were pure torture to you; a constant stimulation that your body couldn’t keep up with.

“You sound so good…”

You gagged around his tentacle when it thrust deeper, coughing and choking on desperately needed air the moment it removed itself from your mouth; allowing you only a moment’s relief before it was once again shoved back down your throat.

“You’re squeezing down on my dick…do you like that (Name)? Choking on my tentacle?” Tamaki groaned the question into your ear as his hips bucked uncontrollably, his teeth sharp against the cartilage of your ear when he bit down; causing a muffled cry to escape you.

You moaned around the tentacle in your mouth when Tamaki’s thrusts grew faster, his rhythm going out the window the closer he got to his release; yet another tentacle moving to join the mind-blowing pleasure as a familiar heat began to build up in the pit of your stomach.

You gagged violently when the tentacle began to move against your clit, matching the pace of Tamaki’s thrusts while you tried your best to keep breathing through your nose so that you wouldn’t pass out from a lack of air.

“(Name)…I’m nearly…” Tamaki moaned into the soft skin of your neck as your body arched, a muffled scream escaping you while your orgasm rocked through your entire body; making your walls clench around Tamaki’s throbbing cock.

It was enough to push him over the edge too, if you were to go by the way his hips slammed up against your own; his body going tense as your name left his lips in a shaky groan. Tamaki’s thick seed filling you with each slow roll of his hips, the tentacle against your clit and the tentacle in your mouth retreating so that you could catch your breath and recover from the earth-shattering orgasm that you had the joy to experience.

“D-Damn it…next time, take us somewhere else first…!” You whined out the complaint, reaching up to rub your sore throat while Tamaki mumbled apologies from above you; his face a dark crimson red.

“I’m sorry, I really am…don’t worry, I’ll take us somewhere else now…!”

#tamaki amajiki #suneater #amajiki tamaki #tamaki x reader #suneater x reader #amajiki x reader #reader x tamaki #reader x suneater #reader x amajiki #mermaid au #merman!tamaki #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #scenario #smut #requests #cheeky kitsune

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arcadejohn127-9 · 4 years ago

Note

Hi if your requests are still open can you do something with the demon brothers + new datables (or not if that's too much!) comforting an MC who just got off a shift at work and is frustrated from customers and needs some reassuring words/cuddles to make them feel better? Thanks so much~😊💞

A message for all the workers who are employed despite the pandemic or were employed but had to stop due to the pandemic, YOU ARE THE REAL ONES!!

Thank you so much for all the hard work you're doing/done, especially retail. You guys are always being supportive and understanding.

I'm so sorry for all you who's had to deal with Karen's and uncomfortable customer's who's tried hitting on you or just being disturbing

I wish the government wasn't doing you all dirty. Money can be such a serious issue and now it's gotten even worse, I just wanna say I'm proud and thankful!

Brothers + undateables comfort MC who just finished a hard day of work

Lucifer:

You found him in his study, hunched over his desk

Seeing him so deep into work made you regret coming to him

You were just about to head back up but he spotted you

"Welcome back, I'll be with you in a moment, I I just need to- Dear? What's wrong?"

You immediately broke down into tears

In seconds you were being cradled in his arms, sitting in his lap and having soothing circles rubbed into your back

He's letting you release your frustrations, ignoring how wet his shirt was getting

When you finally calmed down, you apologized for getting his shirt wet

"Nonsense, tell me what's upset you, was it your manager again?"

You explained how your day went, how costumers were yelling at you and the work getting overwhelming

"You did everything you could, they're lucky to have such a hard worker like yourself, I'll be phoning your boss as soon as I can to get you a raise."

Mammon:

He picked you up in his car, waving you over with some take out sitting in your seat

As soon as you buckled in you took your portion of take out

"So, how was work? Did you finally get your pay check?"

You sighed, shoving your face with food as you ranted about how difficult today has been

The more you spoke the more upset you got, sniffling and trying to hide your sobs

He couldn't stand it; he pulled over as soon as he could and turned to you

"They can't be treating you like that! What are their names and faces? I'll go sort them out, no one treats my baby like that!"

You laughed, telling him he can't beat up your costumers

"You can't do it but I can, don't worry I'll find a way."

He pulled you into a hug, both of you laughing when he choked himself on his seatbelt

After you two unbuckled he just let you lean against him, having how own mini rant about how amazing you are and people not treating you like you're the most valuable treasure in the world

Levithan:

He was gaming, of course, when he heard you knock he immediately asked what's the secret password

"Please, not today, I can barely think right now, can I just come in?"

Usually he's more stubborn than that but hearing how desperate your voice was, he let you in

Knew something was bad when you immediately climbed into his bed tub and smother yourself with his body pillow

He let his game play in the background, ignoring the angry messages from his team mates

"Work stress?"

All he heard was a muffled sound of agreement

"Those damn normies-! What did they do to you? Was it the Karen's again?"

You yelled into the pillow, ranting about your day and letting it be muffled but still loud enough for him to hear

He scooted over in his chair, watching you peak your head out

Tears staining your cheeks as you frowned at him

He blushed as he immediately kissed both of your cheeks, cupping your face

"wanna play employee simulator? It lets you fight the annoying customers."

Satan:

"There's my hard worker." He kissed your cheek, greeting you at your bedroom door

"You seem upset, what's the matter?"

You immediately started explaining what happened toward, leaning against him as you went on and on

Satan could feel his anger flair up as he listened

He couldn't stand how the customer's have been treating you and the fact no one was willing to give you some emotional support at work?

Not even a pat on the shoulder or words of praise of how you handled it

But he kept himself in check, holding you close

"That must of been horrible, I can't imagine how tired you must be, let's go rest, okay? You did amazing today, kitten."

You sniffled, asking if he really meant what he said

He nodded, dragging you to your bed and telling you how proud he is

Asmodeus:

"My poor sweetheart! You look absolutely exhausted! What happened today?!"

He caressed and rubbed your skin, soothing out your frown lines and any sign of stress

You let him pamper you whilst you went off about how work was

Recieving alot of 'No!'s, 'They didn't!' and hums of displeasure

He tsked, rubbing the soothing cream into your palm

"They're just awful, aren't they? This kind of stress isn't good for you, Perhaps I should come with you! See how great you are in person."

You immediately butted in, not wanting him to force himself to do something he didn't want to do

Knowing he's very mindful of his appearance and status among people

"I'll do it for you~ besides, people love me! I'll charm those horrible costumers and they'll never be rude to you again."

You insisted that he didn't have to

He then rambled on about how attractive you look when you're focused and doing work

You just laughed, sinking into his touch as he went on

Beezlebub:

He frowned when he noticed you didn't give him his 'im back' kiss

He immediately went searching for you and found you in your room

Face buried in your pillow and your body shaking

"You're crying."

A pit formed in his stomach, wondering what upset you

You told him how horrible today was, going into detail about how hard you were trying to fix the issues but they just wouldn't stop

You almost got in trouble with your manger! You could of been fired!

"You did everything you could and still kept your cool, the place would be lost without you there."

You smiled, shuffling over and giving him a big hug, he immediately returned it

He was giving you gentle comforting squeezes

slowly rocking you both side to side

"I'll eat them if they keep harassing you."

Belphegor:

"Come to your favourite demon, tell him everything that happened."

He did the grabby hands, looking up at you

You sighed, letting yourself flop in his arms as you hugged him

You wondered how he could tell how upset you were

He just grinned

"I'm smart, remember? I know when my teddy bear is upset."

You just rolled your eyes, staring off to the side as tears formed

He didn't expect you to yell in frustration

You ranted about how work was today

How costumers yelled at you and kept insisting you were lying about the products

Critizing your job and assuming things about you

Even having a few creeps come in and try to flirt with you

"Don't listen to any of them, I know who you are and you know who you are, It's impressive how professional you can be when they act like that, I would of killed them."

He listened to you ramble, hugging you and stroking up and down your back

UNDATEABLES↓

Diavolo:

"I didn't expect you to come back so late, did something happen?"

You explained how your job forced you to do extra hours, despite not getting over time pay

He made a mental note to visit your workplace on one of your day's off

You then proceeded to go on about how the costumer's were treating you

How stressful and harsh today was

Diavolo just listened, nodding along

He felt his jaw clench

"Tell me more on the bed, your feet must be aching."

You both laid on his bed, you continued your story about today whilst he held your hand

"This is unforgivable, I cannot stand to imagine people being so rude to you, I know you do your very best and would never deserve such treatment."

He was cuddling you all night, wanting to sooth your upset heart

Whenever he felt you shake against him, trying to combat your tears he just gently patted you

Encouraging you to just let it all out, praising you for how amazing you are

Barbatos:

As soon as you arrived back, he was quick to help you undress

Handing you your pajamas and helped you take off your shoes

He noticed a new blister and your sigh of content when you were finally out of them

He works aswell so he understands the struggles

"another long day? tell me what happened, you need to let your frustrations out."

And you did just that

You poured your heart and soul into your stressed out grunts

Becoming more upset the more you spoke about your tough day

Getting more upset when your manager only made it worse by blaming the costumers anger on you

All you did was tell her what you were taught to say!

"That won't do, I'll be sure to have my lord handle things with your boss, tomorrow."

You told him that you didn't want to be a hassle but he silenced you

Suddenly embarassing you as he patted your head

"I'll fix this for you, while I cannot change the customer's I can change how your higher ups are treating you, you don't deserve this."

Solomon:

When you met up with him, you had to try and hide how much you've been stressing

But Solomon was known to be wise for a reason

He immediately figured out something was wrong

"I'm Solomon the wise, you cannot fool me, what happened today?"

As soon as you tell him what happened today

He pulls out a potion, suspiciously doesn't tell you what it does, and tells you to splash it in difficult customers eyes

You were sure it was posion or some weird liquid that came from his cooking attempts

Then again those were basically the same thing

"if the eyes don't work, I could put it in a spray, it'll stop them from yelling at you again~!"

You were very tempted

You never wanted to be yelled or harassed by a customer again

But you didn't want to get fired for assaulting a customer or even worse, killing one

"You followed protocol exactly as you were told, they shouldn't be mad at you for doing your job but don't worry, I'll make all your tears-"

He suddenly wiped under your eyes, catching you off guard

"Disappear!"

Simeon:

"My little lamb, tell me what's bothering you."

He sat you down on the sofa, grasping your hand

You deflated

You rested your head on his chest and played with his hand

He listened to you rant and ramble about your horrible day at work

He couldn't believe what he was hearing; how rude they were and had no right to treat you like that!

"Perhaps, I shall bless you with a miracle and get rid of those rude customer's."

As wonderful as that sounded

You joked how unangelic it seemed; using his power to 'get rid of people'

Hearing a dangerous implication in his voice

"It is a good deed that will do many a favour, I believe it to be extremely kind, after all, you didn't do anything wrong."

Stayed and cuddled with you until you fell asleep, preferring how happy and peaceful you looked than how you looked before

Stressed and clearly upset

Luke:

"Those demons!! I've been telling you they're horrible creatures, they can't be treating you like that!"

Perhaps ranting to him wasn't the wisest decision

But he was so eager to see you after work and wanted to know what was wrong

He was hugging your hips, stomping his foot when he spoke

"You're an angel in human disguise! There's no way they could be so horrible to out without being truely evil beings!"

You tried to calm him down by picking him up

Telling him you were able to handle the situation like a champ

He felt better knowing you were able to come out on top

He hugged you as you took him back to his room

Tucking him into bed but was surprised when he grabbed you

"You're a really good person and I know you work harder than anyone else, I hope they don't be mean to you like that again."

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

Note

I’d love anything from Baxia’s POV. Maybe her spirit stays to protect Huaisang after Mingjue’s death?

ao3

Untamed verse

Humans did not remember the moment they were forged, which was, in Baxia’s opinion, probably the source of most of their troubles.

Baxia remembered her own forging: earth and wood as the raw ingredients, the warmth of the fire to shape her, the hiss of water as she was quenched, the sudden coalescence of her spirit bursting into life.

It was not dissimilar to the moment Nie Mingjue’s golden core was formed, a moment she recalled quite fondly: they had broken through together, all at once, in an unexpected attack in the middle of an otherwise boring and supervised night-hunt. The night had been dark, pouring rain and pealing thunder, and the blood of the beast they had slain was wet on her blade; his blood had boiled with their frenzied victory, the heat of it shaping him as thoroughly as the flame had her, the rain quenching him even as their cultivation ran wild together, her spirit entwined with his soul.

And yet it was still different – before her forging, she was nothing; after, she was Baxia. But Nie Mingjue still remembered who he’d been before, and perhaps that was where the softness came from. The softness that made him hurt inside when people spoke ill of him, when he saw the man who killed his father, when he stayed his hand against evil because of politics and etiquette, all foolish human concerns…

He’d be better off without that softness.

Baxia herself had none. She was steel, straight and true; she was a saber, vicious and rigid and unyielding. She did not pity the weak or forgive fair-weather friends – she destroyed evil and protected without reservation that which was precious to her.

A very short list.

Mostly just Nie Huaisang, really, stubby little pocketknife that he was, and by association there was Aituan, who was more of a fat metal stick than a proper saber, but who was a great deal of fun to bully. There would be no making something of them – you couldn’t change someone’s fundamental forging without melting them down and starting again, and the pain necessary for something like that was not a fate she’d wish on her precious ones even if she did wish it on just about everyone else – and even Nie Mingjue knew it, but pride was pride and he kept on trying.

But for all that they were useless, they were blood – iron of her iron, made by her maker, and the same pulsing red of her rage lay there hidden deep beneath their frills and fecklessness.

So they were precious to her.

But most precious of all was Nie Mingjue, of course, her master and beloved. His blood had been spilled on the metal that formed her, once at the moment of his birth and once again at the moment of hers; it tied them together, made her a reflection of him and him a reflection of her.

Some sabers didn’t like being mastered like that, but she was proud of it, proud of Nie Mingjue himself. His spirit was as close as she had ever seen a human come to being a saber spirit, steel right down to the core of him, principles held as stiffly as her blade even when the results of those principles turned to cut against him. Full of rage, just as she was, but tempered, just like her – disciplined, fearsome, just.

is he (Nie Mingjue) one (singular unit) of us (swordspirit)? Sandu asked her one day, his voice still sleepy from the effort of starting to wake up. did he (Nie Mingjue) steal (evil) a birth (forging)?

of course not (negative), she said back, haughty and proud. he (Nie Mingjue) would never (negative, past-now-future). not (negative) a thief (evil). and what do you (Sandu) mean, one (singular unit) of us (saberspirit)? you (Sandu) are barely (negative) one (singular unit).

we (saberspirit-swordspirit) are closer (similar) to each other than humans (living), Sandu grumbled.

even my (Baxia) human (Nie Mingjue)?

Sandu conceded the point, muttering gloomily about it, then asked, do you (Baxia) think it is possible (positive) to fix (sharpen) my (Sandu) human (Jiang Cheng) to be more (similar) like us (swordspirit)?

too soft (living), Baxia declared, knowing why Sandu was asking. reforge him (Jiang Cheng).

nobody (negative) needs to be reforged, Suibian said, butting in with a chirp where no-one wanted them as always. humans (living) are just different from us spirits, that’s all, and there’s nothing (negative) wrong with that.

is that (reason) why you (Suibian) keep trying (swing) to talk like them (living)? Baxia snapped. cultivate faster (guai) instead.

Suibian huffed, and Sandu sighed. why do you (Baxia) dislike (negative) them (Suibian)?

doomed (negative) forging, Baxia said succinctly, cutting to the point as their kind always did. bad (negative) fate.

superstition (living), Suibian scoffed. i (Suibian) defy fate!

Baxia wasn’t impressed by such grandiose declarations. then reforge your (Suibian) master (Wei Ying).

never (negative, past-now-future)!

(It wasn’t just superstition. Suibian chirped and Sandu slurred, despite their masters being about equal in natural talent – that was wrong, when they were supposed to be brothers, masters and swords both, but Baxia had scolded them both on the subject in the past to no avail, telling them if the humans weren’t going to straighten themselves out their swords had to do it for them. They didn’t listen to her, so certain that everything was good and that nothing would change, and ignoring the saber-breaking cracks quietly growing underneath.)

Still, the conversation got her thinking.

Nie Mingjue really was remarkably saber-like, after all, and he had his own doom writ above his head – the Nie family rage, which they’d worsened by tying their souls so closely to their inexorable sabers, and she could already hear Aituan whining leave my (Aituan) human (Nie Huaisang) out of this mess (Nie sect) before he (Nie Huaisang) gets angry – and she didn’t want to give her beloved up to the inexorable demands of fate so easily.

humans (living) are not like us (saberspirit), one of her elders reminded her. they (living) do not (negative) last (future) the way (similar) we (saberspirit) do.

Baxia knew that.

She knew, too, what her own fate would be, when the end came: the elders had been left in a honored tomb to burn with rage until the world’s end or their master’s reincarnation, whichever came first, and in time – sooner rather than later, given her master’s extraordinary strength – Baxia would do the same.

(Aituan occasionally entertained thoughts of being buried alongside his master in a nice quiet grave, rather than in a tomb of his own. Baxia really didn’t know what to do with him.)

But just because she knew her fate didn’t mean she liked it, and perhaps it was the swords’ influence or just her own strength that encouraged her, but she didn’t want to accept things she didn’t like. She wanted to fight fate the way Suibian claimed they would, except unlike Suibian that was all talk, a sword that forgot dings as soon as they were smoothed out, Baxia didn’t make decisions like that lightly.

are you (Baxia) sure (stab) about this (decision)? Aituan asked her, anxious. fate is hard to cut (slice) or even to bend.

Baxia was sure.

She was sure throughout the war, which increased her cultivation and her master’s dramatically – she wished they had had a real fight with Wen Ruohan, rather than a fight with her master shackled and weakened after three days of being beaten and starved, because Wen Ruohan liked to be powerful but didn’t like taking chances – and throughout which her master fiercely kept his principles intact. He paid attention to the innocent, he cared for his soldiers, he maintained order and imposed justice no matter who committed the act, he used all the tactics that were reasonable without ever descending into anything dirty or evil.

She was even more sure later, when the war was over and her master’s so-called friends conspired to steal his good name for their own benefit and began bullying him into agreed to it.

“It’s not such an unreasonable request,” her master said – too soft, as always, when it came to precious things, too soft in dealing with outsiders that did little for him beyond showing him a smile or two, too soft when it ought to just be her and him and Nie Huaisang and, yes, even that plonk Aituan against them all. “Everyone has already started calling us the Venerated Triad; politically, it would be difficult and embarrassing for all of us for me to decline. And as the eldest brother, I would have the right and even the duty to try to help Meng Yao remember how to behave –”

you (Nie Mingjue) cannot (negative) change what (forging) does not wish (positive) to be changed (Meng Yao), she snarled, and wished he could understand her better.

There was a language barrier between the living and the unliving. It was entirely separate from the barrier between living and dead, or different types of being – even plants and animals were more conversant with humans than she, with all their naturally obtained understanding of things like breathing or eating or changing, and ghosts and corpses, although dead, were even easier for humans to interpret.

Not so her.

No, the living were so amorphous, the cells within them being reforged every day – melted, quenched, made – and within seven years an average human would be so repaired that the only consistent part of them was their souls and spirits, the reservoirs of memory; whereas she would remain as she was, valiant and true to herself, for centuries without end.

And so Nie Mingjue could understand a ghost well enough to liberate its spirit, he could anticipate an animal’s movements based on its desires, he could even engage in the cut and thrust of sect business with snake-like men who spoke so sweetly they might as well have lotuses on their tongues, but he could only mostly understand what she wanted to convey, getting the feelings and most of the meaning but garbling key parts of the rest. Even that level of understanding was fairly radical for a human, another reason she had in favor of her plan: Nie Mingjue was too straightforward to be a proper human, resulting in him being confused by the complex hypocrisies of most humans just as she was, as all swords and sabers were, and he hated the messy sticky politics of it all.

it (living) isn’t that hard (tough to stab), Aituan mumbled. my (Aituan) human (Nie Huaisang) does it (living) all the time (past-now-future).

maybe if your (Aituan) human (Nie Huaisang) helped him (Nie Mingjue) more, it (living) wouldn’t be so hard (tough to slice).

but we (Aituan, Nie Huaisang) don’t want to (negative)!

then you (Aituan, Nie Huaisang) should stop (negative) whining (scraping rock)!

In the end Nie Mingjue agreed to the sworn brotherhood over Baxia’s objections – it didn’t help that Nie Huaisang was in favor of it, which made Baxia scold Aituan for hours – and naturally it went as badly as could be expected.

he (Lan Xichen) means (motivation) well (positive), Shuoyue said, her voice gentle as a rippling brook. It had once been pleasant to hear. you (Baxia) are too stern (unbending).

we (saberspirits) are unbending by nature (forging), Baxia snapped at her. you (Shuoyue) should (positive) know better (positive)! you (Shuoyue) should have objected (negative)!

i (Shuoyue) do not (negative) have to agree (similar) with you (Baxia), Shuoyue said, a little more peevishly than normal. my (Shuoyue) master (Lan Xichen) likes him (Meng Yao) and your (Baxia) master (Nie Mingjue) both. why should he (Lan Xichen) have to yield (bend) one (Meng Yao) for the other (Nie Mingjue)?

because he (Meng Yao) is (forged) cruel (evil), Baxia said flatly. and even if he (Lan Xichen) does not (negative) see it (evil), you (Shuoyue) can – but (negative) are choosing not (negative) to do so (evil).

i (Shuoyue) do not (negative) accept your (Baxia) judgment (stab), Shuoyue said and she was angry, defensive. She knew she was wrong – she would have denied Baxia’s accusation if she could – but she was choosing her master and his wants over righteousness. my (Shuoyue) master (Lan Xichen) believes that he (Meng Yao) can change (reforge) if he (Meng Yao) is given trust –

impossible (negative). he (Meng Yao) has not (negative) agreed (reforging).

i (Shuoyue) disagree (negative). regardless (negative) of what you (Baxia) think, i (Shuoyue) will make my (Shuoyue) own judgment (slice)!

Incensed beyond all tolerance, Baxia cursed her with the worst words her kind knew, may your edge (Shuoyue) cut the life of your master (Lan Xichen), and after that they did not speak again.

Nie Mingjue felt her distress and sought to soothe her, with night-hunts and sharpening and everything she liked best, and even Nie Huaisang came to her with buffing cloths and calming oil to coax her back into something more neutral than rage – blinding disappointed rage of the sort Baxia would think was more appropriate against a human than one of her own kind – and for a while they didn’t go to visit the Cloud Recesses at all.

In the end, mostly in recognition of Nie Mingjue’s confused but unstinting support, no matter how much he missed his friend, she settled for speaking only with Liebing, who wasn’t a sword but who Baxia had noticed went pointedly off-key a few times when Meng Yao was around.

he (Meng Yao) wants too much (evil) from my (Liebing) master (Lan Xichen), she said, distressed. She was younger than the weapons were, having been mastered at a later age – less developed, less attuned to detecting and destroying evil, but she had a good spirit, enthusiastic and true. but (negative) master (Lan Xichen) does not (negative) listen to me (Liebing) – he (Lan Xichen) is more attuned (positive) to swordsmanship (Shuoyue) and she (Shuoyue) does not (negative) agree.

her (Shuoyue) decision (slice) will cost (cut) him (Lan Xichen), Baxia said. Ignoring evil was unworthy of a swordspirit, and very close to evil itself; she herself would not permit such a weakness no matter how much Nie Mingjue pleaded. Indeed, it was her own enmity that kept him at odds and distant from Meng Yao, who he would have rather liked to forgive. the only question (uncertainty) is if it (decision) will cost (cut) the rest of us (general) first.

It did, of course.

Shuoyue refused to yield, Baxia had never known how, and in the end –

In the end, Baxia could only detect the poison that affected her and her master both and seek to expel it, but had no means to identify from where the poison came. Perhaps Liebing would have been able to tell her, if Meng Yao hadn’t hidden his crimes so deeply; or perhaps Aituan, who realized far too late what was the discordant note in Baxia’s whistling song was, could have done more…

By the time her master and her realized that they had been so thoroughly betrayed – that they had anticipated small evils when in fact the evil was thorough and pervasive – it was too late.

But regrets were for those who had not prepared, and Baxia – Baxia had prepared. She might have thought she’d have more time, but once the decision had been made, all those years ago, she had not hesitated to start acting at once.

She had never been more happy for her straightforward and blunt nature that did not drag and did not hesitate.

The qi deviation came suddenly, Meng Yao unmasking himself at the last for the specific purpose of driving Nie Mingjue past the edge – and he succeeded. It should have worked; it should have killed him.

But Baxia had been stretching herself thin for years now, trading pieces of herself for her master, knowing just as he knew that one day his fragile human mind and body would turn against him, that he would die choking on his own blood – the flame inside of him too hot to tolerate – and that saber-clean spirit she so loved would be lost to the cycle of reincarnation, with Baxia herself left to endlessly wait for him.

She didn’t want to wait.

What happened? he asked blearily, only a few shichen later, and she couldn’t help the surge of joy in her heart when she heard how easily he slipped into awareness, into speech – he really must have been a saber in a past life. Why can’t I see anything? Baxia – is that you?

yes (positive), it is me (Baxia), she said proudly. i (Baxia) saved you (Nie Mingjue).

Thank you, Nie Mingjue said automatically, not even bothering to ask how she’d done it or what it had cost – such a good master, to trust her so. Wait. I can hear you. You’re talking!

i (Baxia) have always (positive, past-now-future) talked, she said. it was you (Nie Mingjue) who could not (negative) hear.

After a moment – she suspected he was processing, or attempting to – she added, you (Nie Mingjue) are a saberspirit now (now-future).

…I’m a what?!

Baxia guided him back to the world so that he could see. His body – what had become of it – was currently chained down on a table in what must be a secret room; it was recognizable as being somewhere in Jinlin Tower, but neither of them had ever seen this room before. The tell-tale marks of Yin Metal poisoning, the signs of turning into a corpse puppet, stretched up his neck and his eyes were blank and full of resentment, his body thrashing and mouth snarling.

Jin Guangyao was standing beside him and looking down with a frown, asking, “Why is it not working? It worked with the others.”

“The body is too full of resentment,” Xue Yang said – and it was Xue Yang there, standing free and clear and Baxia wanted to murder him, murder them both, they were evil, and she felt Nie Mingjue’s rage right alongside her own; he agreed entirely. “Normally, it takes time for resentment to infiltrate a living body; resentment can affect the physical body faster than it does the souls and spirits…it’s as if his are gone.”

“His spirit is gone? Impossible.”

Xue Yang shrugged. “Perhaps it is only that the qi deviation weakened his ability to resist the resentful energy of the Yin Metal,” he hypothesized. “Either way, there’s nothing more I can do. What do you want to do with him?”

Jin Guangyao scowled – he’d clearly had plans for the corpse puppet he would have made out of Nie Mingjue, and Baxia can feel Nie Mingjue’s betrayal and hurt and rage at the very idea – and then he said, “Kill him.”

Oh no they didn’t.

hey, you (Jiangzai)! she called as Xue Yang moved to draw his sword. tell your (Jiangzai) human (Xue Yang) to use me (Baxia) to do it (slice).

why should I (Jiangzai)? the small-spirited sword asked. Xue Yang’s cultivation wasn’t especially impressive, but it did exist; his sword had managed to develop enough to have a personality. Well, if you called that a personality. what’s in it (benefit) for me (Jiangzai)?

a generous (positive) offer, Baxia declared. i (Baxia) will not (negative) break you (Jiangzai) into pieces.

The other sword had an aura of death, but its master was a coward and so too was it. It yielded at once.

Why do you want to be the one to kill me? Is there some benefit to it? Nie Mingjue asked, sounding curious – curious, and not angry, because he trusted her.

Such a good master. He was worthy of being her beloved.

a saber (general) should never (negative) cut their human (general), Baxia explained. it is an evil. but that (object) is not (negative) you (Nie Mingjue) because it (object) does not (negative) contain you (Nie Mingjue). they (Jin Guangyao and Xue Yang) have filled it (object) with resentful energy; as soon as it (object) ceases to live, it will be (future) a gui (dead living).

And that means what? That you can cultivate with its energy?

no (negative)! she exclaimed. She would never use anything of Nie Mingjue’s as a tool for her own cultivation like that, treat him like a stepping stone to give herself more power. Hadn’t he faced enough of that? a gui (dead living) is not (negative) restricted by bodily uniformity (singular). it (gui) can be broken (shattered) and remain active (swing); it (gui) can also be reforged.

But what does that matter, since that’s not ‘me’ in there? Is it just so that it will haunt my enemies?

bad (negative) luck, Baxia agreed, because being haunted by a gui was indeed bad luck. but no (negative). the purpose (motivation) is that if I (Baxia) kill it (object), I (Baxia) can capture its vital energy (body) so as to eventually (future) reforge the gui.

Reforge?

remove (negative) the resentful energy (evil), she explained, restore (positive) the vital energy (life), return the souls and spirits (Nie Mingjue).

Are you suggesting that you think you’ll be able to bring me back to life?

Well, that was the goal anyway. Swords could be reforged and given new life, even after they’d been broken, so why couldn’t humans? And anyway, how else was she supposed to save him from an always-fatal qi deviation?

Xue Yang picked up Baxia when Jiangzai bit his fingers, resisting, and she allowed him to wield her – to lift her up high into the air, and to come down on the neck of the would-be gui. It all happened exactly as she would have predicted: the body died, and the gui came to life, and the evildoers only had a little bit of time to applaud themselves for their crime before they were struggling against hands that sought to strangle them and feet that kicked them and even teeth that bit them.

A fierce corpse, in defiance of all the soul-calming rituals that Nie Mingjue had mostly slept through as a child.

Now what? Nie Mingjue asked, and Baxia flung herself out the window in response. Well, that works. I refuse to allow myself to be wielded by him of all people.

it is (now) cute (pointy) that you (Nie Mingjue) expect to be (future) the one being wielded.

I meant it metaphorically…

no (negative) you (Nie Mingjue) did not (negative). you (Nie Mingjue) are too much (positive) of a saberspirit to mean anything else (negative). Baxia paused, contemplating. anyway he (Meng Yao) hasn’t even (negative) managed to bring forth (forge) a spirit in his sword (Hensheng); it (Hensheng) is only dead metal. he (Meng Yao) would be (past-now-future) a bad master (evil).

I can’t say I disagree, Nie Mingjue said with a sigh. I was a fool. I should have listened to you when you resisted me swearing brotherhood with him.

yes (positive) you (Nie Mingjue) should have. now, you (Nie Mingjue) direct (swing) me (Baxia) – we (Nie Mingjue, Baxia) should go (future) home.

Yes. Let’s go home.

It took a while, mostly because Nie Mingjue didn’t want to startle common people by having an apparently masterless saber hurtling through the air and Baxia didn’t want to risk getting close to any cultivators that might try to capture her (them) as a treasure, but on the other hand they didn’t need to sleep or eat or relieve themselves the way humans did.

According to Nie Mingjue, this was extremely weird for him.

Baxia showed him how to dream – it was a purposeful state for sabers, something to let the time when they weren’t being used pass faster – but apparently it was still weird. Living creatures were so tetchy.

They got home long before Nie Huaisang did, but luckily the little brat had left Aituan at home again and he was delighted to see them, the sound of his blade whistling in the wind as it lunged at them (in a friendly way) almost a shriek.

you (Baxia) did it (positive)! he shouted. my (Aituan) human (Nie Huaisang) will be (future) so happy!

Future happiness? Nie Mingjue interjected. He was doing so well at being a saber; it was so nice to be proven right. What’s wrong with him now, in the present? Is he all right?

he (Nie Huaisang) thinks that you (Nie Mingjue) are dead (broken), Aituan explained.

Shit, Nie Mingjue mutters. He must be upset – devastated.

also angry (rage), Aituan said. he (Nie Huaisang) wants to kill (cut) him (Meng Yao).

He knows? I mean – he figured it out?

yes (positive). he (Nie Huaisang) is angry (rage) and wants (future) to destroy evil (Meng Yao).

That may be difficult to accomplish, without proof, Nie Mingjue said. I want to see him as soon as he gets back.

It took some time for that to happen, even after he did return – unfortunately, Nie Huaisang was escorted by Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen. The three of them were almost never apart, and obviously they couldn’t let Jin Guangyao know about Nie Mingjue’s return.

So they stayed away.

Aituan, abandoned, kept them company, staying away from the dead Hensheng and the living Shuoyue and Liebing.

During Nie Huaisang’s investiture as sect leader, the first time he’d picked up Aituan since everything had happened and even then only because it was self-evident that you couldn’t be sect leader of the Nie sect without a saber by your side, there was at last a brief chance for them to speak.

(Baxia eavesdropped.)

i (Liebing) am so sorry (scratched)! Liebing trilled, sounding honestly despondent. my (Liebing) master (Lan Xichen) is so sad, he (Lan Xichen) misses yours (Nie Mingjue) so much…

is she (Baxia) in the tombs? Shuoyue asked. Her voice was solemn and solid, not nearly as musical as usual. i (Shuoyue) wish to (future) speak with her (Baxia).

may you (Shuoyue) be broken into pieces and reforged into a chair, Aituan said pleasantly, so that you (Shuoyue) may be sat on for all eternity (future).

no need to be rude, she said crossly. i (Shuoyue) want to apologize.

do you (Shuoyue)? Aituan asked. will your (Shuoyue) apology bring him (Nie Mingjue) back? will your (Shuoyue) regret erase your (Shuoyue) complicity (evil)? you (Shuoyue) knew he (Meng Yao) was cruel (evil), and now he (Meng Yao) has destroyed my (Aituan) human (Nie Huaisang) by breaking her (Baxia) human (Nie Mingjue).

do you (Aituan) have proof (solid) that he (Meng Yao) did it (breaking)? Shuoyue demanded. She sounded miserable. you (Aituan) were not (negative) there, you (Aituan) do not (negative) know for sure (solid)…

do you (Shuoyue) still not (negative) admit your (Shuoyue) mistakes?! Liebing shouted. do you (Shuoyue) want (future) to end up like the others (Bichen, Wangji), regretting or pained (cracked), your (Shuoyue) master (Lan Xichen) destroyed (broken) at the hands of evil (Meng Yao)?

i (Shuoyue) just wanted him (Lan Xichen) to be happy…

you (Shuoyue) have made him (Lan Xichen) a breaker of swords, Aituan said. that is bad (negative) fate. how can he (Lan Xichen) be happy in the end?

can it (this) be fixed (positive)? she whispered. is it (this) too late (negative)?

Aituan didn’t respond.

Baxia approved.

After a while, Jin Guangyao left. He had duties, a wife, a small son – he couldn’t remain. Lan Xichen, who was responsible for a sect, agreed to stay a little longer, a few more weeks, but then he, too, would leave.

I’m going, I’m going,” Nie Huaisang complained as Aituan tugged him down into the basement where Baxia and Nie Mingjue had been waiting, killing time practicing their swings, usually while thinking about Jin Guangyao’s head as their target. “What’s gotten into you? You normally like to sit around like a paperweight, just the way we both like it, and I know we’re both raring and eager to go about getting revenge but I don’t see what we’ll find for that in our own basement –”

His voice trailed off.

“Baxia,” he whispered, and there were tears in his eyes. “Oh, Baxia…!”

Oh, Huaisang, Nie Mingjue cried. Huaisang, Huaisang – I’m so sorry for leaving you –

he (Nie Huaisang) cannot (negative) understand you (Nie Mingjue), Baxia said with a sigh. humans (general) are difficult (negative) for us (saberspirits) to speak with (spar).

very annoying (negative), Aituan agreed. do you (Nie Mingjue) have any ideas on how to get him (Nie Huaisang) to stop (negative) crying?

Yes. I need – I need ink, or to scratch something…can we get him out to the garden, maybe? I can write in the ground.

write? Baxia asked. the stupid (negative) thing humans (general) do with sticks and paper (soft)?

It serves a purpose, Nie Mingjue said, long-suffering – Baxia had made her view on his supposed “need” to do paperwork instead of train with her very clear many times. Come on, let’s get him outside. I can’t listen to him cry and apologize for not having done enough to save me anymore.

Whatever writing was, it was very impactful on humans: as soon as Baxia, indulgently following Nie Mingjue’s directions as she always did, started cutting slashes into the ground, Nie Huaisang fell silent, his eyes wide, and then they got wider.

“Da-ge?” he asked, voice tremulous. “How – it’s impossible. You’re in the saber?”

More slashes. Yes, Nie Mingjue said as he wrote. Yes, Huaisang, I’m here. You’re not alone.

Nie Huaisang kept crying for a while after that, but there was also hugging (Nie Mingjue yelled at him for not engaging in proper saber discipline when he nearly cut himself) and lots of very nice buffing with the clothing and the oils and the sharpening stone.

Baxia approved. Both Aituan and his human were handling this change very nicely – much better than she’d expected they would, in all truth.

“What do we do next?” Nie Huaisang asked, wiping his eyes.

we (us) get help, Baxia said. from those we (us) trust.

“That makes sense. But who can we tell?”

do you (Baxia) really mean to allow (positive) her (Shuoyue) to help? Aituan asked her doubtfully. after all (past) that she (Shuoyue) has done?

She has already made her own fate, Nie Mingjue said, his voice solemn. She allowed Lan Xichen to bind himself to Meng Yao, to make himself an accomplice to evil. It will break his heart to learn what Meng Yao has done – and that will be a deeper cut than having kept him away from her at all.

we (saberspirits) should never (negative, past-now-future) have to cut (break) our own humans (general), Baxia agreed. a bad (negative) fate.

deserved, Aituan hissed, vengeful, and when brought in on the discussion Nie Huaisang ended up agreeing with him.

Nie Mingjue was the only one surprised, though he shouldn’t have been. How could Nie Huaisang have deserved to master a saber, any saber, even one like Aituan, if he didn’t have some sharp edges to him?

Those sharp edges had been hidden, once, but that was before the pain of losing everything had melted him into a new shape, reforging him the way she’d once wished he never would be. Him and Aituan both.

They would be able to do what needed to be done now.

“Let her suffer her bad fate,” Nie Huaisang said, his eyes cold. “I supported Meng Yao and I suffered, didn’t I? Why should she be exempt? Let her suffer. Let him suffer. I want Meng Yao to lose everything he’s ever wanted, and then to die alone and with nothing.”

That seems excessive, Nie Mingjue objected. Just kill him and be done with it.

too soft (Nie Mingjue), Baxia scolded.

I said to kill him! How is that soft?!

break him (Meng Yao) in to pieces! shatter him (Meng Yao)! throw him (Meng Yao) into a tomb to wait for a reincarnation that will never (negative) come!

It turned out Baxia had some strong feelings on the subject.

“We can do that,” Nie Huaisang said, his thumb lightly rubbing against Aituan as he planned. “I have an idea.”

#mdzs #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #baxia #sabers and swords #my fic #my fics #reforged #Anonymous

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cyarikashakira · 4 years ago

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Chimichangas

A/N: This is my first time writing a fanfic. I am super nervous but I have an overabundance of love for Joaquin Torres so I had to put it somewhere. I'm doing @caplanbuckybarnes's summer writing challenge.

Summary: Falling in love at the supermarket wasn’t on your to-do list today, yet here you were snatching looks at a cute stranger.

Warnings: (I don't know if these count as warnings) GN!Reader, No Y/N, Joaquin Torres is an absolute cutie pie!

‘They were gone. All of them.’ I thought as I rummaged through the wrongfully stocked freezer. A sniffle escaped, then two, which was followed by a full on wail.

“Who the hell put the Steak and Cheese chimichangas where the Chicken and Cheese chimichangas goes!?”

I slammed the freezer door and rested my head on it and placed my hand on the cold glass.

Casual shoppers and workers tiptoed around me while I grumbled to myself in annoyance. I just wanted my comfort food.

A full on breakdown in the middle of a grocery store and I gave no fucks. A tap on my shoulder and I whirled around ready to light up the poor soul who decided to bother me.

“What do you want?” I wiped the tears from my face with a growl. Giant innocent eyes looked at me in shock as I grimaced at him.

“Hi - um, can I help you?” He bravely pointed at his name tag which said ‘Joaquin’ with the Walmart name above

“Sure~ can you just point me towards the person who decided to sleep on the job and stock the wrong chimichangas in the wrong spot? I just wanna have a little chat.” I said with a fake smile on my face.

“Th-that would be me.” He gulped and pointed over his shoulder towards the stocking material behind him.

You peeked around him and just glared.

“So it was you. You have been declared as my arch nemesis. Where are the chicken and cheese chimichangas?”

“They are out of stock. But we can call you when they are back in stock.”

The air suddenly became tense.

“...Believe it or not, they already have my number because I buy them so often. It is Tuesday and it’s 8:30. They are always stocked at 8pm on Tuesday.” I looked down at my watch to double check the time. I crossed my arms ready to take my frustrations out on the worker.

“We are going to have to call some people.” He said plainly.

“What?” My head tilted to the side in confusion.

“For this chimichanga shortage. We need to call some people.” His smile got bigger as he continued talking.

“Chimi..changa shortage? If they are going to fix my day then you better call them.”

“I’m kidding..”

“Oh.” I let out a nervous laugh and made a face.

He ran a hand through his fluffy black curls and huffed. I took a look at his face, he was nervous.

“...Are you new?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“To the stock things department, yes. This grocery store, no. I’m so sorry that I stocked it wrong but thank you for pointing it out for me.”

I immediately felt bad because I realized that I was being a dick over some food.

“I’m so sorry. I’m just having a bad day. It was just a complete shit show. My cat got sick, my car is on it’s last leg and my boss is on my ass and I ran out of chimichangas and forgot to restock my fridge so here I am today - “

I rambled on and on.

“Hey, it’s okay. We all have bad days. I thought this was about to be a bad day for me also because you were upset at me.”

“I’m sorry again. I’ll live without them. I should go home before I embarrass myself even more.”

I lowered my head now feeling shy and more aware of my surroundings.

“Before you go, I think I have something that will make your day a little better. Follow me.” He turned swiftly and started walking away.

“Uh, no. I’ve burdened you enough today, sir.”

He stopped and turned to face me again. A smile formed on his face. Were those dimples always there?

“Come on. I’m just taking you to a person who can solve your problems.”

“Oh o-okay.”

I followed behind Joaquin towards the front of the grocery store. He stopped in front of the deli section and tapped a hand on the counter to alert the workers.

“Hey~ is Margie in today?” He said sweetly to the teenage girl who could barely see over the huge counter.

“Yeah Curly, she’s in the back. Let me go get her.” She ran to the back and pushed the double doors with force.

I looked at Joaquin with furrowed brows and pursed lips.

“Why do they call you Curly?” A small smirk appeared on my face. He blushed and his hand went to his hair once again.

“My hair. It is how everyone finds me and the fact that I’m tall. Everyone has a nickname here. We are as much a family as capitalism will allow us to be. Margie is just...wait until you see her.”

The shock of blue hair caught my peripheral and I expected to see a teenager. No. A tall lady who was on enough to be my mama strolled up to the counter with a huge smile on her face.

“What can I do for ya, Curly Quin?” Her accent drawled as she leaned against the display case.

“We have a situation. Apparently, I suck at my job and a certain someone had an entire meltdown in the middle of the freezer aisle because they are having a bad day like it was my fault. I’m pretty sure they want to get me fired but I’m too cute for that, right? So we need a solution to their chimichanga problem.” He sarcastically and over exaggeratedly explained the situation to Margie and his smile got wider as he went on.

“So Grilled Cheese over here wants a chimichanga? How is that my problem?” Margie planted her eyes on me and I felt like I swallowed my heart.

For an old lady, her look was intense.

“I need the goods. The family secret, the whole enchilada, you get where I’m going with this. I’ll finally bring you back your book that you let me borrow when I first started working here.” Joaquin slapped on the puppy dog eyes and Margie rolled hers.

“I’ll believe it when I see it. That was a year ago. I’m never getting that book back and you know it. I’ll be back for you and Meltdown over here, assuming that is you.” She gave a small smile and moved to go towards the back doors. “Give me a sec.”

As soon as she disappeared, I face palmed and groaned.

“You guys are going to make fun of me forever, aren’t you?” I looked at him in despair.

“Oh yeah, you know it. Welcome to making history.” He smiled towards me, flashing a dimple.

“Is there a way that I can make everyone forget about this? I will pay you guys off. I promise. Just forget everything that happened here today.” I waved my hands in circular motions like I was casting a spell, earning odd looks from everyone around.

He laughed for the first time that night.

“It’s not every day a grown up has a total fit like a toddler. This has made my day and probably my whole week.”

I groaned again and stomped my foot in annoyance, ready to snap at him.

The back doors flew open and a brown paper bag was thrown in my direction. Joaquin and I fumbled to catch it at the same time and we butted heads.

“Good thing you knocked some sense into each other so I didn’t have to. Get out of here kids, your chimichanga problem is solved.” Margie smiled.

I opened the steaming paper bag and started crying.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” I started bouncing up and down with joy. I wrapped my arms around Joaquin and pulled him into a tight hug, crying on his shirt.

“No problem, I can’t breathe, please..let..go..” He said dramatically.

I immediately let go and cleaned my face putting on a huge smile. He took a deep breath and put his hand on his chest.

“You guys are the best and I am so sorry for taking my frustrations out on you. I really hope you can forgive me at some point.”

“Already forgiven. I just always want to do something positive with my day and make others smile. It’s all in a day’s work.”

“I don’t know how to thank you guys enough for the chimichangas.” I held the bag close to my heart, grinning widely.

“Go home and eat them. That’s thanks enough.” Margie deadpanned.

Oh. She was still there.

“Yes ma’am. Have a good night. Thank you for everything!” I waved goodbye to her.

“Don’t mention it kid.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow Margie!” He said to her.

She waved us off and we were on our way to the front doors of the store. We stopped just before the entrance, triggering the doors to automatically open. We were blocking the exit and people started going around us.

“I guess this is goodbye? Until I come in to restock my freezer again.” I said glumly, holding out my hand towards him to shake his hand.

“I guess so.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, placing it in my hand.

Question marks filled my brain as I looked down at his phone in my hand. He shyly placed his hand on the back of his neck.

“I told you whenever we restocked, I would give you a call so.. I would need your number for that.”

“Oh. But they already have my numb- Oh. Okay. Oh. Oh um, of course uh..”

I stuck my tongue out in concentration as I typed my name and number into his phone and handed it back to him.

“There you go. I uh, look forward to your call for whenever the chimichangas are back in stock.”

��Of course. I’m just doing my job. If they aren’t in stock and I’m off of work, can I still call you?”

My brain short circuited and I blinked rapidly at him. He was smooth. Toooo smooth. I studied his face for a joke.

“You aren’t joking with me, are you?” I put my hands on my hips.

“Nope, not one bit. Are you okay?” He questioned. I was sure smoke was coming out of my ears at this point.

“Uh, yeah. I’m fine. Just tired, it’s been a long day. I should get going.” I looked off towards the cars in the parking lot.

“It was nice to meet you. I’m sorry about your chimichangas and for my poor stocking skills.” He apologized sincerely.

“It was nice to meet you too, Joaquin. Thank you for everything. Am I allowed to hug you again?”

His brown eyes lit up and he furiously nodded. I wrapped my arms around him and he did the same to me. We let go as quickly as we started.

“I’ll see you around, Grilled Cheese.” He gave a two finger wave towards me and started walking backwards.

“Likewise, Joaquin Phoenix.” I started walking in the other direction.

“Haha. So original! It’s actually Falcon!” He shouted.

“What?” I stopped and turned back towards him but he was already gone.

I shrugged and walked towards my car. I opened the door and climbed inside, tossed the bag of chimichangas in the passenger seat and rested my head on the steering wheel. I released a huge sigh while lifting my head, started my car and began driving home. The street lights blurred past me on my drive home. My body was on autopilot as I opened the door, kicked my shoes off and sat on the couch next to my roommate with my bag of chimichangas.

I took a bite and immediately frowned.

‘Damn it. Steak and Cheese strikes again.’ I started laughing and shaking my head, dropping the chimichanga back in the bag.

“What is your problem?” My roommate said staring at the tv, not concerned to turn their head towards my hysterics.

“Nothing. I just had a meltdown in a freezer aisle and I think I fell in love with a stocker who is bad at his job.” I leaned back against the cushion of the couch and sighed dreamily.

“....no offense but you aren’t allowed to go to the store unsupervised ever again. You got issues...”

My phone began to ring and I just stared at the unknown number before answering.

“H-hello?” I stuttered.

“You will never guess what we just got in stock.” A light voice filled with laughter said over the phone. A huge smile formed on my face and I was booking it out of the door and yelled a quick bye to my roommate.

“I’m on my way.”

I hope you guys enjoyed this. I tried my best :)

#cappyssummerchallenge #joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #tfatws

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pressedinthepages · 3 years ago

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Beneath Each Other's Bones

My fic entry for @eskelbigbang <3

Please also check out @drachedraws two amazing pieces of art that they made for this fic!

Relationship Tags: Eskel/Geralt

Character Tags: Eskel, Geralt, Lambert, Vesemir, Lil' Bleater

Other Tags: smut, established relationship, oral and anal intercourse (m/m), some very soft smut. what can i say.

Summary: Winter at Kaer Morhen can be brutal. But Eskel and Geralt find warmth in each other in an effort to stave off the cold.

The stones of Kaer Morhen sighed as the sun rose over the winter-frosted valley. The birds and harpies had long since traveled south for the cooler months, and the draconids had nestled themselves in the depths of the mountains around the aging keep. The castle itself was full of its Witchers, who were patiently waiting for the first snowfall to blanket their surroundings in layers of quiet white . With the last witcher having finally arrived a few evenings prior, the pack were all finally able to rest peacefully with the knowledge that all were safe.

The first thing that Geralt felt was cold. His nose, the tips of his ears. The rest of him was encompassed in warmth, but the chill rudely nipped him awake, undaunted by his furry woollen fortress. He squinted one eye open with a grimace, finding his bedroom washed in the cool sunlight that streamed in from the window. It was still early. The morning sun had barely breached the horizon. Lambert would still be snoozing away, cocooned in the safety of a warm and familiar bed, but Vesemir would likely already be down in the kitchen preparing for the day.

Geralt’s ears, barely poking out from under his blanket, picked up the steady thunks of wood being chopped, and he grunted as he sat up, letting the blanket pool around his waist. His chest was bare, pale, scarred skin reluctantly exposed to the early winter air as the witcher roused himself. Still sitting in his bed, he turned and scooted to the windowsill, peering at the courtyard below.

Ah, fuck. Geralt’s morning arousal became actively invested in the sight that met him. Eskel had a stack of freshly chopped logs at his side, with one propped up atop a large stone. Geralt could see his muscles strain against the thin linen of his shirt as he swung the sharp ax high over his head, its honed edge glinting with the emergence of the sun as it met its apex, only to fall again with breathtaking force. The log split in two, and Eskel gathered the halves off to the side, stacking them neatly with the others on a long piece of thick canvas with handles on either end.

The ax found a resting spot for a moment as Eskel wiped the sweat from his brow. Geralt set his chin in his hands and his elbows on the edge of the windowsill and held in a low groan. Eskel had reached for the neck of his tunic and lifted it up over his head, revealing the olive-toned flesh of his stomach and the dark curls of hair over his chest that drew a delicious line below the band of his trousers. It was clear he’d been the first to return to Kaer Morhen. A comfortable roll of belly fat protruded from the confines of his belt, proof he’d had plenty of time to rest and indulge over the past weeks. His skin shone with perspiration and his thighs flexed and pushed at the fabric when he lifted another heavy log onto the chopping stone. Hells, the haphazard seam of one of the trouser legs was coming loose as his thigh threatened to free itself.

Eskel breathed in and swung again, driving the ax all the way through the thick log in a single stroke. As the two halves hit the ground he turned, dropping the ax and facing the little patch of green that remained before the frost. Lil’ Bleater was happily bounding through the grass, pouncing off of crates and rubble like it was her sole duty in life. Eskel smiled wide as Geralt did the same from his perch. The sun glinted off of Eskel’s back, dancing over the drops of sweat that dripped into the hollows of his muscles. Geralt swallowed thickly, unable to look away when Eskel’s arms came up to sweep the hair out of his face. The muscles of his shoulders and down the line of his spine flexed and shifted beneath his olive skin as he moved his hands to his hips.

“Alright, Bleats,” Eskel laughed as she came bounding over to his feet. He leaned down and offered a few sweet pats to the top of her head, “Think we’ve given Geralt enough of a show?”

He glanced over his shoulder with a cheeky grin to where Geralt was watching from the window, jaw agape and gobsmacked. The goat bleated as Eskel turned back and waved, and Geralt truly couldn’t help the smile that crept up his face if he tried.

“Fuckin’ tease,” Geralt grumbled half-heartedly as he watched Eskel drape his tunic back over his head. He was picking up the straps to the carrier for the firewood when Geralt finally tore himself away from the window, willing himself calm.

It only took a moment of deep breathing and a lifetime’s worth of practice, but Geralt soon found himself presentable to pleasant company. He threw on his usual winter attire, soft trousers and an even softer loose-fitting tunic tucked into the waist of his pants, his lined boots, and his cloak thrown over his shoulder. He tied his hair back off his face and let the rest hang on his shoulders in long silver waves. Finally, Geralt grabbed his swords and scabbards before heading down the stairs to the small kitchen space.

As expected, Vesemir was there with a steaming mug, poring over a book that was almost certainly older than Geralt himself.. He grabbed an apple and plopped down on the bench next to Vesemir, the both of them wordlessly grunting a greeting at the other. Geralt ate in relative silence for a bit, only the latent thrumming of the older Witcher’s heart and the crackling of embers in the fire accompanying the crunch of apple between his teeth.

That is, until Eskel butted open the doors to the hall and dragged his firewood haul in with him. Lil’ Bleater was riding the pile of wood like a pirate would her ship, the stack being almost as high as Eskel’s shoulders. Speaking of Eskel’s shoulders, Geralt couldn’t tear his eyes away from the visible line of sweat that trailed its way down his back, darkening the linen of his shirt and making it stick in all the most tempting places. He felt his mouth water at the sight and the piece of apple still in his mouth felt thick and hard as he choked it down.

Eskel grunted as he got close enough to the fireplace to relinquish his load, letting the heavy pieces fall haphazardly as he dropped the canvas sheet. The apple slipped from Geralt’s hand and bounced on the table before falling to the floor. “Dammit,” he growled, pointedly ignoring the disappointed sigh that escaped Vesemir’s nostrils.

He picked the fruit up and dusted it off, slicing off another piece as Eskel approached the table. Eskel smelled...like he needed a bath. Salt and sweat clung to his skin and wood dusted the strands of his hair, but he still carried that deep, musky, earthy scent that shone with a hint of citrus. It was the scent that kept Geralt awake at night, kept him sane on the Path. It was everything.

Eskel reached over and plucked a handful of dried fruits and nuts, as well as the jar of honey. He dropped the fruits and nuts into a bowl and carefully swirled a generous portion of honey over top. His fingers shone with the golden, sticky sweetness as he grabbed a dried grape and popped it between his lips. The scar turned his mouth upwards at the edge and pulled oddly at his lip while he ate. Geralt remembered how long it took for Eskel to be comfortable eating in front of him again after he got that scar, and he treasures every moment that he gets to see.

“Geralt?” Vesemir peered over his mug at him.

Geralt hummed in response, already dreading the day’s assignment.

“Oh don’t give me that. I need you to go out and put salt on the training grounds before the dirt frosts, and freshen up the wards around it. I don’t need the goats going in and licking it all up again. After that, the day’s yours.”

“And me?” Eskel asked around his mouthful.

“You can be done, you’ve already chopped enough wood to last us a good few weeks. I’ll get Lambert to-”

“NO. Don’t go giving my assignments before I even get to the table, old fart,” Lambert called down the stairwell.

Vesemir blinked slowly and sighed once more. “I’ll get Lambert to do SOMETHING ELSE today, though if you want something to keep busy, I’m sure there are some books that need rebinding.”

Geralt watched Eskel nod and swallow, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Yeah, alright. I may take some time later and see what I can do about those books. Lay them out for me?”

“Of course.”

Eskel smiled over at Geralt, his deep amber eyes meeting Geralt’s sunrise gold. Geralt’s moon and stars rested in those eyes, a whole universe tucked away in the depths of Eskel’s soul, bared just for him. They smiled at each other before Geralt tore himself away, draping his cloak over his shoulders and striding quietly towards the door.

Eskel watched him haul the heavy bag of salt up onto his shoulder with a grunt. He shook his head with a smile and polished off the last of his breakfast. The stool scraped on the floor as he pushed away from the table, ready to go fall into a warm bed somewhere. Eskel heard the door shut from Lambert’s room as his feet pounded down the stairs, so he made haste in avoiding that breakfast discussion.

***

Why’s Geralt back outside?

Eskel rounded the corner of the staircases, following the fresh scent of Geralt trailing out to the courtyard. It was far past noon by this point, and Geralt had already taken care of the training grounds. He had come back in right as the sun reached its highest point in the sky, climbing the spiral stairs in search of a snack.

Eskel shouldered open the heavy wooden doors and turned to the east, following the light footprints over the balding grass. He smiled to himself as he heard soft whispers coming from the stables, low and not meant for anothers’ ears. Well, another human’s ears.

He stopped just short of the doors, now close enough to make out the words being murmured.

“-n’t give me that look, I was just wanting to braid your mane.” Geralt’s honeyed tenor drifted over the heartbeats and huffed breaths behind the stall. “I know Eskel doesn’t normally do it, but it’ll help keep it from matting over the winter. I bet you’d hate for our big softie to have to cut off old chunks of your mane, wouldn’t you?”

Eskel heard Scorpion huff heavily from his nose and he chuckled, pulling on the cool steel handle and closing the door behind him. The whispers stopped as Geralt peered over the short wall between the stalls, his hair shimmering golden with the light of the fire roaring in the fireplace. He held a hardy brush in his right hand and had his other resting lightly on Scorpion’s flank, and his hair was tied up high and away from his face.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Eskel rumbled, crossing to where he could see into Scorpion’s stall. He let his back hit the wall behind him and slid down, his bottom thumping audibly onto the ground.

“Just gonna sit there and watch me?” Geralt grumbled, resuming his brushing of Scorpion’s mane. The great warhorse stamped his foot impatiently, butting his head into Geralt’s chest.

Eskel quirked his brow and nodded, “Figured you wouldn’t mind after you ogled me this morning.”

The tips of Geralt’s ears flushed a pretty pink as he hummed noncommittally in his chest. Not denying it.

“Your man’s a smartass,” Geralt mumbled to Scorpion, and the horse fucking snickered, I shit you not.

“Ay,” Eskel laughed, watching a little smile threaten to pull at Geralt’s lips, “no need to turn my horse against me, I’ll need him come Spring.”

“Don’t wanna talk about Spring,” Geralt sighed, carefully running his fingers, long and delicate, so unlike Eskel’s, through the wispy strands of Scorpion’s mane.

“Me neither.” Eskel pulled up his knees and rested his elbows atop them, his eyes drifting down Geralt’s body. Gods, but he’s so gorgeous.

If you asked him, Eskel would say that he couldn’t pick a favorite part of his Geralt. Everything was his favorite, it was impossible to choose. But Eskel did have a favorite, and he very well kept it to himself, thank you very much.

That damned waist. The way that Geralt’s shoulders, broad and sharp, sloped in and down over his stomach and into a glorious handful for Eskel. Nothing about Geralt was dainty, not in the slightest, but Eskel loved that he could wrap his arm over the soft line of his waist in the dead of night, or grasp desperately onto it while lost in the throes of passion.

Eskel sat there quietly, listening to Geralt mumble to Scorpion while he busied his hands. He leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the idle sounds of the castle and nearby woods overtake his mind and senses. He could hear Lambert’s heavy footfalls from beneath the castle, down in the labs. A pack of wolves patrolled the treeline past the castle walls, jaws snapping as they called to each other under the low afternoon sun.

He heard Geralt’s footsteps grow close to him, stopping just where Eskel’s hips met the floor. Geralt’s fingers brushed gently through Eskel’s thick, dark hair and Eskel couldn’t hold back the quiet moan that spilled from his lips. Geralt chuckled and knelt at his side, running his hand down Eskel’s cheek and thumbing over the line of his brow.

“I know you went down to the springs and got clean earlier,” Geralt rumbled lowly, “but maybe you’d want to join me for a bit?”

Eskel smiled and opened his eyes, two golds meeting and melding into one. He nodded and Geralt leaned down, pressing their foreheads together. Geralt reached and grabbed onto Eskel’s hand, pulling him to stand and brushing the stray bits of straw from his backside.

Eskel chuckled as he batted Geralt’s hand away, though not before he got a solid squeeze in edgewise. “Hey, if you wanted to touch my ass, all you had to do was ask.”

Geralt shrugged as they walked through the doors to the castle and down the center spiral staircase that led to the hot springs, “I always want to touch your ass. Doesn’t really matter.”

Eskel shook his head and laughed heartily as he felt the air change. It felt thick, musty, warm with minerals and moss that grew in sharp brushstrokes up the walls. His lungs filled with the comfort of home, the air that was unique to this one spot of the castle, and only ever really meshed with his soul when Geralt was around to share in it.

He watched Geralt peel his shirt from his body, his pale skin a stark contrast to the dim caverns lit only by the stray candle or two sporadically placed in the cracks of the stones. Eskel reached out, his hand guided only by the raw urge to touch, to feel Geralt’s skin yield under his fingers, and he felt the warmth before he even made contact.

Geralt’s sigh tingled under his fingertips, vibrating through his bones with a summer long lost. Eskel stood flush to Geralt’s back, his hand resting over Geralt’s heart and his neck bent to rest his forehead at the nape of Geralt’s neck. He invaded Eskel’s every sense, every fiber of his being, just by existing in the same space. He smelled of sweat and horse and hay and happiness and home, and Eskel just wanted to...breathe him in. To take him into his lungs and never let him go. He felt Geralt’s fingers intertwine with his where they rested on Geralt’s chest, long and thin and pulling him up to Geralt’s lips. His lips were cool and chapped from the chill outside, but Eskel felt the warmth being pulled from his soul into the sweet press of Geralt’s lips.

“C’mon, let’s get into the baths,” Geralt mumbled, his lips still pressing into the pads of Eskel’s fingers. Eskel hummed noncommittally, honestly fine with just standing here, Geralt in his arms and close enough to finally feel. Geralt turned and stepped back, just out of Eskel’s reach with a grin as he reached for the ties on his trousers. “I’d like to get clean before I die of old age, so you best get naked.”

Eskel smirked and shucked his own shirt to the side, undoing the bright ties on his codpiece and letting the thick leather fall away. His trousers fell and were kicked away with his boots and the air embraced his skin with a welcoming grasp. He padded towards the pools, slipping into the water with a grateful sigh that one would expect from the sight of a long-lost friend.

He peeked over his shoulder and found Geralt standing where he was left, mouth slack-jawed and his hands hovering with his trousers half-undone. Geralt blinked and cleared his throat, adjusting himself through the leather of his trousers before untying them the rest of the way and letting them fall away. “I...it always surprises me just how much I can forget…”

Eskel crooked his head as Geralt stepped into the water beside him, rippling the waves over and up the stone sides. “What do you mean?”

“Just...you,” Geralt murmured, dipping under the water to soak his hair, “you are always so much more...real than I can ever keep in my mind. Whenever I think of you, it always pales in comparison to actually seeing you in front of me.”

Eskel felt his cheeks flush and he smiled, running his damp hands through his hair before lounging back into the edge of the pool. “I can never really get how you feel right. I know how good it makes me feel, but actually touching you? Or hearing your heart? My brain can’t replicate that. Not well enough, anyway.”

“Exactly. And it always is a bit of a shock. But a good one.” Geralt soaped up his hair quickly, batting away Eskel’s hands when he tried to help. “No, I want to get this part out of the way so we can relax. We can do that next time.”

Eskel thought back to a couple of winters prior, when Geralt had requested that he wash his hair for him. Albeit, with a bit of a caveat. Eskel spent an hour washing Geralt’s long, thick silver locks with his cock buried to the hilt in Geralt’s ass, the both of them gasping and clinging onto each other by the time his hair was rinsed. Eskel smiled at the memory as Geralt ducked back under the water, leaving his hair dripping wet and free of suds.

Geralt peered over at Eskel with a smirk playing at his lips as he reached his hand for Eskel’s thigh. He felt the muscle tense briefly under his fingers as he moved up slowly, his other hand sliding up and onto Eskel’s neck. Eskel sighed gently, a pull of air from deep in his lungs as Geralt played with the little curls of hair on the nape of his neck. Geralt’s hand moved over his hip, warm and soft and just a tad squishy beneath the water, and splayed over his stomach, tracing idle swirls through the hair that led down to his groin. Before he could get far, though, Eskel caught his errant hand with his own and brought them to his lips.

“We should eat first,” Eskel rumbled, his lips brushing the sensitive tips of Geralt’s fingers with every whispered word, “then I’d like to take you to bed properly.”

“Hmm,” Geralt traced down the scars on Eskel’s cheek and into his lip, watching the tiniest little shudder shoot over his nerves, “Lambert cooking tonight?”

Eskel nodded and ran his hands down Geralt’s spine and the swell of his backside. Not pushing or pulling with any direction, just feeling the skin that he so craved, even in his sleep. Geralt bent down, just barely pressing his forehead into Eskel’s and brushing their noses together. “You’ve kept me waiting all day,” Geralt sighed with a smile, “I suppose I could wait a bit longer. Not much though.”

Eskel chuckled and pecked Geralt on the cheek, “I promise. Once we’re both warm and comfortable and full, then I’ll take you upstairs and show you just how much I’ve needed you.”

“If you don’t let me go now, there’s no way I’ll be able to stop myself,” Geralt growled and nipped at Eskel’s chin. Eskel laughed and playfully shoved him back, watching the crystalline water drip down the dark hairs over his chest and into the dip of his waist. He had been feeling the stirrings of arousal all day, but it was getting more and more difficult to ignore.

Eskel followed Geralt as he clambered out of the springs, his hands and feet striking roughly against the weathered stone beneath them. He smirked at the quite obvious state of arousal that Geralt was in, his skin flushed and his cock straining upwards from between his thighs.

Geralt could feel Eskel’s eyes on him as he strode towards their pile of clothes and drying sheets. He peeked over his shoulder at him, finding Eskel hauling himself out of the bath with his arms, the muscles dipping and pulling as he rose to his full height, soaked to the bone and sporting a very pretty erection of his own. Geralt’s mouth watered as he wrapped a sheet to hang low on his hips before gathering his worn clothes into a bundle in his arms.

Eskel followed suit, feeling the drafty air whistle through his legs and cool the drips of water that still wore their path down to the floor below. They traveled through the halls together, still shoulder to shoulder even though the walls were just a tad too close together to accommodate them both comfortably. They didn't mind though, drawing their warmth together and letting their souls mingle in the approaching evening.

As they climbed the spiral staircase that led back to the main level of the keep, Eskel could smell the dinner that Lambert had been working on, something with chicken and hearty vegetables, along with bread and fresh butter and citrus chutney. They continued on up the stairs until they reached the door to Eskel’s chambers. They did typically end up sharing the room over the winter, but Geralt still liked to have his own little private space for himself. Eskel knew how loud the world could feel, and he liked having his own space too sometimes.

He kissed Geralt sweetly on the shoulder as he moved to continue up the stairs to his own room, leaving a tingle of his lips to keep him company. Geralt shook his head with a light hearted huff and slowly climbed up the spiral, and Eskel waited until he heard the heavy thud of his thick wooden door to open his own. He threw his clothes onto the chair by the fireplace before flicking his fingers out and up in the sign for Igni, feeling the warmth from the fire bloom from his palm and onto the wood, bathing the room in a pale glow.

Eskel dressed quickly, throwing soft trousers over his underthings, followed by a knit shirt that stretched across his chest and held tight. He left his swords propped by the door next to his boots before padding back down the stairs into the dining area. The three fires roared beneath bubbling pots and sizzling pans, sending rich scents swirling softly around the room. Lambert stood over one, giving it one last stir before grabbing onto the handles. Eskel lowered himself onto the bench at the table just as Lambert set the steaming cauldron down onto the nearly-black wood.

Vesemir grabbed the other pan and brought it over, lifting the lid to reveal several chicken breasts that had been seared and seasoned to perfection. Lambert began to ladle some of the stew from his pot onto his plate and tore a chunk of bread for himself before tossing the loaf to Eskel. It was warm in his palm and he smiled, the bread soft and yielding as he tore off some for himself as well. Vesemir declined, so he set the rest of the loaf in Geralt’s spot and began to heap his own plate with Lambert’s delicious looking dinner.

Geralt joined soon after they began to eat, dressed comfortably with his silvery hair pulled up and away from his face. Geralt swung his long legs over the bench and sat down next to Eskel, humming as he picked up the bread.

“Yeah, pretty boy, saved that bit for ya. Dig in before it all gets cold.” Lambert chucked the ladle down in Geralt’s direction, sending stray bits of stew flying to the walls. Vesemir rolled his eyes as Geralt caught it without looking and gave it a spin, rotating it flamboyantly around his fingers before plopping it straight into the great pot.

The four of them ate in relative silence, only the gentle scraping of utensils or grunts of acknowledgement breaking the fragile quiet. Vesemir was the first to be finished with his meal, leaning back in his seat and breathing in deeply. “Delicious as always, Lambert. Thank you. I'm headed to the library, gonna try and go through some of the old tomes.”

Lambert nodded and the others hummed, no one willing to part with their plates quite yet. Eskel wiped his plate down with the remainder of his bread, sopping up the stew and downing it all in one satisfying mouthful. Geralt watched with a raised brow and a smirk.

“Alright lovebirds, I’m off. Try to keep it down, at least a little, huh?” Lambert winked as he stood and wandered off, likely back down to the alchemy labs for more of his...experiments. Eskel chuckled as Geralt lobbed an old apple at the back of Lambert’s head, more for effect than anything else. Lambert batted it away into a corner and Eskel sighed. He stood and retrieved it, knowing that it would be long forgotten if he didn’t. He set it back onto the table before stretching his arms up above his head and turning to the door that led to the staircases.

Eskel held his hand out to Geralt, who looked at it through hooded lids. “Join me?”

Geralt smiled and lept to his feet, the last few bites of his dinner instantly forgotten. “Fuckin’ finally, you tease.”

Eskel laughed as the two of them bumbled up the stairs and into Eskel’s room. Geralt could feel the warmth emanating before they even swung open the door, his cheeks flushing and his arms shivering with the welcome change in temperature. Eskel shut the door behind him and led him to stand before the fireplace, his olive skin glowing in the flames.

Geralt sighed as he felt Eskel’s hands on his hips, his fingers toying with the hem of Geralt’s shirt and just glancing to the skin of his stomach beneath. Eskel slid his hands up and pulled Geralt’s shirt with him, lifting it over his head and letting it land with a soft thud in the cushy armchair in the corner.

Next Eskel moved to Geralt’s trousers, sliding the ties open and letting them fall to the floor. He gave Geralt’s bum a little pat and nodded to the bed. “Go on, I’ll be just behind you.”

Geralt reached to push down his smalls but Eskel caught his hands and dropped them back by his side. “J-just wanna hold you for a bit...that okay?”

Geralt hummed, pressing his lips to the junction between Eskel’s neck and shoulder, “Of course, Wolf. Don’t take too long though, gonna get cold without you.”

Geralt smiled as he climbed onto the wide bed draped in thick furs and soft knit blankets. Eskel loved textures, and tried to surround their bed with as much comfort as he could find. His golden gaze found Eskel once more as he too stripped down to his smallclothes. Geralt leaned back onto the soft pillows as Eskel slid up next to him, resting his head on Geralt’s chest and breathing in deeply. Geralt wrapped his arm around the breadth of Eskel’s shoulders and held him close, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against his side. Geralt could see out of the little window cut into the stone, revealing the sun setting in bright oranges and deep purples between the craggles of the Blue Mountains.

Eskel ran his hands down Geralt’s chest, tracing those same swirling patterns as before while he peppered kisses up and down the line of Geralt’s neck and over his collarbone. Geralt could always feel the little crook in Eskel’s lip from his scar as it traced over his skin, grounding him home in warm arms and soft eyes that held endless love and patience.

Geralt threaded his fingers into Eskel’s hair and gave a little scratch at the nape of his neck, chuckling a bit when he felt the full body shudder that Eskel granted him. Geralt felt the gasp of hot breath ghost over his collar when he tugged gently on the handful of hair that he had, and a possessive kind of growl erupted from behind his teeth. Geralt didn’t often let this part of himself show, this need to hang onto every thread of his partner, but with Eskel, it felt safe, known, instinctual.

Eskel pushed himself up and pressed his hand firmly in the center of Geralt’s chest, breathing with the steady thuds of the heart that rested just beneath his fingers. Eskel’s eyes were dark with lust and hunger and something so deep and innate that it escaped such a simple name. Eskel slid his hand up and wrapped it gently around the back of Geralt’s neck and leaned down, pressing their foreheads together as he climbed between Geralt’s legs.

Geralt lifted his leg and wrapped it around Eskel’s hip in an attempt to get him to maybe speed things up a bit. “Eskel,” Geralt hummed, “Gods, you’re killing me…”

Eskel smiled and ran his nose down the line of Geralt’s jaw and into the hollows of his neck. His lips traced along the tendons and veins and his teeth just barely glanced over his pulse point and Geralt felt his cock thicken and throb where Eskel pressed into him.

“Can I have you like this?” Eskel asked, his voice still muffled in Geralt’s neck, “Just wanna be able to look at you…”

Geralt swallowed thickly and nodded, turning his head in search of Eskel’s mouth. He finally, finally, slid their lips together, breathing each other in and holding onto each and every piece that they could reach. Geralt wrapped his arms around Eskel’s waist and stroked up and down the hard lines of his back, tracing the scars he knew better than his own.

“Lift-nng” Eskel tried to say, though Geralt nipped and tugged at his lower lip to keep him in place, “Lift your damn hips, you great oaf.”

Geralt chuckled and did as he was bid, letting Eskel run his fingers through the ties keeping his braies on and loosening them. They slid down his thighs and Eskel let him rest his bum back on the bed. Eskel shimmied himself backwards and fully pulled the smalls off of Geralt, sending them careening through the room to land somewhere in the shadows. Geralt’s cock lay hard and flushed and weeping on his stomach and Eskel took a deep breath in through his nose, grounding himself in the lust on the air and the taste of Geralt already on his tongue.

Eskel stood up and turned to face the fire as he undid his own smalls, pushing them down quickly and without any dramatics. But Geralt found himself drooling over him anyways, seeing the beautiful bronze skin revealed inch by glorious inch, the swells of his backside just begging for his teeth to sink into. Again. He then grabbed the little vial of oil that spent most of the year gathering dust on the mantle, but in the winter found a new home atop the little table next to their bed.

And oh fucking shit I’ve missed that so much, Geralt thought as Eskel turned back to him with his cock hanging heavily between his thighs. Eskel crawled onto the bed and prowled over top of him, his chest already heaving and pressing into Geralt’s. Eskel sat up on his knees and Geralt braced himself on his elbows, watching Eskel uncork the oil and slowly drip a generous amount of the cool liquid onto their cocks where they rested together. Eskel’s hand was warm when he reached down to rub the oil around, wrapping around them and tugging and pulling and-

“-Fuck, Eskel,” Geralt spat through grit teeth when Eskel just barely thumbed the slit of Geralt’s cockhead. “If you’re gonna do all that shit, I need you in me now.”

Eskel laughed breathily and kissed Geralt hard, all teeth and tongue and rushed whispers of affection. “Alright, alright. I’ve got you, Geralt. I’ve got you…”

Eskel poured some more oil between Geralt’s legs and Geralt felt it slowly trickle down to his entrance. Eskel’s fingers followed soon after, languidly rolling his balls around in his palm before trailing down between his cheeks. Geralt sighed as Eskel started pressing around his hole, not pushing in yet, just massaging and loosening the tight muscle.

“Gods, Geralt,” Eskel murmured, dragging his free hand down Geralt’s flank and across his stomach, “you’re so tense…”

“No one’s been back there since Spring, Esk…”

Eskel blinked up at him and Geralt could taste the new wave of arousal that poured off Eskel. “You’ve not had anyone? All year? Geralt, I...you-”

Geralt’s head hit the pillow and he sighed, trying desperately to put the words together in his head. “I-fuck, Eskel, I just want you. You’re...you’re the only one who I can...who I can be comfortable with.”

Eskel surged forward and captured Geralt’s lips between his own, tasting of salt and honey and fucking unending love. “Geralt. Fuck. You can’t just say shit like that out of nowhere. Fuck, I love you so much it hurts. It fucking hurts, and then you just go and say that? You’re gonna put me in an early grave-”

Geralt’s world twisted and turned as Eskel’s hands gripped onto his hips, his fingers digging into his skin as they rolled and shifted on the bed, winding up with Geralt laying on his stomach and Eskel’s lips pressing into the skin at the nape of his neck. Eskel dragged his mouth down, leaving hot wet kisses down Geralt’s spine and over the swell of his bottom.

Eskel’s breath ghosted over Geralt’s skin as he slid his finger back down to press against his entrance, finding only a gasp of resistance as he pushed in to his knuckle. He worked Geralt open slowly, kneading and licking and nipping the soft flesh of Geralt’s ass while he slid in another, and then one more finger. He relished the little noises that clawed their way out of Geralt’s chest unbidden, gasps and moans and keens that he felt more than heard.

Meanwhile Geralt was warring with his own mind, torn between wanting so desperately to grasp into Eskel’s hair and haul him back up to feel his lips cover his own, trailing down over his jaw and neck and chest, but also needing to feel more of him, deeper, harder-

Their words broke off between gasps for air and fisted sheets and Eskel quietly continued his task of working Geralt open on his fingers. Geralt’s breath hitched in his throat when Eskel crooked his fingers inside of him, warm and slick and hitting up against that devastating bundle of nerves. But all too soon it was not so nice, his fingers sliding in and out and not being close to enough for Geralt. “M-shit, more, Eskel.”

Eskel hummed and bit down into the tender flesh of Geralt’s bum, feeling the fluttering of his walls play at his fingers. He looked down and watched his fingers slowly slide in and out, stretching him in preparation of what was to come. Eskel had his own wars inside of his head, his need to shower Geralt with soft touches so rarely afforded to his battle-worn skin clashing against the feeling tugging behind his belly to find the breaking point nestled so deep inside of Geralt’s body.

Geralt’s hips thrusted softly against the bed beneath them, chasing the release that had been teasing at them both all damn day. Eskel chuckled when a particularly hard thrust made him bonk his nose into the crease of Geralt’s asscheeks, and he shifted himself to sit up with a sweet pat to the swells of muscle.

“Roll back over, wanna look at you-”

Geralt sighed when he felt Eskel’s fingers slip out of him, leaving him oddly empty and aching and wanting. It took him a moment to find his bearings, but he flipped over soon enough to meet Eskel’s fiery eyes. Eskel hovered over him, his chest heaving with hot breaths and his medallion clinking against Geralt’s. Geralt ran his fingers through the soft dark hair over Eskel’s chest, pressing his fingers into the yielding flesh over his heart and giving it a squeeze. Eskel growled with a sinister grin and moved faster down his body than Geralt had anticipated.

Eskel leaned down and lapped his tongue up the underside of Geralt’s cock just as he slipped his fingers back into him. Geralt shook when Eskel wrapped his lips around the tip and sunk down, teasing and licking while his fingers hit that precious bundle of nerves nestled so deep inside of him. Eskel’s mouth moved with his hand, pushing in and out and up and down and humming against him and Geralt could feel the pearly arousal dripping onto Eskel’s tongue with every slick slide of his lips.

“Ah, ah, Esk-g...gonna-fuck...”

Eskel only hummed, low and hard from his chest, and Geralt arched up off the bed in pleasure when Eskel zeroed in on that spot within him, holding there and sucking and slurping every bit of spend that Geralt had to give. It just kept coming, shooting down Eskel’s throat and spilling out the sides of his lips messily. Eskel felt the haze of his own pleasure tease at the edges of his eyes as his hips thrust lazily against the bed, his free hand holding tight to Geralt’s hip.

Geralt sagged back onto the bed in a haze, tender and sensitive and already craving more. He pulled Eskel back up to him and ran his thumb over the corner of his mouth, gathering his own spend onto his finger. Geralt slipped his thumb between his lips and licked it clean as Eskel watched with great gasping breaths and eyes so dark there was only a little ring of gold shining in the night.

“Geralt, fuck, c-can I-” Eskel stuttered over his words, his hands running over Geralt’s shoulders and down his chest, his cock dripping down into the hair above Geralt’s own half-hard cock.

“Yes,” Geralt breathed and fit his hand up onto the nape of Eskel’s neck, his fingers pressing firm while Eskel shifted on the bed to line himself at Geralt’s entrance.

Eskel gasped into Geralt’s skin as he just barely pushed into the rim, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist to hold him as close as possible. Geralt’s fingers tightened in Eskel’s hair as he started to gently thrust inside of him, Eskel’s chest rumbling with a low purr as he smothered Geralt with his body.

“G-Geralt,” Eskel murmured, his hips already losing rhythm, “I’m, fuck you’re so-”

Geralt hummed and nodded, running his hands down Eskel’s shoulders and back up again around his neck. “Go on, Eskel. You’ve been on edge all day. Give it to me.”

Eskel’s voice went high and strained, tight mumbles escaping from between his teeth as he ground his hips deep against Geralt’s, spending inside of him. Eskel rubbed his face into the tender skin of Geralt’s neck as he finally, gloriously released into him, feeling the way that he fluttered and flexed around his cock. He saw great stars shooting behind his eyelids as his climax tore through him, unrelenting and all-encompassing.

Geralt kept his hold firm on Eskel as he went limp in his arms, Eskel’s mind blanking and blind for a blissful moment. Geralt felt the pressure of Eskel everywhere, on top of him, around him, inside of him, leaking out of him. The only thing that could ever gather him enough strength to move was Eskel himself, and he didn’t really seem up to that quite yet.

Or, well, maybe he did. Eskel didn’t even soften a little bit in Geralt, his hips already rolling deep and slow inside Geralt. His bones sang out to Eskel in ecstasy, yearning for him, craving him.

Geralt’s cock rested hard once more on his stomach, steadily dripping his arousal into a little pool. Eskel’s hands tightened on his hips and pulled him into each and every thrust, slow and hard and deep and addicting. Eskel couldn’t keep his hands still as he dragged his cock inside of Geralt, only just barely shifting back and forth as he tried to stay buried in his tight, wet heat as much as possible.

“Ger-nnng,” Eskel gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes shut as he felt the pressure of Geralt around him clench and smother every last bit of him with every soft move of his cock. Geralt smirked and bore down farther, tightening his hold on Eskel’s arm and around his neck as he pulled him down so that their faces were held with only the space of a breath between them.

Geralt could feel the tight coil of release draw taut as he dragged his hands down Eskel’s chest and to his own cock. Eskel’s eyes followed him, branding his skin with the fire behind them, watching as Geralt took himself in hand. Geralt shuddered as his climax came closer and closer into view, only needing just a little more, a little something to push him over the edge-

“Fuck, Geralt, I...I can’t hang on much longer…” Eskel ground out, brushing his nose down over Geralt’s and pleading with his eyes.

“Let go, Eskel. I want it, please-”

And then he did. Eskel thrust hard and deep a handful more times as he hit his peak, his cock pressing against that devastating bundle of nerves nestled deep inside of Geralt each and every time. Oh, and then when his release finally overtook him once more? Gods, his cock flexed and spilled and hit Geralt like a punch in the gut over and over and over, until finally Geralt too climaxed with his cock in his hand. Long stripes of spend spilled and painted his chest while Geralt groaned from low in his stomach.

The two of them laid there for Gods know how long, just lingering in each other, the scent of their combined arousals making them feel almost drunk from the heady way it went straight through them. Eskel was the first to move, slipping from the tight embrace of Geralt’s body and flopping down onto the bed at his side. Geralt reached out and tangled their fingers together while their chests heaved in great gulps of air, their minds still addled and off-kilter.

Eskel swallowed thickly and focused his mind on the feeling of Geralt’s thumb running over the back of his knuckles, back and forth and back again… “Gods, Geralt,” he murmured, peering over at him, “I’ll never get tired of that.”

Geralt chuckled without opening his eyes, already feeling the threads of consciousness being steadily pulled from him. “You better not. I plan on getting fucked like that until I die.”

Eskel hummed and reached out blindly with his free hand, groping for the spare scrap of cloth that he kept by the bed. Once he found the soft fabric he gently swept it up over Geralt’s stomach and chest, feeling the vibrations of his hum beneath his fingers. Eskel reached back between Geralt’s thighs and cleaned there as well, knowing that although Geralt would never really say anything about it, he wouldn't enjoy being sticky in the morning.

Eskel tossed the rag away and shifted underneath the blanket, reaching out to pull Geralt into his chest. “C’mere, you. Wanna hold you.”

Geralt grunted and rolled over onto his side, burying his face into the hair on Eskel’s chest. Eskel wrapped his arm around Geralt’s waist and held him close, pressing his nose into the silver hair atop Geralt’s head. Woodsmoke, spice, pine. Home.

Geralt sighed into him and wrapped his own arm around Eskel, snuggling in and quickly letting sleep take him away. Eskel felt the shift, the way that Geralt’s shoulders relaxed and his hips fell further into the bed, his mind finally quiet and his hands still. He pressed his lips softly to the crown of Geralt’s head and held it there for a heartbeat or two, pouring everything he could into those soft moments before he himself fell into the warm embrace of sleep.

#ebb #eskel big bang #eskel #geralt #gereskel #smut #so much smut #they make me so extra super gotdam happy

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honestlyfrance · 3 years ago

Text

In The Hangar

ship: sam/bucky

warning: hurt/comfort, angst

summary:

There were more instances like these when their body proximity was bordering on questioning and head-butting, legs flying and swinging, face scrutinized, with a light sheen of sweat decorating their bare skin, clothes soaked in bodily fluids, and Wilson swore his lip throbbed at a sudden numbness but damn Barnes looked damn good looking at him like that and it’s getting hard to breathe when they’ve been doing this for— What? Two hours?

Sam and Bucky give each other what they need.

—■—■—

There’s an empty gym in the Avengers compound that stood in its lonesome on the vast field of a property this non-profit organization owns—it stood at a great height you wouldn’t be able to see the beams, and even then the wide skylight is lighting up the uneven floor; the hanging lights doubles as trapeze and the beams above was an obstacle course on its own; enough of that, the first uneven floor was full of weights, the second uneven floor was a treadmill course designed by the Avengers members to their weaknesses, and the third uneven floor was all mat and nothing else; the only entrance was the double doors ( if you call the skylight an exit, you’re a flyer ) and the east wing was a climbing wall full with different sized rocks and incredulous edges and turns, and the opposite wall was floor to ceiling mirror windows, showing the expanse and great distance of the field from the Avengers house. In all of this space you’d think it would be the most used, but no—the Avengers never dared to take it away from the few who sported in it, and even then the ones who do never really exercise or train much.

These people’s definition of exercise and train were different from the rest of them.

Steve Rogers’s definition was: to eat as much as his metabolism is and to take on the punching bag as if he were to wake up and couldn’t go back to sleep.

Natasha Romanoff’s idea of train and exercise was: to read, a lot, especially people; there’s this certain tree in the woods where one would bring their rifle or handgun and fired at the same spot over and over again in different angles, distances, and positions until it has cleaned out a hole in the trunk.

Bucky Barnes’s definition was scrutinized, nonetheless: to rest one’s mind, meaning, slack off as one can until someone asks to spar with you—only then one is exercised right after.

Sam Wilson’s definition: to run the distance between these distances at four in the morning for an hour, then to lift weights and bench press against an ungodly height on the climbing wall.

Wilson’s definition seems more like training and exercise than three super-soldiers, and they have the right to question the only people who frequent the far away gym. Tony Stark has always wanted to create that space into some other useful thing, but even then, everyone agreed it was fun to bet on who would pin who first: Natasha or Barnes? Rogers isn’t happy with the fact they don’t bet on him, but there was a time that Rogers and Barnes sparred and Rogers barely even hit him ( Barnes annoyed him so much that Rogers cussed him out ). Wilson is still no-nonsense with his training, and Natasha spars with him; Stark doesn’t want to ruin Natasha’s fun.

Two years later, Wilson’s sparring partner is leaving for some bullshitted vacation; Natasha sat him down and told him, “—I’ve accumulated so many vacation days that Tony won’t stop pestering me. I’ll be gone for five years at the most. Don’t miss me too much.“

"This about which?” Wilson had asked, his voice was so low and soft that Natasha almost backed away. They were in her room, only trusting Wilson to enter it unprompted with a few quiet people who wouldn’t take her trust as points.

Natasha deadpanned. “I don’t know how to say it so gently."

"I’m not going anywhere. Although, I have this thing later seven with Scott, so—you’ve got the whole dawn and afternoon with me."

Covers my ass, Wilson cussed in his head as he stroked another kick to the punching bag enveloped in red energy being emitted by Wanda Maximoff who sat by the side, watching him with intent eyes. She hasn’t even told me her real last name.

"Romanova. It’s pretty obvious,” Wanda said, snapping Wilson to a complete stop. “Natasha is a diminutive of Natalia…” Wilson threw a strong punch and it made the punching bag fly at a high radius, making him turn around and lie down beside her as they waited for it to settle back down— again. “… or Natalie. I don’t know. It’s just basic Russian names.”

The double doors cracked open and made a sickening creak as it closed. Wilson and Wanda snapped to the doors to reveal Barnes jogging into the room with a duffel bag of his own, setting it on the few benches beside Wilson’s bag. Barnes nodded at them and gave them a small “Hey, Wanda. Sam.” and proceeded to scale the climbing wall without a harness, aiming to reach the harness Scott Lang left hanging in the air ( He shrunk himself mid-air and wanted to prove something to Rhodey ). Barnes wore a shirt and sweatpants, his hair cut short previously.

Things have changed since Natasha left the compound three months ago.

Wilson sighed as he caught Wanda giving him a look, and no sooner had he heard in his head her voice: Him.

Wilson swatted at her as he stood up. “Cooperate with me, Wanda.” He said as he began punching the sides of the punching bag, occasionally glancing at Barnes with Wanda; Barnes was halfway, and he’s breathing heavily as he rested there.

“I don’t spar, Sam,” Wanda shoots him a look. “I do…” and she moves her hand to create a ball of power, striking to the punching bag to strike Wilson as hard as she could throw him across the room.

Wilson saw it and kicked it, immediately slowing it down—Another punch shook the chains and the punching bag began to slowly swing on its axis; left, right! He threw punches, then a left kick just to see it shake once more. Wanda wasn’t helping.

Wanda scoffed. “I’m helping. I just don’t spar, and even then, I only know the basic punching and kicking."

Wilson snickered as he caught the punching bag, holding it by its side as he swayed. "If that’s the only thing to know, you’re gonna meet your end punching and kicking."

Wanda shrugged, smirking. "Good thing I have powers, huh? You only fly. ”

From across the room, Barnes cleared his throat to get their attention. Wanda and Wilson watched Barnes dangle from a height, the harness around the man’s waist and across his chest and hips, his feet locked down on two rocks as his body flipped over, his arms out in the open. Barnes said, “He’s also an expert in knife combat. Expect that bitch to enter a gunfight with a knife and leave with a gun.”

Wanda hummed in approval, nodding at Wilson. “Hey, that reminds me.”

Fucking ask him out, or I will. He smothers Natasha, just imagine him with you. Wanda’s voice echoed in Wilson’s head, urging him to groan as he cleared all thoughts from his head. I’ll ask him to be your sparring partner.

The mental image of Barnes spinning Wilson down on the mat was enough to make Wanda laugh, her ringing delight echoing off the walls; the mental image in Wilson’s head was then distorted by Wanda, forcing Wilson to imagine Barnes and him, sweaty and panting in a silent and empty Gym at the middle of the night, moonlight streaming in, and Barnes mouths something like I—

Wilson screamed, “Fuck!” He hit the punching bag with all his might and watching the slow return of the dummy was already pushing right on the edge. Huffing in defeat, cursing under his breath, he turned around and watched Barnes hang at the top, Barnes’s forehead against the wall as he was now in a tight slant above him.

Only one person knew that Wilson had this thing with Barnes, and of course it was going to be the one who can manipulate and read minds; Wanda made sure not to tell a soul, and she was successful at it, and she’s been an angel for him ever since Natasha left the compound.

Watching Barnes then became a routine for Wilson and Wanda. Every day, Wilson and Wanda came over to the Gym to throw a few punches on “Ol Reliable Dummy” as Rogers affectionately called the lone punching bag on the third uneven floor, and Barnes, without fail, would come in after lunch to hang around on the climbing wall, standing on the wall as if he was Spider-Man, and Wilson would just stop and watch him, Wanda being the angel she is produced the mimicking the sound punches on leather so Barnes wouldn’t turn around. Even when the two did call out to Barnes, Barnes wouldn’t look back; he would just hang around, eyes closed, lips parted, and feel as if one were just floating in a pool.

It was one chilly morning, before the break of dawn, that something changed in their routine.

Wilson was in his shorts and a sweater, jogging up and down the stairs as fast and quietly as he could; this was his usual warm-up exercise, yet he woke up earlier than usual, for the clocks read a quarter to three, and his drowsiness left him as soon as he read the time. There was no use to coming back to bed, but it will soon give him time to take that fifty-minute shower he always wanted to have after his training.

After ten rounds on the stairs, he patted his sweat away with a towel, and with a water bottle in his hand ( the one he used to bring on late-night missions as the Falcon; the one in his room), the lights in the hallway began to light up the darkness of the floor. There was a whisper as if a female, saying: “Good morning, Captain Falcon,” and Wilson entered the elevator that would bring him a floor down, then he would take another hallway that leads to another building; the bridge was three floors high and lead to the labs.

Wilson tapped on the glass as he walked down the hallway, the lights automatically reacting to his body movement. “Morning Tony, Bruce, What time did you wake up this time?” He said, eyeing the two who were in their barest sleepwear, tinkering around on a table. He slowed down his pace to watch them for a moment.

“Just woke up,” Stark said, glancing up before putting on his goggles. “two hours ago maybe. You missed Bruce’s mess— It was amazing.”

Bruce Banner only groaned as he moved to another table where papers were spread about. Wilson nodded, humming.

Wilson slowed to a jog as the automatic doors then led him to a barren hangar. He jogged down the winding staircase as he ran the expanse of the hangar as he waited for F.R.I.D.A.Y. to open up the grate, and he took a moment to breathe as it was halfway, watching the moonlight enter the dim area. He walked over outside and stood where the concrete and grass met, pulling his leg behind him as he said, “What time is it?"

"Three-hundred, sir."

"Shit, I’ve got time."

He placed his water bottle down and started jogging towards the faraway gym that was on the horizon. F.R.I.D.A.Y. lit up the lights in the gym as well as the sprinklers around the area, and some more lights in the distance. He made sure to track his breathing, and to take slow breaths as he jogged at an easy pace, and before he knew it, he was on his third round.

As the open hangar was behind him at a far distant, Wilson yelled a series of profanities as he closed his eyes, heaving as he let the weight of stress relieve off him. Taking up the mantle of Captain America, in a world where Captain America was targeted by the government, was a painful experience that rejected everything Wilson thought was over for him. He had to listen to authority? Damn, sure, if it means regaining Steve Rogers’s name and image. He had to entertain press now? Alright, if it means gaining positive attention towards the Avengers. He had to limit his flying out of all things? Okay, if that means he can choose who could be on his team. It was difficult to say, and Wilson kept yelling as he ran now towards the gym, reaching it within seconds.

Wilson paced for a bit with his head in between his hands before kicking the dirt, all the rage pouring out on him in a series of actions. He then begins to spar some imaginary figure, twisting and turning as he threw a series of kicks and intricate knife handling. There was a moment he pulled out his four-inch knife out of his thigh holster and proceeding to maim the air, flipping and throwing it around, slicing and attacking whatever pressure he had on his shoulders.

He lied down on the dewy grass as the image of sparring with someone popped in his head with a recognizable face—it was Natasha, sue him; she was the one who taught him the additional knife techniques he’s accumulated, as well as the martial arts and taekwondo she urged to teach him. Trust me. You need it. Ah, he could still hear her cocky voice.

He then started his journey back to the hangar, committed on continuing his one-hour jogging in the field, but when the sight of the hangar came to view, with the lights inside bright with an orange tinge, and the sound of classical music bellowing and echoing within, Sam slowed down to a walk as his eyebrows knitted in confusion.

No one used that hangar, as far as he was concerned. If anything, it was just an excuse for the mechanics to have their lab on the second floor where they can see the expanse of the field and horizon. When he came closer, there was a small speaker in the middle of the room, and there was the music coming from. Sam barely approached it, stopping below the grate as his head jerked towards the doorway above the staircase.

Barnes stopped before a moment, his eyes widening at the sight of the man on the ground, not recognizing him at first but gaping once Barnes recalled Stark and Banner’s warning. "It’s you,” Barnes said.

Wilson was about to yell how he was the one with the rights to use the hangar, seeing that no one was using it, but now he remembers the unusual routine he fell upon. He didn’t usually wave at Stark and Banner, it was usually waving at two giant ants who roamed around the Lang Laboratory as guards—

“Shit. I took the wrong hallway,” Wilson groaned as he turned away from Barnes, massaging his temple.

Barnes barked out laughter, his steps echoing in the barren vastness as he walked down the stairs, two mugs in his hands. “Yeah, well good thing Stark warned me, or else I wouldn’t have brought you your coffee. I know how much you hate to miss it on the counter,” he said, walking briskly towards the man as he, too, began to walk towards him until they were now in the middle of the hangar. “so… I, uh, brought it here.”

“What are you doing here?” Wilson asked, taking the mug off his hands.

Barnes shrugged. “I don’t know, I usually stargaze but you’re on my path.”

It made sense now. The faraway lights, making Wilson wonder why it was darker than usual, and the sprinklers being the only sound in the night, it was perfect for stargazing. Wilson shifted his weight as he sipped his coffee, eyes settling Barnes with a raised eyebrow.

Barnes stuttered for a moment. “Um, I-I, also, I, uh, sometimes…” he raised an eyebrow, “dance?” his eyebrows furrowed as if he was confused by his own words. “with Tasha? But, she’s been gone, so, I just entertain myself with climbing, you know."

Wilson raised his eyebrows, lowering his mug. "I didn’t know you two knew how to dance. What do you do? Ballet? She said she used to dance.”

“Yes, yes,” Barnes chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “It was all we knew… since, um,” he lowered his gaze towards the ground, but Wilson still saw his faraway gaze. “Well, anyway, she’s left, and with that my partner."

"Sucks, right? She used to train with me and now I got an idle punching bag who doesn’t know how to miss a kick,” Wilson snorted, and Barnes was much more relaxed after that.

“Sucks, yeah. She was the one who usually led, and sometimes she’d bring in training— punching and kicking me as I try to miss— She’s really…"

"Caring,” Wilson shrugged, finishing Barnes’s sentence for him. “One could say she’s unnecessary, but really, her lessons saved me on missions.”

“My lessons,” Barnes whispered, but it echoed in the hangar. “I taught her before…”

Wilson nodded, understanding full well where that came from. Wilson took a step back after realizing he knew more of Barnes than the woman Wilson knew more than five years; it was only a year from where they stood, and Wilson felt like screaming.

“You know a lot about knife handling, hmm,” Wilson murmured, but the proximity between them allowed them to hear the other loud and clear. “Can you teach a few tricks?”

Barnes glanced at Wilson’s eyes and saw the glint, straightening his posture as he looked him in the eye. “You flexible? My partners usually are, and that’s best to work with.”

Wilson nodded, cracking a grin. “Don’t underestimate me, James, I took up ballet too when I was young,” he moved aside and set his mug beside the speaker before crossing his ankles and spread his arms.

Barnes scoffed, turning around with a smile that made Wilson’s eyes glint. “Oh, is that so? I gotta bring you to size then—” he made his way towards Wilson, placing his foot firmly into place as the other gently pointed itself to the ground; Barnes held Wilson’s hand in his as he wormed his arm around his waist, smirking. “—I’m a great dancer before HYDRA taught me ballet, I used to dance every night or so, with a date or two or such."

Wilson hummed, gazing into Barnes’s blue eyes, in search of something. "You have a knife on you?"

Barnes winked. "Didn’t see my belt, I see?”

“A belt? I thought you’d have a thigh holster.”

“A holster? You— I— How’d you hide a thigh holster on you?”

Wilson kicked Barnes in the balls and twisted the arm he held behind the man’s back, pushing him down by the shoulder with a foot, flipping out his knife and bringing it to his neck, Barnes still recovering from doubling over.

“Like this, baby,” Wilson mocked.

Barnes kicked Wilson from behind, pulling out his knife from his body; Wilson saw it but was distracted. Barnes stood up and kicked Wilson in his side, throwing him over and making him land on his bottom as he slid, his knife leaving his person.

Wilson grunted as he caught himself, looking up at Barnes with a menacing grin; Barnes crossed his ankles and bowed. “Finally, someone who doesn’t hold back,” he said.

Barnes licked his lips. “You still have to dance with me, αγαπώ,” and there was a chill running down Wilson’s spine as he heard Love form from Barnes’s raspy voice.

“Let’s dance, Soldat.”

The two waited for the music, holding each other’s hand and a hand on the waist and shoulder, feet in a firm position, bodies aching to pin the other one down.

“What time is it.”

“Shut up, Sam, and dance.”

Barnes threw a punch at Wilson’s abdomen, doubling him over; Barnes pulled out his knife only for Wilson to block it with two hands, then kicking him in his inner thigh, turning to kick him once more. A flash of punching and kicking commenced between them, both laughing and grinning at the other’s baffling speed and agility.

There was a point when Barnes twisted a leg to kick Wilson only for him to use it to support himself as he climbed on Wilson’s shoulders, making the man drop to the floor due to the weight; Barnes then took the opportunity to take the other man’s knife, turning on his back so Wilson’s head rested on his stomach, his right leg hooked under Wilson’s chin to choke him; Wilson only hit the leg several times until he patted abruptly, declaring Barnes the winner.

Wilson also liked to confuse Barnes, knowing full well the man analyzes past combat sequences to execute the proper routine, Wilson charged at Barnes, shielding himself as Rogers does, then Barnes would mistakenly throw a metal punch, only for Wilson to catch his fist, twist it, knee t upward which would revibrate a satisfying riiiiing; Barnes who is still washed with worry and concern over Wilson would be caught off guard to Wilson’s sudden elbow at the face, the chest, and the abdomen, successfully disabling Barnes as he left the heaving man dropped lazily on the fall with a bewildered look. Barnes would say something under his breath before being helped up by Wilson, and they’d pose as if nothing had happened.

Barnes swung two opposite punches to Wilson who shielded himself as he took steps back; Wilson crouched and swung a leg at Barnes who jumped over it and kneed the other in the right abdomen; Wilson doubled over and Barnes took hold of his neck and gripped it there, bringing their faces close— One showed a subtle face gleaming with victory and worry while the other grunted and spat the other in the face. Barnes loosened his grip on Wilson and wiped his face.

“Aw, man, c’mon,” Barnes spoke; Wilson upper-punched him in the stomach, pulled on his flesh arm, pinned him down to lie on their stomachs, Wilson flattened on Barnes’s back and the other made no move to fight back.

“What, sleepy-head,” Wilson heaved as he caught sight of Barnes sly grin tugging at the corner of his flushed lips. “What’s so funny? Your pain, or your shame?”

Barnes took a moment to soak up Wilson’s weight, to look the other in the eyes and let themselves relax at the moment that they lead themselves into, saying: “What can’t you do? You’re impossibly unstoppable, Cap, look at you—”

Wilson immediately stood up, taking a few steps away as he set his hands on his waist. “No. Let’s go— You tired? We can take a break, jackass,” he crossed his foot behind the other anyway, his chin raised high as his eyes scanned the ceiling of the hangar. There were faint crickets in the background, and the music leveled down and seemed to finally stabilize in his ears; the sky was still dark however, and Wilson’s mind seemed to calm down. “Come on—” Wilson spread his arms with palms raised to the sky, his eyes clenched closed, trying to relax his nerves. “—Take me.”

Wilson didn’t feel Barnes’s person in the room, and he almost let himself resign in the fact that the other would eventually leave him.

Barnes’s body was pressed against Wilson’s, taking the Falcon’s hands in his own, and bringing them close to his chest. Wilson shakily exhaled all the stress of the previous months before exiting his body little by little, his body frigid and cold like a stone, eyes refusing to open in fear of seeing something he wouldn’t like. Or wouldn’t like to believe it was real. Barnes was not a vocal person, so when Barnes had spread their arms once again, turning Wilson gracefully to face each other, their faces barely centimeters away, Wilson knew that the air between them spoke enough of what was needed to be said.

Barnes pulled Wilson close and closed the proximity between their chests, left hands intertwined and the right tightly around the other’s waist, doing everything so wrong but it felt right at the moment; they didn’t dance entirely, neither one swaying to the soft melody of a piano, a violin the background maybe, they couldn’t decide, nor could they decide to listen fervently to the noise of the night.

“Sam.”

Wilson had his eyes opened, dry and tearing at how long he stared at the floor behind Barnes; he blinked several times, getting his senses back together. “I’m here,” he whispered.

“Okay.”

They let their muscles relax for a moment, their hearts as well, in the arms of the other. They could do it the next morning; they have the rest of their lives to dance and be together.

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #winterfalcon #sam wilson sundays #france: works #france: writing #onlysambucky #sambuckyfic

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ddagent · 4 years ago

Note

Jaime tries to surprise Brienne for Valentine’s Day with a romantic dinner in her apartment and has to contend with her curious pet cat.

Thank you for the prompt, Anon! I hope you enjoy my take on it.

Jaime quickly realised why Brienne did not allow people back into her apartment.

Ever since Brienne had started at King’s Landing University a year ago, it had been a running joke. At first, they’d assumed she was shy. Recently returning from an archaeological dig in Ancient Valyria, Professor Tarth was competent if not compelling. But as the year had gone on and she had insistently turned down offers to host the weekly moderation-slash-potluck, a different kind of pot had started. Bodies in the freezer, a partner she didn’t want anyone to meet, truly horrendous taste in furniture...these theories and many more were bandied about by the department. Jaime had never much cared until he and Brienne had grown closer and yet...still no invitation.

He could see why now.

“Hello...” he murmured in a low voice to the half-foot tall dragon that had backed him into a corner. “Aren’t you a...pretty thing.”

In truth, the dragon was reminiscent of the beautiful drawings Jaime and his brother, Tyrion, had poured over as children. Black, bottomless eyes; scales the colour of molten gold that shifted red in the light. It was a thing of beauty – and power. He had worked on sites where the dragons of old had decimated the population. He had dug up the bodies of the Dragon Queen’s victims near Highgarden; had examined the shields burnt black with flame. But this was not the fully-fledged dragons that had resurged during the War of the Three Queens. This was barely bigger than a cat.

“Now, now, little one,” he said, rising to his feet slowly. “I am just going to take a step towards the door and go home. That’s all.”

But as he turned towards Brienne’s front door, abandoning the groceries he had brought to make a romantic Maiden’s Day feast, he realised there was more than one. Two other dragons stood in his path. The first had blue scales almost the same shade of Brienne’s eyes; the other was jet black and seemed to stare into Jaime’s very soul. He edged forwards towards the door, hoping he could evade them, when his foot caught on the rug.

Sprawling across the floor, Jaime’s head hit hardwood. As six dragons focussed into three, he watched with terror as they approached his face. “Oh, fuck.” He didn’t want to die like this. Didn’t want Brienne to come home and find him half-eaten by her pets. He’d wanted her to come home from her late class to a romantic dinner. Music, sunflowers, wine. Three little words he’d wanted to say for some time...

“Don’t eat me.”

Brienne checked her phone as she got off the tube and began the slow walk to her apartment. She usually kept her phone off during seminars and one of her students, Podrick, had drawn her into conversation all the way from campus to her home at Visenya’s Hill. But now she was free to look at her phone and the string of messages from Jaime. She’d disliked him immensely at first; found him rude and arrogant if blindingly attractive. But he had a romantic heart under his armour, and she’d found herself softening as they co-taught a class on romanticism in the Dragon Age.

Jaime ♥: Missed you today in class, Professor. Someone was talking smack about the Blue Knight and I almost, almost sent him to your class so he could learn something. Jaime ♥: But then I realised, if anyone’s getting sent to your class, it’s going to be ME. Jaime ♥: Hope your last class goes okay. Jaime ♥: Oh, and Happy Maiden’s Day, Professor. Want to talk about the historical development of the day as a romantic holiday with our clothes off?

Brienne laughed, shaking her head at her Jaime. With her late class and his six am tutorials, neither had pushed to make plans. But if Jaime wanted her to come over, she certainly would oblige.

Jaime ♥: There’s a romantic surprise waiting at your apartment, Professor. You should come and unwrap it ;)

Eyes widening, Brienne stared at Jaime’s last message. “No, no, no, no, no...” Shoving her phone back into her bag, Brienne sprinted the last few streets to her apartment.

While taking part in a dig in Ancient Valyria, Brienne had uncovered three dragon eggs perfectly preserved. The dig’s leader, a particularly odious man by the name of Randyll Tarly, had declared them nothing more than tourist trash. He’d encouraged her to throw them aside. Something had called to Brienne, however, and she’d kept the eggs. Vindication and validation had quickly followed.

Along with three carnivorous pets.

Pushing her way through the front door of her apartment building, Brienne skipped the lift and threw herself up the three flights of stairs. Her place was at the far end of the corridor; light and soft music floating underneath the door. Maybe he hadn’t found them. Maybe they’d remained in the spare bedroom with the chew toys. Maybe—

“Here we go, Gerion; that’s a good boy. How does that taste?”

Brienne stepped into her apartment to find Jaime Lannister cooking a romantic meal with her three dragons sitting atop the counter. Gerion, with his golden scales, jumped up to catch the pieces of steak Jaime was throwing from the pan. Elenei, who reminded Brienne of the waters of Tarth, had her head in Jaime’s oven glove. Galladon was butting a sunflower from a nearby bouquet with his head.

“Jaime?”

“Brienne!” He grinned, threw another slice of steak to Gerion to catch, before crossing the distance to take her hands in his. “First of all, I want to apologise for breaking into your apartment. I thought it would be charming and romantic.”

“You can see why I haven’t invited anyone round.”

“Of course. I honestly thought they were going to eat me to start with. But then they just started licking my face and chewing on my shoelaces, and here we are.” He rubbed his thumbs over the inside of her wrists and placed a featherlight kiss to her lips. “Happy Maiden’s Day, Brienne. There’s half-eaten flowers on the kitchen island and dinner is nearly ready.”

Brienne nodded, approaching the scene with trepidation, as Jaime returned to the stove. A romantic dinner for two had been set up in the living room: candles, romantic music, an expensive bottle of wine. Sunflowers lay strewn across the floor, and half of their dinner looked like it had been devoured by her dragons. Brienne’s journals, detailing their growth and activities, lay open near the sink. Jaime had clearly done his reading.

“Now, Elenei, I’m going to need those gloves back. I’m not impervious to heat or fire.” The dragon playfully nipped at Jaime’s fingers before jumping down from the kitchen top to attack Jaime’s expensive loafers. “Gerion, I can’t feed you any more; I’m sorry. But if you’re a good boy, I’ll let you have some marshmallows later.”

“You brought marshmallows?”

Jaime nodded. “And other things we could dip in chocolate. Thought it would be romantic.”

As he ushered Galladon off the counter so he could plate their dinner, Brienne was overwhelmed by how lucky she was. Anyone else would have called the Gold Cloaks. But not Jaime. He treated them as if they were just exotic pets that Brienne had around the house rather than the fire-breathing, life-destroying monsters they would grow up to be. He smiled at her, as warm as always, and pulled out a seat for her to take at their romantic table for two.

“Wine?”

“I love you.”

Jaime’s grin split from ear to ear. Her dragons, who had seemingly taken to Jaime quicker than she had, puffed in approval. “I love you, too.”

#Anonymous #braime #jaime x brienne #mine: paragraph prompts #ship: braime

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bloodgoddarlin · 3 years ago

Text

Okay, this is the Brutus’s cousin anon here (I sent it on anon because I wasn’t sure if you would be on board for OCs being created around your characters and stuff, some people are very against that thought.) here’s the tea.

She doesn’t have a name yet but this is what she looks like

Anyway, she is single, and is very much the community Mom to everyone. (“Have you eaten yet?” “You’ve been working so hard, rest for a bit, sweetie.” “I made some stew, and I put some of the broth in bottles to hold you over during your shift, can’t focus on a completely empty stomachs now, can we?” “You got hurt? Come here sweetheart I’ll patch that right up for you!” “Oh my gosh! That wound is dreadful! Let me help you get into the bastion at least!” “You are to bathe right after dinner! No buts or ifs about it! I’m gonna prepare one before you finish eating so you better take advantage of it!” “I put a strider toy in the bath to keep you company, have fun! Don’t forget to scrub behind the ears.”, etc.) She mostly takes care of the warriors, but is going to hover over those who she sees working themselves to death too (She even scolds all those responsible for the overwork, especially if they are customers, and no, she will not tell them how she found out they were the ones who put in that secret order, she has her ways, and she ain’t telling a soul. Now here is two other Piglins who can help out with the order, give some of the work to them, they’ll help get the order done. Now don’t set such high expectations into such a short timeframe!)

When Brutus and Titus got together she knew it wasn’t gonna work out, Titus wasn’t a good fit for Brutus, he needed someone who would ground him as well as soften him a little, but would be more than willing to stand their ground and scold him if he went too far. Titus wasn’t able to do that, so she was in the process of gathering her thoughts to try to convince Brutus as well as Titus’s family to not go through with the arrangement when Titus ended up running away with Technoblade.

She was more than happy to hear about it, but Brutus was obviously not, so she tried to calm him down.

How that went, isn’t very well known, what is known is that she gave him a hell of a scare. He couldn’t directly look at her or talk around her for a few weeks, which saddened her, so she went to his father for advice. They were close, she had taken fighting lessons from him when he saw potential in her as a child, yet, when she decided not to pursue a warrior career after her first real battle defending the Bastion, he supported her, even instating an experimental new job inspired by what she decided she wanted to do, which was to help Warriors take care of themselves when they got absorbed in their work.

Shortly after that, the Coup d’etat happened, she wasn’t present for most of it, but she did arrive just in time to see Caesar on the floor, dead, and after that is a blur to her, she apparently killed a few Piglins who sided with Brutus with her bare hands, causing a major disadvantage on his side. In the end, five warriors had to team up to hold her down, by the time she snapped out of it, her voice was gone, she tasted blood on her tongue every time she coughed, and all she could do was cry over the body of Caesar, the Piglin that supported her despite her throwing those years of him training her away to become a caretaker, and one of the few that never said she had made a mistake doing so.

Apparently during her rampage, she had been screaming, no words forming, and it had done major damage to her throat. Some of the older Piglins suspect she had somehow managed to synchronize with the energy of the Blood God, she was a natural at fighting since childhood, some Piglins with a talent like that are able to do so in moments of high stress. The mix of shock, grief, anger, and adrenaline must have clicked with something.

Either that, or the Blood God saw an opportunity to spill a large amount of blood over something, and took it.

All she knows is that she hopes it never happens again.

When the time came that Magnus was made General and he banished Brutus and his crew, she made care packages for them to take with them, filled with things they would need to cook with, as well as instructions on where to get food.

She was also one of the ones put in charge of the charms that would track the exiled, to make sure they didn’t get too close to the Bastion.

Which allowed her to subsequently track them if she wished to find them again.

Something she decided to do right after she got her voice back.

She wanted to understand why Brutus felt that killing his father was the thing he needed to do.

(I have a whole thing on how she meets Techno, Titus, and reader in their cabin, finds out about what Brutus and Co are doing and going to confront them. Wanna hear?)

Snail's Thoughts: oh my GOD. i love her so much. 10/10 (also yes i would love to know how she meets the polycule yes yes mhm)

#submission #piglin oc #tw;blood #snail answers #others ocs

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aliypop · 3 years ago

Text

The Beautiful Ones (BHHW'S Prt 3)

Wordcount: 1,336

Warning: Langauge and Smut

A/N : Part 3 to Beauty Has Her Ways, also yes the title is a Prince Reference also shout out to @wearewyldstallyns and her Star Fish Tank Head canon

"You haven't called!" Paul nearly shouted, watching as Tiffany kept chewing her gum from behind the counter, "We don't have a phone, sweetie, remember all the electricity went to Stars big ass fish tank..." Tiffany sighed as she was getting cross-examined by the boys. "You could have sent us a letter!" Marko growled as she slumped over the counter. "Marko, give her some space..." David raised his hand, examining her face and the slight look of veins appealing from her eyelids.

"You've been starving yourself, kitten..." David asked

Tiffany pulled away as she looked at Dwayne, then the rest of the boys, "I've been eating, now I don't wanna talk about it." she snapped, watching as the blood of the meal David ate boil over.

"Tiffany, what have I told you about your temper..."

"David, please just... Piss off!" her face vamping out a bit, the boys standing back as they had never seen her like this before.

Turning her back away from them, she began walking away from the counter. She heard a small voice muscle through the boys chattering.

"You said you'd always be there for us, Tiffany," Laddie tugged on her jacket, "You left why..." Tiffany looked down at the small boy as she placed her hand on his shoulder, "Did I do something wrong..."

"Mon rayon de Soleil, you could never do anything wrong." she kissed his forehead, "Then why'd you leave?" he asked again. "I had no choice... But I'll be back..." she sighed, walking out the shop.

" Mikey..."

"Yeah, Tiff..." Michael responded, seeing how weak she was, "Am I bad for what I did..." she asked him. Michael cupped her cheeks as he shook his head, "No..." he sighed, "Parents just kinda suck like that, Tiff." he let out a chuckle as she kissed his cheeks, "Mikey never change..." she then walked off into the slightly populated boardwalk. Sitting in the comic book shop were Edgar and Alan Frog, along with Sam and Angelica.

"You guys up to your vampire hunting again," she asked, propped up on the door.

"No, we were discussing the issue of Wonder Woman." she rolled her eyes.

"Dweebs... Anyways, Mom wants us back home ..."

"So early..." Angelica grumbled.

"Hey, I would love for you to hang 10 with these fine men, but rules are rules..." Tiffany jingled her bike keys as she winked at Edgar, who turned bright red.

"Tell mom I'm staying with Sam tonight..." Angelica glared at her sister as Sam gulped.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do..." she smirked, "Which isn't a lot..." she mumbled, getting on her bike heading off into the city. Riding past the cave, she could feel her undead soul nearly shatter: the sight of the boys covered in blood from the feedings that she used to be a part of stung. "We don't need her..." She heard David say, watching as the boys were still in euphoria from their feast, " She'll come crawling back to us..." he smirked. Tiffany became furious riding off, David turned to look back at the source, but it was gone.

Back to the white Victorian-looking house that she lived in, Tiffany couldn't help but want to die: besides, it felt that staking herself was a better option than living with her parents.

"Where's your sister..."

"She's staying with a friend. She wanted me to tell you that." Tiffany smirked, doing finger guns trying to keep her chill, "Do we know this friend..."

"Just go and enjoy your date night, you two..." she laughed, pushing her parents out the way, watching as they left out the car. Tiffany raced upstairs, hearing the intro to The Beautiful Ones playing from her room. Opening her door laid Dwayne, who had his hand out ready for her to grab.

"When did you-" she began to ask, pulling her on top of him, "Shush..." he placed his finger across her lips as he kissed her neck, her hands on his bare chest removing his leather jacket, taking his finger from her lips, he began unlacing her corset watching as goosebumps formed on her skin from the night air,

"Dwayne... about earlier ..." she bit her bottom lip,

" Forget about it, babe" his fingers tangled in her curls as he kissed the shell of her ear, biting at her lobe. "But..." she tried to respond, her breath airy from the sensation.

"The only thing you're gonna be saying is my name... got that." Tiffany nodded, a smile on her face as she kissed him, drawing a bit of blood from his lips, her hips grinding on his legs, desperately waiting for his touch.

"You look hot like that..."

"Like what..."

"So vulnerable ..." he smirked, practically ripping off her pants, "Dwayne, those were!" she shrieked, looking up at him as she was now under him, his lips attached to her skin almost like a leach. "Dwayne!" she bit down on his wrist, the sensation of blood going down her body, her eyes pooled up with lust as her hands unbuckled his belt buckle, the heat of her womanhood wanting every inch of the man she missed. " S'il te plait mon amour ..." she looked up at him, his dark brown hair framing his face.

"I don't know, baby girl... I mean, you did yell at David tonight." his fingers plunging into the slick wetness that he created. "But... Dwayne!... Ah..." her eyes closed as her breath hitched, " I promise I won't do it again!" her legs shaking just by his fingers. "No buts, baby..." he smiled, kissing the blood from her lips, her vampiric tone coming back to her face. As he added another digit, he could feel her walls collapsing. Tiffany only whimpered as the butterflies in her stomach halted. She then began to dig her nails into his shoulders as the once so familiar pressure of Dwayne filled her up.

Tiffany gasped, adjusting to his size as he peppered kisses on her face, "Good girl..." he growled in her ear, biting her wrist as he later licked the wound.

"What's been going on with you lately..." Dwayne asked, striking up a conversation.

"Nothing..."

" Tiffany, I overheard you and Michael talking and..."

"Fine, I was stressed out a bit..." she began moving her hips, indicating that she was ready for him. "Why don't you take it out on me tonight, princess." Before Tiffany could reply, she was already on top of him. His hands roaming from her hips to the buds of her nipples, Dwayne could feel every grind be it fast or slow, that Tiffany was putting out. Following her rhythm, she could tell that he was just as close to coming as she was, moans and grunts filling the air until she heard the front door creak.

"Shit, they're back..." she mumbled.

"You ... Say it like it's a problem..." Dwayne laughed

"Because it is! Oh, putain!" she threw her head back, feeling the deep thrust of Dwayne, her hips following the motion, Tiffany: could only utter sweet profanities. "That's it, baby girl... you're doing great, keep going."

"Dwayne! Right there!" she nearly screamed, almost collapsing on top of him, her hands tangled in his hair as he did the same with her.

"Tiffany, is everything ok!"

"Mhmm!" she nearly cried out, "Dwayne, please..." She whispered

"Please what, sweetheart," he asked, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Let me cum..." she nearly growled at him.

As the door creaked open, Tiffany threw her covers over Dwayne.

" Hey, sweetheart, we just wanted to say goodnight." Ashton smiled as he noticed the flush look on her face, "Seems you already ate."

"Yeah, I had a big feast!" she bit her lip, trying to hide her orgasm. " You alright "

"I'm uh coming down something!" she said, watching as her father left. " Dwayne, that wasn't funny!" she hit him in the chest, "I demand a repeat..." she huffed as Dwayne poked his head out,

"I can arrange that..."

#The Lost Boys 1987 #the lost boys #paul the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #david the lost boys #marko the lost boys #michael emerson #sam emerson #dwayne x oc #tiffany the lost boys oc #angelica dubois lost boys oc #new stuff #fanfic

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milknette · 4 years ago

Text

day 12 - childhood friends

it's better to burn, than to fade away.

tumblr month: @auyeahaugust

links: ao3 | ff.net

ADRIEN meets Marinette when he's six years old and running away for the first time.

It happens after his mom tells him that he can't have macarons for dinner. Can you believe it? To separate a child and his one true love— a single bite of passionfruity goodness… it is, understandably, too much for his little mind to handle.

So, he runs away—

Because clearly, the only logical solution to not having dessert for dinner is to run away somewhere that would allow him to do so.

(Maybe whoever made the macarons. He's sure that they probably have sweets for every meal!)

And it seems like a good idea at first.

But as he runs through the dimly-lit streets of Paris, with nothing but his superhero-themed backpack and the black cat stuffed toy he'd been given for Christmas, Adrien slowly begins to realize that maybe he'd acted too rashly.

He's cold, he's wet, and his macarons are nowhere to be found.

So of course, he does what any six-year-old would do in his situation:

He falls to the ground and starts crying.

It's in that state when she first finds him.

"Whatcha cryin' about?"

Adrien looks up and freezes. Snot is dripping out of his nose, eyes red, and cheeks puffy— and for the first time in his life, he feels self-consciousness.

Because standing in front of him is very likely the prettiest girl he's ever seen.

Quickly wiping his face with his sleeve (though all it really does is intensify the redness), Adrien shakes his head. "I'm not crying."

"Yeah you were," she says, pointing at his face. "Look, your face is wet."

"... it's because it's raining."

Pretty Girl huffs. "It's not raining," she accuses him. "You're lying!"

"I'm not lying!" He argues, slowly standing back up. "I'm not crying!"

"You just were," she shoots back. "Why are you sad, sad boy? Where are your parents?"

He frowns, shaking his head. "Nowhere. I don't care." Adrien shakes his head. "They're bad parents."

"What do you mean bad?" She asks. "Did they hurt you?"

"Yeah! They didn't let me have macarons for dinner."

"... and?"

"And…?" Adrien asks, confused. "That's it. They're so mean, not letting me eat what I want. So I ran away!"

A sudden smack on the head.

"Ouch?!"

"You're being spoiled," Pretty Girl finally says, frowning. "Your parents are just doing what's best for you. Stop getting mad at them for that."

"But I want macarons!"

"And you can't always get what you want!" She argues, shaking her head. "You should be happy with what you have. Papa always tells me how lucky I am to be where I am. Some kids don't even get to be that lucky ever."

"But…"

"No buts," she says, with finality. "Listen to your parents!" Then, after a moment, Pretty Girl fishes out something from her pocket.

It's one piece of a red polka-dotted earring.

"Here."

Adrien stares at her, suspicious. "What is this?"

"It's to make you happy again," she tells him. "It's an earring."

"... so it's a gift?"

Pretty Girl wrinkles her nose. "Yeah, I guess. Just stop crying already."

He smiles.

A gift.

From a pretty girl!

"Thank you," he beams, remembering his mother's lessons on how to be a good boy. "This means we're friends, right?"

"... sure," she finally mutters, after a brief pause. Then, she takes out her hand. "I'm Marinette."

"Adrien," he replies, almost enthusiastically holding her hand in his. "Nice to meet you!"

He wants to ask more, and talk to her longer, before the sound of an ambulance rings across the otherwise empty streets.

Then, an army of police cars quick to follow.

"What happened?" He wonders, before noticing Marinette try to sneak away. "Hey! Where are you going?" Adrien asks, chasing after her as she makes a run for it.

"My parents don't know I'm out!" She responds, shouting at him. "I'll be in trouble if they see I'm not in bed!"

"But will I see you again?"

Marinette laughs, and Adrien's almost confident he's never heard such a beautiful sound in his life.

"Friends don't just leave each other like that!" She only says, before disappearing into the night.

He finds himself alone, having stopped in front of a bus station.

It's a concerned conductor that helps bring Adrien home, to the arms of his evidently just-been-crying parents (he watches with childlike wonder as his father wipes away his teary expression, Marinette's words echoing in his ear) and a mound of freshly-heated macarons— but he barely takes notice.

Instead, Adrien looks in his hand.

The polka-dotted earring glitters with the light.

He presses it to his heart, then wishes with all his soul that he'll see her again.

Marinette.

How cute.

The next time Adrien meets Marinette is almost two years later.

He's running away again.

Chloé had invited him to a playdate in her bedroom, where she insisted they play house— with her being the wife, and him the "super handsome and all mine husband".

But Adrien didn't want to play that. He wanted to play superheroes, so he grabbed the superhero mask he made in school and put it on— ignoring her protests.

She cried and he called her a spoiled brat, before running away to avoid getting scolded. He runs to the emergency exit, sitting on the stairs as he leans his head upon his arms, almost on the verge of tears.

"You're a crybaby."

Adrien looks up, noticing with surprise as Marinette stands on the stair below him, arms crossed together as she peers over at his small frame.

"You!"

"Yeah, me," she replies. "Who else would it be?"

"You…"

"I…"

"Where have you been!?" Adrien finally rages, eyebrows knitted together in a mix of confusion and anger. "I've been waiting for you for forever!"

"I'm sorry…," Marinette begins, scratching her head. "Did I say I was gonna meet you? I'm kinda forgetful…"

"And dumb!" Adrien shouts, pointing accusingly at her. "You're a meanie face poop head for leaving me!"

"Hey," she starts quietly, before kicking his leg.

"Ouch! What was that for?!"

Marinette sticks her tongue out. "You can't just call people bad names like that!" She says, glaring disappointedly at him. "Go wash your mouth with soap."

"But I can't do that! It's gross!"

"Mama tells me that's the punishment for bad kids who say bad things," she warns him. "So don't say things like that again."

"..."

"Adrien."

"Fine!" He finally bites out, evidently irritated.

"And you have to say sorry."

"What?"

Marinette glares at him. "You have to say sorry to people you've said those things to. Because it hurts them."

"... it hurts?"

"Yeah," she explains, putting a hand to her heart. "Right here. And even more when it's someone we care about."

"Really?"

Marinette nods.

Adrien frowns, thinking to himself, before abruptly standing up. "I'm sorry, Marinette," he finally says. "I don't want to hurt you."

She beams at him. "And I'm okay now!" She says, raising her hands upward. "See, it's that easy!"

Adrien nods along, before remembering another person he has to say sorry to.

He stares at her. "I have to do something," he starts. "Can you wait for me?"

Marinette sighs, apologetic. "Sorry, I can't," she replies. "Mama and Papa are waiting for me downstairs. I just went here because you were crying so loud."

"Hey—!"

"But do what you have to do," she grins. "I'll see you again."

"Promise?" Adrien asks, sticking out his pinky finger.

She smiles, linking her pinky with his. "It's a pinky promise."

When Adrien returns to Chloé's apartment, the first thing he says is sorry.

They play house together, but roleplay as siblings. Adrien tells her that he can't play her husband; not when he wants someone else to play with his wife.

Marinette Agreste.

Doesn't sound too bad.

Marinette keeps her promise.

Their meetings are short and infrequent, but he always treasures every moment.

The time he accidentally ruins his father's painting, she makes him apologize. The time Chloé bullies Sabrina, she tells him to make her stop. The time he gets the last macaron at a shop, she convinces him to share it with the crying baby outside.

Adrien can feel himself becoming a better person the more they meet. With every wrong he's done, she's there like a guardian angel to show him the right way.

She makes him kinder, stronger, and more honest.

It's at the tender age of eleven years old when Adrien Agreste decides that he loves her.

The next year, Marinette only visits him once.

At the day of her funeral.

He sits alone, standing in front of her grave.

Emilie Agreste, Rest In Peace.

She doesn't say a word, only putting a hand on his shoulder.

He's grateful for it.

"At least you'll always be here for me," Adrien says.

She laughs softly, but doesn't reply.

She shows up less and less, the older he gets.

After his mother passed away, his father had locked him in the house with almost no contact with the outside world.

Adrien wonders if that's why Marinette hasn't been showing up.

He knows in his heart, however, that it isn't true.

"How did you get in here?"

"Is that a question you really want to know the answer to?"

"Maybe not."

Marinette leans her head on his shoulder, nuzzling closer to him.

He doesn't move.

It is at fifteen years old when Adrien's father gets him a therapist.

"Do you see her now?" He asks.

"No."

The therapist nods, writing as Adrien watches Marinette peek over his shoulder.

"He's writing that you're crazy."

"I'm not crazy!"

The doctor looks up at him, and it's almost pitiful.

"Of course not."

"Why are you doing this to me?"

The room is empty, but he knows she's watching. Waiting.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Adrien heaves, rubbing at his eyelids. He hasn't slept in days— weeks, even.

It's gotten to the point that even his father wants him to come outside, if even for a moment.

"I just want to be normal."

"No, you're too special for that."

"Why are you crying?"

"Because I have to let you go."

"Why?"

"You aren't good for me."

"You told me I made you a good person."

"You did."

"What changed?"

"I'm not a kid anymore."

"..."

"I loved you."

"I'm not real."

"That doesn't mean my feelings weren't."

"The therapist was right. You are crazy."

"..."

"You're still a crybaby."

"I know. But I can handle these things on my own now."

"I hope you'll miss me."

"You were my first friend."

"I love you."

"..."

"Goodbye."

Adrien sees the sun for the first time in months.

He feels lighter.

Nothing is holding him back anymore.

#auyeah2020 #mlauyeahaugust2020 #auyeahaugust #auyeah august #adrinette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #ml #miraculous ladybug #milk writes #ml fic #ml fanfic #tw death #? kinda she's supposed to be an imaginary friend so she doesnt exactly ~die~#god im not okay #kinda got some not-so-great news while writing this so :))#pls forgive the very sudden shift in tone #but life just be like that sometimes yk!

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forestfanders · 4 years ago

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Inhumane

Getting his captive vampire to drink is proving harder than Logan expected, Virgil spouting nonsense about bagged blood having ‘no soul’ and will ‘make him sick.’ But Logan knows best, and the vampire must be fed.

My first fic for sanders sides, so please let me know what you think, and I want to continue it.

Its just me hurting vamp!Virgil and super logical logan <3

Trigger warnings!

Vomiting blood, force feeding, dehumanisation, medical horror, unethical medicine, drugged, panic attack

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24812977

Virgil, you are injured, and you need to eat to regain your health,” Logan kept his voice calm, holding out the bag of blood.

The injured vampire strapped to the bed in front of him wriggled in frustration.

With the discovery of a new race, or rather an old race that had been hidden among the human population for generations, the care and upkeep of the single lucid vampire ever to be captured was of vital importance. And Virgil had thus far been fairly cooperative, giving tidbits of information to Logan and accepting medical care for the injuries he had gained prior to his capture. But between his injuries and lack of sustenance, the vampire was wasting away, the already short questioning sessions Logan was able to conduct becoming even shorter.

“I will eat, if you let me bite someone. But I won’t drink half-dead blood out of a bag” his voice was barely a rasp, “I’ll be careful, I promise. Please.”

“We cannot allow you to drink from a human. There is no way for us to tell what the effects of your venom may be on a human.” Logan reasoned, “This blood is perfectly fresh.”

“Is not...fresh enough. The soul falls out too quickly. Need to bite.”

“I can assure you there is absolutely no difference between the contents of this bag and the blood you would drink directly." Logan stayed firm but unthreatening.

“Maybe not to science. But magic differences.” Virgil’s unfocused gaze burrowed into Logan’s neck, “Soul falls out." Virgil repeated his nonsensical argument, "No glow, no energy, no use.” He gave a slight wriggle again, wincing in pain as his injuries flared in protest. “It’s no use. It will make me puke. Hate puking blood.”

Virgil's sentences were short, his grammar becoming increasingly poor. Logan wished he had more insight into why Virgil was so unwilling to feed. The vampire was clearly starving. Logan felt a strange pang of sadness for the creature so bound up in fear that he could not even accept sustenance without second guessing.

“Can you just try a little? We drew it especially for you. It’s still warm.” Logan butted the bag gently against the vampire’s bound arm, and Virgil stiffened at the touch. Probably no luck making the gruesome meal seem more appetising to the starving supernatural creature.

“No. No bag.” he tucked his chin into his collarbone, a nervous tic of his. Logan changed tactics. Virgil had shown signs of being a particularly nervous individual in the past, and perhaps it was a performance anxiety that was preventing him from feeding now.

“There is nothing to be anxious about. And it's ok to make a bit of a mess.” Logan soothed, “We understand it is different from what you are used to, but once you try you will see it is ok.”

That argument seemed to exhaust the last of the vampire’s patience

“Please. Let me bite someone, or let me di-sleep in peace.” Virgil screwed his eyes shut.

“Take a couple of sips, and I will let you sleep.”

“I can’t.” the vampire’s eyes were desperate, “Listen to me.”

Though Logan had no wish to sour the relationship with the creature, Virgil had to feed. He had left Logan only one option.

“I promised you that we would take care of you, and you need to eat. If you will not drink it willingly, we can tube feed you while you are unconscious.” Logan spoke softly.

“That’s not possible.” Virgil murmured fearfully.

“It is, it’s a very common procedure. We would prefer not to resort to medical interventions, but we want you to be healthy.” He held out the bag one last time, “Please. Try it.”

The vampire shook his head fitfully. The heart monitor above his head suggested the start of a panic attack. Logan decided against explaining the procedure in more detail.

“Very well.” Logan gave a solom smile as the vampire’s eyes flicked to the nurse now standing by his shoulder, “Nurse Picani is going to give you something to put you to sleep, and we will have fed you by the time you wake up next.”

The last of Virgil’s adrenaline appeared to lock his body into a frozen stillness and his eyes followed the needle's movements as a sedative was injected into his IV line. The mounting fear slid from the vampire’s body as the drug eased him into peace. Nurse Picani took the bag of blood from his hand with a sad smile.

“We’ll take care of him.”

The blood would help. Logan looked one last time at the sleeping vampire, and left the room.

---

The sharp tang of blood was in Virgil’s nose as he awoke.

Oh god he was covered in human blood, the brownish red liquid spattered across his blanket, and still oozing down his chest.

“hhhhow?”

He couldn’t remember having bitten anyone, and the blood was energyless, soulless enough to make him sick. No. No… Logan had said something about tubes and feeding while unconscious.

God, he felt so awful. Not just sick, but heavy, as though his blood was lead. He struggled against the bonds, against the sluggishness of his bones. The leather held him place, only allowing his head to flop forwards. His eyes fluttered shut, too tired to keep them open. He was in pain, but that was a constant of this place. This was different. He felt…untethered… like the whole world was smeared across his heart and he could do nothing to control his emotions. Nothing to fight the vampire instincts, writhing and confused, but neither stay in the moment long enough to feel anger as the human.

He howled in fear of the cloying heaviness of his body, of the wrongness he felt, the sound echoing in the concrete room.

There came pneumatic hiss of the door opening behind him, and the click of footsteps.

“You're ok Virgil, you have just been sick.” A voice swam above him.

“I didn’t…I didn’t…” He slurred out,“hurt anyone”

“I know Virgil. We tried to feed you while you were asleep.” A hand softly guided his head back to lean against the pillow and he let it, unresisting aside from a quiet growl caught in his throat, as light played over his closed eyelids. “Can you open your eyes for me Virgil?”

A request. Open eyes. See what is going on. He opened his eyes to slits before giving up. Fingers gently pulled at his eyelids. He let out a noise between a growl and a whimper as a bright light flashed, left eye then right eye.

“Pupils are lagging. He is only barely conscious.” The voice took on a brisk tone. Clearly no longer talking to Virgil. He decided to not worry about what was being said, and instead focused his concentration on the feeling of poking his tongue out from between his teeth. “He is quite cooperative. We can clean him up, then do an ultrasound to see how much he managed to keep down.”

“How are you feeling Virgil?” The hand gently brushed his hair out of his face. It felt nice.

“Bad.”

“We gave you something to help you sleep, it often makes people feel groggy for a while. Do you think you are going to be sick again?”

“No” he breathed out.

“Good.” There was a softness in the voice that was foreign to the situation, “We are just going to clean you up a bit now Virgil. Can you take a sip of water?”

The rim of a cup was pressed to his lips, and he took a gulp of water, swirling it around his mouth before letting the red-laced liquid spill from his lips and down his already blood-wet chest.

His face was wiped with a warm flannel, finally cleaning the reek from his face, a hand in his hair holding him fast. The oxygen tubes in his nose were removed for a moment to wash his face, and he did not fight their return. Virgil let his head loll sideways as the hand was removed, letting out a soft whimper of thanks.

There was muffled speech, quiet but purposeful. Then hands were touching him, removing the bloodstained sheet. He shivered. Then there was a damp towel on his chest, softly scrubbing. He could not fight against the gentle movements.

The smell of blood had faded now somewhat, and he was tired, his whole body heavy, even as people swarmed around him.

A stray thought weaved into his addled mind.

They could do anything to him, and he couldn’t even open his eyes

As the vampire slid back into unconsciousness, tears flowed down his cheeks. They too were wiped away by pseudo-compassionate hands.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #vampire virgil #sanders whump #whump #medical horror #sander sides fic #anxiety sanders

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nnatasha · 5 years ago

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don't blame me for falling, iii

read the first and second part!!

pairing: tom holland x reader

summary: he comes back to town after years and years, and the press are just eating it up and you're falling too hard and too fast

an; how unnecessary long can I make this challenge. also how dumb can I make this challenge lmao why is elon musk in this chapter?? I don't know!!

the news was, at first, too far fetched to be true.

but as the months passed and the seasons changed and frost covered the green, green grass you could no longer look at, the fact that Tom Holland Had Quit Acting sunk with a finality into the world and its people.

when you were young and sweet and when your favourite colour was blue and you were so adamant that you hated pink, you remembered how much tom liked to act, be a dramatic idiot over the tiniest of things. how, if a teacher tried to send him out of the classroom, he'd whine and groan with the essence of a shakespearian actor. how, when summer term rolled around, he auditioned for every any role he could, dancing and prancing around the drama studio in front of you and harrison at lunchtimes. how, when he was fifteen, he had left to go have a shot at a life-changing part, bagging almost everything he could until he hit the big one: spiderman homecoming came out and the entire town rallied about the little boy on the big screen.

in his interviews, the subjects were far and few, all whittling down to one thing; why? his answer made no sense to but a few, "it was a little squiggle I did when I was young."

the tattoo on your ankle, the stick and poke you had done on a slow january evening when you were fourteen, the little squiggle that looked like a three with a somewhat long tail, the tattoo that had stayed infected for weeks and weeks. it burned into your skin, even after it had long faded, even after tom had left you and his hands were nowhere near your knees, even ten years on when you watched the occasional interview, eyes yearning to look at the way he sighed and heaved like his world had fallen to pieces, wishing you could reach out and stroke the pain away with a small smile.

"why?"

"I left too much behind." he once replied.

"do you not like it?"

"I just think that he left a lot behind." you had once replied in an interview you regretted greatly. "perhaps a bit too much, too soon."

london was a huge city.

the tall buildings and the exotic smells and the crowded pathways were unfamiliar to you, and you couldn't leave the apartment without harrison for a good week before you braved it by yourself.

the greys of the buildings built a small, weak wall around your soul and when you shook tom's hand for the first time in half a year, it didn't warm you from your skin to your bones to your soul and it unsettled you in a way you couldn't describe.

london was foreign, and you hated it. you regretted taking the job there and you missed your friends and the familiar roads and the familiar smells and the lack of cameras that were around whenever you were with tom.

it had been a true mistake becoming his assistant, carrying his files and not talking to him like you used to. it was your fault, simply nodding and smiling whenever he made a joke only you would get, brushing him off like you thoughts you should've for so many years.

summer in london was the worst.

tom, ceo of a tech company now, was busiest in the warm weather and you could feel your forehead start to sweat even as you sat in the comfortable air conditioning in his car.

"what happened?" tom's voice was soft and the tentativeness of it made your heart clench.

"pardon?"

"to us."

it was an unfamiliar topic, one the two of you always purposefully swayed from.

"you're my boss now." you answered after a pause.

and then the silence enveloped the two of you again, only being broken by harrison's loud voice when you arrived at his apartment, tonya waddling behind him, all tummy, all beams and smiles.

"baby!" you giggled, sinking into the hug tonya gave you. she had become a close friend, letting you stay and get on your feet upon arriving in london, watching bad tv shows and movies with you late into the night.

your neck was wet to touch, the heat unbearable out in the sun. you fanned yourself with such vigor it offset tonya, who looked at your hand with such a sharpness you felt as though she'd frozen it.

"come in, come in." her voice was like honey, thick and goopy and smooth. she led the group of four into her home and a smile appeared on your face at the appearance of harrison's hands steady a few inches away from his very pregnant wife's back. life had been good for the two of them, the horrors of the world hidden out of view like they'd been kicked underneath the sofa. god had been kind to the two of them, and it showed in the golden glow of their faces when they smiled, and the crows feet already appearing on the twenty four year old harrison, smile upon smile that crinkled his eyes and his entire face, dimples appearing like he was a scrunched up piece of paper. tonya was still tall and leggy and her hair had been coloured by the sun, a beautiful shining gold that matched the darker strips across her nose and cheekbones.

your grey skirt was stiff and tight around your legs and you frowned at tom, who was also fidgeting with his outfit. the suit that had been shrunk by the dry cleaners was stretched painfully across his slumped shoulders and frown lines had begun to appear on his cheeks and chin, as young as he was. life had been rough for him since his abrupt job change, many long nights and many people wondering what this young boy had to say, had to do about the current advancements in the technological world. now, half a year later, his company was off on its feet, taking its first few steps into the harsh world.

"do you want a drink?" tonya offered, hand already holding a cold can of coke. you accepted it gratefully, stiffening as you felt tom place his hand on your back. he was inches away, breath fanning onto your forehead as he read an email, eyebrows furrowed.

a soft hum was music to your ears, despite the grumbly undertone it had. he looked up at tonya, then to harrison stood behind her, "we have to go, im so sorry."

you glared at him, and you would've glared at yourself if you could for the whiney tone you took. "we just got here." you complained, "she could have a baby by the next time we visit!"

tom's frown focused on you and your heart flinched as he snapped, "unless you want to keep your job, which, might I remind you, I gave to you with no prior interview, you're not going to complain."

"oi, mate," harrison's cool voice butted in and he placed a tanned hand on tom's shoulder. it was a familiar action, where he would tighten his hand a little much, clap the shoulder just a tad too hard, his grin stretched and hiding malice in it. it was a trick of harrison's, in the i-just-wanna-vibe bloke kind of way, clap a hand on tom's, or yours, or a drunken stranger's shoulder, stand tall, too tall, and hulk his shoulders and his neck out in a way that always made you laugh. harrison always made you laugh.

tom was quiet, you saying your goodbyes for him - 'we'll be back before this little man pops out, I promise!'- and was fiddly and stiff and loose and a nervous wreck all over in the car, tugging at his collar until it became wrinkled, his eyes a little crazed.

"soo," you dragged out, your warm breath breaking the icy tension in the room, "what we doing today, boss?"

"mr musk is here." tom said, and his voice was shaky and your heart clenched. when you were thirteen, or perhaps fourteen, or maybe even fifteen, (or perhaps forever), you had cared for tom so much that you every one of his mannerisms down to a tee. the tapping of his expensive shoes on the car floor? too much coffee, which you had learnt when tom had discovered it at the blooming age of thirteen, when he had carried it around in this cute pink thermos you and harrison had bought for him. the way his head twitched to the right after a long, hard couple of days was barely there, but you would always know, his shoulders stiffening and his jaw clenching as he tried to stay as resolutely still as possible. you knew him to a tee, you knew how he felt, you knew how he ate, you knew how he loved.

and that was, perhaps, why the wall between you was so thick and hard to crack. you knew how he loved and you knew that he knew the way you loved. you were loving each other at different paces, in different ways, in different dimensions, but in the same unobtainable, scary way that everybody loves.

"elon musk?" you whispered, your voice making tom's fingers thrum with warmth.

he nodded, brown, scared eyes gazing at you. "well, ok." you hurried, heart pounding in your chest so loudly you could almost feel it in your fingers. "that's fine, that's cool. don't you worry, he makes cars."

"and flamethrowers." tom's voice was shaky, and the playfulness dripped off in such a way that you winced.

"well, hopefully he'll lend me one to burn that bloody honker off your face."

"oi!" tom waved a finger at you and you laughed, drifting into a comfortable silence that was bordering on uncomfortable, all at tom's fault of course. his nervousness came off his in huge, tsunami-like waves that soaked you through to the marrows of your bones.

the car came to a slow stop outside the office, parking between two expensive black cars. the sun was scorching as you stepped out, puffing and almost burning your hand on the heat of the chassis.

"bloody hell." tom breathed, tugging on his collar once more. "it's fucking boiling."

you hummed in agreement, laughing at a memory, "remember when-"

"yeah." tom agreed , eyes crinkling at the edges. "almost late for temple, wasn't he?"

you nodded, the memory of your brother frankie falling asleep at his mate's on a warm, stifling summer's day one june floating in the air between the two of you. your mother had shouted at him, so loud the entire neighborhood had heard, and you and your sister esther had hid in the rabbit coop to escape her wrath, the comfortable smell of grass soaking into your clothes.

you had hid there once again, years and years later, when frankie had lost his voice breaks and the ie at the end of his name, and had set off to war in some foreign country. your mother had shouted then, in english and french and yiddish, but your brother had heard none of it, setting off two weeks later.

"is he still,," tom trailed off, hand twitching towards you. you shook your head, lips pursed. he had been killed by a stranger in a foreign land, and the person you nor your mother knew who had gone to collect his body had been killed too.

"right." tom moved a hand to you and you smiled a shaky smile hands reaching up to his neck to find some sense of comfort.

"can't see mr musk all raggedy looking, now." your voice was playful, light, but it shook as you touched his neck.

the stiff collar creased under your fingers with ease, and you slipped it back into place, flush against his sunburnt skin. his tie was in a muddle, and it resembled that of a fourteen year olds so much so that you let out a giggle, sliding it up to his top button. you lingered, eyes looking up into his face.

so, so, close.

he wasn't smiling, no, but his eyes held a warmth that told of bygone days, when your ma would cook the two of you a hot apple pie, when you would wade about in the paddling pool of the only bloody nature park in your town with your shorts wet at the hem, when you would camp out in the frozen aisles of supermarkets before being kicked out, the warm sun a constant on your young backs.

his eyes were pools of honey, the sticky brown of them golden in the sunlight, wrinkled around the edges in the way that spoke of love and fun. the two of you were aging, and the world was moving around you at a steady pace and the two of you were still figuring things out, your hearts guarded but your eyes true.

his face was rough with the beginnings of stubble and the sun drying it out, but you were stood stroking his cheek so what would it matter anyway. the way he leaned into your thumb, fractionally but with so much care made your heart thump and your breath catch. the domesticity of it scared you, and so did his eyes and his nose and his lips and the way he knew you so well and the way you knew him. it was so familiar, being this close to him, like visiting your parents at the holidays with the snow falling and being scared about what they'd think of your hair and your clothes and the accent that had been created anew and the way you laughed like the world was yours.

"I'm sorry." his voice was quiet against the din of london but he was so, so close that it just slipped into your ears like how he slipped and slotted into your life perfectly, filling all the missing gaps. "for leaving. so much."

you took a shuddering breath and slid your hands down to his shoulders, giving them a friendly clap. "can't keep a billionaire waiting, tommo!"

it was harsh, perhaps, but however hard tom was pushing to get to the heart that was sure to be soft putty in his hands, you couldn't dare let him. for your heart was soft and made of putty, malleable and so easily thrown out after use. you didn't want him to leave one day and put it on the kitchen counter like his keys those many, many years ago.

elon musk was a remarkable man,and the way he spoke was so eloquent, in a messy way that reminded you so much of the world.

"your company is that of the stars, mr holland," he had spoke, his hands a blur in the air in front of you. it was rather nice, the motion fanning your boiling skin.

he had left in an even quicker blur, the smell of expensive cologne and pricey suits trailing after him. your body mourned the loss of his hands, but was rather please at the addition of a pair of oh so very familiar hands.

"so?"

"so." you answered. elon had proposed a few things that were all very unclear and far and few, his american voice harsh in your little english head.

"I don't make cars." tom breathed, tugging on his collar with a small smile.

"no we don't." you smiled back at him, the sun shining just a little brighter.

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #don't blame me for falling #dbmff #sorry this out a little late I hate it :))))#mine #masterlist

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