#considering all that he’s been through the small comfort of his feet being enclosed is something he’ll gladly take | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fernpost · 3 years ago

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Cycle 0 - Interviews

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Taako Taaco. 114. Elf. Wizard; Specialization in transmutation and inventive magical applications.

Previous experience: Top of class at Tredore, Academy of Magics and Technology; recently graduated.

Criminal Record: Multiple counts of petty theft.

Davenport likes to think of himself as calm and composed. It’s hard to throw him off. He has to be in order to have gotten this far in his mission as fast as he has.

But when he turns around from shutting the door to see his interviewee with his feet kicked up on the table, twirling a wand through his fingers, he’s a little shocked. He’s been doing these interviews for two days now, and even the more relaxed and confident people have held a bit more sense for decorum.

It’s a bit rude.

It’s also a little interesting.

He sits at his desk, pulling the elf’s papers away from his boots (shiny, and though they look expensive he can see they’re worn down and well taken care of) and glances down. “Tell me, Taako Taaco, what makes you want to explore the planerverse?”

“Bored.”

If the feet on the desk threw him off for a second, that floors him entirely. “Bored?”

“I’ve got nothing else to do on this plane, why not, you know?”

“No burning desire to go further than any being has gone before?” That’s one of the normal responses, the well-planned out speeches he keeps getting in response to his opening question.

The elf crosses his feet, leaning back somehow further into the provided chair. Davenport worries for a second that he may fall as he continues on, “that’s cool too, I guess. But I figure, why wouldn’t you want the great Taaco name aboard your ship.”

Davenport picks up a pen from his table and makes a small note on the paperwork, “no offense, Mr. Taaco, but you’re rather cavalier about this interview that determines whether or not you’re accepted into a program that may redefine our understanding of the world.”

The elf shrugs and takes his feet off of Davenport’s desk, flashing him a smirk, “you’ve seen my sister’s paperwork, yeah? No way you’re not going to accept her, and we’re a package deal. Says it right there in bold at the top of my application, my man.” It does, in fact, say that at the top. Cursive words noting how he refuses to accept any position on the ship if his sister isn't there too. When reviewing who he was interviewing today, he saw similar words on Lup Taaco’s paperwork.

“You’re very confident in your sister’s abilities.” Davenport begins, pausing for a second as he notes the way the elf begins to tense up before continuing, “however, I wouldn’t sell yourself so short. You also graduated top of your class, and excelled in the art of transmutation multiple times. One of your letters of recommendation even noted how you made many spells easier to cast, somatically speaking.”

“What can I say, I’ll find any short cut I can.”

Davenport makes another note on his paper. “Now, I do need to ask about your record of petty theft.”

“Oh, natch.”

Lup Taaco. 114. Elf. Wizard; Specialization in evocation and applied magic regarding planar research.

Previous experience: Top of class at Tredore, Academy of Magics and Technology; recently graduated.

Criminal Record: Multiple counts of petty theft.

“Lup Taaco, it is nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Captain.” The woman in front of him smiles. The resemblance to her brother couldn’t be more clear, and though her demeanor is quite similar, she at least doesn’t have her feet on his desk.

Not that his desk is anything fancy, but the point stands. “I’m not technically the captain yet, you know.”

“Potato, potato.”

Davenport is fairly certain that’s not how that phrase is used. “You did research into the planes at Tredore, correct?”

“Quite a bit, yeah. I’m sure my brother told you?”

The slight tilt of her head and lit of her voice tells Davenport this is some sort of test, which is confusing and a bit disconcerting, considering he is the one conducting the interview. He checks a quick box on his papers. “He talked you up a bit, yes. But this is your own interview, and I wanted to discuss your own knowledge with you, personally.”

She smiles, a touch more warmth to it than her previous attitude. “Oh, of course. Did quite a bit of studying at Tredore. First real school we attended. Kinda boring at times, you know?”

“If you’re accepted into this program, it’s going to be four intense months of studying and teaching you the more complex workings of the ship. Plus the two months of actually being on the ship.”

“That’s the fun stuff. Not a third semester in a row of another language I already figured out most of years ago.”

“How many languages do you speak, Ms. Taaco?”

“Including common, five languages.”

“Impressive.” Davenport himself only speaks three. “Now, I would like to ask you about your criminal record, if you don’t mind?”

Her smile grew sharp as she laughs.

Honestly, he isn’t surprised. Her explanation is the same as her brothers. Grew up on the road, needed food and other items on occasion. Didn’t always run fast enough. Davenport can’t fault them, and certainly won’t hold it against them.

He glances down at her paperwork, about to ask another question about her education, when she speaks up. “I’ve got a question for you, Captain.”

“Oh?”

“The ship- we’re really going with the name ‘The Starblaster’?”

Davenport sighs. He knew this question was coming, but he was expecting it to come during a press conference from a reporter, not a potential shipmate. “Yes. To be fair, it was a communal name we put to a vote from everyone who worked on building the engine.”

Ms. Taaco smiles. “Dope.”

Barry J. Bluejeans. 37 years old. Human. Wizard; specialization in applied magic regarding bonds and planar research.

Previous experience: Current assistant professor at Duffman University of the Arcane, part-time employee at the Institute of Planer Research and Exploration.

Criminal Record: Previous altercations regarding necromancy; no crimes against the nature of life and death ever committed.

Mr. Bluejeans is an interesting man. By the look of him, you’d expect to see him fumbling his way through a PTA meeting for his two kids. Instead, Davenport is staring down the word ‘necromancy’ on his paperwork on an application regarding literal planar travel on a ship called 'the Starblaster.'

So far, the interview has been going well. He’d listened to the man explain his research into the arcane, and he’d understood planar travel as well as any of the current scientists and engineers at the Institute. He was called in often for conferences and meetings about the bond engine. He’d seen the man walking around on occasion. They’d never been in a meeting together before, but he’d seemed nice.

But he also had a history of necromancy.

Now, Davenport doesn’t like to judge people. However, being in an enclosed space with someone who needed to specify he had never technically committed “crimes against the nature of humanity” isn’t the most comforting.

But, he was a smart man. Easy to get along with, too. So far. Necromancy notwithstanding.

Best to get it over with, “so, Mr. Bluejeans. I do need to ask about your criminal record-”

“Oh! Yeah, I never killed anyone. Or un- killed anyone. Uh, resurrected, I mean. Just did lots of studying into the application of necromancy and necromantic spells. Got in trouble because I toed the line of ‘research’ and ‘bringing my cat back to life,’ but got a stern talking to. Didn’t try it again, and don’t plan on needing to deal with those types of authorities again.”

Okay, normal enough answer, far as the situation applies-

“My current research into it has stayed purely theoretical, and it won’t interfere with the mission at all.”

So the man is still into necromancy.

Davenport glances down at the man’s file, thick with it’s attached papers Bluejeans has done on planar research. He’s not even stuck up about his level of education, and that’s extremely rare for the field.

Holding back a sigh, Davenport asks, “Can you explain the paper you wrote on the outer planes interactions with the inner planes for me?”

It was a really good paper.

But the man is still into necromancy.

Lucretia. 20. Human. Chronicler; Specialization in journalism.

Previous experience: Due to multiple NDA, she is unable to give us the exact number and titles of books she has written, but she sent letters of recommendation from Duke Rensburg, Lady Norabelle, and Warren of the Seatree Clan.

Criminal Record: Acquisition and attempted use of a false ID.

“So, Ms. Lucretia, I understand you cannot provide us with most examples of your works, but from what you have provided, you seem to be very, very good.”

“I like to think so, yes.” The young woman in front of him seems polite. She’s quiet; he saw her waiting outside with a few others before her interview, and while most of them were engaged in some awkward small talk, she sat away from them. Likely partially due to her age- she is much younger than the people outside- but she also simply seems quiet.

Which wouldn’t be the worst quality in someone you would be sharing a small, enclosed space with for an extended period of time. But, if she couldn’t bond with the others sufficiently, the bond engine won’t work.

(Hell, the bond engine was already finicky, they figured out the tech only a month ago, and they only have four months to bond an entire crew to pilot it and-)

“Can you explain to me why you acquired a fake ID and tried to use it at a, uh,” Davenport glances down at the records in front of him, holding back a chuckle, “at the forbidden section of the Library of Runar?”

Lucretia looks uncomfortable for a second, and he’s sure if the lighting in the room were better he would be able to see her flush with embarrassment. She gives him a hesitant smile, “I can’t get into the explicit details, but I was working on a book for an older client whose memory was becoming patchy, and I wanted to confirm some details before I put their name to it. They wouldn’t allow me into the section without the proper documents, but my client refused to agree that I should double check his work, even though I was almost certain he was wrong, so I simply… found a way to get past their guard. I wasn’t going to steal anything and I was going to use the proper equipment to read through the documents.”

Davenport smiles, “pursuit of knowledge and truth is important to you, then?”

“I don’t think spreading lies, especially in that context, is very honorable, no.” Her hands are folded in her lap now, and she seems a bit more relaxed.

Considering the others he is planning on accepting, he may be wrong about her getting along with them. Anyone willing to break the law just to prove an old man wrong would at least get along with him. Davenport refuses to have any pushovers aboard his ship.

Magnus Burnsides. 19. Fighter; Specialization in protection fighting and mechanical engineering.

Previous experience: Current bouncer at Apex Club. Currently enrolled in Gallier’s Fighter Academy and College.

Criminal Record: One count of assault and battery, appealed for defense of another person present. One count of indecent exposure and public intoxication.

Davenport will be the first to admit it can be tricky to follow human aging patterns, but he knows he’s not mistaken in thinking the man in front of him is barely out of “child” territory. Nineteen is a very, very small amount of time to be alive. Also, a very, very small amount of time to learn important things, like how to run what is basically a ship right out of a science fiction novel- complete with breakthrough technology.

Despite this, it’s hard to not find the young man in front of him to be endearing, and mostly knowledgeable in the things they need him to be.

“Magnus. You’re very young, one of the youngest applicants we have. What makes you think you’re qualified as the head of security of the ship?”

The young man in front of him- Gods, he really is young- grins and lifts his arms to flex, a show of pride and ego almost unbefitting of an interview setting, “Have you seen my muscles? I’m very strong, and a very good fighter.”

Many of today’s interviews have been quite different than he was expecting.

“I was referring more to job experience.”

“Oh!” Magnus shifts in his seat, fingers drumming against the table as he thinks. “I worked as a bouncer for a club while I was in college and did, if I must toot my own horn, a very good job. You should have a letter of recommendation from the owner-” He leans forwards, reaching a hand out as if to look through his own files to show him the letter.

“Yes, I did read through it. She was very thorough in stating how eager you were to help.” Davenport glances down at the papers in front of him, holding back a sigh. It truly was a glowing review of this young man. While his grades from the aforementioned college weren’t the highest, especially in classes one might consider important for an institute of planar research, the two letter of recommendations he submitted from teachers of his explained how Burnsides was very persistent when he wanted to learn something he didn’t know. He also had taken quite a few classes regarding vehicles- not enough to claim the young man was an expert but enough to provide a solid basis to show him how things worked and could be repaired on the ship.

The kid’s attitude was something of a breath of fresh air in this place. However, there was one glaring concern.

“I was also a bit concerned about the criminal record we have on file for you. Assault and battery as well as the indecent exposure and public-”

“In my defense for the second one, I was drunk with some friends and maybe thought it’d be funny to streak in the lake. Who hasn’t been to a party that gets a little out of hand.” He holds his hands out as if to say “am I right?”

Off the record, Davenport is inclined to agree that he was right. On the record, he is choosing to ignore it. “And the assault and battery? The file says it was in defense of a young person.”

Burnsides grins, “that’s how I got hired as the bouncer!”

He waits a moment, expecting Magnus to continue. When it seems the young man is assuming that is enough explanation, he prompts, “by beating up a man outside the club?”

“Yeah! He was harassing someone outside, and I was walking home and passed by. I told him to step off, and he didn’t. So I decked him, and he was out right away.”

It lined up with the records he had, and honestly, seeing someone so ready to step up to the defense of a stranger was a good quality. Better than some of the older applicants who were much more… formal in their training. He wonders briefly how Burnsides would react to an altercation against someone with magic.

Glancing down at his records, he guesses he would run headfirst without thinking.

Stifling a small grin, Davenport continues, “Now, tell me. Assume we’re up in space, and something goes wrong with the bond engine. What would your course of action be, Mr. Burnsides?”

Merle Hitower Highchurch. 214. Cleric; Specialization in botany, religion, and medical treatment.

Previous experience: Current botanist at the Institute of Planar Research and Exploration. Professor of botany at Narvick’s University for four years.

Criminal Record: Multiple counts of loitering.

The door is pushed all the way open before Davenport can even call out the next person.

A short dwarf slides into the room with a wide grin, “hey Dav!” A mug of tea is pressed into his hands.

“Hello, Merle. You do know this needs to be at least a little formal, yes?”

“Formal schmormal. Ask me your silly questions already, bud.” Merle Highchurch, resident botanist at the Institute of Planar Research and Exploration, plops right down in the seat he’d taken to commandeering once a week, for the past three weeks.

Davenport had seen him around before, but a botanist in an institute designed for exploring other planes that had little capabilities to actually go to those places yet was rarely busy, and even more rarely called upon. He still barely knew the guy, but after the day they’d gotten stuck in the elevator for ten minutes when it broke down, the dwarf had come to his office for tea each Wednesday.

It was a bit strange, but the tea was good.

“Tell me about your work experience.”

Merle laughs heartily, “they barely have me do anything around here, ‘cept tend to the couple of plants they’ve grabbed from the ground plane.”

“It’s the Elemental Plane of Earth, and don’t sell yourself short, Merle. This is basically a job interview, you know.”

Merle slurps loudly at his own mug, “aren’t you planning on nepotism hiring me, because we’re buds?”

“That isn’t even what that word means, Merle.”

“Isn’t it?”

Davenport stares into the tea, “is this made from the Earth plant?”

“Maybe?”

Davenport. 276. Captain and navigator; Specialization in mechanical engineering and arcane components combined with contemporary technology.

Previous Experience: Crewmate on the Lady Blue for twenty years. Graduated from Grensville University. Current staff at the Institute of Planar Research and Exploration.

Criminal Record: Unlawful resistance of orders from captain, raising of commotion on board ship while employed.

Davenport handed the six files over to Selune, “These are them.”

The halfling woman flips through them, eyebrows raising higher with each one she sees. “You’re sure you grabbed the right ones? A few of these I understand, but you do know we had the Issaiah Broler apply.”

He folds his hand in front of him, nodding. “I also know that during the interview he made me want to pour my tea on his lap. There’s no chance of getting the bond engine going with him. These are the six I picked. They’re all qualified- and the ones that are less educated in the specifics in the field I’m sure will pick up on the important information quickly. The Taaco twins already will give the bond engine a huge boost. Ms. Lucretia will ensure we have everything chronicled, something I’m sure you can appreciate, Selune. Mr. Bluejeans previous work shows he will thrive given the opportunities awaiting us. Mr. Highchurch is an educated man, and I trust him to keep the crew healthy and provide ample information on anything botany related we encounter, and I’m certain Mr. Burnsides will provide ample help in any task we show him how to do.” He sighs, glancing out the window of her office. There were a few people lingering outside in the courtyard of the Institute. “We have been given a tremendous opportunity to explore beyond what we can imagine, Selune. The last thing I want is to be bogged down by people stuck in their ways, who have been working in this field long enough to have their preconceived notions about what to expect and who will react badly when they’re proven wrong. I trust my own judgement in picking a crew, and I hope you trust my abilities to get these people ready to set sail in four months.”

What he doesn’t say is that he doesn’t want a bunch of stuffy jackasses on his ship. He’s not even sure picking all the over-qualified people would pass through the higher-ups' inspection of the crew. The people he picked were qualified enough to get a quick sign-off, but not too much. Anyone “overqualified” would probably get rejected. The ship had been built in basically six months. It’d get them off the ground, sure. It wasn’t going to explode on them once they got up there, but it wasn’t safe. There was a reason Davenport was the captain at all.

The six candidates in those files didn’t have a name for themselves as “important” to any stuffy scientific group or noble family. These people he picked were just that- people. A group of people who he believed deserved this opportunity. If anyone was getting the chance to make a name for themselves- to have the chance to redefine everything they know about the planar systems, he wanted to make sure they deserved the chance. A dangerous chance, sure. But what was science if not a little risky.

She sighs, opening the file on top. Her hand reaches for her pen, “Davenport, I got the final say on the name of the ship, I suppose the least I can do is give you final say on the crew.” She begins to write ‘approved’ at the top of the file, flipping through each one before giving him a pointed look. “But when I get angry calls about how you approved a bunch of nobodies and two people not even old enough to drink, I’m transferring them straight to your crystal.”

“And I will not be answering a single one.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to, Captain.”

#davenport #taako #lup #magnus burnsides #lucretia #barry bluejeans #merle highchurch #taz balance #the stolen century #my works

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paddymoonstruck · 4 years ago

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𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬┃𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫

chapter one

warnings: cursing, mentions of death, season 4/manga spoilers ??? (that’s about it, think!)

word count: 2,705

notes: this is the first installment of wistful irises !!! i guess it would be a slow-burn fic that would contain 5 or more chapters. i wrote this to cope with the tragedy of AOT manga chapter 138 — that’s just fucked up tbh. please give this one a like/reblog/feedback so i know whether or not you liked it !!

NEXT CHAPTER: H E R E

𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬

It was quiet — so eerily quiet, a hand came up to soothe her ears bitten by the cold wind. Devon’s palm felt at the rough rubbles on the surface of which she was sat on. Everything she laid eyes on tugged at her heart, scanning at her surroundings as if she looked one more time, her vision would change.

Alas, she gazed upon the damaged cities from her place atop Wall Rose, with no success. Devon threw her head back, opting to find comfort at the stars that laid peacefully on the sky.

“They’re dead.” She asserted, nearly winced at the wave of overwhelming devastation rushing at her heart.

However, she was unsure who or what she was alluding to. Was it the people of Paradis? Those she lost? Or even — the stars?

Nothing was clear, at the moment. Only hurt and confusion clouded her devices. She found her palms closing in on the small rubbles she had caught, clutching them tightly in her fist.

It had been four years since everything went into a complete spiral. Perhaps it was for her alone, considering a massive part of her died along with the hundreds of comrades who sacrificed themselves for the sake of the truth.

She remembered the day they found out about the life that existed beyond these walls. The walls she had known all her life, was quite literally, made to imprison its people. It was unclear whether she was angry or sad that there was a whole world out there that hated their existence so much that they’d created monsters to attack them.

“It’s late, Devon.”

She recognized that sweet-tuned voice instantly but didn’t turn to look his way as she spoke. “It’s awfully cold, too.” Her voice came in a whisper.

Her new companions footsteps grew closer, making her glance to her right. “Are you here to wallow in despair with me, Armin?”

The blonde simply sat down beside his friend, looking ahead the dark path. “No,” He answered. “I was just looking for you.”

The silence returned after that. Chilly air wafting at the night, Devon laid her hands on her lap, inspecting how they’ve gotten small cuts from the sharp stone she had held. Her ears felt blocked as her hands began to tremble. She clenched her teeth in the hopes to ebb away her impending emotions. She exhaled a shattered breath, pressing her hands against the skin of her face.

Armin’s hand that intended to ease Devon’s cries, seem to have worsen them the moment it touched her. However, he continued on, rubbing small circles at the column of her back.

“I — “ Devon started, her voice failing her as another ripple of pain pounded at her chest.

An encouraging hand reached up against her own, gently coaxing her into a state of solace, just enough for her to be able to convey her emotions.

With a breath, Devon began once more. “I thought we’ll be close to peace, once we discovered what was in that goddamn basement,” She laughed, lacking humor. The back of her palm wiping at the tears that had fallen on her cheeks. “But — it was just another door to one more disaster.”

“That’s true,” Armin agreed, but still mulled over her words. “It is a big step from freedom, though.”

She gritted her teeth, baring the headache that came with it. There was a part of her that knew it was the exact idea Armin had in mind. Regardless of her understanding, she couldn’t help but feel a whistle of displeasure crawling against her lips.

With a swing of her head, she finally flashed her attention to Armin. Devon gave him a once-over, noticing how his once shoulder-length hair, had been cut shorter, lips curled into a frown, dragging down a creases on his forehead. The main thing that always saddened Devon was the look in his eyes.

Armin was the last person Devon thought she’d see with those haunting wisp. He was the last shred of hope she had in this world, even before everything came tumbling down, Devon saw Armin as a beacon, that she could run to whenever it all became horrifyingly dark— staring at him now, Devon felt extremely helpless, loneliness grasping at her throat, catching herself reaching for Armin’s hand that was placed on her back, snatching it on her own.

“We’ve lost so much,” She mumbled, compressing her grip on his hand. “I can’t afford to lose anything anymore— Armin—”

“You won’t—”

“— If we go tomorrow, I will—”

“Devon—”

“No— we’re going into a lion’s den! Every single person in that goddamn land wants us dead!” She stressed, leaning in closer to Arnim as if it’s bound to improve his comprehension.

Armin halted, observing the panic flood in Devon’s sunken eyes. The usual brilliance of its green hue had faded over time. In it’s place were tired, dull irises staring back at him.

He swallowed the lump building up his throat, nodding in understanding. “I know— but we have to bring him home, Devon.”

With a quick dark chuckle, Devon faced the sky, leaning her head back. “I don’t even know if I want to see him,”

Huffing out a breath Armin was holding, he abruptly got on his feet, pulling his hands from Devon’s freezing ones.

The latter flashed him a confused glance, awaiting his next move. She watched as Armin shook off his Survey Corps jacket, soon hanging it on her shoulders.

Maybe it was the topic of discussion that made them neglect the air that had been a lot chillier than before. Devon felt warmth seeping back into her skin as she hugged the material tighter against her body.

“You don’t seem to have a choice for the matter,” Armin muttered, gazing down at her. “Whether or not you’re in good terms with him, Eren still belong with us.”

Devon grimaced, as if Armin had said something completely ridiculous— in her eyes, it was.

She recalled that painful night, about three months ago. The night Eren decided to sneak out and leave Paradis. He had been babbling about it for weeks prior to his escape. Devon made the mistake of thinking it was all that— mindless babbling.

She was wrong, of course. Eren had actually planned everything. He was going to see through his stupid plan.

“Are being fucking serious right now?” Devon hissed, distressed eyes were scanning Eren’s face, hoping this was some sick prank he’d gotten everyone in.

Eren cringed at the volume of her voice, hands putting up immediately to cup her mouth. “Devon— Please— Listen, yeah?”

His pleas were met by deaf ears, as Devon slapped his plams away from his mouth, glaring at him with the outmost disbelief.

“You’re being stupid,” She scoffed. “This is stupid— Eren— You want to go there?” Her furrowed eyebrows deepened the more she thought about it.

Eren bit his lip, nodding slowly, standing rigid in front of her, frozen at the fire in her eyes. He examined her, sitting on her bed, contemplating the information he threw at her face.

The light of the single candle in the room, illuminated the left side of her face as she turned to him again. “What ever you think is going to fix this, it’ll only call for another war—”

“That’s nothing new.”

“You selfish—” She had lunged at him, limbs acting before her brain. “—little brat—!” An echo deafening resounded in the small enclosed space, rearing on the silence it followed. Devon’s palm stung, eyes raging and barely seeing anything beyond her seething anger.

Before she had the mind to process anything, her head banged against a solid surface, a groan leaving her lips from the impact.

Everything was fuzzy, scarcely making out anything at sight. Only cloudy images filled her vision, almost not feeling the bruising grip pressing her down by the wrists.

The searing breath near her ear, felt uncomfortably cold, a pair of lips grazing at the tip, making her shudder.

“For your own protection— all of you— remember that . . .”

The words echoed, but she could barely hear the last ones, as her breath turned calmer, the last thing she saw were those turquoise orbs, looking back at her with an emotion she couldn’t quite read.

Devon shook herself out of the memory. There was more to it, she knew that — but she couldn’t seem to remember. When she tries, a huge headache always came crashing down on her. A sick wave slapped her as she thought about the dreadful possibility of Eren, messing with her memories.

She hated the big gapping wall in her mind. It was always incomplete, left her nothing but empty guesses about what else he could have said to her that night before he left her hanging with a missing piece in her heart.

He left them — and just like that, he gets to come home in the most unnecessarily brutal way possible. Eren was asking for a bloodbath, and unfortunately, that was what most likely going to happen tomorrow.

“He’s going to get us killed.” She muttered, voice thinning at the thought of her fallen comrades — endless blood — fire — explosions — “We’ll be lucky if we all make it out in one piece.”

This time, Armin didn’t contract her declaration, having her look down. He was frighteningly aware of the fact that any of them could die at any given moment. It brought him peril at how Devon had smacked him in the face with the reality he was trying to avoid. A part of him wanted to believe it was all going to go smoothly, but the logical part of him had mulled over the dreadful alternative for a long time now.

He sympathized with the hostile feelings Devon had grown for Eren. Perhaps it was due to the puzzling relationship they possessed. If he was to base it on his observations alone, it was painfully obvious that they cared deeply for one another but never had the time or courage to say it.

No one has ever pried about their relationship, since they both dismissed it as nonsense. It was perplexing yet as clear as day what they had for each other.

They would always be found bicker when they were younger, Devon calling Eren an ugly airhead then Eren shooting back that they were the same. Back then, it was true. They were kids who thought they could do everything themselves. Armin could say, Devon grew out of that attitude as time passed by when he got to know Devon a little better.

After the battle with Zeke, Reiner and Bertholdt, the amount of trauma everyone endured was terrible. The bloody aftermath of Paradis was engraved into their minds, never fading until their last breath.

The guilt ate at Armin when he found out how he came to be alive. He often wondered why it was him. Why did Captain Levi give him the chance to live over Commander Erwin.

On the other hand, remorse gripped at Devon’s throat at the unintentional betrayal that crossed her mind that day. She found herself opening her mouth before she could hide it away.

“I was so desperate for peace . . .” She whispered, yanking down Armin by his hands, his behind slamming against the hard concrete as he was forced to sit down in front of her. “That I . . . For a long time — I believed that only Erwin could lead us there —”

“It’s alright — “

“It isn’t — it was meant to make me happy, for goodness sake — you came back from the dead after I stood there and watch you get burned alive . . .” She failed to realize she was crying until she felt droplets of her tears falling on her hands, intertwined with Armin’s.

Looking away, she continued, Armin watching her carefully. “Mikasa and Eren were desperately convincing Captain Levi to resurrect you — while I stared at both yours and Commander Erwin’s body , absolutely loathing the choice that had to be made.”

Devon could no longer hold in her heavy sobs, as it broke through her completely. “I get why you thought that, and you weren’t selfish for doing it, were you?” She listened to Armin’s reassuring voice. “You thought Erwin should’ve had it because you believed people would follow him and would avoid getting hurt — “

“ — you’d be able to do that too, though . . .” Devon countered, sniffling as she glanced back at Armin’s oceanic orbs. “I was just blinded by fear to think straight back then.”

Armin smiled at Devon in a silent gratitude. “I thought about everything you did, too, and maybe you’re right, maybe I’m too blinded by my own fears to face another life that was given to me — but I promised Captain Levi and Commander Hanji I’ll do everything it takes to bring us the peace we’ve been seeking out for years.”

Devon winced at the sudden touch on her head, chestnut locks swishing from one side after the other as Armin ruffled her hair.

“Regretting could only get you so far,” Armin stated, a small smile gracing his face. “What’s important is what you decide to do about it.”

Warmth flooded at Devon’s core, nearly bursting into tears at Armin’s comforting words. Her mind went back to Eren, his circumstances and living conditions on that island were mostly unknown. But seeing as he had the facilities to send a letter, hints that it must be at the least safe.

She started to fly over the scattered thoughts inside her head, mulling over how mentally drained she has been, yet the noise and dull of her heart seem to only worsen. The countless times she had to convince herself of the good things left in the world to bask the gift of life, but lately, she found herself sitting by the windowsill of her room. Eyes always glancing up the sky whether or not they were painted with shining stars.

Devon often clutched her chest when the uncontrollable pangs in her heart refuses to remain still. Some days, the rejection of waking up rattles her tremendously, and the refusal to face the day ahead was stronger than anything.

She wanted nothing more than to take a few steps back and reverse time to relish the tranquility of it all. It sounded ridiculously selfish, but she’d trade anything if it means she would awake to Eren and Jean’s loud voices arguing or to see Sasha pocket goods she had stolen from the kitchen while being chased down by Armin. And oh — what she wouldn’t give to replay the day they’ve all bonded together after Keith Shadis made Sasha run until she was in the brink of insanity.

It’s those little things that made her nostalgic, bringing a sad smile on her lips that she wasn’t sure if she wanted those thoughts randomly popping up her mind. Sometimes, disbelief hits her harder than anything whenever she’d allow herself to scan the faces of what’s left of her teammates.

When Erwin had told them, he knows “they’d one day go far and achieve great things”, if he was still here, Devon would surely make him look at what had become of them.

Everyone was preparing for the expedition in Marley tomorrow. Devon had exited the room when she had heard the severity of the situation. Eren was going to wreck havoc in that foreign island and he gave them no other choice than to lend him aid.

It was rather conflicting, Devon was worried for him but nonetheless, despised his living-breathing self. She often wondered about his whole motive, considering his adamant proclamation that it wasn’t for his own self-indulgence.

It felt like it was, as she began to feel the shuddering screams of the impending battle that was set to take place.

If another life of her loved one’s taken from her tomorrow, she fears that it might throw her in an unstable state and she had every right to blame it all on Eren.

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starshipsofstarlord · 4 years ago

Text

Right Hand Woman | Part Two

Summary; your father is dead, just as you and Loki had planned. All that stands in the way of your reign over both the Cold Shores and Asgard, is your partner’s one eyed adopted parent.

Warnings; mentions of death, deception, brief smut (oral sex, fem receiving), attempts of murder

QUICK LINK TO MY MASTERLIST, IN CASE YOU’RE INTERESTED IN READING MORE OF MY CRAP 😬

Frigga frowned, suspecting something the moment that she caught Loki sneaking into her and Odin’s chambers. It was not wise to trust the boy so easily, whilst she felt tremendous love towards her found son, he was the god of mischief.

And so she watched him from the corner, cloaked by her own witted spell, and studied how he rummaged through the room. “Damn you father!” He whisper shouted to himself, and that was whence his witch of a mother made her presence known.

A soft yet malleable frown cast over Loki’s sly features, as he gulped inherently. “What is it that burdens you my boy?” If only she knew the full extension of the answer to that, but he would not curse her with the details.

“Odin.” That was how he labelled him as; the king. Not his father. “The man that you are wedded to has hidden the book of counsel once again from me. If I wish to be a husband, then I must read and study its contents, for it is not everyday that anyone from the nine realms marries a god.”

With relief indulging her airway, Frigga sighed. At least he was searching for something worthwhile, rather than an item or clue that could get him in attentive trouble.

“Loki.” His name surpassed the barrier of her bewitched lips, earning her child’s attention. “I shall find it for you, but be aware that there is no rush to become one with y/n so soon. It is certain that she is still experiencing the shock and mourning of her father.”

An inclination to smirk at the mention of the dead man arose in Loki’s chest, however he kept his face mute of amusement, and instead, looked up at his favourite parent. She knew, as he noticed his inclination to spill all, that he was holding a secret close to his chest. But he had never been one to be entirely truthful, and so instead of berating him about it, she left him alone.

“I suppose.” He didn’t. It was a white lie in his eyes, but a vast one in the eyes of his family, with the sorrow pent up in y/n. She was far from sad, rather, he was the only one that could see how truly joyous she was concerning the fall of her father.

The small spilt tears were a lie, all to deceive the Odinson tree. Thor was certainly the most gullible of all when witnessing it, he would order the guards to abandon their duties to go and fetch her something to dry her eyes on, and if they were not fast enough, he would do the job himself.

It was truly a sight to behold though as Odin would nurture her with caring phrases, and lay a comforting hand upon her slunk shoulder, praising her for having some sense.

Loki’s family knew that it had been difficult, protecting herself whilst in the meanwhile wearing her father’s blood upon her hands. It showed her loyalty to the youngest of Odin’s sons, and that was what they wanted in a dame.

“That poor girl.” Frigga reminisced all that she had heard regarding the death of the opposing king, that had once been an ally. “Killing her own father, it must have come with some difficulty.”

The man was assured that there had been none, y/n had wanted to do such amends in a great long time. However, she had to wait for the perfect moment, so that Odin could be blessed of the sight of her above her father’s carcass.

“Perhaps, but it has shown me how perfect she is for marriage material. We aren’t even combined into one yet, and she has already proven her loyalty, presenting that she has the same image for Asgard and the Cold Shores in her peripheral.”

His mother, whom was married into the line of the throne, sighed. She felt great pity for y/n, for she felt torn; but ultimately, chose herself over her father’s selfish wishes. And through his actions, y/f/n had broken the contract and his own blessing of allowing Loki to take her hand.

The same image. If there was one thing that Frigga had nervous thoughts about, it was Loki, and his problematic situation in wanting the throne. But to the dismay of the trickster god, it was promised to his brother Thor; the real heir of Odinson royalty. And though Frigga adored Loki as though he were her own son, because essentially he was, her trust in him regarding his hunger to rule Asgard was thin, like a silver platter.

Y/n sat, pondering her decisions. She liked Odin, despite him being like all kings, even if he had turned over a new leaf in the latest centuries. He had adorned the rivers of Valhalla with bloodshed, passing through the nine realms with his weapon unsheathed, pooling blood so that in return he could take the gold that the men and women harboured so slyly.

Her father had done the same thing, but he had been much more humble regarding his lifestyle. A grand and glorious display of buildings had not been considered necessary in y/f/n’s rich eyes. Instead, he opted to remain vigilant, living in hoisted tents, so that he had the freedom to move him and his people about as he pleased.

But he had wanted to depart from his only child, in order to gain another ally, but in doing so, he had lost that trust with Asgard. And now she was the heir of his ruins, but she had left with the man that had reckoned pain upon his people for his treachery.

The only thing that was left in their plan, was to kill Odin. It was rather simple thinking of it, however proceeding to do so would be a far different story. And first, so that their power was in conjunction, her and Loki needed to marry. She found no problem in doing so, especially since it was one of her greatest desires to do so already.

She was laid beneath the sheets of the guest room that was supplied to her, adorned in nothing but her underwear. One feature of her icy homelands that she was used to was the cold. Here, it felt so warm, she felt enclosed by the heat; trapped even.

As a child, she often wore a red nose, hardly feeling the end of it, as snow would balance upon it, and fall around every inch outside of her tent. But in Asgard, a place that she had visited many a time, she was sweltering. A part of her feared that it was a flaw granted by karma, for killing her father.

There was some truth to her lies; he had wanted her to wed another that was not Loki, but she didn’t tell him of whom, knowing that he would grown furious and insecure, and surely take everything that he was feeling out on her competing suitor.

However, she had deceived his father as well, made Odin believe that he was trying to pass y/n onto another kingdom. Instead, y/f/n had been talking of with his lower level colleagues, that he was considering Thor as a replacement for the sorcerer prince.

That was an idea that she was not fond of. Whilst she got along well enough with Thor, she loved Loki, it was simple as that. And she was against anyone, even if it be family, trying to rip apart the contract of her childhood dream; to wed the sneaky, yet charming prince.

Y/n was ripped from her thoughts as knuckles rapped on the display of double doors, that lead into the room that she was currently occupying. “You may enter.” She informed whomever was wishing to see her on the other side, the door groaning open as a sleek and fetching man entered.

Loki made sure to close the barricade behind him, walking closer to his future wife with purpose in each step that he instructed. “Beloved y/n...”

“Did you find it?” She asked, referring to the last piece to fill in their mystical puzzle. Her brow quirked, watching as her to be husband exasperatedly sighed, combing a talented hand through his long black locks.

“No, but my mother has taken upon herself to aid us in doing so.” His green and keen eyes looked down upon her, gently hoisting her to be on her feet by a carefully tugging on her arm.

“This needs to be sped up my love, otherwise they will catch onto our intentions before we can complete them.” Y/n tried to pace, however, Loki kept a grip on her, refraining her from doing so. And so she was kept right before him, in a face to face manner, frozen like the ropes of water by her original home and his birth place.

“Relax for a moment, there needn’t be a rush.” Loki cooed at her, brushing through her hair with an underlying content. “To distract you, I am here, and I will do anything to remove your mind from all that troubles you.”

He lightly pushed down one of her shoulders, making her fall elegantly back on the bed, her bare breasts bouncing as she fell. Loki licked his lips at the sight, raking his cold fingertips up her thighs, parting them to his will. “Did you know that it was me that had intention to pester you at this time, or were you prepared to allow any nimble soldier see you so- so open for their unworthy pupils to devour?”

“I knew it was you Loki.” She rolled her y/e/c eyes, resting on her forearms on the fresh fabric, that rubs tenderly against her skin. “Otherwise, I’d have not answered, making them search the grounds for me until they persisted you with having an inability to find me.”

“Little minx.” Loki smirked, rubbing softly on the insides of your thighs. He crept closer, collapsing between y/n’s spread legs, rutting his covered cock over the promise that came with marriage. “I cannot wait for us to bind together in an established union, that will be recognised by all, and we will never be mistake for a pair of lovesick fools ever again.”

“And when we reign, all will know that we are not to be reckoned with.” Y/n reached up, guiding his hands lower. “But until then, I want you to ruin me, until I am screaming loud enough for all the habitants in nearby rooms to hear.” Her eyes were glazed, Loki licked his lips as he swept down, casting his mouth passionately upon hers.

His raven tendrils swayed around them like a curtain, enclosing their faces in an intimate proximity. Whilst his mouth explored her own, content sighs renegading from his lover’s busy mouth, his hands slipped down, finding penance at her waist.

They traced the outline of her underwear, teasingly moving underneath the sides, making y/n flutter with anticipation. Her cheeks grew warm as she looked down at her partner in treachery, letting out a startled gasp whence he ripped the seams, discarding of the useless material.

He ran his slippery, cursing lips up her leg, tracing them sensually around the budding lips of her pussy. Y/n nestled her head into the comfort below, watching with Loki with dazed eyes, that were heavily plagued by the dreariness of her lids.

“By the gods!” In an instant, he had suctioned his mouth around her entirety, suckling with his cat like pupils boring up at his lover in ecstasy. He always got what he wanted, and he would marry this princess, and then, their journey throughout royalty would continue.

The occasion had finally arrived. Odin stood at the centre of the platform, between the two lovers. With gratitude to his mother Frigga, Loki sent her a pleased nod, before once more tuning his attention back onto his lovely fiancé.

All of Asgard watched dearly from below, holding onto their kings every word as he spoke the age old coronation into a pairing’s vows. His speech was slow, and it made y/n slightly antsy.

She wanted to marry Loki, and despite going through the prior orchestration of doing so, she wanted nothing more than for the process to speed itself up. But she remained silent, and apparently patient to all that stared with fawning smiles.

It wasn’t everyday that the royals were wed, and the citizens of the plain were in for a treat. It was something that was viewed sparingly, for their children that would be procreated in the distant future would hear tales of such a collision of two people, not actually baring witness to the ongoing.

Odin cleared his ancient throat, folding the scroll back into its exterior, and declared the emission and final act. “Y/n, of the cold shores, do you take my son, Loki, to be your partner for as long as you live?”

“I do, King Odin.” Her childhood dreams were being brought to light, after all this time. They had waited a thousand years for this exact moment, and every second that she had thought and not acted on it had been essentially worth it.

Loki stood across from her, their hands intertwined in the space between their bodies. There was a glimmer sparkling in his devious eyes, and y/n gulped at the sight of it. As happy as she felt, there was a brewing in the pit of her stomach, for she knew the god far too well.

“Loki, of Asgard, do you take the woman before you, y/n, to be your wife for your eternity?” The green eyed prince smiled across at her, giving her shaking fingers a comforting squeeze.

“I do, father.”

“Then, you may kiss your partner to seal the vow.” Y/n had an exhausting smile pinching her cheeks, and as Loki swiftly removed his hands from her own, she moved closer.

But that look had returned, and before she could stop him, he had slipped a blade out from his sleeve, and directed its spear tip towards Odin. This was not the time or the place for the violence, but the deed was done; they were exposed.

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y0itsbri · 3 years ago

Text

gallavich week 2021 - day 7 - meet ugly

thank you to @ianandmickeygallavich for the inspo // @gallavichthings

Prompt: Ian and Mickey are neighbors in an apartment complex. They haven’t ever interacted, but one day they get stuck the elevator. One of them doesn’t like confined spaces but doesn’t share this so the other one assumes he is freaking out for no reason.

Words: 3.5k

"I'm going out tonight, dickbreath!" Mandy announced, popping her head out of the bathroom. She was wearing a short sequined dress, fitted tightly to her body and only halfway zipped up so it slipped part way down her shoulders.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't!" Mickey called from his recliner in the living room with an Old Style in hand. Work has been absolutely kicking his ass this week and he wanted nothing more than a chill night in.

"Oh, c'mon, now that's no fun. You don't do anything," she accused.

"That's not true!" Mickey grumbled, remote in hand and flicking past some news channels onto some good shit -- finally. Rerun of Jurassic Park.

"What're your plans for the evening then, hot shot?" Mandy teased as she applied yet another layer of mascara on her already blackened eyelashes, "Dinosaur movies all night?"

"Might go to the corner store for some smokes."

"Please get something to eat while you're at it. We have like nothing in here." She waltzed to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door and grimaced. He could admit that a grocery run was, in fact, long overdue.

"Yeah, yeah."

"Serious, Mick." Mandy gave him the look. The Look being the same Look that his mother used to give him when he was being a little shit.

Fine. "Got it. I'll eat something." She smiled at that.

"Thank youuu," Mandy dragged the word out as she leaned over to kiss his forehead.

"Gross."

"Ditto. Zip me up?"

Mandy had headed out awhile ago -- long enough ago that Mickey was now halfway through his second 'dinosaur movie.' He should really visit his dinosaur guy again soon, he's probably got some cool new shit. Mickey sighed and got up, idling over to the kitchen.

He downed a full glass of water and opened the fridge. Yeah, unless he wanted to eat a pickle with ketchup and beer, he needed to go out. He debated ordering in, but he needed to go to the corner store anyways. Two birds one stone kind of situation.

Mickey threw on his favorite pair of sweatpants and his Davie Bowie tee shirt with the sleeves cut off. It was a good shirt. Mickey thought Bowie was hot -- fuckin' alien-looking, but hot, nonetheless.

Mickey shoved his wallet and phone in his pockets and locked up his apartment. Maybe Ernie would have the good roast beef sandwiches today.

His thoughts about dinner plans subsided as he noticed the guy waiting for the elevator.

Mickey had seen the ginger around. He was hard to miss -- fuckin' tall, always going out for runs early in the morning in short shorts and coming back all sweaty, always had a million fucking people coming and going from his apartment. They lived on opposite ends of the hall, but Mickey had never actually spoken to him before.

Mandy had given her brother lots of shit for acting so goddamn unapproachable and that's why he has no friends. Mickey didn't want to be friends with everyone, but he wouldn't mind spending some time with the hot red-head down the hall... eventually.

But he was waiting for the elevator with him right now. He couldn't bring himself to make eye contact in fear that it would lead to small talk which would then lead Mickey to inevitably embarrass himself. He couldn't blow his shot. Mandy did the small talk, not him. He took out his phone and scrolled through Instagram even though none of the photos were loading.

He hardly looked up when the elevator arrived and he stepped into it, leaving plenty of space between the two of them. Maybe it was an unreasonable amount of space, but it still wasn't enough for Mickey. He could still smell the guy's cologne. And it was infuriatingly attractive.

"Ground floor?" The man's voice practically sent heat down Mickey's spine. This was going to be a long ride.

"Uh, yeah." Nice, Mick. Not embarrassing at all.

"Great." It hung in the air, a tinge of awkwardness to it.

Out of the corner of his eye Mickey could see the the man leaning against the elevator wall, crossing his ankles as he not-so-subtly stared Mickey's direction.

Mickey was running out of things to check on the his phone and he was about to give in and finally make eye contact when he felt a shift. Then an ungodly clanging of metal. And a stop.

Fuck.

He glanced up at the dial. Sure enough they were stopped between floors, and not at all near the ground.

"The fuck?"

"What?" The red-head locked confused eyes with Mickey's.

"We're stopped. Why the fuck are we stopped?"

"Hm," The guy poked around at the open doors button and nothing happened. "I don't know."

All hopes of positive small talk was out the window as Mickey went into full panic mode. He did not like small, confined spaces -- which happened to be exactly what his current predicament entailed.

"You open the doors!" Mickey practically shrieked.

"Why me!?" The attractive guy spit back.

"You work out and shit -- do I look like I could pry those fuckers apart?"

"Well..." The red-head took a moment to size up Mickey's smaller form. "Yes, you do actually- but these doors are heavy as fuck. We don't have like super strength."

"Fuck you."

"Uh, fuck me!?"

"Yeah, fuck you. Not even tryin' and now we're both going to fuckin' die in here. Any last words, Red?"

He rolled his eyes. "We're not going to die. Don't you think you're being a little dramatic?"

"Don't you think you're being a little too calm considering we're stuck?"

"Oh. You're freaking out."

"No shit I'm freaking out, Sherlock." Mickey ran his hands down his face. This was not fucking happening to him right now.

"Hey, take deep breaths."

"Can't. Gonna die." Mickey gasped.

"Well, if you can't breathe, you're definitely going to pass out."

Mickey shot him panicked eyes.

"Hey, hey it's okay. Just look at me."

Mickey could do that.

"Copy me. In-" He inhaled, chest expanding.

"Out-" Mickey felt his breath on his face. In any circumstance, a stranger breathing on him would warrant a punch in the gut, but now it was more grounding than anything else. They repeated that motion a few times.

"Good. See, you can breath."

"What are you? A fuckin' doctor?" Mickey huffed a laugh in disbelief.

"Been to enough," he chuckled.

"Huh?"

"Never mind. But, uh- look, see, I'll hit the emergency button and someone will come get us soon. It'll be okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm positive. Got stuck in one of these with my sister when I was little, kinda scary at first but we were out in practically no time. She sang to me to pass the time, but I take it you don't want me to sing to you?"

That earned a full-bellied laugh from Mickey, "Not yet."

The man grinned goofily like a golden retriever.

They were silent for a moment.

"So, uh, what's your name?" The red-head asked, gazing curiously at Mickey.

Mickey just stared back at him.

"Your name?" He repeated gently.

"Mickey."

"Mickey," He said it so soft like a prayer. "I like it. I'm Ian."

He had no idea what he expected, but it wasn't Ian. Ian was fitting, though. Ian was good.

Ian had hit the emergency button a few times for good measure while Mickey had tried to call Mandy to no success. They settled onto the floor, leaning against opposite walls, feet nearly colliding in the center. Neither made a move to completely avoid that.

After Mickey had calmed down a bit, they fell into bouts of comfortable conversation and comfortable silence.

"I thought you just hated me." Ian mumbled after a bit.

"What I hate is being trapped here." Mickey stared at the walls threatening to enclose around them. He closed his eyes so he didn't start to panic again.

"Even before this."

"Oh?" That was news to Mickey. That was never his intent.

"Yeah, I always see you around, but you never seem to see me." Ian looked to the ground when he said it.

"I've seen ya plenty. You're the dork with the short ass shorts."

Ian smirked, "I guess I am."

"Hard to miss, man."

"You too. I've wanted to say hi for like months, but you always looked like you were ready to snap me in half or something. I kinda like my limbs in tact."

Mickey swiped his thumb against his nose and sniffed, embarrassed, "Sister says I scare everyone away. Used to be a good thing."

"Sister... wait, wait, wait, hold up. You're Mandy's brother, aren't you?"

"You know Mandy? Oh god, you're not banging her, are you?" That would throw a wrench in his plans.

"Oh god, no!" Ian threw his hands up in a mock surrender like that was the most repulsive thing he's ever heard.

"Something wrong with my sister?" Mickey grew defensive. She may be a lot to handle at times, but she was still his sister.

"No, no, she's great! 'm just not into... well, uh- I'm- let's just say that if you had a brother, maybe I'd be banging him." He grimaced.

Watching Ian stumble over his words after being so confident about everything else was a bit amusing.

"Oh -- cool." Mickey wasn't used to such obvious disclosures about sexuality with strangers.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Mickey avoided all eye contact.

"So?"

Ian paused until Mickey was able to look at him again.

"So, what?"

"Do you have any brothers?" A playful flicker in Ian's eyes made it obvious that he was just being a little shit now.

"You're an idiot."

"Maybe so, but that doesn't answer my question still."

"Yeah, I have brothers, but they'd uh- let's just say definitely not be into that."

"And you're... not not into that?"

Mickey rolled his eyes. His lack of denial was basically a confession and they both knew it.

Ian smirked and knocked the toes of their shoes together.

Help announced itself to be coming soon over the tiny intercom embedded in the elevator. Sometime shortly after that, Ian had made his way over to the wall next to Mickey's, rather than across.

"Where were you going tonight?" Ian asked, turning to fully face Mickey.

"Nowhere." Nowhere interesting at least.

"Really? So you just take an elevator down to nowhere?"

"Alright, smart ass, I needed to get dinner. Gonna be a late dinner now that's for sure, fuckin' starving."

"Shit."

"What about you? Got a hot date or something?" Mickey eyed him up and down. Ian's outfit wasn't fancy by any means, but he still looked damn good in it.

"Oh, I wish," he winked, "Just going on a walk to clear my head. But this is working just as well."

"Good for you, man. My head is fuller than ever."

"What're you thinking about?" Ian's heavy breath practically bounced off his face. His gaze flickered to Ian's pouting lips. This was ridiculous.

Kissing you. Kissing you. Kissing you. "Nothing."

"Riiiight." Ian's eyes mimicked the same trail that Mickey's had just followed.

"Yup."

Ian scooted closer to Mickey and he swore his heart was beating so loud that even Ian could hear it. If he could, he made no indication. Instead, he eyed Mickey's hand resting on the floor. Gently, careful not to spook him, he caressed Mickey's fingers, nearing his tattooed knuckles.

Mickey fought the urge to yank his hand away. No one ever touched him so delicately, so sweetly. He figured that Ian would have guessed that, seeing his crude tattoos, but he wasn't acting like this was strange. So Mickey let him.

"Fuckin' hate them." Mickey murmured, watching Ian's fingertips tracing over the back of his hand.

Ian frowned.

"The tattoos."

"They're you. I'm sure they have a story."

"Wish I could forget it."

"If it makes you feel any better, I have a pair of tits on my shoulder."

"Ex-fucking-cuse me?!" Mickey pictured literal tits growing out of the man's back.

"Here, look," Ian turned, pulling his shirt up, revealing an insanely toned and insanely freckled back. Surely he was not about to be flashed in an elevator. But sure enough, tattooed on his shoulder was a pair of double-D's.

"Shit! Dude, what the fuck is up with that?" Mickey laughed.

Yeah, this made him feel better. At least he didn't have fucking titties tattooed on his knuckles, though he was sure someone in his family must have something like that. They're fucking idiots like that. Like Ian, apparently. But Ian was good.

"It was supposed to be my mom." Ian winced, pulling his shirt back down to cover it again.

"Mom must've been a banger." Mickey joked, still hardly containing his laughter.

"Ugh," Ian groaned dramatically. "Never gonna live that one down."

He threw his hands back on the ground, near Mickey's but not touching this time.

Experimentally and slowly, so slowly, Mickey hooked his fingers with Ian's and rubbed his thumb against Ian's hand. It was calloused, but so soft. It was a movement so gentle he hardly recognized himself, completely contradictory to the message literally written across his hands.

He was practically holding hands with a man in an elevator. Oh, if dear dad could see him now.

Moving out of his hell house with Mandy had been a good step, but it had taken Mickey years to unlearn his self-hate, allow himself to be. He still wasn't perfect, and he still felt years behind. But with Ian, it felt normal. It felt right and warm.

Right then, he felt the elevator shift again. He tightened his grip on Ian's hand. Ian returned the hold. If he was going to die, at least he wasn't going to die alone.

Mickey realized that they weren't falling down, but rather moving upwards.

They released their hands and leapt up to their feet as the door dinged open, revealing a small staff of maintenance personnel, not looking at all concerned that two men had just been trapped inside for an unspecified amount of time.

"Fuckin' finally!" Mickey ran out. He resisted the urge to drop to the floor and kiss the ground. He was dramatic, but he wasn't that dramatic.

Ian thanked the maintenance people then hurried along beside Mickey. They weren't on their floor, but they sure as hell weren't about to take the elevator again after all that.

"Hey, Mickey, wanna come back to my place? I think I still have some leftover lasagna if you're still hungry."

Mickey checked the time. Yeah, Ernie's place was definitely closed by now. Plus he really did just want to go back to Ian's. He glanced up to see Ian in almost full puppy-dog eyes. The dork was needlessly persuasive, he'd give him that.

"Yeah, sure. I could eat." He grinned like an idiot.

Ian nodded his head towards the stairwell, holding the door open for Mickey, who obediently followed up the steps.

Ian's apartment wasn't too different than Mickey and Mandy's, mirrored and maybe smaller, but it looked oddly inviting and definitely way more lived in -- almost too much décor and family photos hung up around the space.

"Uh, make yourself comfortable," Ian called as he rummaged through the cabinets, grabbing a couple plates to reheat some food for Mickey and himself.

Mickey was no stranger to feigning confidence in unfamiliar locations, but this felt different, more genuine. He actually respected Ian, the man having been kind and patient with him in a less than ideal situation.

He sat himself on the barstool at Ian's countertop and watched him. The gorgeous man who he had been eyeing in secret for months, who had helped him through a small panic attack, who had held his hand and traced his tattoos like they were art. Like Mickey was art.

"So, Bowie, huh?" Ian leaned against the counter, waiting out the timer on the microwave.

"What?"

"Your shirt," he pointed, and Mickey looked down.

"Oh, yeah. He's cool as fuck. Dope music."

"Got great hair, too."

"You would think so."

"Self-love, baby."

"Good for you." But there was no edge in his voice.

Ian smiled. The microwave beeped and they settled in, eating together with nothing but the awkward clanging of silverware and chewing. Mickey was too fucking starving and too fucking tired to care about formalities to give a shit at this point.

"Bet you didn't think you'd spend your night eating lasagna with a David Bowie look-alike, huh?" Ian teased over a mouthful of pasta.

"You wish, man."

"Hey, it's at least a little true."

"Yeah, you're both fuckin' aliens."

"Maybe so, but at least we're hot."

They both smiled around their forks, glancing over at each other a little too frequently with nothing but fondness.

Ian collected their plates when they were done, taking them over to the sink to wash them later. Mickey got up and followed him into the center of the kitchen, still sipping on his beer before setting it on the counter to his right.

In a move that shocked Ian, and even himself, Mickey moved into Ian's space and pressed his chest against Ian's back. He wrapped his arms around Ian's waist, feeling up the plains and softness of his stomach, feeling his breath hitch and his heart beat faster. Mickey's warm breath bounced off of Ian's neck and back onto his own face.

Ian sighed and placed his hands over Mickey's again. He leaned his head back onto Mickey's shoulder for a moment before wiggling free from Mickey's grip enough to turn around and face him, carding one of his hands through Mickey's dark hair.

"Mickey." He said it so soft. With so much admiration. Mickey couldn't take it anymore. He leaned up and pulled Ian's head down so they were the same height.

"Fuck, c'mere," he murmured, lips practically touching Ian's with the words.

Ian pressed their lips together. For all his gentle touches throughout the night, his kiss was anything but. Like he needed him to breathe.

Ian pushed him backwards towards the living room, stumbling over each others' feet in the process. Mickey greedily pulled down on Ian's neck, desperate not to let him go. Ian smiled into it and dropped backwards onto the couch cushions, pulling Mickey on top of him, making out like dumb teenagers.

Eventually, they settled and Mickey rested his head on Ian's chest while Ian rubbed his back and head comfortingly. Truthfully, he was beginning to panic a bit. He hadn't liked anyone in awhile, and Ian was very hard to not like.

"Are you good?"

Fuckin' mind reader.

"I don't know." Smooth, Mick.

"You don't know what?" Ian probed gently.

Mickey sighed, "How to do this," he answered honestly. There was no point in lying to Ian.

Ian kissed Mickey's forehead, "We can do this any way you want, alright? No rush, no pressure."

"Yeah?"

"Absolutely," Ian scratched Mickey's head for a moment, "I've been waiting for you for awhile, Mick, I'll wait for however long you want."

Mickey leaned into his touch and then kissed his shoulder, "I want you, this."

"Me too." They smiled into each other. Safe together.

Neither made a move to push things further for the night. Ian had flicked on the tv to the same channel Mickey had on earlier, the Jurassic Park marathon still playing. After whatever movie was on now, Mickey decided he should head home. He was utterly exhausted after the day, and as much as he liked Ian, he didn't want to pass out in the guy's apartment -- though he was sure Ian wouldn't mind at this point, kind bastard.

After Ian had pulled Mickey into one last embrace, Mickey wretched open Ian's door, only to come face to face with his sister, makeup smudged and heels in hand after her night out.

She gasped way louder than fucking necessary, "You slut!"

"Shut the fuck up," he grumbled pushing past her to head back to his own apartment.

"See ya later, Mick!" Ian called down the hall. Mickey didn't respond, but Ian took no offense. To be fair, he had just been caught red-handed by his very dramatic bitch of a sister.

Mandy grinned and looked between Mickey's retreating form and Ian's blushing face. "Oh my god, Ian! I knew it!"

"Hi, Mands." He ducked his head, scratching the back of his neck.

She gave a cheeky, knowing wave goodbye and took off barefoot after Mickey, "You fucker! I want all the details!"

"You ain't gettin' 'em, bitch!" He stormed inside, but left the door open for her behind him.

Mandy threw her shoes on the floor and met up with him in the kitchen, punching his arm lazily so he spilled his newly-opened beer down his hand. "The fuck?!"

"I'm so proud of you!" She made grabby hands at Mickey in attempts to smush his cheeks, but he weaseled out of there quick enough to avoid her gross hands. She may be fuckin' drunk, but she was still quick.

"Yeah, will well ya stop screaming it from the rooftops. Ian's gonna think I'm a fuckin' loser."

"Awww," She chased after him as he headed down the hall, "You are a loser, but that's besides the point! I've been waiting for this for weeks!"

"Night!" Mickey shut his bedroom door in Mandy's face. She'd get over it in a minute. Hell she was probably well on her way to passing out already. Maybe she'd get some details out of him tomorrow.

But tonight -- he reveled in the fact that he spent the night making out with his very kind, very dorky, very hot red-headed neighbor.

And when Mandy eventually moved out from their apartment and in with her girlfriend, Mickey had absolutely no problem finding a new red-headed roommate.

#gw2021 #gw2021day7 #gallavich week 2021 #shameless #gallavich #my posts #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey

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babyybitchhh · 3 years ago

Text

Ogun x Reader 18+

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 8,375

Warnings: established relationship, cunnilingus, brief mention of breeding/pregnancy implication, piv sex, creampie

A/N: I really did not think I'd finish this and yet, months later, here we are. I said I wanted to do Ogun's hair for him so that is exactly what I did. 😤 A LOT of research went into the first half of this fic, I can't even tell you how many braiding videos I watched or how many haircare blurbs I read through, so if my ignorance shows I really do apologize. I can barely do my own hair let alone someone else's and I put in a lot leg work for about 5 paragraphs of relevant information. lol Best boy deserves it though, so please enjoy!

♥♥♥♥

The quiet drone of the TV against the far wall was the only source of noise in the small apartment and neither of you were paying any attention to it. Hadn’t been for the last few hours, but that was how most wash days went. The background chatter was superfluous at best when you had all of your attention zeroed in on your boyfriend's hair and Ogun was pleasantly dozing at your feet, lost in his own little world of pampered bliss.

It did, however, serve its purpose in helping you better keep track of the time. If left to your own thoughts, you would have all too easily slipped into the same comfortable lull as him and forgotten about everything else you had to do. Like think about food, for example.

Briefly glancing up at the sound of cheesy sitcom music, you mentally check off another half hour. It was starting to get late which meant he’d probably be starving by the time you were done and that wouldn’t exactly come as a surprise given you’d been at this for the better part of the day. All that hard earned muscle mass of his certainly wasn’t going to maintain itself.

And, now that you were thinking about it, you were starting to notice the creeping pang of hunger in the back of your mind, buzzing faintly like an incessant afterthought.

Drawing a breath, you start to ask if he’s in the mood for anything in particular but Ogun manages to beat you to it.

“What should we do for dinner?”

You smile to yourself, fingers deftly moving through his hair with practiced ease -- under, scoop, under, repeat -- while you give that question some thought. Surely there was something you could whip up with what you had on hand in the kitchen. The real question, however, was what.

Doing a quick mental checklist of your cupboards, you rapidly narrow down your options. A fast and easy pasta dish was out of the question without the sauce or any ingredients to make it with. No meat for hamburgers. There was still some salad mix in the fridge but he needed something far more substantial than that. Damn. You should probably go shopping soon.

“Hmm,” Gently tilting Ogun’s head forward, you pick back up on the half finished braid you were working on. He was almost done, with only two rows left to go. The argan oil and shea products you’d put in his hair left your fingertips feeling buttery smooth and soft, their lingering smell as warm as it was soothing. It permeated the air in the living room, enclosing you both in your own little bubble for two and making for an altogether pleasantly relaxing Sunday afternoon.

“Let’s see …” You murmur at length. “I could probably make a stir fry with some vegetables and shrimp. How’s that sound?”

“As much as I love your cooking,” He shifts on the floor and glances over his shoulder, forcing you to pause what your fingers are doing. “I was thinking we could order in tonight. My treat.”

Your smile grows even when you try to ignore the unmistakable flutter in your chest. “Oh? And what’s the occasion?”

“There isn’t one.” His mouth curls up, mirroring yours. “But if you need an excuse, consider it thanks for doing my hair.”

“That’s sweet of you, but I’m not finished yet.” Placing a hand atop his head, you pointedly turn him around straight again and Ogun laughs, very softly, when you release him so you can get back to work.

You enjoyed getting to do this for him and the fact you liked playing with his hair was no secret either. It was wild and thick, very close to being untamable, but it was also incredibly healthy -- something you would have all too happily taken credit for if it hadn’t been in the same enviable condition as when you’d first met him. That he trusted you enough to let you do this was, perhaps, more intimate than anything else you’d ever done together, and with a few more twists you put the finishing touches on the braid.

Letting it hang next to the others, you direct him to lean back so that you can easily reach the front of his hairline again. He acquiesces without a fuss and sinks into the couch, letting the back of his head settle comfortably in your lap. Ogun’s shoulders brush your knees when you hunch closer with a pink rat tail comb in hand and you’re acutely aware of him watching you as you begin sectioning out the next row. You start to smile again, even though you try not to.

“What?”

“I’m still waiting on an answer.”

You shoot him a quick look.

Golden eyes gleam back at you, reflecting endearment and humor alike, and you quickly focus in on his blown out, fluffy hair again before he can successfully distract you. “I don’t know. You pick.”

“Nope.” He hums goodnaturedly. “That’s not how this works. You can’t just push it back on me when I asked you for a reason. Tell me what you want.”

“I really don’t know - hey!” You squawk when he gives the back of your calf a sharp pinch in retaliation for being so uncooperative and you squirm, giggling. “Don’t do that! I’m honestly not sure what I’m in the mood for.”

“Then think about it.”

“I am.” You intone, gently pushing Ogun’s head forward just enough to get at the crown of his head. Relative silence claims the room once more while you consider an almost endless list of potential choices and finish up the second to last braid. Thankfully without any more pinching attacks on his end. He was going to look so nice when you were done.

“What about a pizza?” You suggest at last.

“I’m game.” He murmurs, slouching to the side so he can rest his temple against the plush cushion of your leg. It gives you the perfect angle to attack the final strip from and you get to work weaving coarse strands into his preferred fashion, your fingers moving quickly but efficiently. You’d practiced tirelessly just to ensure he wouldn’t have to go to someone else for this without skimping on the finished product's quality and it certainly showed.

A few moments later, the task is complete.

Grabbing an elastic band, you gather Ogun’s styled hair into a neat little ponytail and tie it off at the back of his head. You finish up by running your fingertips across one shaved side of his scalp, affectionately feeling out the new growth before deciding he can go another week or two until you have to bring out the clippers again.

“Alright. You’re all done.”

Lifting a hand to feel over his hair, he twists around and peers up at you with an expectant grin. “How do I look?”

“Like the most handsome man in the world.”

Ogun positively beams. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Leaning close, you press a brief kiss to his smiling mouth. “What sort of pizza do you --”

He cuts you off when he suddenly pushes up on his knees and catches your lips again.

Your eyes go big when broad hands find the meat of your thighs and gently squeeze them while he kisses you much more impassionedly than you’d kissed him. A sound of surprise rises in the back of your throat but he quickly swallows it, making your heart race.

Heaving a quiet sigh through your nose, you lean into the gesture and meet him halfway, eagerly kissing him back.

Grinning knowingly, Ogun tilts his head and slots his mouth more securely over yours to deepen the exchange. You find yourself slowly melting against him and you bring your hands up to grab onto his shoulders. God, he was unfairly good at this. Not that you were complaining, but a polite segue from one topic to the next would have been appreciated. You’d been thinking about dinner, what sort of toppings you wanted on your pizza, and now you were thinking about …

You groan, very softly, when his palms drag up along your sides, bunching the cotton of your t-shirt in the process. It allows for the briefest skin on skin contact and an eruption of goosebumps spreads across your body, as anticipatory as they were impatient.

Lips parting, you grant him access and Ogun jumps at the chance, eagerly sweeping his tongue into your mouth to lav yours with warm, wet attention. The smooth, flickering strokes he graces your palette with inspires a flood of molten heat in your gut that leaves you wanting more. Always more. It was never enough where he was concerned - and you slide one of your hands higher still to tenderly cradle the curve of his skull.

Much to your whining disappointment, however, he pulls back a moment later to give you some space and you whimper at the loss.

“Ogun …”

“Shh. I’m right here, baby.” He whispers, leaning back in to press a quick peck to your lips before doing the same to the corner of your mouth.

It’s not enough to pacify you though and you loop both arms around his neck, trying to pull him back in again. He obliges with an affectionate nuzzle, pressing close to settle against your lap and pin you to the back of the couch under his sturdy weight.

“What's wrong, sweetheart?”

You pull your mouth in an imploring pout. “I’d like for you to finish what you started.”

He laughs, sweet and boyish as he pulls back to fix you with a big grin. “Oh? And have I ever left you wanting?”

“No, but I’d hate for you to start now.” You sound a little whiny. Needy.

Another quiet laugh and Ogun comes in to kiss you again, much more sedately this time. His soft lips mold seamlessly to yours, working against your mouth at just the right speed, with the right amount of pressure to steal the air from your lungs.

You let loose a soft moan as you arch underneath him and push your chests together, basking in the fleeting contact despite how unsatisfying it is. What you really want is to have his body working over yours without the impediment of bothersome clothes in the way. To feel the chorded steel muscle he’d worked so hard to build flexing and driving into you.

A shudder ripples through you when the thrumming desire that wells inside slithers out from between your legs to ignite the rest of your body in heated flame. An all powerful compulsion which you wouldn’t have fought even if you could.

His mouth still working in tandem with yours, Ogun gives your waist a possessive squeeze and it sends a fresh wave of sharp arousal racing down your spine. You whimper, pushing up into him a little harder, more fervently, as you clutch at his shoulders. The need to have him laid out on top of you has taken over your higher functioning mind, all thoughts of pizza long gone out the window as the velvety push and pull of his mouth draws you further under his spell.

Willingly, you surrender to the exigent summons and curl your legs up around his narrow hips to tug him even closer, urging him into action.

A hot puff of air fans across your face when he abruptly disengages from the kiss, moving to press his lips against the apple of your cheek, your jaw. There’s a noticeable haste in his actions now and you turn your head to give him better access, exposing the vulnerable line of your throat to his seeking mouth.

Ogun wastes no time and immediately swoops in, pecking his way down the column of your neck with an occasional love bite here or there for good measure. Each one seemed to make your toes curl that much tighter to the point where you could hardly stand it anymore.

“You play dirty …” You mumble, lightly running your nails across his nape.

“Mm, how so?” He sounds distracted and preoccupied, too busy mouthing at your pulse to pay it any mind.

“You told me to decide on dinner …” You trail off when he latches onto the juncture of your neck and shoulder, immediately succumbing to the tantalizing suction Ogun applies with his lips. You let out a soft, faltering groan, brows furrowing in pleasure when it makes the simmering heat in your gut double and then triple as teeth sink into delicate skin.

Shuddering, you deliberately wrack your brain in an attempt to finish your train of thought but that proves much more of a struggle than you’d been prepared for.

“But … nngh, but now all I want is you …”

He comes up at your somewhat dreamy admittance, a mischievous look camping out on his face even as big hands push at the hem of your shirt. “Oh yeah? Anything you want in particular, sweetheart?”

Lifting your gaze, you peer up at Ogun from just a scant few inches away. The shallow rise and fall of your chest has no doubt clued him in that he’s got you all worked up now but you aren’t exactly trying to hide it. He already knew just how weak you were for him, knew precisely how well your body always responded to his advances, so there really wasn’t any point in pretending otherwise.

You were powerless against his undeniable charm and he seemed to get just as much enjoyment out of that as you did. And looking at him now you think, not for the first time, that you just might be the luckiest girl in the world.

“Let’s start with that talented mouth.” You murmur, reaching out to take his smooth jaw in hand and pull him, grinning, into another kiss.

Noising quietly against your mouth, he leans further into you until it feels like you’re being pleasantly crushed under the hard, muscular weight of his frame. It only serves to get you even more riled up, now well and truly desperate to feel his bare skin flush against yours as you roll your hips forward and drag your clenching pussy across the front of his pants.

Lips parting on a heady groan, he returns the favor by slowly thrusting his pelvis forward so you can feel the stiff outline of his cock caressing your clothed slit. You keen at the sensation and cant your hips into the pressure, the two of you gradually picking up a steady, unhurried rhythm together that damn near drives you wild.

Hands staying busy while he sedately humps you, Ogun patiently works your shirt up higher and higher until it’s bunched under your armpits. Reaching around for the clasp of your bra, he gives it one good tug and the satiny soft material loosens around your shoulders with a near silent slither. Bringing his hands to the front again, he shoves the cups up out of the way before letting them descend on soft, pliant breasts that seem to fit just right in the curve of his worn palms. Giving them both a gentle squeeze, he kneads your chest until you groan and tip your head back, breaking apart from the kiss in favor of sighing up at the ceiling.

He takes that opportunity to dip his face close and press an open mouthed kiss to the center of your sternum while he carefully squeezes your tits in a pinching grip. It makes you shudder, wishing you could clench your thighs and ease the growing ache there, but that’s impossible when he’s slotted between them like this. You have no choice but to endure the thrumming tension and you squirm underneath him, needily bucking up to meet the next thrust of his hips with a frustrated little groan.

“Ogun,” You gasp, letting your fingers scrabble to grab hold of his black t-shirt and tug on it. “I need you. Now.”

Bringing his head up, Ogun allows himself a moment to drink in the wanton expression on your face while he cups his hands around your breasts almost reverently. “How do you need me, baby?” He mumbles, letting his thumbs brush over your stiff nipples in a feather light caress. “What do you need?”

“Your mouth …” You whine, practically choking on it.

“Where do you need my mouth, huh? Tell me.”

“On my pussy.” It’s more a plea than a statement and you shake for him even as the words leave your mouth.

Ogun shifts against you and bends down, mouth opening wide over the pebbled peak of your breast. You watch on, mesmerized, when the pink of his tongue darts out to lap at the fleshy bud before sealing his lips around it and suckling. Your eyes slip shut as you arch, pushing your chest up to meet him while your fingers cling to the cotton of his shirt. Ogun doesn’t linger long though and he soon comes up off the first with a dull pop before catching your other nipple between his lips.

Briefly worrying it, he slides his hand forward to tweak the spit lathered bud between thumb and forefinger, making you outright seethe. You give up on getting his top off with an impatient little huff and bring your hands down to grasp at his arms instead. The firm, wiry muscle under his skin offers little give no matter how hard you squeeze or dig your nails in, and he remains ever unperturbed, casually sucking the tip of your breast to stiff, throbbing attention.

“Please, Ogun …”

With a faint hum, he comes up off your chest and presses a quick peck to the puckered nipple. “I know, baby. I know.” Moving back to the first nipple, he kisses that one too. “Just be patient, alright? You know you don’t have to beg me to go down on you …”

You groan at the velvety suggestion and tuck your chin down to pin him with an imploring look. Ogun offers you a lopsided grin in return, pinching both your nipples between his fingers and carefully tweaking the sensitive flesh until you outright gasp. You feel like you’re running on autopilot now as you reach up to sandwich his face between your palms and pull him into yet another kiss, lips crashing together with an intensity that makes your pussy flutter.

His mouth parts against yours, opening wide as if to swallow you whole, and all the while he keeps plucking at your tits until they’re aching almost as much as your neglected cunt. You couldn’t take it anymore ...

Tightening your legs around Ogun’s waist, you dig your heels into the small of his back and draw him right up against you so you can feel the hard weight of his cock digging into the spot where you need him most. A frazzled, high strung wail claws its way up the back of your throat as you jut your pelvis up and rub yourself against that thick, pulsing heat in search of some relief but very little is forthcoming like this.

He pulls back at the sudden friction thoufg and issues a faltering groan that seems to echo off the walls for as quiet as it is. “Shit … you really want it that bad, baby?”

“It’s your fault …”

“I know, I know.” Bending close, Ogun presses a hard peck to the center of your chest. “And I’ll take responsibility for that, don’t you worry.”

Lower he trails, slowly kissing his way down your fluttering stomach as his hands come around to unbutton your shorts. The zipper quickly follows suit and then he’s tugging them down your thighs while you eagerly twist to help get you undressed just that much quicker.

Thoughtlessly tossing them aside, Ogun reaches for your panties next but he’s much more subdued in removing these. One torturous fraction at a time, he carefully pries the thin cotton away until they’re low enough to expose your puffy slit to the air. He lets out an appreciative noise of approval when he sees the sticky mess you’ve made along the seam and your heart pounds in your ears as you draw your legs up so he can slip the dainty cotton the rest of the way off.

He discards them somewhere on the floor, probably right alongside your shorts, before palming your bent knees. Gently, Ogun eases them apart so he can peer down at your sticky cunt with an unconcealed expression of hunger.

“Look at you, baby. Just look at this pretty pussy, already so wet for me.”

Smoothing big hands up along your bare thighs, he bends close and presses his mouth to the apex of your mound in a surprisingly chaste but hungry kiss. Digging your fingers into the couch cushions, you enticingly wiggle your hips at him and gold eyes flash at you from between your legs, amusement and something much more dark shining within them.

You feel his lips eagerly curl against you then, and he shuffles closer to the couch so that he’s hunched directly over your prone body. Hooking long fingers under one of your legs, he hauls it up and over his shoulder before repeating the process on the other side. Grabbing big, grasping handfuls of your hips, he uses his hold on you to drag your lower body just to the edge of the seat, making you squeak at suddenly finding yourself completely vulnerable and laid bare. Your pussy clenches tight in anticipation though and you tremble, drawing a steadying breath when he pecks at the soft swell of your inner thigh, warm breath puffing against your skin.

There was no denying that he had you completely at his mercy like this and you would have been lying through your teeth if you said that didn’t excite you.

“Comfortable?”

At your nod, Ogun leans forward just enough to bend your legs towards your chest and fold you against the top of the couch. He settles on his knees and dips his head down, mouth parting so his tongue can take a quick swipe from the bottom of your gushing cunt up to the top. The sight of it has you groaning for him, your vision swimming as you force yourself to keep watching.

That proves exceedingly difficult when he presses in close, making the meat of your pussy lips squish and mold against his face. Slowly kissing at you to work them open with his mouth, he flicks his attention up to regard your face and you practically vibrate on the cushions. Another swipe of his tongue hits its mark, wetly knocking your clit, and you let loose a seething mewl.

“O - ohh! Yeah …”

Ogun’s fingers dig into your twitching hips to keep them spread while he takes his time slowly swirling around that sensitive pleasure button. He starts at a wide breadth and then gradually works his tongue in tighter and tighter circles until he’s finally grinding it into oblivion. The soft, gooey friction of his mouth is enough to have you wheezing in pleasure as sweat beads, unnoticed, along your lower back and you arch, making your tits jiggle with the motion.

“Right there … don’t stop!”

Issuing a low sound of agreement, Ogun opens his jaw wider and drags his tongue straight up through your slick, juicy folds. You can feel every little thing - every nerve ending and every meaty bit of flesh that tries to cling to the textured muscle and your legs jerk at the sensation.

Tossing your head back against the couch, you blindly reach down to grasp his knuckles in a death grip. “Ah, haah … feels good ...”

In lieu of a proper response, he tilts his head and attacks your thrumming clit from a different angle. He’s relentless, mercilessly battering that delicate little pearl back and forth with such fervor that it leaves you quaking under his attention, struggling just to breathe. You’re not sure how much more of this you can stand, the threat of tipping over the edge before you can even fully enjoy it looking like a very real possibility now, but then Ogun seals his mouth around the fleshy nub and sucks.

Hard.

“Oh!” You choke on a haggard, stuttering gasp of pleasure, lurching underneath him.

Confidently humming, he comes up off you with a dull pop and a sticky breath of air. “Looks like you’re already getting close.” Ogun murmurs, sounding really quite smug about that.

Never one to leave you hanging though, he crowds one of his hands between your legs and presses blunt fingers into your slit. Finding your throbbing clit again, Ogun starts to rub it in fast strokes made smooth by the viscous mix of saliva and arousal that absolutely coats your pussy and this time you practically shriek.

“Yes! Yes, I’m getting close! … nngghh … please, please, pleeease! Ogun, please!”

But he refuses to let up on your poor little cunt just yet. “Please what, baby?”

You twist, thighs flexing and going ramrod stiff around his head. Your vision was starting to blur around the edges, reflexive tears pricking at your eyes. It’s hard just to think straight let alone form a semi coherent sentence when he’s relentlessly rubbing your clit with roughly calloused fingertips like that, the friction almost too much to bear and quickly riding the line of overstimulation. You couldn’t handle much more of it.

“Pl - please put your dick in me! Please! I wanna’ come on your cock, Ogun! I’m buh - aaah - ah! - begging!”

A low, rumbling groan rises up in his chest but, still, he doesn’t stop. “I thought you wanted to come on my mouth?”

“I - I changed my mind!”

He grunts, deep and primal in his acknowledgement, and the sound races straight to your throbbing cunt.

You respond with a broken groan, only to nearly come right up off the couch when he withdraws his fingers and replaces them with his mouth. Supple lips part and work you open again so he can worm his tongue into the crease of your body. He delivers a series of taunting flicks to the straining bud hidden within, making you sensitively twitch, before dragging the flat of his tongue across it in broad, sweeping strokes. You could feel yourself tipping ever closer to the edge and, with a wheezing gasp, you reach down with both hands to cradle either side of his head.

You’re not sure if you want to push him away or draw him closer - as if that were even possible at this point.

“Oh - Ogun, wha - wait! Nngh … if you keep going - -“

Smacking his lips, he comes up just enough for you to hear him say “You’ll cum? Good.” Before diving back in.

The way he immediately opens his mouth wide and plunges his tongue into the satiny soft folds and creases of your cunt, teasing at your entrance, has you jolting as if you’ve been electrocuted. Gritting your teeth, you clutch him all the tighter while the building pressure inside you steadily inches towards blissful discomfort. Your heaving body was truly hanging in the balance now, entirely at his mercy (of which there seemed to be none) and your legs uselessly flex in the air when you squeeze them around his head. You could almost taste it in the back of your throat.

“Fuck! Right there …” you whine as you rock your pelvis against his mouth, the motion stiff and halting. “Right there, baby … I’m s - so - ooooh - close!”

Ogun grunts in approval and drags his tongue up to the top of your slit again, burying his face somehow even deeper into the cushiony give of your pussy. He glances at you, very briefly, from under the fall of dark lashes and the heady, masculine glint in those burnt gold irises sends a powerful shudder rippling down your spine. Your mouth drops open as if to scream but nothing comes out. For a worryingly long moment, it feels like you forgot how to breathe.

All you can do is watch on in thrumming suspense when he drops his gaze and gives his head a shake to jostle all the nerve endings in your cunt. The braids you’d worked on all day give a little bounce in their ponytail before settling again, and your eyes start to roll back when he flattens his tongue to your clit so he can grind down on it again. Static shoots through your system as you arch against him, so fitfully your back starts to ache in protest, but it was much too late. Nothing could stop it now, not even if you wanted to.

You suck in a haggard breath and the coil snaps, just like that. With an almost violent jerk, you devolve into a fit of convulsions that has you wailing up at the ceiling in total disregard for the upstairs neighbors. They probably heard you every time you and your boyfriend had sex but it’s not as if you could very well help it. Ogun was a talented individual by nature and that certainly transferred over into bedroom activities too.

Helpless, all you can do is cling to him through the full bodied tremors that shake you straight down to your core while he leisurely laps at your throbbing clit to ease you through it. He always seemed intent on milking your orgasms for all they were worth, and that certainly didn’t help your case with your neighbors either. It always felt like something of an out of body experience when he was the one going down on you and you couldn’t exactly say you disliked him for that.

The exact opposite, actually.

“Oh, god …”

With a stuttering groan, you slowly go limp as you come down from your high one piece of you at a time. It was hard to tell which jagged edges fit where, but you’re still acutely aware of the mess he’s made of your cunt when Ogun finally straightens and you feel a rush of fresh air hit your drenched slit. You shiver at the sensation and crack your eyes open to peer down at him, whimpering.

“You didn’t listen …”

Snorting a quiet laugh, he shifts against you and brings a hand up to swipe the glistening moisture from his mouth. “I only did what you initially asked for, sweetheart. That doesn’t mean I can’t give you the second request, too.”

Your lips curl in a warbling smile at that, and he grins right back.

Letting your head loll against the couch cushions, you contentedly watch as he brings your legs down off his shoulders so he can move to stand. Leaving you spread out and feeling like silly putty, he yanks his shirt over his head with one quick, fluid motion that makes his abdominals tantalizingly ripple before reaching for his pants next. He makes quick work of the button and then the fly, anticipation evident in his body language when he shoves them along with his underwear down to his feet.

Ogun’s thick cock bounces eagerly when he steps out of his discarded clothes, and the sight alone is enough to make your pussy clench tight. You still felt sensitive and over wrought, so fresh off the tail end of your orgasm, but that doesn’t stop you from moaning faintly at the sight of him.

You’d never known a more attractive man in all your life.

“Ogun …” You murmur, eyes slipping shut when your desire flares back at full force dizzyingly fast.

Your eyes immediately pop back open, however, when he slides his arms under your knees and leans forward to brace against the couch, folding you up like a pretzel. Your toes flex as you squirm underneath him, glancing down at your defenless little cunt with an excited squeak. Puffy lips can’t help but spread in this position and you easily catch sight of your swollen clit straining towards him in obvious need, not yet satisfied.

Hovering just a scant breath away, his straining cock - all silky smooth and heavy - twitches in anticipation, eager to sink into you. It doesn’t look like it's going to fit. It never does but, somehow or another, he always manages to squeeze every girthy inch of himself inside you and the thought alone has you throbbing in sharp, sporadic pulses.

It was almost embarrassing how fast you were bouncing back from the first round, but you can’t quite complain when you watch his hanging ballsack sway with the motion of getting himself situated and your pussy responds in kind with an intense pulse. He had the body of a breeder and you were sure he would’ve already had you heavy and round by now if only you weren’t on birth control. Maybe someday, though …

“Ogun …” You were starting to feel well and truly delirious now, and you reach up to dig your nails into his forearms for leverage to ground yourself with.

He doesn’t seem to mind it though, and he merely issues a soft grunt of acknowledgement as he rocks forward a bit to angle your defenseless pussy up at him more. You can feel yourself squeeze down and you groan, dazedly watching your own thighs flex in their bent up position but there was simply no way out of his hold now. The thought alone is enough to have you breathing out a stuttering puff of air, which you promptly choke on when he starts to lower his pelvis towards yours.

“Yes, yes, yes, please give it to me, I need it, I need it, please --”

You’re whining. You realize that on some level, but you’re much too consumed by this desperate hunger to have him rearranging your guts to care about that right now. It wouldn’t take Ogun long at all to have you creaming around him at this rate.

Unperturbed, he casually adjusts his position over top of you before swooping down to catch your babbling mouth in another heated kiss to silence you. The passionate force behind the gesture pushes your head back against the cushions and you relent, groaning into his lips as your hands fly up to offer his sides an encouraging squeeze.

Luxuriating under the strength of his body, you drag your palms up across his chest and higher still to grasp his shoulders. With a weak, halfhearted jut of your pelvis, you make a sad little attempt at angling your hips up enough to feel his leaking cockhead against your sticky cunt but it’s no use. He has you thoroughly pinned and at his mercy like this. His for the taking whenever he saw fit to skewer you on his sizable length and not a moment sooner.

It was too much.

You suddenly break from the kiss in favor of keening in soft desperation. He pulls back, stopping just long enough to regard you with that infuriatingly attractive, heavy lidded look before pointedly glancing between your bodies.

Slowly, you follow his lead only to swallow hard when his thighs flex forward and the underside of his cock skirts along your parted pussy lips. The crude way it bumps against your clit has you jolting at the sensation and clutching him all the more fervently. Your whole body positively shakes as Ogun shuffles his feet a little further apart and tries again, the bulbous glans slipping and sliding through petal soft folds once, twice - until it abruptly finds its mark on the third stroke.

Catching at your entrance, he pauses for a moment and then slowly starts to sink in. Your breath hitches, mouth opening on a silent scream as you watch the ruddy pink head slowly disappear into your body. The stretch is immediately felt, and it’s more than enough to make your greedy pussy flutter around the intrusion even as it gushes more sticky slick to ease the way.

But the more of him that slides into the gummy sleeve of your insides, the less good it does. He’s just too big - wider than he is long, yet still large enough to push your heaving body right to its limits. You hold your breath, head spinning, when he pushes further in and forces your squeezing passage to make room for him. More and more, until he’s about half of the way inside where he finally pauses to let you adjust.

You twitch, weakly writhing like a small animal caught in the merciless maw a steel trap. You were utterly powerless underneath him.

“Oh - Ogun! Fuck … fuck me - dear Sol, please just fuck me!”

He draws a slow, calming breath. “You’re still so tight, baby … I don’t want to hurt you.”

Whimpering, you reach between your legs and wrap trembling fingers around the base of him. Ogun moans after a few awkward pumps of your hand and tilts his face up at the ceiling, basking in the sensation of you jerking him while he’s half wedged inside your body.

It must feel good because it takes him a prolonged moment to get his bearings again and when he does, he carefully eases himself back just enough to give a tiny thrust forward. You can feel the moment he slips in a little deeper than before and you guide him into it, one sedate thrust at a time. When you stroke up, he pulls back and when you stroke down, he pushes into you. It’s a maddeningly cohesive rhythm that has you panting like a bitch in heat long before he finally slides home and you outright choke when the fronts of his thighs settle against the backs of yours a small eternity later.

“Shit,” He hisses, brows knitting as he peers down to admire the sight of his pelvis flush against yours. “That’s a tight fit … how’re you doing, sweetheart? It’s not too much, is it?”

You give your head a numb shake and roll your eyes up at him, teasing your fingertips through the mess of curls at the base of his groin while you do it. Words couldn’t even come close to describing how stuffed full you felt, but you loved it.

“N - no … it’s perfect … feels - ngh - good …”

Smiling, Ogun dips his face close to press his mouth to your forehead in a chastely sweet kiss. He stays like that as he carefully angles back until just the tip remains and then, so slowly you can feel it in your bones, he pushes back in. The drag is exquisite and it feels like you’re practically suffocating on the intense pleasure of every solid inch, each throbbing vein. You could feel it all.

A wordless cry of pleasure bursts out of you when he slides back out and in again at that same staggered pace. He’s so big you can feel the pressure on your cervix and when he wiggles his hips, grinding into you, oh god, it feels like he’s pushing the glans right on that raised ring of puckered flesh. Your mouth drops open but nothing comes out. It was hard just to keep your eyes focused anymore.

Haltingly, he starts up a gradual but steady pace as your body adjusts around the intrusion and makes room for him, your pulpy walls clinging to the length of him on each drawn out stroke. It comes as a great relief, particularly when the building pressure swells into high strung arousal and replaces the initial discomfort of being stretched right to the breaking point.

In a matter of moments, the sticky wet clicking that noises each time your pussy sucks him in deep on the downward thrust comes to dominate the living room. The sound of it only seems highlighted by your sensitive bleating and the husky groans slipping out of him, the drone of the tv so much an afterthought now that you forgot it was even on. Even when he picks up enough speed to drive the fronts of his thighs against your upturned ass, creating a sharp, fleshy slap, it’s nothing compared to the hungry slurping of your cunt.

You probably would’ve been embarrassed by the whole thing if only it didn’t feel like he was spearing you straight down the middle. It made your eyes cross, mouth hanging open in doped out bliss while you cling and clutch at him for dear life. There wasn’t a single inch of you that he didn’t touch like this and it lit up every nerve ending along the way like a goddamn firework.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think he was going to break you in half.

“Such a pretty baby. Look how well you’re taking my cock ....”

You gasp. “Hnng, s’so big …!”

“And you’re taking all of it,” he murmurs, just this side of breathless. “Like a champ. Do you have any idea how good you look right now? Huh?”

You warble out an incomprehensible response, far too overwhelmed and riveted by the way Ogun’s cock glistens obscenely every time it makes another appearance between your thighs. Your fingers dig into his forearms, leaving crescent shaped marks in his skin and try not to scream in ecstasy while he carves out a space within you.

You loved watching him fuck you like this for a multitude of reasons, the most pressing at the moment being that it drove you absolutely wild.

“If you keep squeezing me like that … ngh, I won’t last much longer.” He warns, his tone far too strained to hold even a hint of real reprimand.

“I want it,” you blubber wetly. “I want it, Ogun, please …”

“You want me to cum in you?”

A jerky nod accompanied by a mewling whimper.

He lets out a shaky breath as the speed of his thrusts quicken and you jerk underneath him, bleating like something wounded. The muscles in his arms flex and twitch around you when he smoothly adjusts the positioning of his hands, hunching further over you without so much as missing a beat.

“God, you drive me crazy …”

You’d like to tell him the feeling is mutual but you don’t get the chance. A particularly sharp snap of his hips knocks something loose inside you and you uncontrollably shake, legs kicking up uselessly at the air with a wordless noise of soaring pleasure. Cumming again doesn’t seem like such a far off possibility and a frazzled whine claws at the back of your throat when he presses his sweat slick forehead against yours, prompting you to glance up.

Ogun’s eyes were always beautiful to look at but especially so when you were staring into them from just a hair's breadth away and they were clouded dark with primal need as well something much more weighty.

“Tell me you want it, sweetheart. Tell me.”

“I - ngh - aaaahh, I want your cum, Ogun! I need you to fill me uh - up, please, I want it so baaad!”

A shudder races through him and he groans, eyes slipping shut for a brief moment as if to get his bearings before cracking open again. Keeping his forehead against yours, he tilts his head down to look between the two of you and, once again, you follow suit.

The sinfully rich color of his cock, just a shade or two darker than the rest of him, looks all the more tantalizing coated in your slick. You’ve all but drenched him at this point, the tight curls that frame his length visibly damp and matted together now. You suck in a frazzled breath at the sight, your head spinning alarmingly fast when the building pressure in your gut becomes almost too much to withstand. How was it that one single man could make you feel so primal with need but tenderly cared for at the same time?

“I - -“ You all but choke on it, wheezing at the next stroke. “I’m gonna’ - ahh, cum again … don’t stop!”

“I’m about to cum too, sweetheart.” With a soft groan, he lifts his attention to pin you with a heady look of challenge. “Think we can cum together?”

You frantically nod. “Uh huh!”

The corner of Ogun’s mouth twitches at that, settling into a lazy smirk as he shifts back and slows the motion of his hips. You can’t help groaning in disappointment but you realize what he’s doing quickly enough when he lets up his hold on your legs so he can lower himself down to lay out on top of you. Working his arms under your overheated back, he practically crushes you to the front of him and you bring your own up to wrap them around his neck.

This new position increases the pressure in your guts by a noticeable margin and the air rushes out of you with a stuttering sigh when he crawls up onto the edge of the couch to pin your thighs under his weight. Your legs are just as useless as before, twitching impotently in the air when he eases his hips back as far as he can. He doesn’t make it far, just enough to feel the drag and the subsequent plunge, but it makes you cry out all the same.

Face shoved into your hair, Ogun lets loose a series of heavy grunts when he picks up his earlier pace and the same sticky clicking rises in the air again. It’s much less deafening this time, softer by virtue of his shorter strokes, and you gratefully clutch him against you, glad to hold onto him.

“You feel so good …” he groans, making you shudder at the puff of hot air against your neck.

You can’t quite find your voice though, and you respond with a faltering moan that has him twitching inside you. The thick bands of musculature across his shoulders dance under your fingers each time he moves, emphasizing the raw strength in his lithe body. And yet he was still being careful with you, the plunge of his cock as carefully measured as before so as not to slam against your cervix but still tease it.

It wasn’t even that he was unreasonably large but, rather, he just so happened to fit you like a glove and that was perhaps the most arousing part of all.

“Ogun,” you finally manage to whimper. “Mm’ gonna’ cum …”

“Me too …”

The quietly stricken groan that comes out of him next makes your toes curl. You clench around him in a palpitating flutter, so close to the edge it brought the sting of tears to your eyes. His hips stutter at the squeeze and he trembles against you, struggling to keep up the subdued thrusting he’d settled into.

It quickly proves futile when his body tenses up with a low, faltering moan that rattles so deep you feel it in your cunt. The air catches in your throat and you squeeze him with your arms across his back and your legs around his narrow waist, clutching him to you as he lurches. Blunt fingers dig into your skin and he gives a little jerk, issuing a sucker punched wheeze seconds before you feel the rush of hot seed flooding your cunt.

You tremble wildly, nails clawing into his back when the sensation of Ogun shooting thick ropes against your gummy walls makes your muscles clamp around him hard enough to send you over the edge. Writhing in bliss, you stutter out a groan that he matches with one of his own while the two of you quake through your orgasms as one.

It was transcendental in a way you never would have thought possible.

Dropping his face to the couch cushions when you finally start to grow still underneath him some moments later, he issues a rumbling sound of satisfaction. The ragged quality of your panting quickly rushes in to replace the sticky wet squelching of your cunt, and you go boneless while you try to catch your breath. That was a lot easier said than done though and he, predictably, recovers much quicker than you.

“I’m surprised we really managed to pull that off.” He hums in contentment and turns his face to kiss at your ear, teasingly soft. “That’s a first.”

“And hopefully not the last.” You wheeze, making him chuckle.

“You liked it then, I take it?”

Dislodging your cramping fingers from his back with a certain amount of effort, you bring your hand up to push the hair from your face. “It was amazing … intense. I didn’t think we could do it either.”

Ogun lifts his head to press his mouth to your check, your nose, the spot between your eyes, all with a big smile on his face. “I’m glad we did. I promise I’ll try my best to make it happen again but no promises, okay?”

You can’t quite stop from giggling. “Don’t worry. I have faith in you.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Pausing long enough to give your ribs an affectionate pinch, he carefully pushes up from the couch and leans back. His softened cock slips out of you in the process, and you internally wince at the dribble of hot cum that oozes from you without him there to stopper it.

You draw your legs up to keep the mess to a minimum when he stands, gleaming eyes taking in the sight of you curled up on your couch with his semen leaking down the crease of your pussy for a prolonged beat. And then, he grins.

“Wanna’ get cleaned up and I’ll order that pizza?”

“How am I supposed to think about food after all that?” You pout at him.

Sending a sly look down at the spot between your thighs, Ogun starts to turn towards the bathroom. “I’ll get you a rag. I’m sure you’ll realize just how hungry you are once the adrenaline wears off. Besides, you should probably refuel before I try to give you an encore.”

Smiling at that, you appreciatively glance down at his tight ass before he disappears through the doorway. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind he’d be able to pull it off.

#ogun montgomery #ogun x reader #fire force #self insert bullshit #enen no shouboutai #my writing

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reinerispretty · 4 years ago

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reminiscence. (? x f!reader) pt6

THANK U FOR BEING SO PATIENT i am so excited to get back to this story!!

pt1

pt5

pt7

“That’s not how you do it.”

Asami furrowed her brows at her. “Oh yeah? Then show me how you knead dough.” (Y/N) rolled up her sleeves and began pressing into the dough with the heel of her palm, at first gently, but then with some effort.

“It’s like raising a baby,” (Y/N) said. “You have to be soft, but firm.”

It took (Y/N) quite a few days to recover. She shivered in bed the first night, retching violently into the trash bin Jinora had kindly placed at her bedside. She had given her a worried smile, which (Y/N) weakly returned. Falling asleep was difficult because of how cold she felt. When sleep finally did grace her, it was littered with dreams of empty blackness and monsters licking at her heels. She woke up every few hours, sweat beading down her neck and a scream threatening to rip at her throat. She felt like her heart was beating too fast to be contained by her chest. Her first night of illness was undoubtedly the worst.

Knowing this, Korra had moved a cot into her room the next night. She knew what it was like to be ill and how isolating it felt, so she thought (Y/N) could use the company. Especially when her fever had risen to a temperature near scalding. Korra bundled her in her warmest blankets from the Northern Water Tribe, tucking (Y/N) into the fabric. She looked so small and weak, nothing like the bright, curious girl that Korra had come to know over the past few days. Naga slept protectively at the girls’ feet. (Y/N) slept most of the night and well into the next day.

But when she awoke, the rest of the household was surprised to find her walking into the dining room, one of Korra’s blankets still wrapped around her shoulders and the color returning to her skin. “Could I have something to eat?” Her voice was hoarse from lack of use. Pema insisted that she go back to bed and rest, that dinner would be brought to her, and although she hadn’t known her very long, (Y/N) knew better than to argue.

Quickly, she made her way back to her room and crawled back into bed, her stomach eagerly awaiting the arrival of food.

Korra entered a few minutes later, shocked to find (Y/N) looking so chipper. “Someone’s feeling better. Pema made your favorite.” (Y/N) cocked her head to the side. “Bolin told me. Soup dumplings.” (Y/N) held in her squeal of excitement as Korra handed her the hot bowl and chopsticks.

“So,” Korra began as she scarfed down her dumplings. “I have a plan. We,” (Y/N) liked how Korra included her in the ‘we.’ “Will take a ship to the South Pole and enter the Spirit World through the portal. Then we’ll ask the spirits if they know anything about you.”

(Y/N) finished her last dumpling, her mouth burning comfortably from the hot food. “Is that it?” Korra let out a surprised laughed at her boldness.

“Did you want more action?” (Y/N’s) face flushed.

“No, I just mean that it seems really easy.”

“If all goes well, it will be.”

(Y/N) was bundled up so tightly for their trip that she could hardly move. Pema hadn’t like the idea of them leaving before she was feeling her best, but (Y/N) insisted that they left as soon as possible. The thought of getting her memories back made her heart race.

She stood in the courtyard of the Air Temple, Tenzin and his family standing before her. “I can’t thank you enough for your hospitality,” She said. “I hope one day I can repay you for taking care of me.”

“You have to come back and play with us!” Ikki begged, jumping up and down as she clapped her hands together. “Please, please, please!”

“Yeah!” Meelo interjected. “You were too busy throwing up to play with us!” (Y/N) laughed as Tenzin blanched at his children.

“I’m sorry, Meelo. I promise I’ll come back and play with you guys soon!” She glanced at Tenzin and Pema. “As long as I’m welcome, of course.”

“You are always welcome here,” Tenzin reassured her, and (Y/N) smiled. Korra walked out of the house then, both her and (Y/N’s) bags slung across her shoulders.

“Ready to go?” Korra questioned, and (Y/N) nodded. She waved goodbye to the family and walked down the stone steps to the dock, where their ship was pulling up. (Y/N’s) eyes widened at the sight of it. “Ship” was an understatement. It was huge, twice the size of any boat she had seen in her almost three weeks of memory. It was white, with thick blue stripes painted around the edges.

“Is that yours?” She asked Korra.

“It’s Varrick’s,” She called back to her. “He’s a super rich guy. Kinda sorta a friend of ours, a guess. I called in a favor.”

“You’re sure he doesn’t mind?”

Korra turned around and flashed her a smile. “Varrick tosses money around like it’s leaves. If anything happens to this boat, he’s got ten more.” (Y/N) smiled back at Korra and tried to ignore the statement, “If anything happens.”

When they reached the dock, one of the most beautiful girls (Y/N) had ever seen stood at it’s edge. She waved at the two of them, her dark hair fluttering behind her in the breeze. Korra dropped their bags on the dock and enveloped the girl in a hug. “Asami!” She cheered.

Asami squeezed Korra tightly and gave her a kind smile. “It’s good to see you again!” Her green eyes fluttered to (Y/N). “You must be (Y/N). Korra’s told me so much about you.” She extended her hand and (Y/N) shook it firmly.

“I guess that’s not very much,” (Y/N) joked, eliciting a laugh from Asami.

“Where are the guys?” Asami asked, and Korra shrugged.

“Probably running late, as usual.”

“I want to say thank you to you both,” (Y/N) said suddenly, wringing her fingers together nervously. “I’m sure you both have heard some pretty bad things about me, but I’m so thankful you’re willing to help.”

“Mako has a bit of a flair for the dramatics,” Asami said as she waved a hand into the air. “As far as we’re concerned, you’re a completely different person.” Korra nodded in agreement, flashing her white teeth at (Y/N).

Mako and Bolin joined them only a few moments later and the five of them boarded the massive ship. Varrick had sent along an entire crew to accompany them, which everyone was very thankful for. As much as Team Avatar trusted their abilities, none of them were very keen on the idea of steering a ship for a whole week.

They departed from the bay outside of Republic City and (Y/N) watched from one of the enclosed decks as the skyscraper buildings faded into nothingness. A nervous pit fit itself in the bottom of her stomach. This was really happening. She would get her memories back.

The majority of her was absolutely ecstatic. She hated not knowing anything about herself and couldn’t wait for her life to get back to normal--whatever that meant before she lost her memory. But a small, miniscule part of her enjoyed what was happening right now. If it hadn’t been for losing her memory, she would not have become friends with Korra. (Y/N) feared that once she got her memories back, there would be some things she didn’t want to remember.

Asami appeared at her side, offering (Y/N) yet another kind smile. “How do you like the ship?”

“It’s huge,” (Y/N) said. “I can barely feel the water underneath us. I was worried that since I was sick, I wouldn’t feel well, but I feel fine.”

“Korra mentioned that you hadn’t been feeling well. I’m glad you’re okay now.”

(Y/N’s) eyes trailed to the middle of the room, where Korra, Mako, and Bolin talked to each other. “Have you known them long?”

“Only a few months,” Asami said. “But they’ve become my best friends.” (Y/N) felt a tug at her heart. She wondered if before everything, if she had had a group like this. “Are you feeling hungry?”

“A little,” (Y/N) admitted.

“How about we make something in the kitchens? Just you and me.” (Y/N) nodded excitedly and followed Asami down two flights of stairs, where the kitchen took up the entire floor. The staff was scarce, considering that dinner would not be happening for a long while, so they both rifled through the pantries trying to find ingredients. “We could make a pizza!”

(Y/N) poked her head around the pantry door and stared quizzically at Asami. “Do you know how to make a pizza?” The dark haired girl shrugged, gathering ingredients into her arms.

“It can’t be that hard.”

It turned out it was that hard, but they had found a cookbook with their desired recipe and managed to at least get the dough started. Asami slapped it against the counter as (Y/N) giggled. “That’s not how you do it.”

“It’s like raising a baby,” (Y/N) said. “You have to be soft, but firm.” Asami laughed at her comparison.

“How do you know so much about making dough?” (Y/N) paused for a moment before turning back to her work, kneading into the dough harder.

“I’m not sure,” She admitted. “I guess there are some things left in there.”

Bolin stood in the entryway to the kitchens, not yet noticed by the two girls. He watched as (Y/N) taught Asami how to make pizza dough. It brought him back to a memory he reflected on often during the years of her absence.

Years ago, after (Y/N) and Bolin had taken each other out on many dates, there was the night that he decided to ask her to be his girlfriend. He was incredibly nervous, his palms were a sweaty, clammy mess, but (Y/N) had stared at him kindly.

“I want to show you something,” She said as they walked down the streets of Republic City, their hands intertwined. If she noticed how slippery his hands were, she didn’t acknowledge it. Like he did in all things, Bolin followed (Y/N) with no questions asked.

She led him to Kwong’s Cuisine, which had closed for the night hours ago. She pulled a silver key from her pocket and led him to the backdoor. She unlocked the heavy metal door and pushed it open with her shoulder, her fingers still interlocked with Bolin’s.

“Are you sure we should be in here?” He asked the darkness. (Y/N) flipped a switch and bright, white lights illuminated the silver fixtures of the kitchens.

“I’m the owner’s daughter,” (Y/N) said with a teasing scoff. “What are they going to do, fire me?” She pulled open the fridges and began gathering her ingredients. Bolin had never seen her move like this before. (Y/N) always seemed so confident, but here, she seemed liked she owned the place. He guessed in a way, she did. “I’d like to make you brownies,” She said to him, pulling out a metal stool with her foot and gesturing toward it. “Sit.”

Bolin obeyed and watched with fascinated eyes as she mixed the batter together from scratch. “Are you doing this all off the top of your head?” He asked. She nodded.

“Mom always made me cook when I still lived with her,” She said, offering him the spoon so he could get a taste of the batter. He took his finger and swiped it into the chocolatey mixture before licking it.

“These are going to be the best brownies I’ve ever had! You should be a chef!” (Y/N) laughed.

“Maybe one day,” She said. She put the brownies in the oven and set the timer. As they waited, they talked about their days and the events of Bolin’s latest pro-bending match. When the timer buzzed, (Y/N) hopped up from her seat and pulled the brownies out.

“I’m too excited to wait,” Bolin said, grabbing a knife and slicing into the gooey brownies.

“Bo, be careful you’re gonna-”

“Ow, ow, ow,” Bolin complained as he held the scorching hot brownie, but he tossed it into his mouth. He tried his best to chew. “It burns but it’s so yummy,” He mumbled as he tried to breathe hot air out of his mouth.

“Your girlfriend makes pretty good brownies, huh?” She asked, and Bolin nearly choked on his hot piece of brownie. He doubled over as he coughed and tried to swallow it down. “Oh my goodness, are you okay?”

“Girlfriend?” Bolin asked once he had righted himself. (Y/N’s) face flushed. Had she calculated everything wrong?

“Yeah, girlfriend. I thought that girlfriend is okay.” Bolin nodded, his hands wrapping around the small of her back to pull her close.

“Girlfriend’s okay!” He said. “As long as boyfriend’s okay, too.” (Y/N) smiled brightly up at him.

“Boyfriend’s okay,” She said as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Bolin leaned down to kiss her and she could taste the hot brownies on his tongue.

“Bolin!” Asami called to him, breaking his flashback. “You want a piece of pizza? I think (Y/N) should be a chef, because it’s amazing!”

Bolin stepped into the room, giving (Y/N) a tight smile. She smiled back at him as she chewed on her piece of pizza. “What kind is it?”

“Pineapple and pepperoni,” She said, and Bolin twisted his face in disgust. “No, no! You have to give it a chance first, please?” He conceded and took a bite of pizza. It did taste amazing.

“Not bad,” He said with a teasing smile, and both Asami and (Y/N) rolled their eyes.

Once the three had finished devouring the pizza, (Y/N) moved to leave the room with Asami, but Bolin called out her name. She turned to him, her eyes staring up at his quizzically. “I just wanted to say,” He cleared his throat. “That, even though I know that you know that things didn’t necessarily end well for us, I don’t, uh, have hard feelings.” He could feel his face redden. “It was a long time ago, and I know I can’t tell you anything yet, but I’m sure you had a reason for doing certain things, so I don’t blame you.”

(Y/N’s) eyes shined so brightly in the kitchen light that Bolin was sure tears would spill over any moment. “Thank you,” She said quietly, an uncertain smile making its way across her features. “I, um, want to apologize for whatever it was I did. You seem very kind and great and whatever happened between us, I’m certain you didn’t deserve it.” Bolin nodded, his own eyes prickling at the backs. “Could we start over? Just be friends?”

Bolin nodded perhaps a bit too eagerly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

(Y/N) smiled up at Bolin and felt that maybe she had been wrong. Maybe things would be okay.

When she left the kitchens, she wondered if everyone had been planning to gather down there, because she ran into Mako as she was walking away. “Sorry,” She said, refusing to meet his eyes. She would never admit it, but Mako intimidated her. His dislike for her was always apparent and (Y/N) hated it.

“Bolin told me what he said to you,” Mako said as she began to walk past. She turned back to look at him.

“So?”

“He’s forgiving, but I’m not. What you did, it was cruel. You were cruel.”

“As if you don’t spend every waking moment reminding me,” (Y/N) said with a sigh. Mako narrowed his eyes at her.

“If you do anything--”

“You’ll do what, Mako?” She snapped. She had enough of him thinking that he could talk to her whatever way he pleased. “Hurt me?”

He blinked in surprise, as if the suggestion was ridiculous. “Just stay away from him, alright?”

“How about you stay away from me? The ship’s big enough.” With that, she stormed up the stairs and joined the rest of her friends. (Y/N) hated Mako. Absolutely hated him. The flush of her cheeks and her racing heart proved that.

---

Tag List!

@beifongsss , @realimbo , @lavendercrystals , @tomshollandz , @zukosvice , @itsivyberry , @awesomelupe , @musicalkeys , @aroyaldarknessblr , @ilovespideyyy , @zukostan221 , @nataliahaslosthershit , @dailytrashypanda , @marvel-ing-at-it-all , @astralsaf , @ryleyrooroo , @yuhaino , @hotgirlazula , @thefandomimagines , @blondie0458 , @kairiririri , @writeido , @foenixphire , @realimbo , @mycollectionofnuts , @wingeddemonclub , @gingersnap126126 , @aangsupremacy , @davnwillcome , @bolinmorelikebabe-lin , @pointlesscoconut , @shells-bells-ringding , @someoneovertherainboww , @buttholland , @hstott , @breadqueen95

#atla #lok #mako #mako x reader #bolin #bolin x reader #asami #asami x reader #korra #korra x reader #writing #fanfiction #legend of korra #avatar

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kywaslost · 4 years ago

Text

Levi Comforts Anxious Sister Reader

Warnings: anxiety, anxiety attack

Requests are possibly open?? I don’t really know yet if I’m honest lol

Being the younger sister of humanity’s last hope isn’t easy. You worried constantly, whether it be what people thought of you or if your brother would make it back from the latest expedition. You were only 16 and you felt like the world was resting on your shoulders. With Lance Corporal Levi as your brother, people expected you to be just like him; cold, heartless, and an amazing warrior.

In reality, you were just another soldier. There wasn’t even anything special about you. You couldn’t turn into a titan like Eren, be quick on your feet like Mikasa, or be smart like Arwin. You were just like anyone else. You didn’t have much in common with your older brother either. You had his hair color and facial structure, but that was as far as it goes. Levi never showed his emotions whereas you could never mask your own. He knew how to lead an army and take down a titan without a second thought. Your social anxiety kept you from trying to take charge and you considered every possibility that a titan could do to kill you and that distracted you from your main goal.

There was an expedition a few weeks ago that scarred you. It wasn’t your first, but it sure made your heart stop beating. You were a part of Levi’s squad. Just because you were another soldier doesn’t mean you weren’t good enough to be with your brother. Levi would never admit it but he fought hard and well to make sure you were on his squad when you had to go out on expeditions.

There were more titans than you thought there would be. You were swarmed, alone. Three titans were closing in on you and there was no one around to help you kill them. You let out a shrill scream as one of the titans enclosed you in its grip. You panicked, trying to free your arms. You were lifted closer to the titans mouth. In a final attempt to save your life, you screamed, “Levi!” You closed your eyes, accepting defeat. In a split second, you hit the ground and the air was knocked out of you. You winced in pain as your right shoulder took most of the impact. The ground shook as the three titans hit the ground, dead.

“Y/N!” Next thing you knew you were in someone’s arms and flying through the air. You opened your eyes slowly to see your older brother looking down at you. You then closed your eyes, unconscious.

Levi cursed to himself when he felt you fall limp. “Do not close your eyes,” he screamed. “Don’t die on me!” Levi landed on one of the medical carts retreating back to HQ. Eren lay still in the center, weakly looking up at the sky above them. Arwin sat beside him and Mikasa rode her horse along the cart.

“Captain?” Eren called hoarsely.

“Arwin, help me,” Levi ordered. Arwin quickly pulled off his cloak and folded it to use as a pillow. He helped Levi lay you flat on the cart next to Eren and he started to press part of your own cloak against your head.

“She’s bleeding, Captain,” Arwin informed the man.

“How bad is it?” Levi asked as he inspected your shoulder. It was obviously dislocated and broken.

“I can’t quite tell but she has a head injury, most definitely a concussion.”

“Mikasa,” Levi called. “Give me your cloak.” The girl ripped it off and passed it to the captain. He then popped your shoulder back in place and used the cloak as a sling. Taking off his own green cover Levi layed it over you in an attempt to keep you warm.

“Is Y/N ok?” Eren asked quietly, reaching over to grab her hand.

“Don’t touch her!” Levi ordered, taking her hand instead.

That was a few weeks ago. Since then, you’ve been ordered by your brother and Erwen himself to take it easy. You were to sit out of training and for chores you were to stay with your brother and do as he told you to do. You were bummed you had to sit out but were beyond grateful that you got to spend so much time with your brother. Ever since that day, you started to panic whenever you were by yourself. Your breath would quicken and your heart rate would pick up. It never got terrible though, since someone would find you rather quickly. You didn’t bother telling anyone about this, since you thought it was just a temporary thing.

Today you were with Levi in his office. He noticed how you winced in pain whenever you moved so he ordered you to sit on the couch in his office and rest.

“But Levi--” you started to protest but he glared at you.

“That’s Captain Levi to you,” he corrected. You looked away, suddenly upset. He never ordered you to call him Captain when it was just the two of you, let alone ever glare at you like that. You heard the man sigh and felt the couch dip beside you. “Hey,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” He pulled your head to rest on his shoulder. “I know this is hard for you and I’m sorry I’m making things worse. I’ve just had a lot of paperwork and I know that’s no excuse.” You closed your eyes and leaned into your brother’s touch.

“It’s alright,” you said quietly. “I understand.” You shifted to get more comfortable but winced in pain. Your head was killing you. Armin was right, you did have a pretty bad concussion. Levi took notice of your pain and frowned slightly. He never was one to show his emotions. He gently lifted you off of him and laid you down on the couch.

“Where are you going?” you asked as you sat up quickly. Levi gently pushed you back down onto the couch.

“Lay down brat,” he said. Although there was no emotion showing on his face, you could see the concern in his eyes. “I’m going to go find something to help you with the pain.” Levi turned around and left the room. Your eyes widened in panic.

“But--”

“I’ll be back.” With that, your brother left. Your breath quickened and you started to panic. Ever since the day you got injured, you couldn’t stand being alone. You squeezed your eyes shut, the tension causing your head to hurt even more. Letting out a choked sob you started to shake. I can’t do this, you thought to yourself. I can’t be alone. You attempted to stand and walk, wanting to find at least someone to stay with you until Levi got back, but you were too far gone. You stumbled down to the ground as the pain in your head caused your legs to give out from beneath you. You gripped and pulled your hair with your one good hand, breath labored.

“Levi,” you gasped quietly. Tears stream down your face, leaving small streams on your cheeks and dripping from your chin. Your vision became blurry, colors being distorted and black dots appearing every now and then.

You’re all alone, just like that day.

You can never be as great as your perfect brother if you can’t even stand being alone for a few minutes.

It took you a few moments to realize that you were trying to scream despite the fact you were gasping for air.

“I found some--” You couldn’t even hear the voice of the man that had entered the room.

Levi’s heart nearly stopped beating when he saw you a mess on the floor in his office. The small bottle of pills that were in his hands clattered to the floor, rolling under a chair. The man dropped down beside you and quickly wrapped his arms around you. You let out an ear piercing scream, not knowing what was going on around you. Levi jumped back. His hands hovered over you as the man panicked on what he should do. He’s never seen you this vulnerable before, let alone packing like this. He debated yelling for help, wondering if your friends would be able to handle the situation.

This wasn’t the first time he had dealt with someone having a panic attack. With him being a leader, his soldiers always asked for his help when they were this vulnerable but he had never seen an attack this bad before. Heck, he had attacks himself but they weren’t nearly as severe as this.

“Captain, what’s--” Levi looked to the doorway to see a few cadets standing in the doorway.

“Leave,” he growled. The cadets nodded and quickly closed the door, slamming it in the process. You jumped, screaming even louder. Levi’s eyes pricked with tears as he took in your state. He started to try and talk you down since you obviously didn’t want to be touched.

“Hey princess,” he soothed as he tried to keep his voice steady and calm. It would be of no help if you heard him panicking as well. “I’m here, ok? You need to calm down.” He saw that this wasn’t working and remembered how you would never disobey an order, even if it came from your brother. “Breathe, Y/N. That’s an order.”

You heard your brother beside you. You were no longer alone. Despite hearing his order, you could not escape the prison that was your mind. You continued to gasp for air as your body trembled.

“Breathe,” Levi said again. “Slow. Take it slow. In and out.” He started to breathe loud and slow to try to get you to do it with him.

“I can’t!” you sobbed. “I can’t breathe!” Levi watched as the color drained from your face slowly and how you slowly moved to lay on the floor.

“No,” he said sternly, going to touch you before remembering that could make it all worse. “Do not pass out on me.” You were laying on your back now, still gripping your hair with one hand.

“It hurts!” you cried out. You started to feel yourself drift off due to the lack of oxygen your body was getting. “Levi.” The words barely made it past your lips as your eyes drooped closed. Levi’s eyes widened.

“No! Do not pass out!” It was too late, you were out. Your breath quickly even out as your body relaxed. Quickly, Levi placed your head in his lap. He gripped your good hand with one of his and pressed a kiss to it as his other hand ran through your hair. He wiped the remaining tears from your face. “Please,” he begged silently, “wake up Y/N.” The two of you stayed like that for several moments before your head lulled to the side and a quiet groan left your lips. Levi smiled softly, bending down to kiss your head.

“Hey sis,” he whispered as he moved the hair from your forehead. “It’s ok, I’ve got you.” You slowly opened your eyes, looking around the room. Your eyes connected with his and it took you a second to process who you were looking at.

“It’s alright,” Levi cooed softly. “You need a moment for your head to kick back into the right gear, and that’s alright.” You attempted to sit up but Levi pulled you back down into his lap. He tapped your nose gently with his pointer finger. “What are you doing brat? You are in no condition to be moving around.”

“Levi?” you whispered slowly. He gave you a small smile.

“Yeah,” he answered. “It’s me.” You sighed softly, leaning into Levi’s leg. The two of you sat like that with Levi staring down at you, afraid to take his eyes off of you.

“Bubby?” you muttered, looking up at his worried gaze. Levi’s eyes softened. You only ever called him that when you were upset or something was wrong.

“What is it baby?” Words were the only way Levi knew how to provide comfort and even then he still couldn’t do it well.

“Can we move to the couch?” Nodding slightly, Levi picked you up and laid you down on the couch. He sat down near your head as you sat up and leaned against his shoulder.

“What happened?” he asked quietly. “I didn’t know you struggled with attacks like that.” You let out a shaky breath and buried your face in Levi’s arm. “It’s ok if you don’t want to talk about it but I would greatly appreciate it if you told me.”

“Please don’t leave,” you muttered silently. Levi pulled you onto his lap and hugged you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered in your hair. “I promise.”

Without looking up to meet your brother’s eyes, you started to explain, “Ever since that expedition I can’t stand being alone. I can’t breathe very well and speaking is hard.” Levi’s eyes widened in realization. “I’m guessing it was because I was alone when the titan attacked.” If it were even possible, Levi held you tighter.

“Has this happened before?” he whispered. You simply shrugged.

“Yeah, but it’s never gotten this bad. I usually can’t breathe very well for a minute or two before someone comes back. Then I’m fine.”

“I’m so sorry,” Levi said with tears in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think that much of it,” you responded.

“Come to me the next time this happens, ok?” Levi commanded. “That’s an order.” You give a small giggle.

“Yes, sir.”

“Does your head still hurt?” you nodded as your brother slowly set you on the couch and picked up the bottle that had fallen from his hand moments ago. He placed two pills in your hand and handed you his cup of tea. Once you had taken the pills and settled down on your brother’s shoulder again, you started to drift off to sleep.

From that day on, Levi made sure you were never alone. He would always command another cadet to be with you when he could not be and was always there to talk you down when you were left alone. Let’s just say that whoever left you alone would later be seen unconscious with a bloody nose before being carried off to the medical wing.

#aot comfort #aot x reader #aot #levi #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #levi attack on titan #anxiety #anxiety attack

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keepyourpantsongohan · 4 years ago

Text

And Many Happy Returns

A gift for @sloaners, one of the funniest, nicest and most talented people I know. You deserve nothing but good things, so here’s something made with the wish to make you smile. Please check out the collaborative pieces by @uintuva @tomicaleto @kiro-sveta and @ohayohimawari. | AO3 (Art/Writing) | Podfic |

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It starts, as the best intentions often do, with a thirty-year-old man blowing out a birthday candle.

“Happy birthday, Kakashi,” Tenzō tells him warmly.

This warmth between them is both new and old. It aches of familiarity, and partnership, and all the things Kakashi has compartmentalized as something he ought to think about at a later date. But it is later, the moon shining down upon them in the wee hours of the night, his face bare to his companion. It’s a new world order, one where to Kakashi is the Sixth Hokage, and the village is bustling with migrants from all its neighbours, and where he lets someone look at him the way Tenzō is doing, like he has done something incredibly right.

Kakashi wishes Obito were here to see this. He likes to think it would annoy him a little, even if this was exactly what he had suggested.

“So how does it feel?” Tenzō asks, smiling. He sets down the cupcake, knowing Kakashi isn’t interested in sweets anyway. “Your first birthday as Hokage. This should be a day that the whole village celebrates.”

“Maa, you know I don’t like parties,” Kakashi says, ducking his head as if a villager might pop up somewhere with a confetti canon. He reaches out and lets his fingers brush Tenzō’s. “This is fine with me.”

Tenzō sighs, all fondness. “Well, you have to at least let me show you your birthday present.”

Kakashi raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Did you bring something?”

Tenzō shakes his head. “It’s more of something I get to show, actually.”

It’s very tempting for Kakashi to make a joke at that, but his thought is soon cut off by a gleaming light in the sky, a bright blue-green speck making its way from far up above them, heading downward quite suddenly. For a moment, he thinks it could be a shooting star. Yet it doesn’t look much like a star to him, particularly not when he realizes whatever it is is hurtling not only towards the ground, but towards them. Kakashi’s mental calculations suggest that the meteor will land before they get a chance to move.

It is all they can do to brace for impact. Kakashi feels his chakra gather in his palms and raises his hands so that he might be able to form a chidori. Beside him, Tenzō’s hands form a serpent seal and a wooden dome suddenly encloses them. A futile effort, given the speed and force of the object, but one Kakashi appreciates nonetheless.

What surprises him, however, is when the meteor passes straight through the barrier, lands in their laps with a groan, and lets out a frustrated, “Ow!”

Kakashi’s brain tries to catch up to the situation. They’re alive. They’re alive, and so is their meteor. Except it’s not a meteor, it’s a mint green man, who has appendages jutting out from his neck that dig into Kakashi’s thigh. Kakashi’s eyes rove over the man’s back, taking in the familiarity of what he is facing.

“Obito?” asks Kakashi incredulously.

“Obito?!” Tenzō repeats, his voice rising an octave. “Your Obito? Kakashi, isn’t he supposed to be dead?”

Kakashi says, before he can think much about it, “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

In answer to their questions, Obito finally rolls over, confirming what Kakashi already knew. Obito’s face and body are the same as they were at the height of the war by all accounts. Scales, tomoe, and horns decorate his body, but what draws most of his attention are the brushstrokes painted across his stomach, reading, “Love, Kaa-san~”

A hand thrown over his eyes, Obito grumbles out, “Your mother says, ‘Happy birthday,’ Bakashi.”

—

Tenzō’s first order of business is to find out how this happened. Obito’s first order of business, as soon as he is able to stand on his own two feet, is to stare at Kakashi.

“Wh— That’s— You’re handsome!” Obito accuses, outraged. He points his finger at Kakashi’s uncovered face.

It’s unclear if Kakashi’s face is flushed from the impact of Obito’s words or the impact of his body flying at them from space. “Uh, thanks,” Kakashi replies weakly.

“Can we go back to Kakashi’s mother?” Tenzō asks, waving a hand in front of them. “How many people are back from the dead?”

“Just me, so far,” says Obito, a little defensively. “Kaguya’s immortal, so it’s not like she was dead in the first place.”

“Kaguya,” Kakashi echoes flatly, eyes drifting up to the night sky. Tenzō’s gaze follows his, staring up at the moon, suddenly conscious of every moment he and Kakashi might have shared under the moon’s light. “My... mother?”

Obito claps his hands together, distracting Tenzō and Kakashi from their respective existential crises. “Right! She said this would help explain.”

Then, without preamble, Obito steps towards Kakashi, places his hands on either side of his face, and pulls him forward into a long, enthusiastic kiss. Kakashi’s hands drift upward, hovering over Obito’s sides. Though Tenzō can’t see both of Kakashi’s eyes, he does see one of them widen and shut, as a bright light pulses from Kakashi’s forehead, blowing his hair upward with an accompanying breeze. They draw apart, with half-smiles on their faces.

“Oh,” Kakashi says, as if the situation makes any more sense. He looks at Tenzō. “Can you tell him too?”

Obito nods. Tenzō tries not to jump when Obito leans towards him and their lips meet. As they do, Tenzō’s eyes are flooded with images, first of a woman with three eyes and long silver hair, and then of a man who looks just like Kakashi. The images flash quickly from the woman holding a small child, to passing through rips in the universe, to the remnants of Obito’s chakra being pulled into the moon. It is not unlike being awoken from a genjutsu.

When the last memory passes before his eyes, Tenzō pulls away and says, “You know, all she said you had to do was touch us. Any reason you chose a kiss?”

Obito’s mint green skin turns a bright shade of orange. “Hey— Well... Kakashi, help me out here.”

“It was a pretty good kiss,” Kakashi offers in reply. “Eight out of ten, at least.”

“Six and a half,” says Tenzō. “He bit my lip.”

Obito grumbles under his breath, “Some people like that,” while Kakashi laughs.

—

“Remind me again why we’re staying at Yamato’s place and not yours, Bakashi?”

Kakashi tosses a pillow at Obito, which, to Tenzō’s mild regret, he catches. “Because my place is the Hokage’s residence. Your chakra signature is too noticeable. Not to mention, the horns.”

There’s far more intrigue in Kakashi’s last few words than Tenzō finds comforting.

Obito and Tenzō lock eyes. “He looks at me judgementally,” Obito complains, pouting.

“That’s because I’m judging you,” Tenzō informs him, just a little bit amused. “Consider me your rehabilitation sponsor.”

Obito winces. “Doesn’t me dying count for something?”

Tenzō regards Obito speculatively, weighing the consequences of an honest answer. Strangely enough, the man seems sincere. One of the orbs floating by Obito’s head brushes against Tenzō’s cheek, like a sulking cat seeking attention. “No,” says Tenzō, this time smiling outright.

Tenzō brings his attention back to Kakashi. He roots through one of his utility pouches, and shortly deposits what he finds into Kakashi’s palm. “This was supposed to be a gift for you,” Tenzō explains. “But now I suppose it makes more sense to give it to both of you.”

“A key,” Kakashi observes, turning the wood over between his fingers. His mask, now back in place, doesn’t fully hide the flush creeping up.

Tenzō nods, and with a few hand seals, a duplicate is in his hands. “I like my house the way it is,” he tells Obito, closing his fist over it.

Without waiting for a reply, Tenzō crosses the room to head upstairs. Aside from Kakashi and Obito likely needing their own moment to speak, he feels the beginnings of a headache forming behind his eyes.

As his feet reach the third step, he hears Obito say, “What am I supposed to do with that?”

“You might try being helpful,” Tenzō calls out from the stairwell.

—

Obito decides to take Yamato—Tenzō, as Kakashi keeps calling him—seriously. He spends the next morning in Tenzō’s kitchen helping out. The fridge doesn’t have everything he needs, but he saves time by going out into the garden and encouraging some of the fruits to grow with his mokuton. Food hasn’t been a necessity for Obito for a few years, so he takes care in arranging it, hoping that if it isn’t tasty, it’s at least well-presented.

Obito is attempting to place seaweed on rice in an appreciable impression of a cat’s ears when Tenzō comes to stand beside him.

“Is this for Kakashi?”

“This one is for you,” Obito says, gesturing. “The other one is for Kakashi. His box has a rabbit.”

Tenzō eyes crinkle at the corners. Obito is beginning to recognize the motion for what it is, a reflection of the way Kakashi smiles, when the mask is in place. “Thank you. I can bring it to him, if you want.”

Obito mulls over the offer. “We can go together.”

“I don’t know if that’s—“

Obito closes the box, and uses his free hand to wave off Tenzō’s concerns. “Don’t worry about it. It’s too early for him to have any visitors. Besides, I want to see if he really wears those robes like Old Man Third.”

Tenzō shakes his head. “How are you planning to pass through the village unnoticed?“

Obito taps his temple, right beside his sharingan. “Kamui,” he says, both an explanation and a warning.

“Obito—”

In one fluid motion, Obito tucks a bento box in the crook of his arm and grabs Tenzō’s elbow to yank him forward. Moments later, they stand in front of Kakashi, who looks surprised but pleased.

“What brings you two here?”

“Your lunch,” Obito declares, sliding the box across his desk.

Kakashi rests one elbow on the desk, leaning his head on his palm. “What’s the occasion?”

“I didn’t give you a gift,” Obito says, and then freezes.

At once, both he and Kakashi realize what Obito has said. Kakashi is looking at him the same way he did the night before. His stricken look and doubt from the war is gone, replaced by something warmer and softer. Obito feels his face heat up.

“There’s nothing you need to give me,” Kakashi says quietly. He hasn’t stopped looking at Obito.

“I want to,” Obito tells him honestly. It feels freeing to say it.

Kakashi finally breaks their gaze. “That’s good to hear,” is what he says, reaching for the bento box. Their fingers brush.

Though Obito can feel Tenzō looking at them, he finds himself distracted in Kakashi’s face. The war feels only like yesterday to Obito, but he can see new lines on Kakashi’s face that hadn’t been there before. Lines beside his eyes to accompany his smile, a tan line peeking up from where his mask has not sat evenly on his face, and a line between his brows that reminds Obito he is standing in front of the Sixth Hokage.

“Kakashi, I—”

What Obito is going to say, even he cannot predict, but he is spared from answering by the door to Kakashi’s office suddenly bursting open.

“Sakura, Sai,” Kakashi greets the two teenagers casually, as if there is not a six-foot-tall formerly dead rogue ninja in his office. “What’s going on?”

Sakura stares, disbelief written on her face. “I could ask the same question.”

“It’s a long story,” Tenzō says, raising his hands in a warding gesture.

The boy, who must be Sai, blinks, looking oddly unaffected. “Kakashi-sama, is this some kind of test?”

“Would you believe it if I said yes?” Kakashi asks.

Sakura gives him a withering look. “Not even a little bit.”

Though Sakura is the one Obito expects to be gawking at him, given that she was present when he died, her ire is directed towards her teacher. It is Sai who looks at him with focused curiosity. Well, Obito supposes people don’t encounter a jinchuriki with his appearance every day. “If you have something to ask, just say it,” Obito tells him.

“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” Sai inquires seriously. He has a sketchpad in his hands, as if he were intending to take notes.

“Why are you alive?” Sakura asks, reasonably.

“It was Kakashi’s birthday yesterday,” he explains, before Tenzō grabs his arm and phases them both through the wooden floor.

—

“Just stay put for now,” Tenzō demands, when they arrive in his back garden. “We’re lucky it was those two. If Sasuke or Naruto were in the village right now, there would’ve been much more of a scene.”

Obito sits down on the engawa, feet sinking into the grass. “I was just helping out,” he says, shrugging.

Tenzō takes a seat beside him. “Help less obviously.”

“Kakashi wouldn’t take my apology,” Obito replies quietly. He brushes his fingers over a dandelion, letting it grow taller and wilder in his grasp. “But he would take my lunch. I know he still has thoughts about my past, but he won’t say anything about it. He just keeps looking at me like...”

“...He’s happy that you’re alive?” Tenzō suggests. “He is. Believe me, he doesn’t look at just anyone like that.”

“He looks at you like that.”

Though his expression doesn’t change, Obito doesn’t need a sharingan to pick up the redness in Tenzō’s cheeks. “It’s complicated.”

“Am I complicating it?” Obito asks sincerely.

“A little,” Tenzō admits, to Obito’s surprise. The other man chuckles. “But I think you’d be complicating it whether you were alive or not. And I like to see him happy.”

The words make Obito’s stomach tighten in a pleasant way. He takes a moment to take stock of his companion. It is easy enough to see what Kakashi sees in him, in his honest feelings, determination and loyalty. It makes Obito wonder if they can make whatever this is work after all.

“I’m sorry for what happened during the war,” Obito tells him. “For what I did to you. I know what it’s like to be used. It doesn’t change anything, but—”

“It does,” Tenzō interjects calmly. “It helps.”

Obito wants to say something more, but both of them turn their attention to the woods, feeling a familiar chakra presence rushing at them at full speed.

“That’s not...”

“It is,” Tenzō confirms. “Well, this was bound to happen eventually.”

With that, a green blur rolls straight past Tenzō’s wards and jerks to a halt right at the edge of Tenzō’s property. “Yamato, my youthful friend!! Is it true that you and my rival are now living together in hot-blooded cohabitation?”

“Does he really not notice me?” Obito mutters. Tenzō kicks him.

“Not exactly, Gai,” Tenzō calls out. “He’s free to come and go as he pleases.”

Gai, who looks every bit as energetic as ever, pushes his wheelchair closer to them. “Yosh!! Just like Kakashi!” Gai replies. “He wants to train harder before taking that next step.”

When he is at arm’s length from the house, Gai turns his stare to Obito, narrowing his eyes with a concerned frown.

“Hey Gai,” Obito says, waving.

Gai lets out a thoughtful hum. “Yamato, your comrade seems... familiar. Have we met before?”

“Seriously?!” Obito exclaims.

This time, Tenzō elbows Obito. “Gai, I’m not sure if he looked like this that last time you saw him, but this is Obito. He's come back from... somewhere.”

Gai’s smile fades. The seriousness in his expression looks out of place. “I see.”

Obito takes a deep breath, and stands up. He bows his head a little, half in contrition and half because he thinks Gai would rather not look at him. “I’m sorry. Kakashi told me that Naruto’s friend, the Hyuga boy, was your student. I know that doesn’t change what I did, but you deserve to hear me say it. I wish I could bring him back—”

“Neji?” Gai interrupts him, his voice shaky.

Obito offers one quick nod. “Yes, if I could’ve done things differently, I would—”

“Neji,” says Tenzō beside him, sounding shocked. “Obito, what did you do?”

It surprises Obito that Tenzō hasn’t already heard this story from Kakashi. He lifts his head to reply, when suddenly he catches sight of the source of their surprise. Standing beside Gai, unscathed, is the Hyuga boy who Obito had certainly impaled with mokuton.

“Gai-sensei?” Neji asks, stepping unsteadily towards his teacher. “What happened?”

“Neji!” Gai says again, pulling his student down into a tight hug. Gai’s eyes are full of tears, but his grin is blinding. “You’re alive!”

“Not if you keep crushing me like this,” Neji wheezes, but he returns his teacher’s embrace, pressing his face to Gai’s shoulder. Some of the weight in the air finally lifts off, and for a moment, there is peace.

And then the moment passes. Tenzō’s hand comes down firmly on Obito’s shoulder, turning them to face each other. “Obito,” he repeats soberly. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Obito yelps. “All I said was that I wish I could take back what I’d done to the Hyuga kid—”

Tenzō eyes him doubtfully. “And that was all it took? Listen, I wish that I could bring Asuma back, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to show up at our next Mahjong game.”

Obito wishes this level of suspicion was unwarranted, but he supposes his track record is less than stellar. “I don’t know what happened, alright? If you don’t believe me, ask the kid.”

“Neji,” Tenzō asks, with far more patience in his voice than he had with Obito, “what’s the last thing you remember?”

“The war,” Neji says, finally escaping Gai’s hug. He thinks for a moment, and then frowns. “And then some strange woman who claimed she knew Kakashi-sensei.”

Obito and Tenzō look at each other. And somehow, from across the village in the Sarutobi District, the wind carries out three piercing screams.

—

When Kakashi gets to Tenzō’s place that night, Obito is already fast asleep on the sofa, sitting up straight with his mouth wide open. One of the orbs that is always surrounding him bumps against Kakashi’s hand, not unlike Kakashi’s ninken do to greet him. Tugging the blanket over Obito’s shoulders, Kakashi smiles. “You’ve made a lot of paperwork for me, you know,” he tells his sleeping friend. Obito mumbles something in reply unconsciously, and Kakashi ruffles his hair, sighing.

“You can’t give him all the blame,” Tenzō points out, emerging from the kitchen with his hands on his hips. “It’s a full moon this week. Strange things tend to happen.”

Kakashi laughs. “You, defending Obito? It didn’t take him long to win you over.”

Tenzō approaches him, settling a hand between Kakashi’s shoulder blades, a soothing warmth. “Only on a trial basis.”

Kakashi closes his eyes. “You realize, as Hokage, I oversee all shinobi trials.”

He feels Tenzō laugh at his back, the hand drifting to his side. “Maybe Obito was right, this system is corrupt.”

“You can admit that you’re enjoying having him around, Tenzō,” Kakashi baits, tugging him towards the sofa.

“I find his absurdity disarming,” Tenzō confesses. “It’s similar to how I feel around you sometimes, actually.”

Kakashi pulls Tenzō down so that he can sandwich himself between the two mokuton users. “I’ll choose to take that as a compliment.”

Tenzō leans on Kakashi, just as Kakashi leans on Obito. “You would.”

Obito opens one eye. “You shouldn’t talk about me like I’m not here,” he mumbles, through a yawn.

“Go back to sleep,” Kakashi says, patting him on the cheek.

For once, Obito listens. And so, tangled on the sofa is how they find themselves the next morning, when all three of them awake to a glowing purple egg gleaming innocently on Tenzō’s coffee table.

#kakaobiyama #kakayamaobi #kakashi hatake #yamato tenzo #obito uchiha #might guy #kagumo #(in the background lmao)#team 7 #naruto series #mine #ayesha talks anime #collaboration #sloaners #sending big hearts ur way sloane #my obito is always dedicated to u

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sunshineseung · 4 years ago

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Royalty // Lee Know

💌 Info: Stray Kids Lee Know x female!reader smut 💕 Includes: beginning fluff/plot, praise, pet names, possession, pussy worship, blowjob (receiving), fingering, unprotected sex ✏️ Word Count: ~4k

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Citizens lined the streets, cheering and chanting for their new queen. The royal carriage made its way down the road, the king and queen waving to the crowd with bright smiles.

You watched the parade from inside the small shop you worked at. Your mother, the owner, yelled at you from across the store, "get back to work!" You hazily continued to mop the wooden floor, but in your head, you’re dreaming of what could have been.

The new queen was a friend of your mother's, but after some heated arguments, they parted ways. The new queen's son, Minho, was your childhood best friend, but you had hardly spoken in recent years.

To see him waving to his people from inside the carriage as the new prince made your mind spin. The idea that you were once friends with the most coveted man in the city absolutely blew your mind. When you told people of this, they were quick to ask about the prince's childhood, with your only reply being "I don't remember much. We were both kids!"

He would seldom come into your family shop to buy necessities, but whenever he would visit, you would always catch him staring at you, eyes full of sorrow and regret. You'd wonder if he could be in the same boat as you: lonely, hoping for a friendship, even one long gone.

You didn't choose to go down different paths; it just happened. And now there you stood in your family store, sweeping away dust, wondering what could have been if you had just kept ties with the newly crowned Prince Minho.

"The nerve of her," your mother says under her breath while restocking shelves, "marrying the king after what she did. Absolutely shameless."

Minho's mother, also known as the Queen, slept with your father while your parents were married. Yes, taboo, but it's what ultimately broke friendships, both your mother's friendship with the Queen and your friendship with Minho. Deep resentment resided within your mother, but you just wanted to see Minho again.

You'd often lash out on your mother, her broken friendship being the reason for your coddling. She wouldn't let you leave as a child, fearing you would get snatched up by your father and taken away to the neighboring kingdom where he moved. After your falling out with Minho, you grew up with no friends until recently when you were hired at your mother's store.

The few people you interacted with there customers, some becoming your acquaintances after several of their visits, but none of them are truly your friends. You dreamed of leaving the town and moving to the forest, building your own house, and living a small, simple life, but you never had the courage to run away.

After the parade celebrating the new additions to the royal family, you got a letter. It was addressed specifically to you, marked with the bright red royal wax seal. Your heart dropped when you got the letter, and your mother was obviously fuming. You had to open it when she wasn't in the room.

"Dear Y/n L/n," the letter read, "It's with great honor that the royal family invites you to our celebration ball."

Your face is glowing, even through you believe every girl in the village received this letter. Upon further inquiring of your peers, you were the only one of them invited. Considering you weren't rich or well-known, you knew exactly why you were invited to the ball: Prince Minho.

The date was set and your dress was ready. Your mother allowed you to miss work, even considering what you were missing work for. You strolled up to the castle, and you realized what kind of party this was going to be.

There were girls from all across the land. They were all wearing expensive dresses, likely tailored for each girl, and they all had one thing on their mind: marrying the princes. What you had thought was an average party turned out to be a ball for Minho's suitors, which begs the question, why are you here?

Before you're able to turn around and leave, the guards close the massive front gate, actively trapping everyone inside the castle walls. The courtyard was full of large ball gowns and even larger hair making it hard to maneuver to the only thing on your mind: the food.

Most of the girls tonight are wearing corsets or bustiers, which gives you the perfect opportunity to eat as much as you want. Although your dress wasn't perfectly tailored or expensive, it made you stand out. While the party was full of women with hoop skirts and petticoats, you wore a slim, knee-high dress, which was a big no-no in the majority of the kingdom who valued modesty and conservativeness in women.

While at the table, you feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn around to see a hooded figure with an indistinguishable face. They grab your wrist, but since your mouth had food in it, you couldn't scream. The hooded figure drags you around a wall to a secluded hallway leading to a guarded door.

"Trust me," says the voice. Considering how boring this party was, you blindly trust the voice and follow them to the door. They nod to the guards, and the guards nod back, opening the doors.

The doors reveal a small, enclosed garden with a koi pond and a white gazebo. They takes your hand and guide you to a marble bench next to the pond. While you're looking at the fish, the figures takes their hood off. Your heart stops beating when you see a pair of familiar brown eyes looking at you.

"Hey, Y/n. It's been awhile, hasn't it?" His voice is low, almost a whisper. Your focus darts from the pond to the prince. You're totally speechless, but he giggles at your flustered reaction. "I know this isn't what you were expecting tonight, but I honestly do miss you. I just wanted to see you again."

His smile is warm enough to melt your heart, and his kind eyes loll you into a sense of comfort.

"I wanted to see you again as well, Min- I mean, your highness." You laugh at yourself, hoping Minho didn't catch your slip up. He laughs as well, but he doesn't mind your slip up.

"I can still hear the music from the courtyard." Minho looks up into the sky, the lightest sounds from the band making their way into the secret garden. He stands up and holds his hand out, hoping for you to get the hint. "May I have this dance?"

You take his hand, and he whisks you away into the gazebo. Your hands gently find their way onto his shoulders and his neck, and he grips your waist ever so lightly. You smile at each other, the both of you fully aware of the absurdness of the situation.

"You know, I don't want to be prince." Minho's face dips in mood, the twinkle in his eyes fading away in an instant. "I just want to be a townsperson with y-"

"Minho," you cut him off, "You're going to be the best prince this town has ever seen. And whenever you don't feel like being the prince, I'll always be in the store awaiting your visit."

"Oh, so now you're okay with calling me Minho?" He chuckles, and your cheeks begin to burn red. "I should have come talked to you sooner."

"Just be glad we're here now."

You continue to gently dance with the boy, feet getting tangled together every so often. His pace is calming, and your bodies are perfectly in sync with the music from the band.

"Y/n, they're making me get married." His facial expression dips again. You can tell from his eyes darting downward that he's full of overwhelming thoughts. You cup his cheek in your hand, forcing him to meet your gaze. "I'm so scared."

"If you don't want to get married, you need to tell your parents that." Your advice is harsh, but you're truly trying your best. You two have stopped moving, totally ignoring the music.

"I have. They don't listen. They're making me marry a princess from another kingdom. I... I shouldn't be telling you this." His eyes go cold, the usual confident Minho returning for a moment. "We could get in trouble for being here."

"I'm willing to get in trouble if it means you have someone to talk to, Minho." Your eyes stare deeply into his. Silence washes over you two, both from the lack of conversation and the halting of the band. Without realizing it, your bodies are drawn closer together, faces inches apart.

"I know we just met again after years, but I want to spend my life with you, Y/n. I don't want to be here." His voice is low again, this time sending shivers down your spine from how physically close he is to you. "Let's run away."

"Are you crazy?" You retort, shaking your head. "There's nothing I want more than to run away, but your idea will get us both killed."

"I need you." His words are desperate, and your heart aches for him. To see your childhood friend in such pain breaks your heart.

However, his eyes dip down to your lips, and his expression goes from cold and emotional to dark and lustful. Seeing his face change so drastically makes your heart beat out of your chest. Suddenly, your nerves are on edge, and you feel his hot breath against your skin.

"May I... babe?" His soft words hit you off guard, and you look up to him with agape lips. You slowly nod your head, and your sign of consent is enough for him to bring you into a long kiss. It doesn't take much time for his tongue to slip into your mouth, your tongues exploring each other.

It wasn't until this moment that you realize how unbearably hot he is. His tight pants and buttoned shirt fit him perfectly, and the dark, velvety blue compliments his skin nicely. His face is that of a god, and his hair is soft to the touch. He's such a great sight to take in.

He pulls away, your spit creating a rope between each other's lips. You take a moment to catch your breath, and you make eye contact with Minho.

"Let's go inside, shall we?" He holds his hand out as he did to offer you a dance, but this time his expression wasn't nearly as sweet.

"As you wish, your highness." You curtsy to him jokingly, your tight dress riding up as you bent over to bow. You both chuckle at your remark, but Minho harshly bites his lip hearing you call him your highness in a lower tone than before. You take his hand, and once again, you're wicked away into unknown territory.

Minho takes you through a side door in the walled garden, and the door leads to a hallway within the castle. The halls are empty since all of the guards are at the party, so the two of you easily make your way to what you assume to be Minho's room. There's very few possessions in his room, and it hardly looks lived in aside from the disheveled bedsheets. You don't have much time to look around though, as Minho lightly pushes you onto the bed, looking down at you. Your legs spread without you thinking, and you suddenly feel shyness wash over you.

Minho, in an attempt to calm your obvious nerves, leans over and kisses you. The kiss is passionate, and you love the feeling of his hand roaming around your body. His hands circle your tits, but never go up to meet your nipples. His hand are caring, and his kiss is soft. Your worried melt away, and when your lips part from his, you're met with a smirking, horny prince positioned between your legs.

"You're going to be my princess tonight, baby. All mine." His gaze is dark, and you can't help but moan at his words. He gets down on his knees and pulls you towards his face at the edge of the bed. His grip on your thighs is tight, and he moves your dress up just enough to reveal your panties. "Dripping already, are we?" His index finger grazes your hole over your panties, forcing another moan out of you. The Minho eye-level with your cunt was completely different from the Minho you'd just kissed seconds earlier, but you liked it.

"I-I'm sorry, I couldn't help it." You didn't realize how wet you were until you felt your sopping panties press against you from Minho's finger. He blows against your clothed pussy, making you wince from the sudden stimulation. He laughs at your shocked reaction, and you feel your body heat up with embarrassment.

Minho hooks his finger around your panties and pull them down your legs, exposing your sensitive slit. "Fuck, your cunt is so beautiful." He eyes your heat, licking his lips at the sight of it. You rotate your hips, signaling him to touch you, but he just massages your thighs by making light circles with his thumbs. "You look delicious, princess."

His tongue makes a stripe up your pussy, making you jolt from the pleasure. Minho is taking his time with you, teasing you and sucking your skin. He's sure to lick up all of your juices, humming in response to your sweet taste. You're attempting to hold back moans, but as his tongue violates your cunt and your orgasm grows closer, high-pitched sounds escape your throat.

"I love your pussy so much." Minho is not shy to praising you, and you mewl after his every word. His fingers tease your entrance, threatening to enter you at any moment. You push yourself against his hand, and your pussy is clenching around nothing. You're so needy for him.

Per your silent but evident request, Minho gently pushes his middle finger inside your cunt, and he feels your walls tighten around his single digit. You move your hips in sync with his hand, and when he bends his finger upwards, he perfectly graces or g-spot, making you moan his name aloud.

"You feel so good, Minho." You look down at him, and his mouth is covered in your essence. The sight is enough to make you bite down on your lip almost hard enough to draw blood. He looks so hot under you, and the pleasure from his finger inside you and his tongue on your clit is enough to send you over the edge. "I'm so close."

Minho inserts a second finger into you, and his hand starts thrusting into you at a faster pace than before. His fingers scissor open and closed, and before you know it, you're cumming on his fingers, having one of the most intense orgasms you've ever had.

Through your orgasm, Minho continues to finger your and suck on your clit, and when you're done, he sucks every last drop of you off of his fingers. Your legs are shaking while he plants light kisses against your inner thighs.

"You did great, princess." Minho sits up and hovers over you, leaning down to bring you into a kiss. The taste of yourself against his lips makes you wet all over again, and you're needy for even more of the prince.

Minho motions for you to sit up, and you gladly follow his orders and flip your dress over your head, exposing your entire form to him. His jaw goes slack at the sight of your body, and he makes sure you know he loves every inch.

"My beautiful princess," he says as he traces his hands on your sides, outlining your figure. His cold hands send chills down your spine, but his praise makes it all okay. You know you can trust him.

"I think it's your turn, my prince." Hearing you call him prince makes his heart flutter, and that only makes his member harder. Your hands make their way to Minho's chest to unbutton his shirt all the way, revealing his abs. You run your finger down his chest and abs to the hem of his pants, and he hisses from your touch.

Minho smoothly pushes you back onto the bed, your head coming in contact with his pillows. He stands up off of the side of the bed and pulls down his tight pants, putting on a show for you. The bulge is his underwear is evident, and you see a wet mark from his precum. He pulls his boxers down, his erect member hitting against his abs. You close your legs together in an attempt to satisfy the slightest bit of need from your dripping pussy, but Minho is quick to position himself over you and pull your legs apart by your knees.

"Ready, babe?" He runs his tip through your folds, getting your wetness to coat the head of his cock. You nod eagerly, already biting your lip. His tip hooks on your clit, and you buck your hips up at him.

"Please fuck me, Minho. I need your cock so bad." The words flow out of your mouth as if you're used to being a sex toy for the prince. Minho grips your hips tightly as he pushes his member into you, stretching you out and filling you up completely. You let out the most pornographic moan, and a deep groan leaves his lips. He feels your tight cunt convulsing around him which only makes him want to drive into you more.

He throws your leg over his shoulder giving him the chance to pound into you even deeper. Sweat beats roll down his face from his forehead as he rolls his hips in sync with yours. His cock rams into your g-spot every time, causing slick sounds from your cunt to fill the room along with your shared moans.

"Princess," Minho coos to you, "you're so damn gorgeous." He cups your cheek and kisses you passionately, still rutting his cock into you. The intoxicating taste of Minho's spit mixed with the overwhelming feeling of his cock brings you up to your second orgasm. "You wanna cum on my cock, baby?"

Your nods are desperate, and the only sound able to leave your mouth are choked moans and pleads. Minho pounds into you even harder than before trying to coax your orgasm out of you. Your eyes roll back in your head as you tighten around him and coat his member in your cum. The string of expletives and moans that come out of your mouth give Minho all the boost he needs to thrust once more into you and cum, coating your insides with his semen.

"Fuck, Minho," you draw out, "I love your cum inside me." With one finger, Minho plays with your clit as he pulls out of you, releasing a loud grunt once his cock is fully out of you.

"You did so good, babygirl." Minho rests his body next to you and pulls you into him. "I don't want this to be the last time I see you."

"It won't be the last time you see me, don't worry." You rest your head on his chest and take in the scent of sweat and sex in the room. You catch your breath with his, chests rising and sinking in unison. It doesn't take long for a disturbing knock to scare both of you.

"Sir Minho, you've been requested in the courtyard by your mother." A guard stands outside, assuming Minho is alone in his room. "Your bride is awaiting your arrival."

"I'll be out in a minute!" Minho yells out to the guard. The footsteps outside of the room grow farther away, and Minho sits up at the edge of the bed and puts his head in his hands. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Minho. This isn't your fault." You sit next to him and pet his back in an attempt to calm him. "Let's get dressed, shall we?"

You take his hand and lead him to the pile of discarded clothes. You slip your dress back on, and Minho solemnly slides his old clothes back on before heading towards the door.

You smile at him as you two exit his room, the cool air from the damp hallway nipping at your legs. You cling onto Minho's arm, unaware of the layout of the castle.

"Go through this side door. I'll meet you in the courtyard." Minho gestures towards a small, wooden door.

"What about your bride?"

"Don't worry about her. I'll deal with it." Minho looks off to the end of the hall, unable to make eye contact with you. "I'll write you letters."

You give him a light kiss on the cheek as a goodbye and make your way to the door. Minho clenched his fists as he makes his way to the main gate.

You sneak your way through corridors into the courtyard again. The king and queen are on the top of the stairway in front of the main gate into the castle. They seem so happy for parents who forced their child into an arranged marriage.

"Now, we're proud to reveal, prince Lee Minho!" The gates swing open to reveal Minho, hair disheveled and pants on crooked. His shirt is wrinkled and partially buttoned. Despite his appearance, the girls in the crowd scream for him, and you sit back and watch.

Minho joins the partygoers, and you hardly see him through the groups of girls surrounding him. As the party goes on late into the night, you're about to leave, but Minho catches you heading towards the gate and yells to you.

"Goodbye, princess!" Minho yells over the adoring group of women around him, and they all gasp and turn around to you. You blush and run to the door before anyone can ask you questions about why the prince just called you his princess.

Days pass. You receive several letters from Minho, all with the royal wax seal. You hide them from your mother, partially because of the obvious red seal, and partially because of the contents of the letters.

Although some letters were romantic, other letters described in great detail what Minho wanted to do to your body when you two were alone again.

And when the sun sets and the moon rises, I hope to find your body under mind, shaking in my presence, heat wet with arousal. Your moans will sound like a symphony to me. My body is longing for yours, princess. To feel your lips against mine would be enough for my aching member and even more aching heart. Tuesday at 8. I'll be at your window, my love.

Sure enough, Tuesday at 8, he was waiting for you.

Who knew the prince would be so rebellious.

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#stray kids #skz #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fan fiction #skz fanfic #skz fan fiction #stray kids smut #skz smut #kpop smut #kpop fan fiction #kpop fanfic #kpop #skz minho #stray kids minho #skz lee know #stray kids lee know #skz minho smut

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ghost-of-winters-past · 4 years ago

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lost in outer space

summary: When Odins‘ death opened up the gates to hell, Thor, Loki and you ended up stranded on a strange planet with no way home. With Hela claiming the throne of Asgard and the prophesied Ragnarok, you and your brothers were left to fight for your survival on Sakaar while trying to come up with a plan to save everything you’ve ever known. But when Thor suddenly went missing, you couldn’t take the impending doom anymore and turn to Loki for comfort.

characters: Loki, fem!reader (siblings)

warnings/synopsis: during Thor Ragnarok (spoilers), slight mentions of death/loss and trauma, slight angst, one or two swear words, it gets fluffy though. This is you being comforted by your favourite brother. Requested by the wonderful @superwhoflarrow123 Thank you again for being so understanding why this took a little longer! I really hope you like it! (roughly 1.7k words)

The walls of your room were an ugly bright booger green. A futuristic bed with sort of retro patterned orange sheets was placed next to a floor to ceiling window overlooking the landscape of Sakaar. In the distance, trash was stacked up high enough to touch the clouds, and to your feet container like looking buildings were littering the planets‘ surface like thrown out cardboard boxes. The sky was a hazy storm grey, only a handful of brightly coloured air crafts and weirdly shaped skyscrapers breaking up the murky and metallic smelling air. This definitely was one of the less pretty planets you had ever been on. Granted you weren’t here because Sakaar had been your dream destination – up until your stranding here you had never even heard o fit – but because your secret evil sister took over your home planet. Your father having a secret fourth child probably was the most normal thing that had happened to your family so far though, that he locked her up in hell less so. Now that both of your parents were gone, you didn’t intend to make amends and play happy little family with Hela. She did try to kill you and your brothers after all and you felt like that didn’t really qualify for a second chance.

You didn’t know how long you had been tumbling through space like a plastic bag, only that when you landed face down in a pile of space waste, you were alone. You didn’t know where your brothers were or frankly where you happened to be, but after wandering through the sea of garbage for a while, you learned fast that you weren’t as welcome as you had hoped. You were electro-shocked, thrown into a funky looking aircraft and shipped off into imprisonment. At least that was what you were expecting. Instead, you were met with a weird guy in gold sparkly tunics and piercing eyes and only because he decided to keep you around as leverage, you were given a room and the chance to wash up.

It could have been between a couple of days and a week, you really had no clue, time felt weird here when you were attending one of the Grandmasters‘ lavish parties and news arrived that someone else had arrived. You were equally relieved and frustrated as you watched Loki walking into the room, head held high and about a dozen armed guards trailing behind him. At least he didn’t end up on the other side of the galaxy or even worse, dead and even though you were relieved that you wouldn’t be alone in this freak show anymore you could see it on his face, that he didn’t exactly come to your rescue. You had quickly realized what the Grandmaster did with most prisoners and then had to watch him circle your brother like a hunter its prey, already expecting to have to either fight or plea for Lokis life. But only for him to smirk at Loki and then turn around to the woman next to him saying, “He’s pretty, let’s keep him.”

Thor arrived two weeks later but didn’t seem to have the same luck as Loki and you did. He was put into a cell under the gladiator arena while you two needed to keep up appearances. It was almost impossible to get a chance to speak with him. Not only because you were physically not allowed to even go near his cell, but also because when Loki used his magic to visit him he didn’t seem very cooperative. And so the two of you had no choice but to leave him to fight his way out – as usual – while you started to forge a plan.

Everything seemed to go well all things considered. Loki weaselled his way into the Grandmasters‘ trusted circle, trying to find out more about how to leave the planet, while you mentally connected with Heimdall back home. Hela was wracking havoc raising an undead army and threatening to kill everyone who got in her way and you knew you were running out of time. Knowing that at least you weren’t alone, that at least for once in many years you and your brother all were in one place was your only solace.

“What do you mean with: he’s gone?” “Lost. Vanished. Vaporized into thin air. Nowhere to be seen.” Mouth slightly agape with shock you couldn’t believe what Loki had just told you. “But we had a plan!” Your brother only shrugged and you could already feel a headache forming. Cursing under your breath you massaged your temples with your pointer fingers, trying to make sense of the situation. “So our dear brother got lost on a planet where all the lost things end up?” you had your eyes closed, fingers still rubbing circles into your skin and trying not to freak out. “It seems as if someone would be able to do that, it’s Thor,” Loki said. Your eyes shot upon and you let your hands fall to your sides. “Are you joking?” you snapped, stunned at how little concerned he seemed. “I worked out a deal with the Grandmaster to find him, but he also put that little Valkyrie on it. We have to find him first or I’m afraid he will end up somewhere far worse than the cells,” he explained. “I can’t believe this.” Shaking your head you let yourself plop down onto the edge of your bed. “It’s not like he’s dead,” Loki tried to console you but it did little to calm your nerves. In fact, it only added to the anger that had been building up ever since you landed on this damn planet. “No, Loki. I’m sure he’s not.” You stood up again and raiseed your head to meet him at eye-level. “But you know what? Him going missing is just the cherry on top of what I needed.” Loki was eyeing you warily, his almost bored gaze suddenly beginning to warm up a little. “Are you okay?” he suddenly asked with a gentle voice that almost brought you to tears. “No! I’m not fucking okay! Our father just died, granted he wasn’t my favourite parent and he could be an asshole at times, but he was our father! And as if that wasn’t enough we find out we have a secret diabolic demon sister who is head bend on getting her revenge on someone who's already dead!” you were screaming out the last part, the absurdity of the whole situation just kicking in. Loki looked like he wanted to say something, but you weren’t finished. “But wait, there’s more! We’re stranded on a planet we’ve never even heard of in over a thousand years of being alive and we neither have a space ship to escape nor our brother apparently, who, if I have to remind you, is the fucking heir to the fucking throne!”

You knew you were being unfair, Thor may have put the blame on Loki, but you knew, that all of you and especially your father were equally to blame. But in the end that wouldn’t help the situation so you didn’t try to start a discussion about whose fault this really was. Your chest was heaving and you felt like a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulders just getting all of this out, but you started to regret your harsh tone as soon you saw Lokis‘ face fall. “I know,” he said and suddenly wrapped his arms around you. Loki wasn’t a big hugger so this was very new but not unwelcome. “All of this is pure shit and I’m sorry you have to go through all of this. I’ll make it right, I promise, darling,” he said as he carefully rested his chin on top of your head. Great, now you really felt bad. “I didn’t mean it like that,” you mumbled and hid your face in the cold leather spanned over the expanse of his chest. Your voice was slightly muffled as you continued, enclosing your arms behind his back. “It’s not your fault. It’s just too much. Thor has gone off without us, we have no real way out of here and whether it’s Hela or Ragnarok, we’re gonna lose our home. I mean, why even try at this point?” “Don’t say that,” Loki argued, loosened the hug and held you at arm's length to look at your face, fingers slightly digging into the flesh of your upper arms. He could see the tears threatening to spill and put on a firm, but gentle face. “We can’t give up. That’s your home Hela is invading. We can fight her. We can win.” “How can you be so sure?” you croaked out, a salty tear finally rolling down your heated cheek. Loki smiled faintly, thumb brushing away another tear and his blue eyes full of determination. “We always win.” You tried to believe him, you really did but realistically, what were your chances against a whole army? “What would you do, if you were to give up? Stay here?” Loki tried a different approach and looked around the room in disgust. Just the thought alone of staying on this garbage dump made you shiver with revulsion. A small smile tugged at his lips. “We’re gonna find Thor, I promise. And then we’ll make right what has gone wrong and you never have to think about this place or Hela ever again, okay?” You took a deep breath, running the back of your hand over your cheeks to dry the wet skin. “Okay,” you then said, voice a little shaky but you were finally calming down again. Loki always had this effect on you. Even when you were kids, he would always comfort you when you were feeling angry or upset and you were glad that after everything that had happened in the last years, at least that hadn’t changed. “Okay,” he repeated and tugged you against his chest again. Your fingers curled into the leather, just to make sure, he wouldn’t disappear too. “Thank you, Loki,” you mumbled and closed your eyes, breathing in his familiar scent. Lokis hands were splayed out over your back when he leaned back a little and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I love you, my darling sister.” And you knew, everything would be okay again. You would find Thor and then your little family would finally return home. Together.

#loki laufeyson #mcu #thor ragnarok #tom hiddleston #marvel #marvel fandom #avengers #one shot #reader insert #request #siblings #family #odinson #hela #sakaar #angst #fluff

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westmoor · 4 years ago

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and above the lilies weep (2/2)

< Part One

The door screeched loud enough to wake the dead when Geralt finally wrenched it open.

Forcing the hinges to give and stepping inside, the noon light filtered in through clouds of dust kicked up by his movements and the sudden draft. Seven decades of disuse permeated each musty whiff of breath but the interior looked in otherwise good repair, despite most locals being too scared to spend a night there it still saw some use as day shelter when local shepherds collected their flocks from summer grazing.

The single room within was sufficient, if not spacious, for its purpose - small enough to be efficiently heated by the tall turf hearth bricked into the far wall. A spare stack of sods filled the space under the bed on the right-hand side, overhung by lofty shelves creating a rather cosy alcove. Beneath a small window on the opposite wall stood a rough wooden table and a rickety chair, and a short bench took up the last of the space.

Before he could set his pack down on the narrow bench to properly examine his lodgings, the first droplets of rain tapped the tiny windowpane. By the time he dug out some candles and kindling, it had built to a steady thrumming.

He decided against a more thorough search of the perimeter, the lack of elevation leaving miles unobscured to a simple glance and the premise of the stories suggested any disruption would seek him out if it so intended, and instead set about organizing his supplies and settling in for the long evening ahead.

Daylight faded quickly, driven away by darkening clouds blown in from the northeast and the wind picking up to whip against the sheltering walls. They were thick, however, and once the turf got burning a single candle was enough to keep the encroaching night at bay for a while longer.

Rifling through the few possessions left by previous inhabitants he went to yank the heap of rags and blankets from the bed, meaning to hang them up and chase out what moisture had settled there. While not intending to sleep on the job he could at least lay down flat to meditate, make the most of whatever rest was offered.

Something rattled. He paused.

Pulling more carefully and divesting the cloths on the floor, he bent to investigate the wooden bench of the bedframe. Upon some prodding the innermost board came loose and uncovered a hollow space beneath, hidden from the rest of the room by the pile of turf cut for burning. The darkness of the recess from the shine of the light was a challenge even for his eyes, and he reached in blindly, bending and searching until his fingertips brushed a smooth, solid object. Gingerly wrapping his fingers around that of it which he could reach, he hoisted it into the light.

It was a lute.

A valuable lute even, by the looks of it, elven made or a decent copy of elven made if the elaborate carvings were anything to go by.

Geralt knew little of music and less about instruments, but he did know craftsmanship, and turning it over in his hands he saw quality not just in the intricacies of the pattern weaving across its body but in the wood itself, in the make and fit of each individual component. At first glance it seemed almost new, unblemished and gleaming, but inspection soon rectified that impression: It wasn’t unused as much as it was well-used, tended to and cared for by one whose hands knew how to properly maintain it, like a smith’s favourite hammer or his own silver sword, old but not worn down by age.

Later, he would have no concept of how long he stood as entranced, weighing it in his hands and pondering the whereabouts of its owner. There had been a musician involved in the first incident, he recalled, but that notion was quickly pushed aside. That would’ve made it near a century old, and drought and moisture, the rise and fall of the seasons should’ve long since contorted the wood, warping the neck or snapping the pegs from their holdings. One of the shepherds then, maybe, an unusually gifted one. People met so many odd fates.

He turned it over once more, strings sharp under his fingertips as if daring him to strum but he kept them fixed - even in this solitude it seemed a violation to tinker with an instrument so clearly possessed by another.

Instead, he set it gently down on the bench by the table, leaned it upright against the stone wall. And then he turned back to the sheets and blankets, flipped and spread them out for the heat to take hold.

Nothing seemed in a rush to disturb him, and Geralt was glad for it. Although he should be pushing to progress his current undertaking and move on to the next contract - ideally a little closer to civilization and for a far better salary - perhaps at least the miller had spoken truly: He might just be in for a quiet and peaceful night, undeniably comfortable as warmth seeped into every enclosed corner and crevice, and soon enough he had the thick waft of brewing mutton stew to go with it.

He had pushed the old chair back against the wall and sat at an angle from the door, let his eyes fall shut. Those weapons not attached to his person were within easy reach and no sight was required to find them should anything succeed in catching him unaware.

Instead, his attention drifted to the hiss and crackle of the fire and the stew slowly thickening in its hanging pot. Of the fabled music of the moor he heard nothing, save for the howling of the gales through the tall chimney, what had earlier been a stiff breeze now battering and breaking against rough but sturdy walls like a great starving beast.

Knowledge of what wreckage such weather would’ve wrought on a common camp made shelter all the sweeter, and despite himself, Geralt sunk into it how one might sink into a steaming bath.

Tension seeped from taut shoulders, but the more he leaned into the quiet the more disconcerting it became. The sounds of fire and food, of his own heartbeat and breathing, should be enough to fill the small room but they weren’t, it sounded to his ears as though something crucial was missing and once acknowledged it couldn’t be shaken, digging into his mind like an unreachable itch. He couldn’t pinpoint its source, or lack thereof. Across the table, the lute stayed as silent as any shrine.

---

Supper was long since finished, half of it left to mull until morning, and the day would’ve long since faded even without the cover of storm clouds when Geralt was roused from his thoughts. He had paid no attention to them at first, dismissed as just another trick of the roaring wind, perhaps something knocked loose and toyed with. Their hurried approach snapped him out of it.

Footsteps.

Not the shuffle of four-hoofed ungulates and lacking the stealth of any predator, they dragged and stumbled heavy through heather and bracken, sounding absurdly and distinctly human.

Fixating each of his senses on its trek beyond the windowless wall Geralt could hear breathing, shallow and ragged, wet and sputtering as though they - or it - had already inhaled half the bog.

He leaned toward the window with furrowed brow as a shadow passed it but the single candle in the room held little against the thickness of the night beyond, and rain washed down the pane in heavy waves, twisting what shapes he might otherwise have made out into unrecognizable phantoms.

His hand grasped the hilt of his dagger in the same instant as something heavy crashed against the door. Rapid knocking saw him on his feet in the next, only mild hesitation before he flicked the latch. After all, ghouls and drowners were rarely polite enough to knock.

Whoever, whatever he had expected to meet at the other side of that door, this wasn’t it.

The boy - or man, rather - was lean, and smooth-faced, and clung to the doorframe with hands that shivered so badly it must’ve hurt.

Any colour in his face was washed out by chilled torrents and sparse light, pallor accentuated by flattened dark hair that clung to his brow. But his heart hammered in his chest, rabbit-quick, eyes bright if frantic where they sought for Geralt’s in the darkness. They were blue.

Belatedly, Geralt realised he was silhouetted and standing in shadow, his face likely completely inscrutable to human eyes. Later still, he realised the stranger was talking, rambling, voice pitched high to pierce the rush threatening to steal it.

“- know it’s hardly an appropriate time to be calling on decent company but I saw the light, and I - I seem to have lost my horse, you see, something must’ve spooked her, the poor dear, and…”

Geralt said nothing - or he might have, too taken aback to be certain - but pulled away to leave a gap wide enough to pass through. The youth needed no further prompting and tumbled more than walked into the offered refuge.

Sharp eyes followed every movement the newcomer made, even as Geralt shouldered the door shut and firmly replaced the latch, no twitch or turn dodged his scrutiny. He noticed, then, how the room and cabin itself barely received a cursory glance, while Geralt’s own belongings - his packs, cloak and swords - were subjects of far more interest. He also noticed how, no longer straining against the throes of nature, tremors ran up an ill-clad back, arms wrapped tight around his torso as though it would keep each breath from rattling through his chest.

The doublet he was wearing had once been fine, now soaked so thoroughly in grime he looked to have fallen in the mire and crawled back out, it’s colour indiscernible. His breeches were in much the same state, sodden boots trailing mud across the floor.

«You’ll want to take that off,» Geralt grumbled before he could consider his words. Their recipient spun to face him, wide-eyed and tense. He tried again, less gruffly: «Or you’ll freeze.»

That was met with a halting nod, and a darting look searched his face before slow compliance saw the first soaked garment pulled from hunched-in shoulders. The likewise stained shirt underneath was so finely woven water might as well have dissolved it with how close it clung to skin, no imagination required to behold the gentle tapering curve of his waist nor the smooth swell of muscle in his upper arms, sharp point of a collarbone accentuated by shadows cast by candlelight.

Geralt promptly averted his eyes, the walls he’d seen as lofty mere moments before suddenly drawing stiflingly close, trying to provide some modicum of privacy despite the unwillingness to fully turn his back on someone currently so close to his own swords.

Lack of distractions and senses far too sharp to be a blessing in the moment left him still all too aware of the activity at the corner of his vision, bent first to divest of the boots then straightening to full height, and even as numb fingers fumbled with the fastenings that cinched the breeches high at his waist, Geralt’s mind was drawn to a performer he once knew in Vizima, all strong and slender limbs and fluid motions.

Cleared of the heavy silk and velvet and before those hands could venture near the gossamer-sheer chemise - fabric that thin would dry quick enough - Geralt grabbed his own woollen blanket and thrust it at the man, and waved towards the narrow bench where the lute still stood propped against the wall.

Only once the table provided a modest barrier between the stranger and most of the things that could’ve been wielded as weapons did the witcher move his hand from where it hovered near the hilt of his dagger and turn to the hearth, revived the fire with another sod, and reached for the copper pot.

“Thank you,” the present companion said and leaned in to cup his hands around the bowl that had been set in front of him, seeking its heat. He sounded earnest even through gritted teeth, jaw still clenched tight to keep his teeth from clattering. “My name is Jaskier, by the way. Since you asked.”

“I didn’t,” said Geralt, settling on the chair opposite.

“I noticed.” Even without fully looking, and the bowl obscuring the lower half of his face, he could tell Jaskier was smirking. “I also noticed you didn’t give me yours.”

“It’s Geralt.” Idle chitchat had not been part of the contract but the words spilt into being before he could divert them, and for a fateful breath he felt as though petering on the edge of something he couldn’t identify.

“At the risk of coming across as overly direct, Geralt, what regrettable decision led you all the way out here?”

Geralt chanced a suspicious glance at him, but the man - Jaskier - seemed utterly unperturbed. Was this a game of some sort? “I’m working.”

“Ah!” Jaskier raised a hand and tilted his head as though in realisation, in honesty or mockery Geralt couldn’t quite make out. “It’s funny,” he said, nodding to his right where the lute still lay upright. “You didn’t immediately strike me as a lutist, in fact, with those two very scary-looking swords I would’ve sooner taken you for a wayward Witcher. But I understand now that I must’ve been mistaken.”

The half incredulous, half-amused huff Geralt failed to contain garnered a victorious grin, beaming even as he turned his attention back to the stew.

“So you are a Witcher,” Jaskier continued at length. “And you are here for a job, and you do not play the lute.” He had a pleasant voice, an innate ebb and flow of tone that made for easy listening. “Are you here to kill me, then?”

Geralt regarded the lad carefully, weighing his options. His hair had started drying, he remarked, tawny brown and no longer plastered down but curling slightly across his forehead, the smouldering fire giving him a russet halo. The pallor of his skin had also faded, warming instead to a healthy flush that could’ve been a trick of the light, but also could’ve not. The line of his blanket-covered shoulders, the tapping of his fingertips against the now-empty supper bowl, nervous energy and ease in equal parts. Something unnamable tightened in Geralt’s chest.

“I suspect I’m a bit late for that.”

An outburst would’ve been expected, a shock or a scene, but instead it earned a full-bodied laugh, rich and zestful like summer wine.

“I suspect you are.“ And then he extended his arm, blanket slipping back off his shoulder and the lute, thus far remaining a silent spectator, found its way into deftly knowledgeable hands.

Time passed in relative peace, bard strumming and tuning and the witcher mulling, before Jaskier again broke the silence. “You didn’t quite answer my question.”

Sensing the sudden gravity in the air, Geralt turned to fully face him. He wasn’t one for sweet lies. He never had been. “As long as they have cause, they’ll send others.”

“I didn’t - They don’t!” Agitation sparked as a flame in dry grass and for the first time since entering the cabin, an edge of desperation crept back into his voice. “Those two - the sons of the town blacksmith, I believe - the first ones, they told me to meet them here. Gave their word that they would help me, promised a way through this desolate hell of a country and I know it was naive. I’m not a fucking fool. But I had to get to Cintra, that was my chance, but then when they showed up and they…”

Despite decades of experience in human disfavour, Geralt felt a chill run down his spine.

Slumping in his seat, the outpouring faltered as though the words he tried to speak had clogged his throat and wavered, motioned toward the windowless western wall and beyond it, to the bottomless mire into which single tracks of bootprints now strayed each morning after rain or storm. That from which nothing was recovered, and where nothing could decay.

Some moments went by before he could speak again, before the wet in his eyes no longer threatened suffocation. Geralt let him have them. “The others, the ones who came after… I didn’t mean to. I only meant to scare them off, I swear to the fucking Gods, Geralt. I never hurt anyone who left me a choice.”

At a loss for anything better, Geralt could only nod. There was always a risk he could be lying, a steeled voice chimed in his mind. He didn’t think he was.

The lute was set down lightly on the bench. “I’d leave if I could,” its owner said, voice more collected. “But it seems I’m either in here,” and he leaned his elbows on the table, mostly-dry chemise rolled back over wiry, delicate wrists. “Or I’m out there,” his eyes fastened on the opposite wall as though he could pierce it with a glance. “Or I’m nowhere at all.”

In the tender glow of their sparse light Jaskier seemed near otherworldly, unreachable as though the great moor lay between them in its entirety, and yet Geralt had wanted nothing more in that moment than to cross it, would’ve travelled every wretched wasteland on the Continent just to feel the angle of that cheekbone underneath his own fingers, to know the curve of that lip for himself.

He did.

---

“I expect I’ll hear no more of you.”

The storm had abated and the sky cleared enough for a moon just past full to peer through. Jaskier sauntered ahead of him, shiver-thin shirt billowing slightly in the lingering breeze, looking as white and luminous in the cold light as the heads of cottongrass below.

“If you do, will you come back?” The weight of the implication did little to temper the spark of mischief in the eyes that turned on him, as deep and as blue and bright as the heather-framed pools filled by rain, now still as mirrors and gleaming through wisps of fog. Slender fingers not missing a note where they found and plucked the strings underneath them.

Geralt felt more than formed the fond upturn of his lips. “I might come back if I don’t.”

The laugh it earned him rang pure and true as silver, chiming like bells it would carry for miles if the wind blew right.

#geraskier #the witcher fic #the witcher au #mcd (kind of)#geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #and above the lilies weep #i promised i wouldnt be a douche about this but listen: this is 3k and not even a little bit sexy #its not scary #its not even soft #infact nothing happens in it at all as far as i can tell #i wrote and edited sleepless and feverish #i take no responsibility #goodnight

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angelqueen04 · 4 years ago

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Hamliza Month, Day 29

@megpeggs @historysalt

Nap Summary: Alexander comes home to the Grange to find that things aren’t entirely as he left them.

The Grange was such a welcome sight, Alexander thought as he stepped out of the barn. The trip had not been an overly long one, but it had still been highly unwelcome. He had not wanted to leave Eliza or the children, but there had been no avoiding it. Still, at least he was home now. With the gig put up and the horse comfortably settled, there was nothing to stop him from entering the house and rejoining his family – the only place he wanted to be, and the only people he cared to see.

As he approached the house, however, he heard the sound of children laughing coming from the garden. Smiling, Alexander bypassed the front door and took the path around to the back of the house. There, he found five of his children. Alex had Liza by her hands and was swinging her around in circles, much to her delight, if her thrilled shrieks were any indication. James was on the ground not too far away, clearly having been wrestling with William, who now sat atop his brother with a triumphant grin. Johnny was also present, but was seated under a tree, his head bent over a book.

That just left Eliza, Angelica, and little Phil unaccounted for. Angelica, he knew, had gone to Albany to visit her grandparents, but surely Eliza would be out here with the rest of the children? Though autumn was rapidly approaching – he would need to begin the preparations for them to move into their house in the city soon – the air was still plenty warm enough. Surely there was no need to worry about the baby catching a cold?

“Well, well,” he called to his children, “here you are, quite the merry party! May I join you, or is this by invitation only?”

All five of them immediately froze at the sound of his voice. Alex lowered Liza safely to the grass, and she promptly leapt back up to her feet and threw herself toward Alexander. William also abandoned his position on top of James and raced to him. Even Johnny put his book down to come and greet him.

Alexander laughed as he swept Liza up into his arms, and he ruffled William’s already unruly hair after settling her on his hip. His three older sons approached at a slower pace, one they likely thought was more dignified than the excited leaping about of the younger children. Oh, how eager they are to be perceived as men instead of boys, Alexander thought fondly.

“Welcome home, Papa,” James greeted. Alex and Johnny echoed the welcome.

“I’m very glad to be home, my lambs,” he responded. Pressing a kiss to Liza’s temple, Alexander glanced around at their surroundings. “Where are your mother and little Phil?”

Alex and James shared a look, their expressions growing more serious, and Alexander straightened, growing concerned. When they didn’t respond immediately, he narrowed his eyes. “Boys?” he prodded, his tone growing sharp with warning.

It was William who spoke up before his brothers could. “Mama’s inside with the baby,” he told him. “Mama said we could play, but it had to be outside so Phil could sleep.”

“Oh, well, that’s not so bad, is it?” Babies napped all the time, after all. Still, James, Alex, and even Johnny now still had solemn expressions.

“Phil’s been crying all night,” Johnny said. “He won’t sleep. So Mama tries to get him to sleep during the day. She’s been upstairs most of the day with him. The doctor was here this morning.”

A nervous, painful knot began to form in Alexander’s stomach. “I see,” he said slowly. Was something wrong with Phil? Was he ill? Was that why Eliza had summoned Dr. Hosack? None of her letters had intimated that Phil was sick.

He gestured for Alex to take Liza from him, which, to the boy’s credit, he did without hesitation. “Why don’t you continue on here?” Alexander suggested. “I’ll go inside and check on your mother and Phil, and see about a little snack before supper.”

The suggestion of food gained him enthusiastic agreement from William and Liza, and even Johnny appeared interested, though he continued to do his best to imitate the more laid back, knowing reaction of his older brothers. Providing them with the most reassuring smile he could muster, Alexander then turned on his heel and made for the back door. As he hurried up the steps and entered the house, his thoughts raced.

Eliza had not had an easy time of it when she had been carrying Phil. Even before… Even before Philip’s death, her health had been precarious enough that Dr. Hosack visited several times a week. The dreadful blow of Philip’s sudden loss had been devastating enough that the physician had ordered her onto near total bed rest for the duration of the pregnancy. It had been nearly two months before they’d even been sure the baby was still alive.

When Phil was finally born, just shortly before Alexander had moved the whole family out to the Grange for the first time, the reactions had been nothing short of hysterical relief. Though the labor had been difficult, Eliza had come through it as well as could be expected. Phil had all the appearances of a healthy babe, and did not seem to have been harmed by the terrible shock his mother had suffered while she carried him.

As he made his way toward the front of the house, slipping through the yellow parlor to the front hall, Alexander spotted their hired girl, Nan, coming down the stairs from the second floor, carrying a large laundry basket.

“Mr. Hamilton,” she greeted when she spotted him as she reached the landing. “Welcome home, sir!”

Alexander managed a small smile for her, even as his eyes remained focused on the stairs. “Thank you, Nan. When you have a moment, could you ask Mrs. Georges if she would arrange a small snack for the children and bring it out to the garden please? It’s not too close to supper.”

Nan nodded and she turned the corner to take the steps down to the lower level of the house. “Of course, sir.”

That taken care of, Alexander started up the stairs, taking two at a time. Coming up to the landing, he immediately rounded the corner and hurried to the door to his and Eliza’s bedchamber. The door had been left slightly ajar. Placing his hand on the doorknob, Alexander took a deep, calming breath before pushing the door open.

His eyes immediately went to their bed. Eliza lay curled on her side, facing a large circle of pillows. Her eyes were open and focused upon the pillows, but then turned to him as he appeared in the room. Her dark eyes, which had faint dark circles around them, brightened and a small, weary smile came across her face. Slowly, she sat up, being careful not to jostle the bed as she moved. Standing up, she quietly moved a few pillows, enclosing the circle around the sleeping babe in the middle. She then made her way toward him, a finger pressing against her lips in the familiar warning to stay quiet. Alexander nodded, and then he followed her back out into the hallway.

Once the door was shut, he and Eliza moved back down the hallway, coming to stand before the large, ornate window at the front of the house. “What’s happened?” he demanded, taking care to keep his voice low. “Is he ill? Was that why Hosack was here today?”

Eliza blinked, surprised at being on the receiving end of a barrage of questions instead of the loving, tender greetings she was usually granted when he returned home. “What?”

“Phil,” Alexander elaborated, waving his hand back toward their bedchamber. “The children said he won’t sleep, that he cries all night. What’s wrong?”

She stared at him, and then sighed. “Oh, darling,” she said, taking her hands in his and squeezing them tightly. “Nothing is wrong. Nothing that can’t be mended, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

Eliza looked around, and then nodded to two of the chairs that were situated outside of Angelica and Liza’s chamber. They settled down in them, hands still clasped, and she began to speak. “Phil hasn’t been sleeping well at night, in his crib,” she explained. “But he’ll sleep perfectly well during the day when I make a place for him in our bed. He’s also had a mild rash on his skin, which is why I sent for Dr. Hosack.” She glanced over her shoulder toward their bedchamber. “He thinks that Phil is having a bad reaction to something in his crib, perhaps the feathers in the mattress. The doctor gave me a salve for his skin, which is already helping. He’s sleeping even better in our bed than he normally has.”

Alexander took a deep, steady breath, considering his wife’s explanation. He knew that sometimes people did not react well to certain things in their daily lives. His brother, when they had been very young, had not been able to abide cow’s milk, though he had eventually outgrown that intolerance, much to their mother’s relief. Alexander had even heard of some ladies not being able to bear the sensation of certain fabrics or dried dyes on their skin.

“So, Phil will be all right, then?” he finally inquired.

Eliza smiled at him and raised a hand to his cheek, brushing her thumb over the skin. “Yes, dear. Dr. Hosack says that it is a mild reaction, though he recommended that we throw out the entire mattress and scrub the crib thoroughly before Phil sleeps in it again, to be safe.” Amusement flared in her eyes. “He sleeps very well in our bed, and seems to like your pillow the best. He always grabs onto it when he wakes.” Eliza laughed. “Perhaps he finds his papa’s scent soothing.”

A reflexive smile came to his lips in response to his wife’s laughter. Even now, it was a relief to hear her sound so happy, after all that she had endured.

They sat together like that for a few moments, content in one another’s presence, until Eliza said, “I should go and check on him. I think it helps him to rest if I’m there.”

“May I join you?” he asked impulsively, standing up as she did. When she stared at him, surprised, Alexander could feel his cheeks heating up a bit and he added, “It’s still some hours ‘til supper, and it’s been a long trip.” He smiled at her, feeling unaccountably shy for some reason. “I’ve missed you.”

Eliza’s eyes softened as she gazed at him, and then nodded. “Of course.” Tugging on his hand, she began to lead him back to their chamber. “Quietly, now,” she whispered.

Alexander shed his coat, waistcoat, and shoes as soundlessly as he could after they reentered their chamber, leaving them on a chair nearby. Eliza had already returned to the bed, resuming the same position she had been in when he had first come upon her. Alexander carefully climbed onto the other side, curling his body around the circle of pillows. This allowed him a clearer look at his tiny son. Phil’s skin did indeed have an unusual pink tint to it, and he could see a few raised spots, though thankfully, nothing that had the look of smallpox or any other such disease.

He didn’t reach out to touch the sleeping babe, though he dearly wanted to, if just to reassure him of his continued health and existence. Alexander turned his head toward Eliza, and found that she wasn’t looking at Phil, but at him, her expression gentle and loving. Silently, she reached out with the hand that was closest to him, the one outside of the pillow circle. Alexander grasped it without hesitation, holding onto her as tightly as he could. Then, as one, they turned their eyes back toward the fragile life between them, their last child.

We are here, my little one, Alexander thought. We are here, and we love you. Stay with us.

#my fanfiction #hamliza month #hamliza #alexander hamilton #elizabeth schuyler hamilton

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green-g3ck0 · 4 years ago

Text

[[TW- death// schlatt// heavy angst]]

<<Characters: Tubbo, Tommy, Wilbur, Schlatt, Dream>>

The young man walked towards the broken down house. His mind raced with memories, a cold wave hitting him.

He kicked a few shambles, it breaking more and dust forming. He looked up and touched the rusty frame of the house, tracing the dents made from past wars.

He sighed and walked in, remembering what he came for. But he still had time to look around and remember more.

He hummed a small tune, not remembering the lyrics, but still stuck in his mind. He opened a large chest and rummaged through many items, much being cobble and dirt. When finding nothing, he closed the chest and moved on.

He opened empty furnaces, taking the left coal to use later, and any other items possibly left for storage.

He glanced at the E-chest and paused. He knew what he was looking for would be in there. He looked outside to the darkening sky and sighed.

He opened the chest and grabbed the disk, fiddling with it slightly. He closed the chest after keeping a few other items and walked out, looking for the familiar jukebox.

He sat down and plopped the disk in, feeling a familiar physical chill, but his mind and heart felt warmer.

As the song played, and the sun set, his mind drifted, and the familiar song made a smile appear on his face.

“Ya know Tubbo, Dream was trying to get this disc out of me- like- it hold some importance to him or something!” The blond commented.

The brunette laughed slightly and turned to the other. “Not to him! It’s important to us though, right Tommy?”

Said boy nodded. “It’s very important Tubbo- this- this land is important! We worked hard for this land and we will make sure we get our freedom! Even if it kills us!” He proudly exclaimed.

Tubbo sighed, growing a bit nervous. “W-Well- hopefully it doesn’t kill us- but yea! This is our land!” He joined the blond beside him, the two watching the sunset while the song played.

He sighed, kicking his feet a bit. The plan never stuck. While they kept their land, they lost it the next couple weeks after the election. He remembered how before the election, he told his friend about an escape tunnel and bunker just in case. Thank god.

“C’mere, cmere-“ he coaxed his friend. The blond followed and was led to an underground shelter. “I made this just in case something goes wrong. Hopefully nothing does, but just in case.”

He sighed heavily and nodded. “Thank you Tubbo. We might need this. Good planning by the way-“

Tubbo thanked the running Vice President and they made it back up to the surface, waiting for the election to be held.

And thank god he did that. His friends didn’t win, and unfortunately lost to a dictator. Every other day the two met in the paths connecting the country to the banished land.

He looked down at his feet, tracing the wood. He remembered the last time him and his friend spoke here.

“Tubbo- we could run away. We could run and forget it all. Forget Pogtopia, forget Manburg- we could live happily by ourselves and not be harmed.” Tommy told his British friend.

He responded first with a nod. “We could. We could take a few items- the discs, armor, tools, food- and run. Away from Schlatt, away from war..”

The boys looked at each other in regret. “Tubbo we can’t. We can’t leave just yet- it’s too dangerous.”

Tubbo agreed and sat up, dusting himself off, Tommy doing the same. They both agreed it was a bad plan and it needed to at least be thought of more before even considering.

And it was never considered again.

The last time the boys were on a team together was on their death beds. One more fortunate than the other.

Tubbo remembered being put in the box- this time not as funny. His president- the one he thought was warming up- put him in danger. He made him dress up and decorate his own funeral.

“Techno get up here!”

The two stared at each other, knowing what was about to happen. His friends whispered to him saying to trust the process, he’ll be fine.

He wasn’t fine. No one was. Blade won a 1v20, and few were happy.

“You killed Tubbo!” His friend yelled at the arsonist.

“I was peer pressured!” He argued.

Tubbo watched his friends argue, Tommy arguing heavily that what Techno did was wrong. Neither were right, nor wrong.

Tommy and Tubbo both knew that with Wilbur not following through with his plan, everyone’s days were numbered.

At least Tubbo made it out alive under someone’s shitty plans.

He felt a tear slip down his face as he remembered the last few moments with his friend.

The song was playing on the jukebox. But a certain someone wasn’t getting their way, and was pissed.

“So- this- this is your place? This shithole-“

“Leave Tommy and Tubbo alone!” Wilbur yelled at the former president.

The latter of the mentioned boys was behind the other. Tommy protected Tubbo with his life, which was being threatened by a crossbow to the head.

“You shitheads are the reason my country is the fucked up place it is! And someone will pay!” Schlatt yelled.

“Then shoot me!” “Then shoot him!” Wilbur yelled back as Tommy overlapped his voice, pointing at the other culprit.

The American chuckled sinisterly. “If I can have Manburg than no one can-“ he mocked Wilbur. “-oh bitch bitch bitch. No matter what- no one got Manburg. No matter what you did, my country suffered because of your dumbass. And because of that..” he slowly turned to face the young boys. “Someone. Someone will pay. “ he growled.

Tubbo tensed as he saw Tommy sigh shakily. “C-Can I at least get final words? Can you be that nice?”

Schlatt rolled his eyes. “Fine. Say your last words or forever hold your peace or something-“ he then coughed heavily and complained about the air.

Tommy then turned to Tubbo. “Tubbo listen- whether I make it alive or not- you have the discs. Find them, and remember me. Remember us. Remember what we did for L’Manburg. Remember our promises. Remember all those times I tried to stay by your side, even though we were on opposite teams. I’m sorry for anything I couldn’t accomplish. I wish I could’ve been a better older brother figure to you Tubbo. But through it all, be the man I wish I could’ve been. Even in spirit, I will still be by your side.”

Tommy smiled and hugged Tubbo tightly. The smaller Brit cried in his friends shoulder after his words.

A yawn was heard behind them. “Ya two done yet?!” Tommy sighed heavily and separated from the hug, ruffling Tubbos hair.

“Not yet.” Tommy then ran over and decked Wilbur, shouting many profanities that shocked all parties.

Once done, he walked back over to Tubbo and gave him one last hug before walking into an enclosed area. “Now. Now I’m ready.”

There was a click and a ping before suffering was heard. Schlatt sighed and looked at the other kid. “Go away now or you’re next.” Tense, he listened and ran towards the surface.

Tubbo could feel the hot tears down his face as he heard the song ending. He remembered all of it.

“I remember Tommy.. don’t you worry. I miss you...”

“Tubbo..?” A voice called.

He jumped and turned towards the sound, seeing the owner and calming down.

“O-oh hey dream! Uh- how are you? What’s up?” He quickly wiped his tears, trying- and failing- to seem okay.

“Tubbo.. I mean- I’m alright.. what’s up with you..? If you wanna talk about it- that is..” the man replied.

He couldn’t stop the tears this time. His body shook as he cried harder, remembering his counterpart.

Dream walked over and engulfed Tubbo in a hug, hushing him and trying to comfort him any way he can.

They eventually got to the point that sitting in the grass was a better option. The older one rubbed circles on the crying boys back, sitting quietly, knowing how rough Tommy’s passing was.

Nothing can change what Tubbo saw when he went back down to see the damage. Nothing can change the figure he saw. Nothing can change the fact that he clutched the cold body that was alive a week prior.

Nothing can change the fact that the bastard he used to call president was still walking around, knowing what he did and proud as hell.

Nothing can change the fact that Tubbo sat and cried- he hasn’t stopped crying- for the past months after the event.

Nothing has changed the nightmares when he slept. And nothing changed the fact that he was now ripped from his other half. His partner in crime. The only other person who he trusted more than anyone in the world.

Nothing changed the fact that since he left that broken down shamble, the ravine his friends called home, he has not stopped feeling a cold wave by his side.

The cold wave came when he slept, when he cried so many tears into his pillows. It was right there on his arm and back, on his cheek, bringing a sense of comfort.

The cold wave was there when he sat on the bench, remembering his friend and all the good and bad memories.

And even now, still holding his arm and on his head, every so often wiping his tears, or trying.

He sniffed. “D-Do you feel the cold too?” He asked the owner holding him.

“I do Tubbo. Maybe it’s Tommy. Ghosts and spirits tend to be a colder presence if near. So maybe he’s here to comfort you.” Dream smiled softly.

The boy trembled harder, taking his words into consideration- almost working. “I-It can’t be. N-Nothing can b-bring Tommy... bring Tommy back..”

//Hi I just wanted to write angst I’m sorry :)//

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katsukisbeatingheart · 5 years ago

Text

torridly we touch

soulmate au where you're born with markings on your body, representing the place you and your soulmate make physical contact for the first time.

word count: 3,055

warnings: a not too terribly graphic description of One (1) injury right at the beginning

a.n.: i love him. i love sero hanta. he's comfort character. i think of him and it's just instant happy. sero toe nin. i love him so MUCH thamk u that is all.

psst

you can find shinso’s here!

you can find dabi’s here!

you can find bakugou’s here!

ao3

Splotched light and color rolled around the backs of his eyelids, sweeping up and over Sero's peripheries. It criminally overshadowed the shock concussing his senses—if one could believe it—unfolding under the jagged ridges protruding from his torso. His perp had skewered him from behind, hulking a torn chunk of scaffolding through the air with a missile-like boom.

In retrospect, he really should have seen it coming.

A contentedly lazy late morning of patrol sent Cellophane through the skyscapes like he didn’t have a tape quirk anchoring him to his responsibilities below.

The breeze shrugged along his arms and shoulders as he propelled himself up and over startled but beaming pedestrians, many of whom stopped to cheer and wave after him. Sun warm on his skin, Sero spun and twisted freely like he’d trained and dreamed to all those many not-so-long years ago as a kid.

He felt like Deku, Gale Force, Tsukuyomi—flitting through the air as though he was born to be there, wingless and all.

Maybe in a bit, he’d make a stop by his favorite food stall, he mused; the one with frozen orange slices and berries on a stick—the ones he could swallow and stomach the brain freeze for the sweet freshness that burst on his tongue. He could chill out in the park, swinging around to say hello to the kids in the area and mingle with the people.

There was a particular character who tended to the flowers along the fountain he maybe—kind of—really was hoping to get a glimpse of.

And maybe, kind of, possibly take the chance to talk to.

He didn’t know.

He was feeling good today, and not a thing could—

A harsh howl punctured the idealistic bubble carrying him higher up the skyline the deeper he dove into the metropolis.

Alright.

Never mind that, then.

As easy as it was to climb, Sero dropped, angling his arms to lampposts and street signs underneath him with a precision engrained into him like the blood in his veins. He swept over loosely scattering civilians—some static in their movements, unyielding in spite of the clamour swallowing their morning.

Unless, maybe this was part of routine. Used to the calamity like nothing more than a bit of poor weather at this point.

Regardless, Cellophane kept his visor up and his smile bright, unwilling to sacrifice morale irrespective of the moment.

The young hero gained on the silhouette quickly panning into view.

Almost getting flattened in the process.

Sero watched the wild swinging of limbs corner and constrict against the tapering street way, as well as the succeeding attempt—ironically, an epic fail—at maneuvering around the buildings—which appeared to be bending in further inward to try and grab at him.

The figure was bumbling and dumb, too witless to be considered threatening—if it weren’t for his size. He dwarfed nearly every building on the block, catching pieces of the façade on serrated contours of his limbs, like overgrown, triangulated, scales. He looked like a walking rock slide, to be completely honest.

A walking, groaning rock slide, closing up his only feasible escape route with his own carnage the further he rumbled into the enclosed shopping district. Obviously, still bad—but if he was trying to be discreet in his escape from whatever he had done, it was not working.

A quirk that granted gargantuan impressiveness to an existence of such— such—

Sero struggled to find the words.

Stupidity was all he could come up with, as it was by the very definition the embodiment of stupid, he was sure.

Which made the hero feel all the more a pathetic, diminutive lump of mass bleeding out onto the asphalt beneath him.

His helmet had cracked in a lightning strike down the front of his vision, webbing into whittled scuffs and bruises along the polycarbonate. He frowned, briefly pondering how much of a bitch it was going to be trying to patch that up on his own, before shipping it off to the agency to have it repaired. He loved his support team, but he’d be damned if he kept coming to them with new problems every sparking day.

That was even just forgoing the fact that at present, he existed as nothing more than a sticky shish kabob, which he guessed, was probably a far more pressing matter than the sanctity of his uniform.

He really should have seen this coming.

The big guy was so hard to miss too!

Already, the pipe was growing more and more tangible as the initial effects of the impact wore away. Sero inhaled sharply, grunting a terse breath past gritted teeth that had only moments before set into a smile. He did his best to keep it there, but the aching in his body chipped mercilessly at his liveliness. Needless to say, having a piece of anything—much more a metal baton—sticking out of your body was not great, and struggling with it while there was an unhinged behemoth to chase after did not help.

Well this just sucks.

His vision swirled as sweat gathered with a vengeance at the nape of his neck.

He could power through it, he told himself, if he really tried.

His stomach plunged in protest.

Look for a way to shuck down the edges to avoid catching on anything as he swung after the assailant, but not so short as to accidentally let it wiggle free.

He was scrambling now.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. He could tape around it then, wrap himself up to subdue the throbbing—provide a little extra pressure to hold himself together.

And then what? Stand up? All on his own?

Yeah, yeah—and then finish what this bloke started and then think about worrying about the pipe in his side.

As if.

Pfft, no biggie, he’s had paper cuts and stubbed toes worse than this. This was nothing. Besides, with the hole in him now, he was finally starting to look like a completed tape dispenser.

Sero choked, immediately wincing as his light and sudden chuckle fractured into choppy, pained gasps.

He thought about what his friends would do.

He knew Bakugo would absolutely make fun of him for getting taken down by a stick, but would definitely blast him to a melted puddle of glue if he found out he didn’t stop to try and save himself.

And the others would let him, no arguments made.

As he sat there struggling for breath, he didn’t notice the uneven and desperate pitter patter of quick feet, skipping and twisting over piles of rubble to get to him. Otherwise preoccupied, Cellophane plucked at his inner grit with an iron resolve, goading his ego raging angrier than the giant into standing up.

It wasn’t until a figure was on him and they were pressing their fingers and palms into his exposed abdomen, did he make a motion.

It was quicker than you or him were ready for, the hand not cradling his injury lurching out like a threatened snake to wrap around one of your wrists.

His grip wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t particularly painful either—as if giving whatever had startled him the chance to take a step back.

Looking back, he should’ve maybe been ready for the villain.

But nothing could’ve prepared him for this.

No matter how much people told him about soulmates—answered all of his eager questions with a knowing smile and a glinting prospect like they knew the secret the universe had gifted to him, and him alone.

Well.

And you.

Wait, and you.

His torso burned like he’d been lit into by Shoto again—only this time with his left side— convinced your quirk was actually some sort of flame emitter cauterizing his wound. But when his fingers brushed the still-inky injury on their way to you, the pain only confirmed his suspicions.

There was a ringing in his ears, echoing like the messy tumble of fireworks from the stars as they popped in and out of existence. He knew for certain it was true, when he saw the same chain of emotions flicker across your features. Your eyes settled on your subtly splotched fingertips—marks now glowing with a light that grossly undermined the actual sensation.

“Hey…” his voice was barely a whisper, raspy enough to strike a nerve in the back of your head that screamed something was wrong.

As if. Being stabbed wasn’t wrong enough.

You did your best to quell the raging pit of unease filming your stomach, however, steeling an attentive and encouraging gaze on the man beneath your fingers.

“It’s—” he coughed, convulsing on the single syllable as though doing that much took an even bigger bit out of him than the metal did.

You held your breath, attempting to quietly collect your whirligig thoughts—which were spinning wildly beyond your control—and carefully listen for the fragmented voice stuttering for air.

”—it’s kn—”

Wait.

“—knife—”

Was he…?

“—It’s knife to finally meet you.”

…laughing.

He was laughing.

If he weren’t dying already, you’d have probably killed him.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head so hard they'd have continued on to the next person. You thumped angrily on his thigh, pushing a sorely relieved exhale and horribly infuriated growl off the tip of your tongue and through your clenched teeth.

“I swear to— I thought you were—! Shut up and don’t scare me like that again!”

His chortling rolled heavier over his shoulders and you watched the tension dissipate with his self-satisfied grin. Cellophane said nothing more, focusing a poor attempt to stifle his own amusement. A small smile tied to an afterthought crept to your lips.

You couldn’t help yourself.

“And while we’re at it—please, spear me your lame jokes—if you’re going to make a pun, at least do it right.”

“Ugh, yeah. You’re definitely the one for me, alright.” It was his turn to groan, though he was looking less and less like a man who’d been skewered on the sidewalk and more like the raffish character you presumed him to usually be. If he was this charming a battered mess, you wondered what he was capable of when fully rational.

You blushed a vivid red, hiding your discomposure in a glare of concentration toward your quirk.

“I said: stop talking—you’ll waste your energy and make me lose focus,” you breathed through your teeth's tight grip on your lip.

“Can’t help I’m just so naturally distracting,” he keened—hardly ashamed in his own assuredness. And if you hadn’t just snapped a gentle chastisement over concentration, you’d have glared affectionately at the wounded man's glimmering smirk, silently and unquestionably agreeing with him. When you don’t say anything though, Cellophane quietly falters—speaking lightly of a great disappointment in the history of soulmates, he’s sure. He has his own bias, but he doesn’t think he could imagine lesser, at the moment—and that makes him internally lurch.

“So much for first impressions, huh?”

“I’ve had much worse,” you smile softly.

“I—Worse? What could possibly be worse than seeing a kebabed man flirt with you and death at the same time?” he asked, croaking on the end of his sentence under an ill-concealed grimace.

He managed to start taking a distracted interest in what your fingers were doing, previously a little caught off-guard with the consecutive life-changing occurrences back to back. Cellophane was starting to feel at the end of his roll, and in a way, he was thankful for the game shifting, beguiling twist of fate—incapable of being more thankful that you came with it.

That was the moment it occurred to him exactly who you were and where he’d seen you before.

Guess he was given the chance to find the nerve to talk to you after all.

Your voice never strayed from its lightness, coaxing a staggering breath out of him with ease when he hadn’t even realized he’d ever stopped. The rise and fall of his chest fluttered in time with your lashes as they beat rapidly in bashfulness and thought.

“It’s not every day you get to help your hero, much more find out you’re cosmologically joined at the hip,” you conceded with soothing finality. It took a moment for Sero’s head to stop spinning—a symptom that had nothing to do with the gouge in his side. Cellophane's smirk—that he previously had trouble plastering on—grew exponentially.

“You heard it here folks—you admit you’re stuck with me—the universe said no take-backs.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you whispered.

He raised his arm to catch a stray drop of sweat rolling down your creased brow, holding it to the sun thoughtfully, like anything that came from you—a very familiar stranger—held every single answer to every single question in existence.

He swiped his fingertips over the skin of your hand, sending a rippling shiver down your spine and right back up again.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, already feeling more and more alive by the second. He burned through you with two measly words and it was enough to gulp down a bit of air like a person suffocated. Heat twisted in your chest and up to the apples of your cheeks, positively glowing.

You sat back on your heels with a small huff, pushing off the ground to stand upright. You hadn’t remembered grabbing his hand to pull him with you, distractedly pleased he didn’t squirm or groan as he came with. That meant you had done your job.

“My Quirk 's a sustainability quirk,” you revealed evenly, a modicum of urgency swallowing the statement. You hoped he didn’t catch the light shake in your voice.

Or the dodge of his appraisal.

“I can only do so much to help the body along, but that’s only under the pretense that you’ll be resting. It’ll open again soon—sooner rather than later so— so please—” you paused to tug sternly at the plates resting on his collar bone, “—be careful.”

He grinned a grin that felt like a sunspot, teasing a fresh pot of soil and the breeze of green leaves secured beneath attentive fingers. His voice was like dimly glowing embers tucked into the palm of your hand. It was one of your favorite feelings in the world.

“You got it.”

“Go be a hero.”

He leaned forward to press his lips firmly to the crown of your forehead, a steady and solid reminder that your life was never going to be the same at long last.

“Always.”

…

“I told you to be careful!”

“Its just a flesh wound.”

“You nearly had your arm torn off!” you shrieked.

You had watched the man swing up and out of your arms after securing a bit of tape around his torso—winking with a bravado unbefitting of someone so close to death mere minutes before, and yet so natural in the expression of an honest hero—before you collapsed in an exhausted pile on the concrete.

Aiding people did substantially different—not quite so much larger; just different—damage to your vitality than healing plants did. And it didn’t help realizing the kind of pressure you hand on your hands— literally on your hands, you thought, as you gazed wondrously at the soul-marks on your fingertips. You don’t recall there ever being a cosmogonic blueprint or script issued for meeting your “other half”, but you can’t say you ever expected to meet and then have to save their life within the same breath.

But when the fight came back around to the wrecked and abandoned square—Cellophane at the lead looking like a poke that stoked a malignant fire with that mischievous grin and clear, self-satisfied cackle thrown to the raging bull of a human behind him—you damn near keeled over.

The hero led him down the way, stringing tape like tripwire and nets as he went—successfully slowing the giant down, and unsuccessfully quelling his erraticism.

The hero had the audacity to smile and wink at you again, like he was playing some kind of game and not taunting someone who had nearly killed him.

“I did not find you just to lose you within the same day! You better be careful!” you had shouted, grinding the heel of your shoe into the concrete as you fisted your hands at your sides like a child mid-tantrum.

Cellophane’s blithe articulation snapped you back to your present fury—still bubbling over from moments ago. His smile hadn’t broken since you put it back with the touch of your hands, and he was certain it would never fall off again, as long as you were around.

“Fine, fine—you win. Kiss it better?”

“Do not push your luck, hero,” you growled angrily (at the impetuous boy in front of you!).

You found yourself reaching for him anyway.

Grasping at the lightly shredded fabric of his hero suit to tug him toward you, your lips collided in a fervent promise and torrid threat. Even as he met you with equal gumption, that smile never fractured.

“Looks like I’d better get into trouble more often, if this is what I get for it,” he sighed against your lips. You leaned back, humming contentedly and bumping your nose to his in an idle brush brimming with affection. He grinned at you through a half-lidded gaze that almost made you visibly squirm.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Wanna go grab something to eat? I know this great ice pop stand we could swing by that I’ve been thinking about all day.”

“After we get you taken care of,” you ribbed, gently jabbing your knuckles into the side that wasn’t currently trying to hold itself together by the fading effects of your quirk and the measly piece of tape from his. He jolted lightly, leaning down to groan into the flesh of your cheek.

You twirled your fingers together fondly, dipping your head and realigning your faces one more time to press your forehead to his, your eyes sliding shut as a new wave of euphoria rushed through you. His curled fingers fit softly into your own and you couldn’t fight the urge to brush them along your lips even if you wanted to.

“After.”

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