#even though neither will last long enough on his journey | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

baldursgate3tempobsessed · 1 year

Text

Soft Astarion Jealousy

Now with part 2!

I love Ascended Astarion because he's horrible but the sweetness of the other end of the spectrum is impossible to deny. He's just so in love and grateful I can't 🥺🥺

So here's some jealousy that isn't psychotic. Well it is but not as bad:

Astarion never expected to be the jealous type. He always thought...well. In all honesty he never thought about the reality of having a relationship. He didn't even think it was possible for him, let alone the idea that he would actually want it. Even with you, even after he admitted a fraction of his own feelings to himself, he never thought that he would be so... possessive. Though admittedly, he had very good cause for it.

Because you were frustrating. So, so frustrating. For some idiotic reason, you simply didn't understand how alluring to others you really were. You were a pretty little thing, yes but that wasn't the problem. It was so much more than that. And he knew that the others wanted you. Every last one of them. Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Wyll, Karlach, Gale, Halsin. All of them like moths to a flame. And that wasn't even counting all of the strangers you had met on your journey, the extras that thought they had a shot with your greatness. They all wanted you in ways that made Astarion seethe. And the desire from others wasn't even the kind that he was used to, the kind he understood like the back of his hand. Because you didn't need to seduce to cultivate desire. All you needed to stoke the flames was merely your presence. Experiencing you was all that was required for people to know they wanted more.

Astarion knew that the others weren't just looking for a bedmate, they wanted you for the same reasons he had grown to. Your empathy, your desire to understand those around you. Your fearlessness, your infuriating habit of always trying to do the right thing. They wanted you for your laugh, the way your eyes would crinkle in the corners when your smile was too wide. Your silly jokes, your endless hopefulness for a future. It felt as though everyone around saw you for the gem that you were and it was... concerning. Extremely concerning.

Astarion hated thinking about things like this. He loathed admitting the truth to himself even more. But he was...terrified of losing you to someone else. Especially since it could so easily be done. He was so very lucky that you weren't the brightest, or at least not when it came to matters of the heart. You could do so much better than him, a fact that was incredibly obvious to everyone around you. Everyone but you, a luck that Astarion did not take lightly. But how much time did he have before it ran out? Would it ever?

Perhaps it was delusional, but he was starting to think when all of this was over, assuming neither of you perished anyway, that...it could just be the two of you. Living together, exploring the world, even if it had to be under the cloak of night. Maybe... maybe the two of you could even find a cure for his unsavory condition. The thought itself was incredibly stupid, but then again, it was just as idiotic to believe that there was a cure to the Mind Flayer parasite. But here they were, closer then ever. And if that was such an impossibility turned into reality, perhaps a vampiric cure wasn't so impossible. Or maybe even finding an alternative method for immortality for you, without the downsides of his own. Anything that could just keep you both together, for as long as possible. It was an unrealistic dream, that would never come into fruition. If anything it was dangerous, so very dangerous to even entertain the thought of forever. Especially when your connection was so tenuous.

Astarion would never be stupid enough to thank Cazador for anything but...he'd be lying if he said he wasn't appreciative for his own lack of subtly when it came to seducing you. Even if it originally was for distasteful reasons, it still got him ahead of the pack. If he had been less calculating, less astute, there was a sincere chance that you would be warming someone else's bed at night. Callousness would never be without it's uses, even if it led to uncomfortable situations like his current infatuation.

What would he do when you inevitably wanted to leave? How could he survive after having something so...good. Someone so caring, someone who for some very horrifying reason liked being around him. And the sex... it was fabulous. He was a massive fan of your intimacy, when he was capable of participating in it. He adored it, he adored you, your beauty, the sweet noises he could coax from your mouth, the europhia of being inside of you. Then there was the fact that you could be intimate without any traces of it devolving into lovemaking. He had never been gifted with the ability to say no before, so often and so freely without a single fear of punishment. If anything, it felt like he was rewarded when he was honest with you, when he would share his sudden fits of discomfort in his own body, the memories that plagued him and doomed him to staying stubbornly soft. You would never get angry, never even disappointed. You would just listen and smile, always adorable when you would ask, "But I can stay for a cuddle, can't I?"

An extremely silly question, considering the two of you hadn't spent a night apart from each other since you'd made it to the Shadowlands. Yet it never failed to make him melt.

It was getting worse, these feelings. He just wanted you around, by his side, constantly. Constant enough for him to get the ridiculous urge to hiss at anyone else who dared to come near you. He felt an intense need to protect the closeness the both of you had cultivated, the kind that he had never been allowed before. He had no interest in sharing you with your own friends when it came down to it, let alone another lover.

Which is precisely why his original, mild distaste for Halsin turned into a full-blown hatred the night he had the gall to proposition you.

It had felt like a shard of ice going through his chest when you bounded over to him, laughing about one of his greatest fears coming much too close to reality, "You won't believe the conversation Halsin and I just had-"

"Ah, I was wondering when you were going to ask me about that," Astarion laughed, purposefully interrupting you. He had no desire to hear the specifics of that conversation. He didn't even want to be having this conversation, where you were inevitably going to ask if it was okay to explore someone else.

The answer was no. Never would he be okay with it, allowing someone else to be close to what should have been his. But he needed to think strategically here. To say no could be disasterous. If it became a game of choice between him and Halsin... he's almost certain he would lose. Halsin was everything he wasn't; caring, giving, sharing in your worldviews in a way that Astarion never could. He couldn't risk it, he wouldn't. Having you at all was better than nothing.

"But I'd never even consider something like that-"

"It's fine," Astarion interrupts again, the fakest smile he can muster plastered on his face. The pain was worth the risk mitigation, he was sure of that. But... he still had to ask, "But is this because we haven't...y'know, in awhile?"

A sick part of him prays that you'll say yes. Because if that's the reason, he could do something about it. He could force himself if need be to always tend to your needs. Especially if it meant keeping you to himself. It was such a small sacrifice in comparison to the rest of his life. He would do it in a heartbeat if you demanded, anything to just make you stay.

But that was not the answer he received. Instead you frowned, looking him up and down, "What? No, I-Astarion no. Please don't think that. What we have together is so special to me. The physical part of it is lovely, perfect even. But...it's not what we are."

It's almost comforting to hear you say that. But then why did that make the situation feel so much worse? If it wasn't sex you were after then that certainly meant you wanted more with Halsin as well, did it not? But it was too late to rescind it now.

Astarion nodded, a confused mixture of hurt and gratefulness swirling through him, "I just needed to know. But if you're satisfied with me and just want to explore, go right ahead. I'll be here when you're done."

You nodded slowly, brow furrowed when you asked, "So...we aren't exclusive then?"

"No, of course not," Astarion confirmed, ignoring everything inside of him that was screaming for him to take it all back, "We can be as open as you'd like."

"I see..." You said, trailing off with a frown. You coughed into your hand, looking up at him sharply. Sharp enough for him to be sincerely confused, "Does this mean that you'll be speaking to me before you explore your other options?"

"I-yes? If you want?" Astarion answered, a new type of unease settling in his chest. You didn't seem very happy with this conversation, despite his best attempts to give you what you wanted. Where had he gone wrong? Was he already working to throw you into the arm's of another man, without even trying?

You were still frowning at him, your look cold in a way that made him feel particularly ill, "Please do. I'd like to know everything. I'm going to speak to Halsin, get this all sorted. We can talk later."

And then you were spinning on your heel and marching away, like Astarion was the offensive party here. It made no sense. He had done it all right, hadn't he? Agreed to it immediately, didn't make you feel guilty, had tried to be what you wanted. How had he failed?

He didn't wait around to see you go to Halsin. Instead he went straight back to his tent, closing the flap as he laid down. Great. Fantastic. Now he would have to be aware, perhaps even hear you being with another, while simultaneously reliving that horrid conversation in his head for the entire night. The hurt and worry was making his mind wander to uncomfortable places. Perhaps...Halsin could be dealt with in another way if things became too serious between the two of you.

Would poisoning the man be too extreme?

But before Astarion had the time to start thinking of a more detailed plan he was interrupted. Suddnely, moonlight was filling his tent, with your silleoute shining in the darkness.

He blinked up at you, confused, "What are you doing here?"

You frowned at him, looking hesitant in the entry way, "Should I not be? I thought-I can go if you'd like."

"No!" Astarion blurted out, loud and desperate enough to make him cringe. He cleared his throat, trying again, his voice still a touch too pitiful for his liking, "No, no, come here darling. Of course you're always welcome. I just assumed you would be busy."

To his relief you listened, crawling into the bedroll next to him. Astarion didn't waste any time in wrapping his arms around you, relieved to humiliating degrees that you had chosen to come back after the deed. Though...you didn't quite smell as he had thought you would. There were no traces of the floral, woodsy smell of the druid on your skin. Just the sweet, pleasant scent that he had grown so fond of.

You sighed as he tucked you against him, the warmth of you enough to make him relax for the first time that night. You laid together in a pleasant quiet, one that Astarion was actually scared to disturb. Despite the fact that he desperately wanted to know what happened between the two of you.

But you broke the silence for him, muttering into his chest after the two of you were settled, "I'm...sorry for being snappish earlier. I shouldn't have been. You didn't do anything wrong, and I know I don't own you. I shouldn't have assumed."

Astarion frowned, pulling back to get a proper look at your face. You looked hurt, sad even. Like you were the one who had gotten their heart broken. He could feel a curl of distaste settling in his stomach, annoyed that this felt as though the situation was being placed back to him. He had played his part, perfectly. What more could you ask for? What was there to assume?

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean," Astarion carefully said, his eyes fixed on every micro expression on your face, "What did I do that could have been construed as incorrect?"

"Nothing!" You rushed to say, shame coloring your cheeks, "I was being stupid. You never promised me anything. I just...assumed. Wrongly that we were something we aren't."

That didn't-he-what? Astarion frowned at her, his confusion evident on his face, "What did you think we were?"

You looked uncomfortable, avoiding his gaze when you answered, "I thought that we were...together. Alone. Just us. But if that's not what you want I understand. It's fine-"

"What in the hells are you talking about?" Astarion blurted out, his anger and pain bubbling to the surface, "I haven't done a thing. And we were just us before you decided to galivant off with a bear of a man!"

He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. So much for playing things safely. No, he couldn't even have the self-control to stay quiet. He always had to ruin everything.

But surprisingly, you didn't look angry. If anything you seemed just as confused as he felt, "What? I didn't-we didn't do anything! When did I say I wanted to do anything with Halsin? You were the one saying you didn't care!"

You weren't making any damn sense, "Well why else would you ask me about it?"

"I didn't!" You huffed, glaring at him, "All I was going to say was that he asked me. And I wanted your help on how to best turn him down! And then you jumped at the chance to push me onto someone else-"

"I did nothing of the sort!" Astarion seethed back, "If it was up to me you would never look at another man again! Or woman for that matter!"

It was an odd feeling, to be arguing while holding each other so closely. But Astarion had no intention of letting you go anytime soon, even if he could feel you squirming against his ironclad grip when you fumed at him, "Then why would you say it was okay?!"

"Because I don't want you to leave me!" He shouted back, loud enough to snap him out of his own anger. All of his fury was instantly replaced with fear. Gods, why had he felt the need to say that? To lay his biggest insecurity out on the line. Why not just hand you a stake while he was at it, since he was so eager to give you the tools to destroy him.

But you were still seething, hissing back at him, "Why praytell, would I leave the man I've been in love with for months? Hm? Please, explain it to me!"

Astarion couldn't. He was too busy being shell-shocked at the confession, feeling too many emotions at once. Joy, relief, somehow even more fear than before. You so freely said the words that he had done his damndest to bury, to ignore. But now they were out there, filling him with a horrifying joy.

He wanted to say it back. He did. But he couldn't get the wrecthed words out. Instead he was just staring at you like an imbeicle, his mouth hanging opening at the confession.

But his silence didn't make you falter. Instead you looked determined, near fierce as you grasped his face into your warm hands, "I love you Astarion. You don't have to say it back. That's not what this is about. But I want you. And only you. If you want the same of me then you must tell me. Now."

Astarion let his hands flutter over your wrists, humiliating tears prickling at his eyes. But at least his vocal chords allowed him to answer you this time, "I do. So much more than you know. I want us. Just us. No one else."

The words were flowing out of him, too fast and sincere for him to make the appropriate edits in his head. He was saying too much, feeling too much, giving too much. But the way your eyes brightened at his words, the way you grinned at him before pulling him in for a sweet kiss made it suddenly feel like he wasn't giving anything up at all.

As much as he loathed to admit it, Astarion was exceedingly grateful for Halsin's existence after that night. He would never have had the gall to demand you to himself without a trigger, without the anger you both shared at being misunderstood. Because now, you were his. His alone, the proclamation coming from your own lips. And he was free to stop hiding how much he had wanted it. How willing he was to do anything to keep it. He let himself off his own leash after that, leaning completely into the mutual ownership you had of each other. No more would he silently sit back and seethe as a stranger flirted with you. No, now he'd be upfront and center, with a possessive hand around your waist as he glared them down, more than prepared with a confidence-shattering quip on his tongue.

He started to let all of his urges seep through, taking full advantage of your willingness. If Wyll looked at you for too long at the fire, with a touch of something that Astarion didn't like in his eyes, he'd effortlessly pull you into his lap onlookers be damned as breathed you in. If Gale suddenly had a suspect offer to teach you some new magic in a secluded location, Astarion would invite himself, impervious to any glares sent his way. And when he felt as though all of them were being a bit too flirtaious, he was more than happy to put them in their places at night. Spending hours upon hours making you scream his name in bed from pleasure, loud enough for everyone to hear and know exactly who you belonged to.

He couldn't care less if it added to his own unpopularity amongst their merry-band of rejects. Their opinions didn't matter. Not when you were eating all of the sudden attention up.

You let him do it all because you understood him, in ways that no one else had bothered to before. You knew who he was, what he wanted, the extent to how much he craved your attention. And you let it all happened, reveled in it even. The intense shows of affection. Because you loved him. And he loved you. And one of these days he'd allow himself to admit the obvious.

But for now, he had what he wanted. What he needed. And in the first time in his life, even with disgusting tadpoles squirming his his brain, Astarion was actually...happy.

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion fic #long fic #you'll pry my long posts out of my cold dead hands #may add a dirty part two here #dirty sweet

8K notes · View notes

crystallinestars · 2 months

Text

Their reactions to your death

As it says on the tin, the HSR boys' reactions to your death. This is pure angst.

WARNING:

Contains descriptions of death (nothing too graphic, though)

Suicidal thoughts in Aventurine's part

Mentions of Aventurine's backstory

No happy endings, this is pure angst

Characters: Argenti, Aventurine, and Jing Yuan

🌹 Argenti

Argenti knew that taking you traveling with him was a dangerous endeavor. You had some combat experience as a Nameless, and he admired your determination to improve your fighting skills by frequently sparring with him. He warned you of the frequent dangers he faced as a Knight of Beauty in his pursuit of THEIR radiance, and despite his common sense telling him to let you go, neither his heart nor you were satisfied to sever the tender bond growing between you. Against his better judgment, Argenti caved to your pleas to join him on his journey.

At first, the days spent journeying with you were some of his happiest. The love blossoming in his chest filled his entire being, and he often swore to you that you must have been blessed by Idrila themselves because when he was with you, the entire universe glowed with radiant beauty. The world was more beautiful with you by his side, for that was how much of an impact your presence had on him.

Argenti soon came to regret his weak will for allowing you to come along on his perilous adventure. You were making a rest stop on a small planet when the Antimatter Legion invaded, set on destruction. Overwhelmed by enemy numbers, Argenti focused on protecting the citizens and trusted you to handle yourself. Though you were not on par with his strength, he saw you improve during your sparring sessions, and he wanted to believe in your capabilities.

When the battle was over and the dust settled, Argenti couldn’t find you. While calling your name, he forced his battered and bloodied body to move as he searched for you among the rubble. He soon found you, collapsed on the ground in a puddle of your own blood. Quickly rushing to your side, Argenti scooped you up into his arms to inspect your injuries. The gashes in your torso were deep—Argenti knew instantly they were fatal. He didn’t want to accept your death, but no matter how much he called your name, hoping you would magically come back to life and open your eyes, you remained still.

Argenti was no stranger to losing friends, as their knightly profession resulted in many of them dying. He still thought about his fallen comrades with an ache in his chest, unable to fully make peace with their passing. However, you were someone he cherished even more than his fallen friends. You were the first person he grew to love from the bottom of his heart, dare he say even more than his beloved Aeon of Beauty. You were the first person to instill such overwhelming joy and adoration in his being with your mere existence.

Gently taking hold of your hand, Argenti brought your palm to his cheek, his heart shattering at how cold your skin was. He remained like this for a long time, hunching over your body and cradling you close while holding your limp hand in his. He wept. Tears streamed down his handsome face, leaving behind wet trails among the dirt and blood smeared on his cheeks as he kissed the back of your hand the way he did so many times before, only this time would be the last. Argenti quietly apologized to you for not being there to protect you, for allowing you to join him on such a dangerous journey and lose your life because he wasn’t strong enough to resist his love for you.

The day you died, the beautiful universe as Argenti knew it, withered like a decaying rose. The things he once found beautiful were now rendered without that same brilliant splendor. Everything appeared bleak and ordinary. No matter how he tried, Argenti found it difficult to summon the love and appreciation he once had. It was as if you had taken that ability with you to the grave.

Worse yet, Argenti found his faith in Idrila shaken, leaving him questioning his devotion to the absent Aeon.

After all, how can beauty exist in a universe without you?

🃏 Aventurine

After he returned from a mission, Aventurine wanted to spend some quality time with you, so he took you to the local mall with the promise of buying you anything your pretty heart desired, no matter the price tag. Walking hand-in-hand, Aventurine and you were discussing which store to visit next when a man emerged from the crowd and stood in front of your pair. The man looked familiar to Aventurine, but before he had time to place the face to a name, the man drew a gun and aimed it right at Aventurine’s heart, screaming that Aventurine ruined his life and he would get revenge on him today.

The ensuing moments happened too quickly for Aventurine to react. The man pulled the trigger and a loud bang resounded through the shopping center, resulting in a cacophony of screams from the nearby crowd of shoppers. The bullet didn’t hit Aventurine, however. As if in slow motion, he watched you shield him from the assailant and intercept the bullet in his place.

His carefully crafted personal of smug confidence crumbled when you fell at his feet, replaced with rarely-seen panic as Aventurine saw red bloom at the center of your chest like an ugly rose. The terror of losing you overrode any other concern in his mind, and Aventurine barely spared a thought to the assassin, too preoccupied with stemming your bleeding with his jacket, not caring if it became ruined with blood. Somewhere in the background, he heard the man’s angry shouts as he was apprehended and carried away by security, but Aventurine couldn’t focus on that. All he had on his mind was ensuring you made it out alive.

He was so focused on stopping your bleeding, that the only thing that snapped him out of his panic was the sensation of your hand resting over his. Lifting his gaze to meet your pained one, Aventurine watched you mouth “I love you” before falling still moments later. Your eyes glazed over, staring through him into the distance, and Aventurine’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach.

Just five minutes ago he was happily holding hands with you, excited to indulge in a rare day off to spoil you, and how he looked down on your lifeless body cradled in his arms. You were gone and he will never get you back.

The ensuing days were a blur of police interrogations and IPC meetings, but Aventurine was glad to be busy. It was the only thing distracting him from his grief and guilt. It turned out that the assassin was a small company representative he screwed over a while ago for the sake of a mission, and the man wanted to kill Aventurine in revenge. A few of Aventurine’s colleagues said he was lucky to be alive, but that phrase made his stomach churn. Could it be considered luck if he lost you in the end? If so, then he doesn’t want to be lucky anymore.

When your funeral came, Aventurine almost didn’t attend. He couldn’t bear to face you with the knowledge that you gave up your life for his. That he stood here alive and well, while you lay lifeless in the grave because of him. But Topaz and Jade coaxed him out and he went, tuning out the entire procession or risk showing vulnerability.

After the hectic days wound down, the grief came in full force. Once upon a time, Aventurine found solitude as a saving grace after a long day of faking and scheming. Then you came along and wormed your way into his scarred heart, bathing him in a love and gentleness he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Sharing his home with you was an unfamiliar yet joyous experience, and he found comfort in knowing that you were waiting for him to return each day. However, now his home felt awfully empty and lonely without you, and the silence sometimes choked him. Your things were still lying where you left them before that horrid day, and Aventurine didn’t have the heart to move them, much less throw them away. After all, they held memories of your happy times together, proof that you once existed.

Insomnia became his companion. The grief and guilt weighed on him like a boulder and kept him awake late into the night, turning over possibilities of what he should have done so you would have survived. When his exhausted brain forced him to sleep, all he saw were nightmares. Some nights he dreamt of his mother and sister, and the fires and bloodshed that tore through their little encampment. Other nights he dreamt of being shackled and watching blood run down his fingers while a lifeless body lay at his feet, beaten beyond recognition. Sometimes, he dreamt about being on a date with you, hearing you say “I love you” and then watching you fall lifeless at his feet with a bullet wound in your chest.

Aventurine woke in a cold sweat every time. Usually, when he had nightmares, you were there to keep him company until he calmed down, but now, there was nothing but empty space where you should have been. He did not fall asleep afterward.

Your death weighed like a heavy boulder, suffocating him. It unearthed painful memories and reopened old wounds that never healed. Aventurine lost so much in his life: his family, people, planet, freedom, and now, the love of his life. Everything he treasured had been brutally taken from him, and the constant beatdown made it difficult to summon the will to go on. He might have pulled on a smile for his colleagues at the IPC, but in the solitude of his home, there were nights when he considered ending it all and joining you and his family in the afterlife. He probably would have gone through with those urges were it not for Topaz and Jade’s timely support. Their genuine concern for his well-being helped steer him away from such thoughts.

Having faced so much loss, Aventurine closed himself off from close relationships. He swore to never take another lover after you—he couldn’t bear to lose someone else again—but he does hold your memory close to his heart, much like he does with his family. He packed your things and stored them safely alongside his mother’s items, cherishing them as a memento of you.

Aventurine knows that one day he will reunite with you and his family. Maybe that day won’t come soon, but he finds comfort in knowing it will happen eventually. In the meantime, he resolved to push on and fulfill his goal of taking revenge against the IPC for the sake of everything they had so cruelly snatched from him. Just wait a little longer for him, alright? He will join you soon enough.

🦁 Jing Yuan

Having lived for several centuries, one would assume Jing Yuan had accumulated precious wisdom over the course of his long life. Though he remained humble, Jing Yuan liked to think so, too. Yet, entering a committed relationship with you, a short-life species, was not a wise decision at all. Compared to his long lifespan, your life was like a sparkler: beautifully bright but short-lived. Jing Yuan was fully aware that it would hurt him when he inevitably lost you, but love made people foolish, and he was no exception.

His long life and the loss of his beloved friends and mentor made him jaded, but being with you gave him that little spark of excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time. It felt good to come home to find you waiting for him, and it motivated him to finish his paperwork faster so he could hurry back to you. The lazy days of taking naps on your lap, going on strolls through Xianzhou, and drinking tea together were akin to a dream.

But as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. In what felt like a blink of an eye, you started showing signs of aging. Your skin developed new wrinkles and your vision worsened, but otherwise, you were still perfectly healthy. Nevertheless, the sight settled like a heavy blanket over Jing Yuan. It was a reminder that you were slowly but surely approaching the end of your life span. The realization weighed on his heart, turning his time with you bittersweet, but he resolved to make the most of your remaining time together.

After a few more decades, you developed health problems and were no longer as active as you used to be, so Jing Yuan paid for the best doctors on the Xianzhou to care for you, all with the hope of extending your life by just a few more years. Even one or two more would do.

Over the years, you took many couple photographs to capture the fun times but also to leave something for Jing Yuan to remember you by. He used to look upon them with fondness, but now as he browsed through the photos on his phone, his heart sank as he saw how you progressively aged with each new picture while he remained unchanged. Though he knew it was inevitable for your species, it still left a sour taste in his mouth.

A couple more decades passed by, and your figure changed even more. Your skin was wrinkled and your hair white, your vision was poor, and the aches and pains in your body prevented you from being active. Jing Yuan sometimes caught your melancholic gaze on him when you thought he wasn’t looking, and he knew his youthful appearance bothered you. You must have doubted whether he still loved you now that you lost your youthful beauty, but he did. No matter how much you changed, Jing Yuan’s love for you never waned, and he proved it to you by faithfully remaining by your side, showering you in compliments and affections the same way he did when he first fell in love with you.

Time marched on. Jing Yuan watched you slowly waste away in front of his eyes as you grew feeble with every passing year. Your time would come soon, and he would have to say goodbye to you. He was no stranger to goodbyes. He’s lost dear friends in the past, but the longing for his companions and the good times they shared together never quite left. He knew it would be the same with you because despite the short time you had been together, you had left a big impact on him. Capturing the heart of the Luofu General was no small feat, as he often told you with a playful smile. Rendering him practically kneeling at your bedside and grasping your hand with the fear of today being your last was no small feat either, though Jing Yuan never told you that part.

When your time was almost here, Jing Yuan spent all his free time at your bedside, desperately trying to get a few more moments with you. His laidback smile was ever present as he chatted with you and held your hand, but that mask faded when he felt your hand grow limp in his at long last. Though he was heartbroken to watch you go, he was glad that your death was a peaceful one, at least.

He did not cry for you. He had decades to prepare for your death, but your absence did leave a hole in his heart. He sorely missed the playful banter, cheerful laughter, and comfort you provided. Life returned to the same monotony it used to be prior to meeting you, but it felt incomplete without you. His house felt too silent, his bed was too big for him alone, and he still caught himself brewing an extra mug of tea out of habit.

Falling in love with a short-life species was not a wise decision, but despite the heartache Jing Yuan felt whenever he looked at photos of you, he knew he would make the mistake of loving you all over again if given the chance. It just hurt knowing he could no longer make new memories with you.

Maybe if he’s lucky, the mara won’t get him and he’ll get to keep these cherished memories of you and the High-Cloud Quintet until his last days. At least, he hopes such a small mercy can be granted to him.

#honkai star rail x reader #star rail x reader #hsr x reader #argenti x reader #aventurine x reader #jing yuan x reader

491 notes · View notes

sarahscribbles · 7 months

Note

saz i am the FIRMEST of believers that loki’s into cock warming, especially when he comes home from a long mission or gruesome battle literally all he wants is to be nestled inside you for hours 😌

𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐦 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟐.𝟔𝐤

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The endless sky stretching beyond the Allmother’s library is a vibrant swirl of scarlet and amber when you hear the clatter of a dozen hooves in the courtyard below. Over the excited braying of horses you hear the calls of Einherjar for stable hands and body servants, and the book in your lap quickly tumbles to the floor with a thump as you rush towards the window in a flurry of skirts.

The sudden disturbance in the quiet of the evening can only mean that the campaign is over and the princes are home.

Loki is home.

You reach the window just as he swings a long leg over his horse and drops elegantly to the ground, looking every inch the warrior in leather and metal. The last dying rays of sun catch the small golden band around his finger and the breeze tousles his perfectly styled hair, but he barely appears to notice because his attention is already fully focused on something else.

You, standing at the library window.

He found you within five minutes of arriving back home. Always, your husband will find you, as though some invisible string connects his heart to yours.

The smile that curls across his lips when he catches your eye is both devilish and devastating, as is the wink he offers you as his horse is taken away.

A kaleidoscope of butterflies takes flight in your stomach and your fingers curl tighter around the pillar they rest on. Six weeks he’s been gone - one of the longest campaigns of your marriage - and it’s taking everything in you not to run through the palace and have him right there in the courtyard.

Perhaps more than once.

His bright eyes linger longingly on you until he disappears beneath the window ledge and into the Palace. From the floor below, you hear the gentle buzz of conversation and revelry as the warriors recount their journey to victory for anyone who will listen. You hear the distinct sound of Thor’s war cry; the hearty cheers of The Warriors Three; the joyous clanging of swords in celebration…

You hear the familiar deep roll of laughter that you would recognise anywhere.

The sound of your husband’s mirth, his uncontained joy, makes you giddy with excitement, the likes of which you haven’t experienced since you first started courting him or the first time you got to taste his kiss. You’ve missed him - missed the warmth of his embraces, the softness of his lips, the easy way he can make you laugh without even trying.

You’ve missed your best friend.

Forgetting all about the book you’ve left lying, pages akimbo, on the floor, you rush from the library on quick, quiet feet to race your husband to your chambers. You know it will be his first port of call, as it always is after any length of time you spend apart, and the thought alone is enough to make you fizzle wildly with anticipation.

Will he take his time worshiping your body? Will those large, gentle hands spend hours refamiliarising themselves with every dip and curve? Will his lips lavish attention on you until not an inch of you has been left unkissed?

Or, will he back you against the chamber wall and hoist your skirts around your hips? Will he rip your bodice from your body and roughly have his way with you? Will he make you orgasm again and again until you go limp in his arms?

Perhaps both if you’re lucky.

Perhaps this reunion will be similar to the last when neither of you were seen outside your chambers for three days; one day of pleasure for each battle the Asgardians had won, so your husband had promised.

And delivered on.

The late evening air tingles with his magic as you pass along the Palace hallways. He’s closer than you had initially believed, but when you finally approach the ornate double doors of your chambers, only the two Einhenjar stand outside.

You breeze quickly past them with a brief nod, stepping straight into the empty living area of your chambers. There’s nothing to suggest that Loki is anywhere within or lurking in the rooms beyond, so you haltingly let your guard down.

Beyond the walls of your chamber, you hear the merry sounds of the warriors making their way to Odin in the heart of the Palace to boast of their victory. They pass by in a raucous cacophony of cheers and shouts - still loudly retelling the events of each battle to their eager audience of courtiers - and you prepare for your husband to come striding through the doors energised by victory.

But they remain firmly closed.

Your brow furrows at the same time a knot of disappointment twists in your stomach. Loki’s letters from the battlefield had been dripping with innuendo and filthy promises of how he planned to ravish you upon his return - some so salacious that you’d had to lock the doors to your bedchamber early in the afternoon.

Surely, after so many promises of debauchery, he wouldn’t choose an audience with Odin over you.

The sounds of Thor and his fellow warriors become increasingly more faint and still there’s no sign of Loki. You wait another minute and then start towards the doors, but you’ve barely taken three steps when a familiar pair of arms wrap around your middle so suddenly that you yelp in surprise.

“I caught you, my little mouse.” Loki’s soft voice purrs in your ear, and you feel his warm lips press a lingering kiss to your cheek.

You pretend to huff, but it’s impossible to stop the smile that spreads across your face at being back in your husband’s embrace. “How do you always manage to do that?”

His answering laughter makes your heart swell. How had you survived six whole weeks without him?

Loki places one last kiss to your temple and twirls you around in his arms. You’re flush against his chest and the familiar feeling of safety washes warmly over you. “Do you forget to whom you are married, dove?” he teases, eyes twinkling as he gazes at you.

“As if such a thing is even possible!” you reply, teasing him just as easily.

“Little vixen,” he murmurs, and pulls you tighter against his chest. “Did you miss me?”

Briefly, you consider teasing him a little more, but something in his eyes makes you reconsider. Reflected in them clear as day is how deeply he missed you and how desperately he needs to hear you say that you noticed his absence.

“Like one would miss a limb,” you say softly and twist your arms around his shoulders.

Loki smiles and dips his head to kiss you gently. It’s sweet and innocent yet it still awakens six weeks of need within you. Your fingers curl greedily into his hair as you pull him to you, silently begging him for more, but you only feel him bite your lower lip and pull back.

“Don’t you wish to go and congratulate Thor and the others? I’m sure they would relish the praise of their Princess,” he says, his pretty green eyes dancing with mischief at your pout.

“The only thing I wish to do is spend the next few hours welcoming my husband home,” you reply.

The very thought has a throbbing ache begin between your thighs. You picture tousled bed sheets and your husband's firm body writhing and flexing beneath your hungry fingers. You want to spend hours losing yourself to the feel of him and clutch him to you like a life raft as he makes Valhalla dance behind your eyes.

You want to enjoy your husband.

Loki squeezes your hips. “You know there’s nothing in the Nine that I can deny you, darling.”

Before you can draw breath to reply, he’s easily tossing you over one shoulder and carrying you towards your bedroom. Your shrieks of laughter ring through the chamber. After six weeks, your heart is full again, swelling with love for the man who’s rushed straight home to you and is kicking the doors to your room closed with a satisfying bang. You wait for the inevitable feeling of soaring through air as he tosses you onto the bed, but seconds pass and you’re still draped over his shoulder.

“Are we feeling sentimental this evening?” you question, only half teasing.

By now, you had expected to be stripped and possibly restrained to the bed, but your husband appears to be in no rush to have his way with you.

“Possibly,” Loki answers, lightly tapping your ass.

He sets you down gently on your feet, then takes both your hands in his to raise them to his lips. They’re warm as they kiss the backs of your knuckles and his sparkling green eyes never once leave yours.

“Undress me, darling,” he whispers softly and releases your hands.

He’s already stepped out of his heavy outer armour, likely as soon as he stepped inside the palace, leaving him in the casual, soft leather that you know all too well. Your practiced hands reach out easily to push the long overcoat off his broad shoulders, and it falls to the stone floor with a quiet thump.

The rest of his clothing is quick to follow. It’s beautifully intimate, undressing him - revealing him piece by piece so you can marvel at this beautiful man who wears your ring on his finger. You reach out to lightly trace the scars on his abdomen that weren’t there last time, scars that you’ll kiss over and over while he falls asleep in your arms later.

“I’m fine,” Loki whispers, reading your thoughts while your fingers continue to dance over his skin.

Your eyes dart to his, searching for any tiny flick of untruth. The god of lies he may be, but he can hide nothing from you.

“I promise, dove.” He continues, letting his hands fall to rest on your hips. “I’ll recount the story of every new scar for you if I must.”

Your own hands find his on your hips to pull them to the fastenings of your gown. “I insist on it, my prince,” you say with a smirk.

Loki rolls his eyes, but the smile he gives you is nothing short of adoring. “As you wish,” he says, and begins to trail a single finger along the bodice of your gown.

In a pale shimmer of green the fabric disappears before you, melting to nothing until you’re finally bare before him. His eyes drink you in - heavy with six weeks of pent up desire - and you can’t fight the shiver when he reaches in to suck a bruise to the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, placing a kiss over your bruising skin. “Ethereal.” He adds, sliding his hands around your waist and letting them run along your lower back to squeeze your ass.

“Mine,” he says more forcefully, placing a firm kiss to your lips at the same time his hands lock around your knees.

You squeal against his lips as he hoists you into his arms, but easily lock your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck. You feel the shift of his body as he climbs onto the bed, but instead of being laid back amongst the generous piles of pillows as you expected, Loki positions himself back against the intricate headboard with you still straddling his lap.

“How I missed you, my darling wife,” he says quietly when his lips leave yours, and then he’s coaxing you onto your knees before him.

Loki takes your hand in his and guides it towards his cock, wrapping your fingers around it with a contented sigh. You know what he’s asking without him having to say a word.

Slowly, you begin to stroke him, watching his eyes flicker closed when you increase the pressure. “Did you miss me? Or did you miss this?” you tease him.

“How unfair of you to make me choose,” he replies instantly.

You squeeze his cock with a smirk, not missing the quiet groan that floats from him or the slight curl of his upper lip.

“Oh, that might cost you later, dove,” he says. It’s meant to be a warning, you know, but it only makes your core burn for him.

“Perhaps that’s what I’m counting on,” you quip back quickly, which makes the god in your bed chuckle softly.

His cock grows beneath your touch, which only makes a surge of power shoot straight to your head. You begin to stroke him faster and apply just the barest hint of pressure, but a large hand quickly reaches out to still yours.

“Am I…,” you begin, but trail off when you glance towards him.

Loki’s eyes are alight and dancing with the promise of mischief. Without a word, he edges you forward on the bed until your aching cunt is directly above his cock. You clench desperately at what you know is coming and it feels like an eternity until Loki is coaxing you down and the head of his cock is brushing teasingly against you.

He maddingly drags himself through your soaked cunt again and again, pulling groan after groan from deep in your chest. Your nails dig into the pale skin of his shoulder, leaving a pattern of tiny half moons in their wake as you fix him with pleading eyes.

“Fuck, Loki. Please, put it in,” you beg, needing to feel your husband fill you after six long weeks apart.

Loki grins back mischievously. “As my love commands.”

Slowly, he eases his cock inside you, making you take him inch by inch until you can take no more of him. He hisses at the feel of your cunt clenching wildly around him, and you’re rewarded with a stream of moans and curses until you’re fully seated on him.

A hand closes quickly around the base of your skull to pull you in for another blistering kiss that’s lazy and wondrously sloppy. “I missed this tight little cunt,” he rasps into your ear with a roll of his hips.

“Fuck,” you curse softly and let your head fall to his shoulder.

He feels so blindingly good inside you that all you want to do is ride him until he can’t remember his own name, but when your hips begin to rock against his, Loki plants two strong hands on them to hold you still.

“Ah, ah, darling. This is more than enough for now,” he says lightly.

Not fully believing what you heard, you pull back to peer at him. “What? Loki, it’s been six -.”

“Shhh, dove. I thought you insisted on hearing all about our time away?” he replies.

“Yes, but not now! There will be plenty of time for you to tell me after!” You try not to whine. There had been three battles in all, and Loki had promised to tell you about all of them in detail.

Your husband shifts beneath you, making you whimper when his cock does the same. “Perhaps, but, for now, I wish to have my darling wife warm my cock as I tell her about our victories. Would you deny me that?”

He knows that he has you. You can’t deny this man anything, even if it means spending a tortuous evening with his cock inside you.

“No,” you reply, fighting to keep from pouting.

Loki pulls you in for another quick kiss. “Good girl,” he says and gives another teasing roll of his hips. “If you can continue being good and not try to pleasure yourself all evening, then I will personally see to it that you don’t walk properly for the next week.”

#loki #loki smut #loki x reader #loki fanfction

947 notes · View notes

axelsagewrites · 1 year

Note

Hii, I had a request...Robb and Jon having a crush on the same girl, maybe she could be the Bannerman daughter or something, just lots of teasing and rivalry and angst :)

Robb Stark and Jon Snow*Share

Pairing: Jon x f!reader, Robb x f!reader

Platonic: Sansa x reader

Word count: 3975

This is part one. Part two will be the smut.... (this was just too long to make into one part)

Masterlist Here

A/N: This is set with Sansa as being 15 and Robb, Jon, and the reader being 18. We’re also gonna pretend Westeros is still in a chill time with King Robert drinking away their money with Ned still alive and safe in Winterfell.

Robb and Jon were used to random Lords and Ladies staying at Winterfell for periods of time but when they saw their newest guest both had the same though. Gods she’s pretty. Your family where Bannerman’s of House Stark, ever loyal to Lord Eddard. Sansa had recently started whining, much to her brother’s dismay since it was all she talked about, that she had no need to be cared for by Septas or wet nurses any longer. She was determined she was old enough to not need to be constantly watched. However, when Catelyn suggested a lady in waiting Sansa jumped at the idea.

This was how you now stood in the courtyard at Winterfell, preparing to start your new journey. It was an honour for your house when you got the raven. Sansa was slightly younger than you, but you had remembered meeting her before at feasts and balls. You had also met Robb and Jon at these events but neither one had taken notice of you till now.

Robb slapped Jons shoulder to get his attention when he noticed you climbing out your carriage. “Is that (Y/N)?” he asked his half brother who looked up from where he was plucking arrows out the target he had just been practising with.

Jons eyebrows scrunched as he looked at the now woman who climbed out the carriage, “She did not look like that last time,” he said with a low voice.

“Tell me about it. Wait is she Sansa’s lady in waiting then?” he said, eyes not leaving the lady who was now being greeted in a hug by his mother.

“Your mother told us that last night,” Jon said rolling his eyes before glancing at the woman who was now merrily chatting with his half-sister, “Do you ever pay attention?”

“Not really,” Robb said with a chuckle as he took the bow from Jon, “Maybe I should from now on,” he joked. Robb did not attempt to hide his glances like Jon did. After all Jon was a bastard whereas Robb was used to the attention of the Northern ladies. However, this one had yet to look at either boy. “C’mon give me some arrows,” Robb said

“You hate archery,” Jon said despite handing him one of the arrows he had just plucked from the target. He moved back to allow Robb to line himself up with the target but couldn’t help noticing the glances he kept firing at (Y/N) while he began to load the bow. “Oh, gods you’re trying to woo her with your shit archery?” Jon smirked at his half-brother.

Robb shot Jon a glare, “Will you shut it?” he hissed glancing over to see if she had heard, which of course she had not, “Besides im not shit,”

“You’re not good,”

“Fuck you,”

“No thanks,”

“Fuck off Snow,”

Their scawbling however did get them noticed “Boys!” Catelyn called across the courtyard with a sharp look before turning back to the girls.

While Jon smirked Robb had noticed you looking over at him, a faint smile ghosting your lips that made him even more determined to show Jon he was wrong. Robbs eyes kept flickering back to you as he knocked his arrow and drew the string back. He enjoyed the feeling of your eyes on him as he did so. He finally turned his attention to the target. Taking a deep breath and rolling his shoulders back, he lined up his shot, breathed in then. Release.

The arrow hit the second inner ring of the target. Robb grinned to himself, knowing secretly that Jon was right about his shooting skills. But when he looked back, he realised you were no longer there. He sighed but when Jon began to laugh, he felt his skin grow hot. “Fuck up,” he said, shoving the bow back into Jons hands.

“You tried to woo her with archery, and she didn’t even stay to watch,” Jon couldn’t control his laughter. He had noticed you walking away as soon as Robb turned his attention to the target but did not say anything as he wanted to enjoy the view of you undisturbed. The bonus was of course his brother’s ego being knocked off its high horse.

“Please like you could do any better,” Robb grumbled as he retrieved the arrow.

“I could,” Jon said, chest puffed, and shoulders raised, “Girls like me,”

“What girls?” It was Robbs turn to laugh, “I can’t even imagine you flirting,”

“You tried to flirt with an arrow,” Jon shot back.

Robb rolled his eyes, “Mate trust me,” Robb said, putting a hand on Jons shoulder which he quickly shrugged off, “She likes me,”

“She’s been here for two minutes,” Jon rolled his eyes.

“We’ll see,”

“Yeah. We will,”

“Fine,”

“Good,”

“Whatever,”

Theon walked over to the bickering duo, “What are you two on about now?”

“Nothing,” The brothers said in unison before storming off in separate directions.

----

What did Robb know about girls anyway? Jon wondered as he walked the halls of Winterfell. Sure, he had girls’ attention because of his position but that doesn’t count. Besides Jon knew how to flirt. All be it he didn’t do it very often, but he was sure in theory he would do just fine. Why did Robb deserve you more than him anyway?

His mind soon went from frustration to thinking of you and suddenly his problems began to melt away. When he had noticed you, it was like all the air had been knocked out his lungs. Out of all the ladies he had seen you were by far the prettiest. The wide smile you wore when greeting his sister had warmed his heart from all the Norths cold. All he had been able to see was your hair and face due to the large clock you had been wearing but as his mind wandered, he couldn’t help but wondering what you looked like beneath it.

Jon was quickly snapped out his thoughts when he felt someone clash against his chest. His arm shoots out to grab the persons arm to steady them. “Apologies my- “Jon looked up to the person he had literally ran into and he felt his cheeks flush. “My lady I did not see you,” he stuttered, eyes flickering away from you in embarrassment.

“Jon?” You asked and he could hear the smile in your voice, “I hardly recognised you. It has been so long,” Jon couldn’t help the smile that spread on his face when he saw your wide grin. “You’ve grown,”

“As have you,” he said before his face fell, “not like that well like not in a bad way my lady- “

“It’s okay,” you laughed, “I know what you mean Jon. You have never been anything kind to me,”

Jon cleared his throat as he tried to stand tall, pretending he hadn’t made a complete arse of himself in front of you, “Are you off anywhere particular this evening my lady?”

“So formal,” you laughed hitting your shoulder as you continued your walk, Jon quickly turning to follow, “I was going to sneak to the kitchens to try squeeze a snack in before dinner. Mother forgot to pack us any food for our travels,”

“You don’t have to sneak my lady. You are a guest im sure lord stark would be more than happy to see you fed,”

“But is it not so much more fun this way?” you said in a low teasing voice, “I remember how we used to sneak away with Robb during feasts. Don’t act like you don’t like it this way,” Jon blushed at your words as a completely different potential scenario flashed across his mind, “Perhaps you could escort me to the kitchens?” your voice snapped him back to reality.

Jon cleared his throat, “Of course my lady,” Jon said as he took your arm you had outstretched to him.

You rolled your eyes as your arms linked, “You don’t need to be so formal Jon. No ones listening anyway. Besides we have so much caught up to do,” Jon had almost forgotten how chatty you had been but was glad to see the quality had not gone away.

Jon laughed along in your conversation, and grinned when his own jokes made loud laughs come from your mouth. Within minutes he was already so comfortable beside you like he had spent a lifetime by your side. However what Jon hadn’t noticed was Robb Starks icy glare when he spotted the two sneaking down the kitchen stairway.

---

When dinner time had rolled around you were informed by Sansa you would be joining the Starks at their table, which you found out included Jon which you were secretly pleased about. When you walked in the room the only ones at the table were Catelyn and Robb who grinned when you entered. You tried to hide your blush when you noticed his perfect smile. Robb had also changed from when you last saw him, and he had grown at least a head in height.

At both ends of the table sat a larger chair, one of which Catelyn was currently occupying. Three chairs ran down one side of the table, four on the other. Robb sat beside his mother on the side with three chairs, leaving two left. “Lady (y/n),” he greeted when you entered, “I hadn’t known you were joining us my lady,” he had. He had asked his mother who shot him a silent questioning look, “Allow me,” he said as he pulled the chair next to him out for you.

You laughed lightly as you took your seat, Robb pushing it in for you with a smile before taking his own chair. Sansa rolled her eyes at her brothers’ antics as she sat beside you, “She’s my friend not yours,” she grumbled.

“Sansa!” Catelyn said sharply, “She is our guest as much as she is your lady,” you did your best to not laugh but a small smile graced your lips, “Sorry about that (Y/N),” she said with a sorry smile.

“Its okay Lady Catelyn,” you said.

“Call me Cat,” she said with a smile, but the conversation was interrupted as the youngest three Starks sprinted into the room. “Behave you lot,” Cat said as she helped the youngest Rickon into the chair beside her. Bran and Arya took the two closest chairs to the empty one at the head of the table, leaving the one across from you free. Robb mentally scowled at his siblings but figured sitting beside you had the far superior advantage.

When Jon arrived, their father was with him and as the two took their seats the food was brought out. The way you and Jon smiled at each other made Robb wanna roll his eyes, but he resisted as he acted the perfect gentleman. As dinner went on Sansa kept stealing your attention which Robb figured was at least better than Jon doing so. He thought he would never get to talk to you.

Until that is you turned to him, “Don’t you think so too Robb?” your voice brought him back from his daydreaming about you. he hummed in response as he came out his daze, “I was saying to Sansa how she should go horse riding more often. Riding can be so thrilling after all,” Robb tried not to blush when he thought of what he would rather you be riding. “You do still enjoy horse riding?” you said with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh yeah of course,” he said quickly, “Sorry my mind has been preoccupied lately,” he said causing Jon to roll his eyes, “but Sansa trust her there are few things better than it. (Y/N) always knew how to have fun,” he said with a smile which made you blush and quickly turn to face Sansa, but Robb had saw it. he looked at Jon with a slight smirk which only made the boy roll his eyes and look away. When Robb heard Sansa and you discussing plans to go riding tomorrow, he had a plan.

-----

Robb wasn’t being weird by being close by the stables around the time he knew you would be coming by. He just was tending to his own horse. Definitely of course, a complete accident that he was there when you appeared with Sansa in tow laughing about something. “Robb,” you exclaimed when you noticed him, “Are you joining us?” you said glancing at Sansa.

Sansa quickly shook her head saying a firm no. Robb rolled his eyes at his little sister, “I was just tending to my horse my lady,”

“That’s sweet,” you said as Sansa went off to retrieve her mother’s horse which she had said she could borrow before they decided to get her one of her own, “So many lords just toss their reigns aside when they’re done,”

Robb chuckled as he stepped away from his horse and followed you to yours, “Do you ride often my lady?”

“I try to at least go a few times a week,” you said as you took you went to saddle your horse only for Robb to step in.

“Allow me,” he said as he readied your horse for you.

You laughed gently, stepping back to allow him to do so, “Thanks Robbie,” you said as he did up the leather and clasped.

Robb couldn’t help his blush at the nickname you had been using with him since childhood, “Its no problem,” he assured before stepping back from the horse, “That’s you all set,”

“Help me up?” you asked as you stepped closer to the horse. Robb couldn’t help but notice your slight smirk when you had asked and with a quick inhale and a sudden wave of confidence, he stepped forward to pick you up by your hips and place you on your horse. You giggled as he did so and quickly steady yourself on the saddle, “I didn’t realise how strong you had got,”

Robb grinned at your comment, “Thank you my lady. Sometimes I don’t notice my own strength,”

“Then I feel bad for whoever ends up at the other end of your sword,” you laughed.

“You should watch me practise someday,” Robb said, “I do almost everyday at the training grounds,”

“I’ll have to stop by sometime,” you smiled down at him as Sansa trotted over on her horse. “Ready?” you asked the girl.

“I am if you stop flirting with my brother,” she smirked before riding out of the stable. Robb would’ve been embarrassed if he had not seen how your face had flushed and how you quickly rode after her. wait till Jon heard what you had been saying.

----

“You can’t just grab a ladies’ hips,” Jon said, wide eyed. The pair were in the training yard getting ready to practise some sparring.

Robb smirked, “Really? Cause I did,” he said as he grabbed his practise sword off the rack, “Good hips by the way,” Jon rolled his eyes at his brothers’ antics, “You’re just mad that she likes me,”

“Maybe she was blushing because she was so embarrassed at the idea of flirting with you,” Jon said making Robb grumble, “At least she thinks im funny,” he added while he took his stance across from Robb.

Robb struck first. “Funny looking,” he said as their swords clashed.

“Fuck up,” he snapped, and Robb grinned. The grin fell when Jon took his own strike, quicker than Robb and harder too, “Are you really gonna let a girl come between us?”

As soon as Robb caught up to his brother’s speed, he replied, “If you won’t admit she likes me and not you then yeah,” Robb smirked only making his brother groan and knock Robb hard enough to drop his sword.

Robb cursed under his breath as he picked it up and took stance again. However, as he was doing this Robb happened to notice a certain someone walking into the training yard, arms linked with his sister. Robbs jaw almost dropped as he saw the new dress you must have recently made that was far more form showing than any of your other cloaks had been. He could see your curves even under the thick fabric and it made him strike his next blow even harder.

Jon was almost caught off guard at his brother’s seriousness however he had sparred with Robb long enough to know he only fought like this when he was angry. While he didn’t see the anger in his eyes, he knew how he would mess up. Jon only had to spar another few blows with the Tully boy before his footing got sloppy and Jon was able to knock his legs out from under neath him. “Cheap shot,” Robb spat as he pulled himself up from the hard ground.

Soft claps rang out over the training ground and Jon spun to see what had caused his brothers sudden intensity. And gods did he understand when he saw the smile perched on your lips as you clapped for him. Jon turned back to his brother with a smirk, “You’re just made she likes me,” he said emulating his previous words.

Robbs sword moved before Jon even had a chance to raise his own causing him to need to duck to dodge the blow. Sansa had never seen her brothers practise with such intensity or for any of their sparring to last so long. she glanced at you who was watching the pair intently and suddenly seemed to realise her brothers’ peculiar actions for the past week. “We should go,” she said softly.

At this point Robb had just managed to knock Jon to his feet. Again, you clapped before reluctantly drawing your eyes away and continuing your walk with Sansa. You couldn’t resist waving to the pair however as you were walking past. You smiled at the dopey grins on their faces as they waved back.

----

For the next few weeks, the pair continued their relentless bickering and it turned into a competition of sorts. Every time one managed a private moment alone with you the other was around the corner to get the same. Jon would go out of his way to escort you to places you already knew the way to such as the kitchens or gods wood, but you never complained, enjoying his jokes along the way. Robb began to escort you and his sisters horse rides, much to Sansa’s annoyance, and suddenly took far more of an interest in the library after he noticed your frequent visits. One of Robbs favourite sights was watching as you curled up with a book in an armchair by the fire in the library. He thought you didn’t notice his shameless stares and gazes, but you had.

You had also noticed the way Jons cheeks tinged pink each time you laughed at his joke or touched his arm. Robb did not blush the way Jon did, but you began to notice his lingering touches when he helps you on your horse or past you a book off the top shelf. The attention was something you had grown rather fond of and weren’t about to complain about.

Sansa however was a different story. She was sick of her brothers bickering, something all the Starks agreed upon but only she had noticed why. She was also sick of her brothers both crashing her talks with you or stealing you away. “You do realise they’re both totally in love with you?” she asked as you sat with her in her chambers doing some embroidery, the one place they wouldn’t disturb you.

You blushed at her words, “I wouldn’t say they’re in love,”

“Okay but you do know that they like you like you,” she clarified rolling her eyes. You had grown fond of the admittedly sassy Sansa Stark, “They’re gonna end up killing each other,”

“That’d be no fun,” you fake pouted before laughing as she rolled her eyes, “What do you want me to do? I didn’t ask them to fight over me,” even as you said it the words felt silly. Sansa sat her threads down, giving you the classic Sansa face you had grown to hate and love all at once. “Fine, I’ll talk to them,”

“Thank you,” she smirked before turning back to her threads, “Maybe they’ll finally give us some peace,” she said and all you could do was laugh at the irony of her demanding your attention while being upset about her brothers doing the same.

---

You hadn’t expected to talk to the boys as soon as you left but as you were walking from Sansa’s chambers to go find them you paused when you heard Robbs voice around the corner. “Maybe you should just back off,”

“Why do I need to back of?” When you heard Jons voice you slowly crept closer to the corner, pressing yourself against the wall just before the bend to hear properly, “Not everything is about you Stark,”

“Same for you Snow,” the venom was practically dripping off their voices. It would be concerning if the sound hadn’t sent a shiver up your spine at the hotness of the situation. The two most handsome men in Winterfell arguing over you? how could you complain?

“Well maybe we let her choose,” Jon said.

“Maybe we should,” Robb spat back.

Taking a deep breath, you decided to reveal yourself as you walked round the corner. Jons eyes grew wide when he saw you emerge and Robb quickly spun on his heels, his jaw slackening slightly at the sight. “My lady- “he began to stutter.

You held your hands up and he quickly stopped. You took a deep breath as you glanced around the corridors, “I think its time we had a little talk,” you said to the boys as you walked closer. The two almost hung their heads in shame, “Let’s go somewhere more private,” you said as you brushed past them and began to walk to your chambers.

The pair followed silently, tails between their legs when they realised, they had been caught. “This is your fault,” Robb mumbled but he groaned when Jon stuck his elbow into his side.

Luckily your room was not far, and you were soon ushering the pair in, latching the door behind you before facing them with your back pressed against the door. “What exactly am I supposed to be choosing?” you asked, eyebrow raised with a secret idea toying in your mind.

“My lady we can explain,” Jon began to stammer, cheeks going that cute shade of pink again, “Robb and I well we- “

“We both have an affection for you,” Robb continued trying to sound confident, but his voice failed him, “And we have been uh debating,” Robb said causing you to laugh.

“Debating?” you questioned, “It sounded more like an argument,” this time it was Robbs turn to blush.

Jon continued for his brother, “We just were trying to figure out which one of us you liked. Assuming you do like one of us,”

“I might,” you said with a slight smirk causing both boys heads to snap up, their eyes watching you intently.

“Well, which one of us is it?” Robb asked with eager eyes. He was internally praying to the gods to give him some luck or at least to have him swallowed up by the grounds if he was wrong about your affection. Jon was silently thinking the same.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little, “Who said it was one of you?” you said with a slight smirk. Both boys looked confused at your words. Pushing yourself off the door, you walked closer to the pair, “Would it be so bad if I didn’t choose? Were you not taught how to share?”

Part Two Here - Competition

Game of Thrones Taglist: @clairacassidy @nyotamalfoy

#robb stark angst #robb stark fluff #robb stark x reader #robb stark imagine #robb stark #robb stark smut #jon snow x reader #jon snow imagine #jon snow angst #jon snow #jon snow smut #jon snow fluff #game of thrones smut #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader

1K notes · View notes

honorarysimp · 27 days

Text

Chapter 1: Between Villages

series masterlist

You never thought you’d end up back here.

The scorching Texas sun beats down on the lone road, its heat only increases once leaving the shaded shelter of the surrounding woods. Your lone figure emerges from the trees on a speeding motorcycle, the wild cool even with the bikes decrease in speed as it approaches the familiar town.

Driving past the numerous buildings on the main road, the scenery brings back old memories, old thoughts; ones that make your skin crawl and your gut churn with anger.

Your bike's engine roars loudly as you speed past the old shops lined along the sidewalk, smoothly maneuvering down the desolated road as you make your way to your destination.

Driving along the sweltering hot streets, you feel the sweat drip down your neck, dampening your clothes; not that you really mind. It's been five long years since you’ve been back here, and as far as you're concerned, you could have done without ever having to step back into this town.

As you continue your journey down the twisting back road, your stomach tightens with a sense of dread, knowing you're getting closer and closer to your destination.

Despite your desire to turn around and never look back, you press forward, closer to the source of your anxiety with every passing second.

As the cemetery comes into view, your heart sinks as you take in the sight of the numerous cars parked along the side of the road. Anxiety wells in your throat, and your hands tighten around the bike's handlebars as you approach the somber place.

You expertly steer your bike onto the grass just before the headstones begin, parking it with a loud, unnecessary flourish. Even though you hold no respect for your father, you won't let the memory of him cause any disrespect to any of the other z as deceased that rest here.

You tug off your helmet, running your fingers through your tousled hair as your other hand hooks the helmet on your handlebar, leaving it to dangle freely. No longer suffocating within the confines of your helmet, you wince and blink a few times to let your eyes adjust to the bright sunlight.

All eyes turn to you as you shut off your engine, your presence immediately turning all attention your way. Some watch you with a glare of disgust, while others display clear shock that you even bothered to come at all.

The fact that you are here to begin with, is a surprise to not just them, but yourself as well.

The Funeral Celebrant slowly regains everyone's attention as he begins his eulogy about the town's late Mayor, reminiscing about his two decades of dedicated service and great achievements.

Soon enough, the gathering of town’s people turn their interest back to the speaker, away from your conspicuous presence.

Or at least, most of them.

You can't help but grimace as the man you loathe is showered with praise for his supposed 'accomplishments' and 'good deeds', the words feeling like daggers to your gut.

You reach into your leather jacket and withdraw a small silver flask, the need for alcohol to get through this ordeal, almost overwhelming.

Just as you bring the flask up to take a swig, your eye catches sight of a familiar figure in the crowd, pretty brown doe-like eyes instantly grabbing your attention.

Your thoughts race through your head as you observe the girl- woman now, noticing the changes in her appearance and demeanor since you two had last met.

She stares directly at you, her eyes filled with an emotion you can't quite place; is it sympathy? Understanding? Perhaps even relief that you've come? After all, she was the only one who really knew the true nature of the man being eulogized, even if she had never admitted it aloud.

Your hand slowly lowers the flask, resting it on your leg as you remain seated on your motorcycle. You offer her a tentative smile, and in response, she mirrors the gesture with a tiny wave.

Maybe you haven’t changed a bit, Lorraine.

Neither have you, so it seems. As his only child, with no prospects and no promise, forced to return.

The heat of the Texas sun becomes almost unbearable as you ignore the rest of the service. Taking swallows from your flask until your mind slowly drifts into a numb haze, exactly what you intended.

The blazing sun prompts you to remove your heavy leather jacket, no longer able to stand the added layers.

You balance the lip of the flask between your teeth, tipping your head back to down the remainder of the liquor. The burn almost a welcome distraction from your surroundings.

Once finished, you pull your jacket off, the cool air hitting your skin like a much needed relief.

As you tuck the flask back into the safety of your jacket and drape it across the bike's back seat, you return your attention somewhat to the crowd a few feet away.

The somber gathering of mourners slowly begin to scatter, breaking off into smaller groupings for quiet conversation and solace. The air is still heavy with sadness, though it seems to have lifted somewhat in the absence of the Funeral Celebrant's eulogy.

You heave a reluctant sigh, knowing there's no avoiding the inevitable; you dismount the bike and take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what's to come.

You take cautious steps forward, the grass soft beneath your boots as you approach the gathering. Everyone's attention is still focused on their own groups, giving you the chance to make your way over without unwanted attention.

You pass by the clusters of people, careful not to make eye contact or draw unwanted attention to yourself. While a few throw glances your way, nobody approaches or addresses you directly, giving you the opportunity to scope out the crowd.

You continue on, keeping a low profile as you scan the assembly. Faces you recognize, some you wish you didn't. Another handful of glances your way, but thankfully no one makes any move to start a conversation.

Then again, you’re an outcast to these people, a disgrace to your Pop. The most respected man in half a century to set foot in this town.

You did nothing wrong, but that’s not the point.

You make your way over towards the grave where your father's headstone lies, a faint cry of a bird barely audible somewhere. As you read the words etched into the stone, an array of bitter emotions wash over you. Your eyes narrow and your jaw clenches as rage bubbles up within you again, like clockwork.

He wasn’t entirely a bad man, just a bad father. At least to you, considering he was never present, in any sense. Your mom died when you were born and you never really knew her, he never talked about her.

It wasn’t your fault, but he never stopped blaming you for it.

You're snapped out of your thoughts by the arrival of a petite figure beside you. Though you don’t see her face as your gaze stays forward, you recognize the familiar presence instantly, causing a myriad of emotions to stir within you.

The two of you stand there silently, the sounds of conversation from the gathered mourners slowly fading in the background as the seconds pass. The absence of chatter is deafening, yet in a strange way, the quiet company of Lorraine doesn’t bother you as much as it should.

Despite the fact that neither of you speak a single word, her mere presence next to you is oddly reassuring. You feel her gaze eventually turn to you, but you keep your own focused straight ahead, avoiding direct eye contact.

Lorraine’s eyes flit to the headstone in front of you, her soft voice carrying a hint of a southern drawl as she mutters quietly, “rot in hell, bastard.”

You can’t help but let a laugh escape you, a sound that’s foreign to you in this setting. You turn to look at her, and to your surprise, there is an unfamiliar wetness in your eyes. Perhaps the numbness from the alcohol is wearing off.

You quickly look away, hiding any emotion you may have inadvertently revealed as your vision blurs. You quickly try to blink away the tears, hoping Lorraine didn’t notice, though you doubt you were fast enough.

You attempt to deflect the situation with a casual remark, “careful now, you don’t want this town after you for speaking bad about their beloved Mayor. It’d be your head on the chopping block here”.

Her large brown eyes meet yours, pulling your gaze in like a magnet. A half smile tugs at her lips as she responds in a quiet voice, “you wouldn’t let ‘em get away with it, now would you?”

Her words catch you off guard, and for a brief moment, all you can do is stare into her eyes. The unwavering faith she still seems to have in you takes you by surprise.

It makes a part of you want to laugh bitterly at the irony, but another part strangely finds comfort in her statement.

You know what she’s implicating, but for once, you have no witty comeback. It’s been a while since you’ve last seen her, and back then things were different. Yet it seems your silent agreement from your childhood days remains, somehow still lingering in the back of your head like muscle memory.

You shake off the memories, shifting your focus back to the present. A sense of gratitude washes over you, and you manage to say, “thanks for coming... considering...” before your voice trails off. The emotion you’ve been trying to hold back threatens to seep through, but you hold it in check, keeping it locked down tight.

Lorriane remains silent for a moment, seemingly sensing the weight of what you’re holding back. Finally, she nods, her hand lightly brushing against your arm in a gesture of ‘I’m here for you’.

The simple touch sends a shiver through you, and you force yourself to look away again, your eyes fixated on the ground.

You take a deep breath, gathering yourself and pushing down your emotions once more. You can’t keep them at bay forever, but you at least try. With a bitter expression, you reach out and grasp the top of the headstone, echoing her words under your breath, “rot in hell, old man.”

The words taste like bile in your mouth, but at the same time, a weight seems to lift off your chest. Your knuckles whiten from the force you’re exerting on the stone, your anger and frustration finally having an outlet, however subtle.

You pat your hand against the headstone just a little too hard at just the wrong angle, the rough surface biting into your skin. The pain is sharper than you expect, making you hiss through your teeth as a small cut appears along your finger, the blood seeping out and staining the dull grey stone.

Instantly, Lorraine’s eyes are on you, she’s giving you an odd look. Most likely disapproval, which you find must be a fair assumption. In a soft voice, she scolds you, “god damn it, Rooks, always doing somethin’ stupid. Just hold on a minute, I got a band-aid somewhere…”

It’s strange, to be referred to as that nickname again, it haunted you for so long. It still stings, and you hate it.

Lorraine fishes through her purse for something to tend to your wound. Her frustration is thinly veiled, but underneath it, there that familiar care you can’t help but recognize.

She rifles through her bag, eventually pulling out a small band-aid as well as tissues. With a few muttered curses under her breath, she tears one open and steps towards you, reaching for your hand.

A strange kind of tenderness envelops the moment as Lorraine takes your hand in hers. Her touch is gentle yet firm, sending jolts of electricity through you. You try to look away, to ignore the strange feelings stirring within you, but you can’t tear your gaze away. She carefully dabs away the blood, her touch so light it almost tickles. Then, she applies the band-aid, her fingers lingering against your skin longer than necessary.

As Lorraine finishes applying the band-aid, she eyes your wounded finger before slowly lifting her gaze to meet yours. She offers a sympathetic look, muttering a quiet “I am sorry for your loss, truly”, her soft voice tinged with genuine sorrow.

You shrug awkwardly in response, feeling the strange pull of emotions as she lets go of your hand. You can’t help but feel the loss of her touch, the contact leaving an inexplicable ache in its absence.

In your defense, you don’t know the last time someone was ever this gentle with you.

Your dead father is lying just a foot away, your blood trickling down his pristine headstone, and you’re talking to the girl- woman he would’ve had your head for.

Uncomfortable with the emotions swirling within you, you quickly try to shift the focus off yourself. “C’mon, let’s get the hell out of here,” you say, attempting to ignore the way your chest is tightening.

Lorraine smiles a bit more, her genuine smile sending a small flicker of comforting warmth through you. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before nodding in agreement.

As the two of you walk away from the grave, Lorraine falls into step beside you. After a moment of silence, she shyly whispers “I hate the circumstances, but it’s good to see you again…” her words are soft and tinged with a hint of something you can’t quite place.

You attempt to downplay the situation, responding with a half-joking remark, “don’t hate it, honestly, good riddance”.

Your words sound harsh, but there is a hint of truth behind them. It’s hard to view this funeral as anything but a good riddance, after all what did he ever do for you?

More irony, considering he never did anything for you.

Lorraine casts you a scowl as the blazing sun beats down on the two of you. Her nose wrinkles from the heat, and she shoots you a look that says she disapprovers of your callous attitude.

You can’t help but laugh quietly under your breath in response, finding her expressions comically endearing.

“You know, I’m surprised you are you’re still here, I thought you would’ve left this town behind by now” you say a bit too brashly, not meaning it in the way it comes off.

Lorraine’s response is predictably quiet as she mutters, “not all of us have the luxury of packing our shit and leavin’ whenever we want.”

The comment stings a little, but you can’t deny the truth in her words.

You grimace a bit at her rebuttal. She has a point, and it’s a jab that hits close to home. Lorraine was never privileged enough to leave this place and explore the world, bound to this town by obligation and circumstance.

You can’t help but feel a pang of guilt, knowing you were able to leave and start a new life somewhere else while she was stuck here.

Even if you two weren’t close back then, she was the closest to a friend you ever had here.

“Yeah, I know,” you mutter, avoiding eye contact as you continue to walk. The guilt gnaws at you, the sense of privilege you had leaving this town branches to a strange source of shame you can’t shake. “I’m sorry”, it’s a lame apology, but it’s all you can think to say.

Lorraine rolls her eyes in response, her expression a bit softer now. She waves her hand dismissively and murmurs, “your old man just died, you got nothin’ to be sorry for today. You can apologize tomorrow” her words carry a hint of understanding, a subtle way of forgiving you without you even having to ask.

You acknowledge her words with a nod, both of you approaching the archway of the cemetery. Your bike is only a few feet away, the engine gleaming in the sunlight, waiting to be brought back to life. Lorraine's car is parked nearby, the once somewhat-shiny paint job now slightly faded, a grim sign of how time has passed since you left.

Lorraine stops as the two of you reach the archway, turning to face you. Her expression softens slightly as she says, “we should catch up… if you have the time. How long will you be in town for?” Her question hangs in the air, the weight of it clear in her eyes.

As the heat of the sun beats down on you, you exhale heavily and wipe your brow, a bit of sweat dripping down your face. You reply to Lorraine with a weary tone, saying, “I’ll be in town until I get his affairs in order. I’m all that’s left, unfortunately.” The thought of having to sort through your Pops' belongings and financial matters isn't exactly something you're looking forward to.

Lorraine offers a small but sincere smile as she says, “If you need any help, or you want some company, we’d be more than happy to.”

The implication is clear, a silent offer to assist you in any way she can, though you can’t help but feel a sense of guilt about accepting. So, all you do is offer a single nod of acknowledgement, hoping she’ll take it.

Lorraine reaches into her purse and rummages through a few items before pulling out a pen. Then, with a bit of shyness, she holds out her free hand expectantly.

You hesitate for a moment, a mix of curiosity and wariness in your expression. But after a moment, you tentatively give her your hand.

Lorraine holds it in a steady but gentle grip as she begins to quickly scribble something along your bare forearm. The feeling of the pen on your skin creates a tickle sensation, the contact electrifying.

Lorriane releases your hand and avoids eye contact, her cheeks tinged pink. She mumbles a quiet “tomorrow then, I hope you come” before stuffing the pen back into her purse. Despite her casual words, there is a clear hope and anticipation underlying her tone, barely subtle in her demeanor.

She turns and heads towards her car, her footsteps crunching against the gravel. You can’t help but watch her go, a mixture of emotions swirling within you.

As she reaches her car, she casts you one last glance while simultaneously tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the simple action sending a strange jolt of electricity through you. You stand there, torn between small spurts of grief and something else you can’t quite identify.

Your Pop may have just passed and left you with a shitshow to filter through before you can leave again, but while you’re here…

It wouldn’t… hurt anything to reconnect with Lorraine, right?

Your gaze drops to the address scribbled on your arm, familiar handwriting almost making you smile.

At the point, you’re in limbo between villages, where you want to be versus where you’d tried to escape.

Get business done, and get out.

…and also take Lorraine up on her offer, it would be rude not to.

____________________________________________

You stand before the foreboding manor, the sight of it a haunting reminder of your less-than-pleasant childhood. The lights within still shine, illuminating the now-empty halls.

The knowledge that your father is gone brings a strange mixture of relief and a pang of sadness, though it soon morphs into anger as you recall the memories you've tried desperately to forget.

Your hand clenches into a fist at your side as you glare at the manor, the memories of your childhood flooding back. You can almost hear the echoes of your father's scathing remarks and harsh criticism, the way he would belittle and demean you. The anger rises within you, years of pent-up frustration bubbling to the surface.

You resist the urge to pick up a rock and throw it through the window, the satisfying sound of shattering glass all too tempting. However, the thought of selling this place quickly makes you reluctantly keep your distance. With a bitter taste in your mouth, you force yourself to move forward, heading up the gravel walkway.

The manor stands before you, its once-luxurious appearance now faded and withered. The grand oak pillars that once stood tall and proud have rotted with time, and the once-green vines that wrapped around the porch have turned brown and withered. The yard is overgrown and untidy, the grass long dead, and the few trees that dot the landscape are barren and lifeless.

As you take in the dilapidated state of the manor, a pang of regret tugs at your mind. Despite your negative emotions towards the place, you can’t help but acknowledge its former beauty. Your father had let this place rot, just as he had let his relationship with you rot.

You stand there, staring at the manor with a mixture of anger and sadness. Once upon a time, it had been a source of pride, a symbol of the status your father had craved.

But now, it’s just a sad husk, a reminder of a man who cared more for wealth and power than he ever did for his own offspring.

You hesitantly move up the porch steps, the old wood creaking and groaning under your boots. The sound only serves to heighten your nerves, which crawl beneath your skin like spiders. Your hands grip the strap of your backpack, the fabric twisting anxiously as you walk towards the front door.

Despite your outward calm, your heart is racing, the thought of entering the manor and facing its ghosts making your stomach churn. You pause for a moment, taking a deep breath before finally reaching out and grabbing the door knob.

You take a deep breath and push open the door, the hinges creaking as it swings inwards. You step forward slightly, peering inside with baited breath. The once grand foyer is now shadowed and dim, the lights casting eerie shadows on the walls. The silence is deafening, the air thick with the weight of memories.

You can feel your heart beating in your chest as you utter a meek "Pop?" into the empty air.

You know he's gone, but old habits die hard, the thought of your father's presence still lingering in the shadows. Your voice echoes through the hall, the silence enveloping it like a cold embrace.

You cautiously step over the threshold, your eyes darting around the familiar but foreign surroundings.

Part of you half-expects to hear your father's voice or hear him pacing in his study upstairs, but you eventually accept that you're alone.

As you close the door behind you, the soft thud almost makes you wince, the sound echoing in the empty hall.

Despite the passage of time, you're surprised that some things have remained eerily unchanged.

The worn rug in the foyer, the old clock hanging on the wall, even the faint scent of cigars and cheap scotch all make you feel as if you've stepped back in time.

You can't help but wonder how much of this place truly died when your father did.

As you continue to walk deeper into the manor, your eyes catch glimpses of past memories in every corner. The dining room table, once filled with cold and tense meals, now serves as a gathering place for dust and cobwebs.

The stairs leading up to the second floor, once filled with the sound of your footsteps as you fled from your father's righteous preaching, now appear ominous and silent.

You try to push the memories from your mind as you make your way through the eerily quiet manor. The portraits that hung on the walls, once filled with stern faces and fake smiles, now seem to watch you with their lifeless eyes. The room you once cowered in, trying to escape your father's sharp tongue, now seems small and suffocating.

You hesitantly cross the hall, your footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors. As you approach your old room, you find yourself holding your breath as you reach out and nudge open the door. The scent of your childhood wafts out of the room, a mixture of childhood innocence and pain.

You stand in the doorway, trying to suppress the pang of pain that stabs at your chest. The room has been meticulously cleared of any trace of you. The walls, once filled with photos and memorabilia, are now bare and sterile. The closet, which used to hold your meager belongings, is now empty and cold. The message is clear — you are no longer wanted or remembered.

You can't help but wonder why your father bothered to leave everything to you, especially considering he had made it crystal clear that he could not stand your presence. It only adds to the ever-growing list of questions that swirl in your mind, each unanswered question weighing heavy on your heart.

Your thoughts are plagued with the lingering doubt that your father's death was truly due to "natural causes”.

No. Stop. You don’t give a shit. Why should you give a shit?

But something just doesn't feel right about it all, a nagging suspicion that something darker could be behind his sudden demise. You descend the stairs briskly, your footsteps pounding against the wood as you take them two at a time.

You had hoped to spend the night here, to sort through memories and belongings. But the weight of the manor's emptiness and the echoing loneliness make your skin crawl.

It feels as though the walls are closing in on you, the shadows in the corners almost alive with the memories trapped within. You realize that staying here tonight would serve no purpose but to torment you further.

This can wait until the day time, fuck this place.

You exit the house with haste, the need to escape the suffocating memories propelling you forward. Your footsteps echo on the porch boards as you rush down the steps, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

Your emotions are a tumult, an inexplicable mix of grief, anger, and relief that the past few minutes have managed to dredge up.

Your hands tremble as you reach your bike, the sight of the manor sending a pang of nausea through you.

For a moment, you simply stand there, staring at the imposing building that holds nothing but pain and suffering for you. You can almost feel the malevolent spirit of your father seeping from the walls, a reminder of everything that was wrong in this place.

You stand tall, your defiant nature refusing to let this place get the best of you. You raise both your middle fingers towards the manor in a display of contempt and defiance, shouting a loud "FUCK YOU" into the still air.

With a determined resolve, you turn away from the house and drop down onto your motorcycle, eager to put distance between you and the memories that still haunt you.

You hear the familiar caw of crows in the distance, you’re quick to drown it out by revving up your bike and pulling your helmet back on.

Five years. Five years away. Clearly, none of that time away has brought you any solace or healing.

It's a painful truth that sometimes the only way to heal old wounds is to dig deep and reopen them, exposing them to the open air and allowing them to breathe.

Like a festering infection, the pain and hurt can linger, will continue to infect your mind and heart if left unaddressed.

Reopening these wounds, as much as it hurts, may be the only way for them to truly heal.

Maybe now, the past can die along with your Pop.

next.

#lorraine day x y/n #lorraine day x you #lorraine day x reader #lorraine day

81 notes · View notes

uyuartik · 7 months

Text

bad idea, right? (obi wan kenobi x f!reader) part iii

tags: angst, fluff, arguments, period typical misogyny (of course not from obi wan), just overall wealthy pricks being little shits, the trope of THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, but not really, do you believe in second chances (i don't) (💀), little smut compared to the rest because originally there was no smut in this (but i HAD TO use that idea), REPOST because i fucked up in the first place

a/n: welcome back for the finale!

well, i can't think of anything to say except this has been a blast for me, and i'm so happy that there are those who enjoys this madness as much as i do. hope you like the ending too. thank you all!

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and i can’t wait to hear your opinions! i am also crossposting on ao3, feel free to interact there as well.

part one | part two | part three | ao3

enjoy!!!

word count: 8.3K

chapter three: fuck it it's fine!

You don’t board that ship. A slight sickness you excuse, then spend your days sulking at home, still covered by the expanse of your lies. It is not totally untrue, though. You did really wake up with a swollen throat, and that put the integrity of your health during the journey at risk, thus with great grief, canceled the plans. Nobody knew that you’d not even mention the symptom on any other day, just requesting some honey tea and hardly noticing it disappear in the morrow. And it exactly worked out as predicted, more so, without leaving its discomfort for remorse. But after that, the hours stretched out each day, like you were living in a different plane where you were not welcomed. Perhaps you actually weren’t, for if you followed your fate, you’d be eating different foods, and walking foreign corridors. In an attempt to run away from that feeling, you try to socialize just a little, attending even the most dull tea parties. Also, your preference of company has to be specialized now, and that proves difficult sometimes.

So, that’s exactly why you indeed sulk at home, even though all your efforts.

But not tonight.

Then again, perhaps you should've.

His presence has nothing to do with it, to be perfectly clear. On the contrary, he makes it a little endurable. The forced small talk and empty eyes you once feared dearly are not the case, even after your last encounter. Of course, there's a little awkwardness, an uncertainty about where the line of intimacy now stands, shadows of anger and disappointment still darkening the atmosphere, but the overall sensation comes down to longing. You both lost a great friendship, cast it aside in a blink, but your souls don't accept this new arrangement that quickly, trying to fall into the familiar rhythm once more each time you feel your walls break. You don't allow it, neither does he. Yet, it is about the only thing that turns this night into a not complete waste of time. Even a pleasant one, you'd dare say.

If it weren't for literally everything else except this.

The hushed little uninformed jokes start during the dinner. It is the lord of the house that says them, to his close circle, barely hanging onto etiquette he had glimpses of. As minutes tick and glasses of wine roll, that glimpse is gone, and even in your seat at the end of the table, you hear him clearly. The pressed lips and masked mimics pretending not to be aware of it soon become apparent on every face, excluding you and Lord Kenobi. You glower the first time another of the guests feels confident enough to make his dirty contribution to the subject. Typical, you try to stay calm, tapping your fingers on the table. The world is filled with the likes of him, and the last thing they deserve is your attention. The reflex doesn’t go unnoticed by him, and he sends a sympathetic smile, showing that you’re not alone and accepting this invitation was a most regretful choice. He uses a few retorts to close the deal, let the dinner continue in different matters- or in silence, that would be fantastic indeed, but his smart wit and slight intimidation work only for a couple of minutes. Now it’s your turn to reflect that sad smile, and you do.

The sadness doesn’t come from the circumstances around you all, though. Your heart feels heavy, for not trying better ways to handle that morning. That guilt will haunt you, drag you into the gloomy pit you’ve been in, and maybe, you should stay there for some time, a penance for your mistakes.

After dinner, when the ladies and gentlemen huddle around different interests, you get a chance to cool off. The soft peals of laughter and giggles fill the room, a much more pleasant sound than the roar of men. You get to entertain others with your stories of other cities you’ve been to, and they tell their interesting incidents, and make fun of their husbands, people who deserve, as their commotion spills out of the walls. The topic of their conversation, marriage, diffuses out into your circle in such a way, that once again, you’re restraining yourself, trying to listen to the problems one of the ladies is complaining of, and not to hear the crude comments going on on the other side. You’re stopped from rushing out of your armchair simply out of respect you have for the woman speaking when you pick up your name passing in their remarks. Plus, Kenobi’s words, you don’t flatter me by offending the lady, reach every ear in the room, sharper than a knife. Your cheeks burn with anger, then with gratitude, and at last, out of embarrassment, because how are you going to explain he’s just doing an honorable thing, that it’s his character to defy ill minds when he sees one, and this has little to do with his “pursuit” of you? Your breaths are shallow and quick as you focus on the discourse, and dodge every attempt to pull the subject towards your relations.

Though, the snake doesn’t give up on eating, even his own tail, it seems.

In less than half an hour, a joke about abduction is whispered, and you surge from your armchair, the screeching sound echoing. You murmur what resembles to be an excuse (you’re still deciding whether they are worthy of one), and send one glaring gaze at the group, enough to make one flinch, and walk out.

Out of the entire house.

Lucky for you, this is a night in which you carpooled with another guest, meaning you only have your own feet to carry you away in this pouring rain.

But of course, that’s not enough to deter you.

You take big steps, enforced by your fury. Thus, the house leaves your sight in no time, but not their audacity, still ringing in your ears. Implications about your freedom. Complaints of wive-hood. Humor about how perfectly reasonable is to get rich, by kidnapping a young woman… (Honestly, after all that, you don’t have mercy for them of the panic they might experience when they realize their guest is not refreshing in another room, and have left the estate altogether. Alas, that guest is you.) You string curses at them, the only form of thinking you have in regard, and feel the bulk of emotions resonate with every stomp, even spilling out of your tear ducts. Your dampening body, and the length of the road don’t make it any easier, feeding your frustration. Your only anchor is your self worth, the reason you began this path in the first place, and you desperately hope it will turn the tide in a while.

Though now, the picture you paint with those foul words and wet clothes isn’t exactly the brightest.

It is still among these moods, that Obi Wan catches up to you. You’re not exactly surprised to see him, his carriage closing the twenty minute distance you put between yourself and that damned house with a speed that you think can’t be that good for the horses in the long run. They stop abruptly at your side, and you have all those insults readied if it turns out to be that fucked up man or polite declines if it is indeed Obi Wan.

But, you can’t speak them. The world feels like it freezes, the raindrops slowing down, and carrying away your burdens as they fall to the soil. The small door opens, and Obi Wan rushes out of it, with an expression that is so honest and raw. His fright vanishes at the sight of you, that scared gaze dissolving, eyebrows relaxing… You can actually see his lips move, Thank God. He is totally undisturbed by the downpour, already making his strands stick to his forehead. His hands find yours, and pull you close, almost like an embrace. You look into his eyes, how focused they are on you, as if they could burn you from the inside with their intensity. You have an undeniable urge to kiss him right now, and that has nothing to do with lust, but your wish to undo the last couple of weeks, uphold that strong connection once the two you had. Of course, you don’t, you can’t, thus, you let him lead you inside, and continue towards whatever destination.

Funny, how you feel much calmer doing the thing you thought you wouldn’t. Moreso, you have no woes about it either.

The silence is deafening, but nobody dares to open their mouth, the greatness of the storm of emotions you both are having too heavy on your tongues. He puts his less soggy jacket around your shoulders, you welcome it with a nod. That’s the moment you realize the redness on his knuckles. It’s not hard to guess the scene, and that has your head turned to the floor, processing the entire night. It is also at this moment that you become aware of your fresh tears, still sliding over your cheeks. Even if he notices them, he doesn’t do a thing about it, an indifference you’re grateful for. He just looks out of the window, and contemplates, same as you.

===

The tub filled with hot water doesn’t make you any wetter, but it helps with the temperature. You’re sorry that you exhausted the owners of the inn you had to stay in, (for it was getting impossible to travel in that rain) with this request, but a voice tells you that Obi Wan wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re unbelievably silent as he sorts it all out, staying in your bubble, unintentionally playing the part of the damsel in distress. You listen to his list of requests, for the horses, for three rooms (the best reserved for the lady, he insists), a tub to be prepared for you, and some tea-

“No need.” Your voice is weak, but it is clear. He would’ve protested this answer, but it is the first time you’ve talked after leaving the house, how ironic, and the realization sets deep in both of you. After that, you feel the words pile up on your tongue, but in a blink, you find yourself in a room. Alone.

“So sorry, I thought they gave me this room.” He stands at the door, holding it half open, face turned in the opposite direction.

“Obi Wan.” His gaze hesitantly finds your way again. God, he’s about to kill you with that blues… “Can we talk for a second?”

You name yourself a hypocrite for asking that, in this state, but you can’t breathe with all that untold things if you spend another second without explaining yourself to him, and apologize for all the trouble you’ve caused. And, isn’t this already proof of the trust you have for him, how vulnerable you can be in his presence?

And, there’s nothing he’s not seen before, after all.

He gingerly closes the door, locking it in a swift motion, and makes his way to you. You pull yourself together, and reach for his hand for him to help you out.

“No, stay. Your fingers are still cold.”

You can’t hide the small smile forming on your face as you settle back, careful to keep most of your body underwater. He, ever noble, keeps his eyes straight on your face, which somehow doesn’t help. There’s something about his rolled-up sleeves, the matching three-piece suit down to two for the damp jacket sits behind the chair in your back against the fireplace. His hair is drying up in all defiant shapes, and you have to stop imagining that morning he woke up next to you.

“I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. I- I never intended to cause this big of a mess, and make someone clean up after me. Certainly, not you, of all people. You shouldn’t have tired yourself this much, and I’m sorry for it.”

“You can’t expect me to do nothing.” The sentence begs for a dear to be added in the end, and he has to fight his throat to silence himself. Instead, there’s a kind tug at the corners of his lips.

“You’re right.” You nod. “But the truth is, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I needed to get out, I just couldn’t sit there pretend I didn’t hear all those nasty comments.”

His fist clenches at the reminder, and you once again spot the bruises settling in on his knuckles, filling with the desire to mention them, but you inevitably decide not to. “That asshole-“

”He was obnoxious since the first hour, and loud, but that doesn't scare me, for thus he has proven himself to be just a foul mouthed man. But, that title started not to cover the extent of it- it was too much and I couldn’t take it anymore. You may say it was obvious from the start, but I tried my best to not evolve this into a thing I would regret afterward. And I succeeded.”

“So you don't even regret ever setting foot in that house?”

A tinge of disgust seizes your face, but only for a moment. Even with all those words echoing in your ear, you don't have hatred in your heart, or any remorse. You're not so quite sure about its reason, nor do you wish to be, avoiding all analysis. Like you don't know the basics already. But the sudden change in your expression tells everything. “I don’t think I can ever regret it. At least, not in its entirety.” You say, hugging your knees and lowering your head. Hot steam no longer hits your skin, you realize in your attempts of distraction.

There's a second of silence in the room, despite the thunderstorm raging outside. You are as cold as in the beginning because of it, and you almost contemplate how good of an idea this conversation was, especially under these circumstances.

“I’d say the same.” Obi Wan speaks, and that's when goosebumps rise on your skin. Your eyes meet his, then flutter away quickly, overwhelmed. Does he mean-

Why is him meaning that any different than yours, huh? Why is it any worse when he says it?

“You should get out of there.” He reaches for a towel, and you shyly stand up, turning your back and pressing your arms around yourself. Nothing he hasn't seen before, right? As the coarse fabric is draped around your shoulders, you can’t help but feel afire, the imprint of his hand around your shoulders for a second lingering way more than it should, creating a tingling sensation.

“Thank you.”

“Well, I must return to my room now.” He folds his hands together, like trying to preserve where they’ve touched, and his eyes still stay respectfully up, causing your heart to lose its rhythm. There has never been a scenario that involved nakedness without… sexual intentions, and clearly, it’s not even crossing your minds right now. Your awareness of it takes up all the space in your mind, tosses every other idea out, and leaves you at the mercy of your soul.

“Obi Wan.” Fuck, the way you call his name, it is bound to weaken him every time. “Can you-” Oh, haven't you demanded enough from him? “I- I would like it if you stayed.”

His mouth hangs open for a second, with a subtle sharp inhale. His fingers tighten around each other, then relax all together, hanging free by his side. “Of course.” For all the words that come to his lips, it’s a most simple answer.

Not that you have any complaints.

You’re filled with another kind of thrill, being this open with your wishes, but having no clue whether they’ll take the night, having no clue where you want the night to go, or how to act in this very moment, half covered. You just know that you prefer him, being in the same chamber as you. You’d prefer to listen to his idle talk or slow breaths, than the silence of the room. You’d prefer him to snore in your bed than to picture him in his own, lying awake. (Because let’s face it, it’d take a while for him to surrender to sleep, if left to his own devices.)

He takes a step towards the armchair, unbuttoning his vest and you come back to your senses, stepping out of the tub in the opposite direction, towards the nightgown the innkeeper gracefully lent to you. It’s slightly large for your body, definitely not tailored for someone close to your size, but if Obi Wan ever heard you commenting on the fact, he’d wholeheartedly claim you still looked like an angel. Since you don’t, he doesn’t too, but it’s obvious in the way he takes in your form, a battle of excess fabric against your movements. He has to bury a groan when your sleeve falls down your shoulder, a simple accident. He knows that shouldn’t have been seen by him, or you didn’t do it on purpose, that tonight is not meant for those activities, and it shouldn’t get him so bothered up, but it fucking does. Does it also make him want to slap himself? Yes.

Walking near the fireplace, you wring the excess water from your hair and run your fingers through the strands before rubbing that towel aggressively, for the fact that it is already soggy enough, and is not gonna do much. You despise sleeping with wet hair, it is an invitation for you to get sick, not to mention that you’ll be sharing the bed, leaving frustrating streaks of wetness on the sheets for them.

“Hey, hey, let me help you.” Is he a little bit scared? The answer is another yes. But he’s not gonna stand there and watch you fight with your hair. He takes the fabric, locating the most usable spots, and slowly massages your strands with them. Objectively, it’s not a lot different in terms of overall results, but it does more than that anyway. Despite the forbidden intimacy, despite the question of “How is he so good at it?”, you’re lulled by the constant movements, the tension in your muscles easing off. He keeps you by the fire longer than you would’ve stayed, and that achievement belongs solely to him. Frankly, he too is not sure how long the two of you could stand like that, or put an end to it. All that matters is that your hair is pleasantly damp, less bothersome, and he did that.

To be honest, with each minute he is in your presence; the task of holding onto his manners, respecting his broken heart, and following your lead is getting harder to manage.

“Thank you.” You murmur, eyelids barely held open, and he feels like a juggler, suddenly losing his sense of balance, and dropping one of his props.

“You’re welcome.” Perhaps he was the one to thank, for the pleasure. That’s the second prop, falling down.

Still, it’s obvious how that sentence misses a darling thrown out after it.

You climb the bed, and he follows suit. You both favor the edges of the mattress, and there’s a ridiculous distance between both of your bodies, but you’re both too timid to use it, even at the risk of tumbling down.

Only after the urge to find a better position kicks in that you move, and end up just a little closer, face turned to his side.

He’s already turned to you, eyes closed but definitely not trying to sleep, or relax if nothing. He opens them of course, after you rustled the sheets that hard.

“What if I get sick tomorrow?” Admittedly, that’s a silly question, but the scenario occupies your mind. All the elemental factors are present, and you only have a formal dress on your back. Also, the fact that it would be all your fault, yet you are the one to complain? You hate yourself for saying it out loud.

“Then we would stay ‘til you got better.” His point-of-fact words, softened with his bedtime voice, must be annoying. Must be. It is not. It is the raw truth, straight from his core. You won’t disrespect it, (again). “I would take care of you.”

(Doesn’t he, always?)

A shiver runs down your spine.

(He’d name this place heaven, if it allowed you two to stay together a little longer.)

“Obi Wan.” Whispering, trying your best to break that ugly silence, not to crush under the weight of his words, but more importantly to let him know your truths, the alignment of your soul. “I- I never told you how much I appreciated you. Now just today, but especially today.”

He’s trying so hard not to sound rude, or leave you unanswered, but none of them are good enough. Thankfully, you are not expecting one. Your fingers ghost over his knuckles, afraid to hurt him. he’s not even sure you’re doing that, ‘til you hunch over, and press a small kiss over them.

That’s all the acknowledgment he needs, ever. It wasn’t becoming of a gentleman, obviously, but the situation didn’t require gentleman-cy, too. He has no recollection of how his fist ended up in that man’s eye, except for the exact second it happened, feeling his shirt slide from his other hand as the impact sizzled through his bones, and sent the man to the floor. He found himself in the middle of saying God knows what- he still doesn’t have a single clue, and thinks about the possibility of how they’ll resonate, ‘til it reaches his ears once again.

Though, he has no fear regarding that, or the altercation before it. Nor regret.

“I am honored that our names are spoken together, a testament of our likeness.”

The third prop.

It falls, most obviously, but he doesn’t show it. Not under these circumstances. No matter how you try to avoid the subject of love, or a future, he’s burning for it, burning for you. In that moment, it is settled that it’ll always be that way, forever. You’re absolutely crushing his heart, and maybe even crush yours in the process (for which reasons, he’s never sure), regardless of your intentions pointing otherwise, because he knows you’re pushing through your struggles to speak up, select the appropriate expressions, to honor your past. He’s touched by your effort, as well as your words, oh, your words… This is the only compliment he’ll ever accept, and it’s not even meant to be a compliment. Your voice is already etched into his brain, and there will not go a single day he’s not reminiscing about it.

Thus, with such strong emotions, his every muscle twitched with the desire to pull you closer, wrap his arm around your waist, card his fingers through your cool hair as your lips meet. He wants to kiss you slowly, savor your taste and caress your tongue with his, for the sole purpose of being close to you. You, throwing one leg over him… You, falling asleep in his arms as he gets to bathe in your enchanting scent… The feeling of your warm breath against his neck as you take refuge in there… He’s surprised he doesn’t have to chain himself not to act on any of these images.

(Oh, it very much feels like he has done that anyway)

Yet, it is probably the worst night to do so. It has all been too much, and all this on top of that is a recipe for disaster. A disaster he’s been struck with nonetheless, though, perhaps he can spare you from.

When it comes to you, he has always put his heart before his mind, (but never disregarding the latter part. It is the essential element to keep both of you safe, to never compromise your social statuses, to create the optimum atmosphere for your relationship to flourish (by your own unusual standards)). For the first time, he’s not following that code. Even he can’t imagine the consequences if he doesn’t.

You’re glad that nothing has changed. No response from him, no action. His relaxed expression tells you enough; the calmness of his eyes, his slow breaths and the slight curve of his lips… To be honest, you’re relieved to see your words reach their destination but also set with the urge to prove them. To press down your mouth on his, from which you hope for an answer; to hold his hand without causing any discomfort, or simply hug him for a second, eliminating all space between your bodies like your souls.

Alas, the role of the hypocrite is a part you no longer wish to play, and you’re perfectly willing to hurt yourself by not succumbing to your wishes, and refrain him from further confusion.

“Good night, Obi Wan.” You say, fingers grazing over his for the last time, and curl yourself into a ball.

“Good night, my dearest.”

===

The morning is unlike the previous example.

You wake up to him getting up, so there’s no way for you to know if your bodies drifted closer during the night, but considering the position of your arm, extended way beyond the middle, it is quite possible to assume some physical contact was present.

Considering you two are not facing each other, thus acknowledgment of the situation is not a matter, your embarrassment is half of what it should be.

Though, your cheeks burn brighter each second you can’t peel your eyes off of him, filling up the rest of that cup. Watching him walk around, the movement of each chiseled muscle on his back as he puts his shirt and trousers on quickly highlights another impropriety. He is perfection, even in that drowsy state of the human condition, there’s harmony to his every motion, the slow steps he takes, the way the fabric glides against his skin, the subtle fine arrangements of his fingers to make sure it looks decent, even how he breathes causes him to blend into the room, but also bedazzle it in his grace, make him stand out like a crown jewel, a masterpiece of arts that name the place.

You can only stop your ogling once he leans in and stirs the flames, which were already going strong since they were last fed before you went to sleep- wait, that doesn’t seem possible, did he actually sever his sleep to tend to it?

Is there any other explanation you need?

Your heart may flutter out of your chest after this realization, so you skirt out of the blankets. Of course, the sound draws his attention, and you’re caught, forced to react.

Yet, the unstoppable smile forming on his lips inspires a similar response on yours so easily, so naturally that you don’t feel obligated at all. On the quite contrary, that simple mimic banishes any pretense, showering you with reassurance and bravery, the motivation to act on your own true terms, not society’s or the ones you pressured onto yourself.

“Good morning.” The simultaneous greeting pulls a giggle from both of you, and it is all so small, yet so much. You sway away from his direction, casually reaching for your clothes, hoping he doesn’t notice the tremor of your legs when you shed the nightwear and put the chemise on. Because you know, he’s watching you. Divine justice, perhaps.

“Be careful, Obi Wan, I might start to think you enjoy watching me get dressed too much.” The snarky comment, fighting its way out of your mouth further softens the atmosphere, and it is like the first days of spring after a harsh winter, soothing your souls with relief.

“Guilty as charged.”

You shake your head, consumed by his usual forward banter. A scene taken straight out of your past. You shimmy into your dress instead of coming up with a cleverer response.

“You don’t sound sick.” He says, indicating that he’s been paying attention.

Biting your lip, you turn away. “Actually…”

“Is there something wrong?” He ends up right beside you in a blink, as if the world changed by your unfinished sentence.

Your heart picks up a different rhythm, hands raised in position to tie your ribbon but frozen. “It’s nothing, my throat just feels-”

“Do you want me to call a doctor?”

That was the exact reason why you started with it’s nothing. Alas… “No, it’s probably just my overthinking and coming up with strange sensations.” And if not, it depends on how well you spend tonight, so there’s not much room for intervention. Definitely not in medical terms.

“Pity.” His comment makes you scoff. After that, you can’t reward him with your concerns, can you? It is funny, ugh.

“Let me help.”

Your heart can’t get any rest as the tension simply changes garbs, his fingers trailing over yours and leading a 180° turn, leaving a blazing line along your skin, to tie the ends of your ribbon together. Your arms tentatively fall to your sides, not sure what to do with their freedom. His breaths lick your neck while he attentively, slowly smooths his creation, and you’d probably freak out if you weren’t so focused on the sheer range of his skills.

(Also the mystery of how he comes to acquire it, but it’s only the deep, dark parts of your mind speaking. Moreover, you do not pride yourself in a position to be jealous. You absolutely are, on that tiny level, and no, you’ll never admit it.)

Though, you’re not gonna comment on that, not when your heart threatens to fly out of its cage. The sacredness of the action brings back the echoes of your concerns, not a single one strong enough to overtake you, but the cacophony of them loud enough to occupy the entirety of your capacity.

All that talk of past times… Coupled with a little hesitancy, and how the tables turn…

“T- thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Like he just didn’t flip the dynamic, he carries on with his outfit, tying his cravat. His beautiful hands work expertly, effortlessly, and the result is perfect, even without a mirror, eyes on you the entire time.

“Is it looking fine?”

“Yes.” You meekly answer. It is decent, like he always is. Somehow witnessing that feels as sensual as the previous scene, pulling you further down the whirlpool.

Embarrassed enough already, you busy yourself with your hair, accepting the mess that it is, and decide on a simple bun, as much as possible. The practiced moves bring you some sense of calmness and control, even if the result isn’t perfect. The silence helps too, along with his occupancy of tidying up the room.

“Do you want to have some breakfast?” He asks. God, how does he still sound that cheery?

“No, thank you.” You don’t want to keep your father worrying any longer, and it’s not like you’re going to faint. The memory of your last food in the most unpleasant company is still strong enough to expel any thought of hunger.

That answer may be the clearest thought you’ve ever had this morning, yet it is the one that whispers doubt into his heart. You are silent, turned away from him, and far too engrossed in whatever unnecessary thing you’re doing. Because now, he fears that if the two of you leave this room, this building, all your lives in it will be a part of the history, never to be repeated or worse, mentioned again, lost in the torn pages. The joke about residing here for however long- seems awfully bitter, perfectly demonstrating he’d rather hold on to the possibility than put an end to this.

How could that be love?

Perhaps you were right, accusing him of madness.

That’s the only reason he walks out of the room to prepare the carriages, instead of cocooning the both of you in.

===

“Father!” You wrap your arms around him, who’s standing by the main entrance to your estate, waiting anxiously. He does the same, unaffected by the eyes that watch, the staff, and a mere acquaintance, Lord Kenobi.

Now Obi Wan knows who you got your bravery from.

He stands quietly, hands folded in front of him, not sure what to do but damn sure not to leave. He had plenty of time to think about his madness on the road, and decided it was not anything pathological- it was pure love and desperation for you. Isn’t that the nature of most of your meet-ups? Consoling each other in the positively dreadful situations, and utilizing everything to spend a second more together?

He hears you reassuring him of your well-being, and summarize the thing in pretty understated phrases. Even that makes him stutter over his words in a fit of rage. Obi Wan agrees. You distract him by speaking of the help you’ve gotten from a valiant friend, and that’s how he enters the conversation.

“Good morning, Sir.”

How he keeps it all cool, sharing and shaping his anger, silencing any doubt that may arise in him is a surprise, though he’s called a great negotiator for a reason, right? His work in various cases in court has earned him the title. He’s not overtly a fan of flaunting it. Though, it helps him a great deal in this instance.

At least, enough to have a pleasant exchange in these unpleasant circumstances, and secure permission to talk to you again.

Alone.

It is weird enough as it is already, you and him spending the night at some inn, him casually chatting with your father like his clothes haven’t benefitted from the merits of ironing, not to mention his hair being on the wild side after a slight treatment of rain, and now he is requesting your attention? Not only yours, but your father’s too in extent?

His plans have never been so crystal clear.

“No.” You declare your objection so clearly, in one word as the door closes behind him, giving you the privacy of the room. “No, no, no, no.”

“I haven’t even opened my mouth!” He objects, though it is more of a principal thing, than an actual defense. He knows you’ve worked it all out already. God, could he expect anything less from you? Your watery eyes and trembling hands break his heart into a million pieces, reactions so strong even before he has a chance to utter their cause. He caresses his beard, reevaluating if he should continue-

He can’t live with the consequences if he dares not. He can’t live with what-ifs, or not knowing the reason why you are so repulsed by the idea or would you still feel the same, if he told you about his love for you. Of course, that would require some magic, considering the magnitude and intricacy of it. How is he supposed to put the purest feelings he’s ever had to mere words, the origin of the butterflies caged up in his chest, the wires of his brain getting tangled up whenever you’re not around, and the constant intoxication from the strongest liquor he’s ever consumed? He’d rather die than sober up, and a part of him already recognizes that it’s not a possibility. It is his poison and antidote. There’s not a moment that passes without either of them.

And surely, he has no complaints about it. Never will. It is a brave choice, but what’s braver is this moment.

“No.” You repeat, hands clasped together to stop them from shaking. Your voice is low albeit steady, as much as it can be.

Because you do not lift your eyes to meet him. “You can’t propose to me, because I can’t refuse it. But I will. Then the whole country will wonder what is so wrong with you, and me, and they will talk about it all the time, for years to come. The whispers will be the first thing that you hear in every room you enter, and you’ll see the mischievous glint in the eyes of every person you meet, them scrutinizing whether those rumors are true. Our reputations will be tarnished forever, and we will hate each other for it.” And you can’t stand that.

You don’t sound like this is the first time you’re putting these words together. In all your distressed state, you sound awfully logical in your own way, so focused on one improbable, insane possibility (damn those reputations, he can never hate you), but devising every little detail.

“Why?” He basically hollers, running a hand through his hair. Why does that potential is the one you envision? “Why can’t you marry me?”

One can only dream that someone outside isn’t listening.

“Because- I don’t know!” You take a desperate step closer, showing him your honesty. You truly can’t quite name your aversions, and isn’t that already enough of a reason to stay away, spare the person you’re facing? “I don’t know how to be a wife! And I am scared. All my life I alienated myself from the idea of a marriage, I methodically dismissed every chance claiming it wasn’t the time, all the way ‘til I would say it was too late. I was content with that idea. Because I love- loved my life the way it is; I get more than I need from my father, and that is to remain unchanged when my brother takes over, and I am free as a bird, unbound by society’s expectations, traveling wherever, wherever and trying new things. I was, I am so happy about it that anything that may alter it I shun from immediately. And now I find myself in a place I never imagined, and I am scared. I don’t know what happens now. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know what that future looks like for us.”

He moves towards you, his head tilted sideways in understanding, arms reaching for yours. Finally, finally hearing your justifications, the basis of your attitude, fills him with pride and compassion, and most importantly, gives him an opportunity to help you solve those problems, together. But, you hush him, squeezing his wrists in gentle guidance, with tears streaking across your cheeks. “I just know that I love you. I love you so much that my heart will always feel like a weight in my chest when I’m not with you, like a ship sinking, but never reaching the bottom. And I will continue to love you even if you stop loving me back, but I would rather lose you on my terms than by the burdens a marriage brings.”

“Why do you so believe that a mere contract would change my feelings? Do you think my affections for you are that fragile?”

You frantically shake your head, causing the drops to fall faster. “No, I’m not saying that-“

“Then what?” He snaps, though not because he’s angry. He wants to learn every single reason that’s keeping you away.

“You don’t know what that will do to us.”

“No, I don’t! And I don’t care! It will never change my feelings.” This, he can shout freely. This is the simplest truth for all his remaining days on this earth.

You don’t know that, you want to object. “Obi Wan…” Is the response that comes out of your mouth. “I am not a good bride.”

“No.”There’s acceptance in his tone, a punch to your guts. “You’re the love of life, my companion, my everything.” When he pulls you even closer, and cups your cheeks, you let him. “Haven’t we been through all the struggles a couple could share already? Haven’t I seen all of you, and let you see all of me? Haven’t you claimed my entire soul, and occupied my every single thought? You made me break my rules, and painted a picture I never thought was suited for me- and I came to like that picture very much. In fact, it’s all I ever want my future to look like, with you in it. You, exactly in the way you already are, with all your unsusceptibility to the norms and striking habits. I know that can be scary. I am afraid too. But, anything worth doing starts like this, I know it. And we’ll be the biggest idiots in the world if we let our fear rule us.”

You can’t help but laugh a little, the joyful sound making his breath hitch. It is reflected on his face too, and it is something you’ll hold on to, alongside the tears that begin to form on his eyes. Fortunately, they sit there, despite him kneeling in front of you, his fingers never leaving the bend of your arm, only to follow the route they create, and hold onto both of your hands. “Please, marry me.”

You’re convinced, but your tongue is still tied, so you nod. Your entire upper body shakes with the gesture in seconds, making you look like an overexcited child, on the verge of losing their balance with the restlessness of their legs. You barely feel him kissing your knuckles before he stands up and embraces you, stabilizing both of you in both physical and emotional terms. Let’s be real, if he kissed you instead as he desperately wished to, you’d fall on the floor (and continue there- ‘til somebody discovered the two of you in very indecent terms). His chuckles quickly become your favorite song, you feel blessed as they delight your ears, and make your chest vibrate like his. He revels in the newfound proximity, despite the fact that you’ve been much, much closer in the past. This is new. This is raw love, uncombined with other emotions, strengthened by the absolute truth that you two are meant for each other, and with the promise of you’ll do something about it. He holds you ‘til your sense of balance is restored, for he now has urgent matters he has to attend to. He’ll get to hold you forever soon, and that revelation doesn’t change the herculean feat of letting you go now. He can’t help but wipe the streaks of wetness on your face, though it forms again. He solely doesn’t repeat himself because of the widest grin on your lips. You press yourself to his palm, eyelids closing for a moment, then place a small peck on it.

“I- I’m now gonna go and talk to your father, get the papers right- and find a-” oh, that’s not “a”, he is going to require many others even if he keeps everything minimal, “I’ll be back in three, fuck, four hours, okay?”

“What? No!” You exclaim, almost giving him a heart attack.

“What’s wrong?” His fingers tighten, a slight tremble taking over them. You have to smile to get him to relax once again, and raise your eyebrows wittily, as if he is a fool for not imagining it already, reminding him of your nature.

“I’m only doing this once. I want everything to be right.”

He squints his eyes, grasping your chin. There’s a few seconds of silence, the time it takes for his nerves to settle. When it does, you’re struck by the intensity of his blue irises, the condensed calm before the storm. “So you want to stay as my fiance ‘til the next season starts, in eight months, succumbing to waiting as we get no freedom to ourselves, always in the center stage, enjoying the last of our bachelor states, the lonely nights and beds bigger than you can ever occupy.”

His other hand, wandering across your waist tells you exactly what he implies. While you actually weren’t planning on such a thing, it causes a surge of rush to overtake you, burning you from the inside. Pursing your lips as you free your face from his grip, with a contradicting shaky breath, you say. “I was always fond of winter weddings…”

To this, he laughs, echoing in the room, and you join him.

One can only hope whoever outside listens to this too, this moment of pure joy preserved in one more mind.

===

“I couldn’t be happier to be married to you.” Obi Wan whispers, but the sentence is loud and clear to you, etched into where he takes nest in the crook of your neck, hot breaths burning your skin.

“We’re still not- ngh“ Yes, this is supposed to be the rehearsal, the night before the main event. You two should be at the reception downstairs, among your many relatives and friends and other members of the society, all gathered for tomorrow morning, when these words of yours will be invalid.

Of course, you are further making a hypocrite of yourself by the way you hold onto him, legs wrapped around his waist, arms locked around his shoulders as he burrows his cock into you. It was impossible to wait any further, as you were separated by the whole ordeal of preparations and the watchful eyes. The moment you found a clearing, you two slipped away, cue to now, where your back on the wall as he supports you against it. You didn’t even get one meter away from the door, you could basically reach the knob with a simple extension of your elbow, but in the end, who cares? Who cares when he fills you so deliciously, scratching the itch that has been building for some time, peppering you with all the love in his heart?

Still, your sentence is cut abruptly as he drives his hips faster, rougher- very much an act of pedantry, advising not to get lost in the details. It works, the correction dies on your tongue, though a quite loud moan takes its place. His hand flies to cover your mouth, and your eyes pop open, meeting his. The pressure of his palm against your face almost forces another sound out of you. Fuck, you adore those blue storms, even when they are focused elsewhere, turned to the door as if it can see past behind it, scanning for intruders. You do actually whimper when the danger dissolves, the vibrations running among his bones, and he keeps up his pace, hitting that sweet spot over and over again.

However, it is getting harder in terms of balance as he now has one hand to stabilize you, and despite your best efforts, it is quite hard not to slide off of the smooth fabric of his clothes. Remorsefully, you push on his shoulders, and he understands, pulling his cock out of you and burying his mouth on your skin. He stifles a sob in there, the frustration getting the best of him.

“Oh, you definitely had too much wine.” Look at who’s talking, you with those wobbly legs and bitten lips…

“No, I just had too little of you.”

Your heart flaps its wings out of your chest, as it does after his every cheesy compliment. You still cannot figure out how he makes you blush harder with those words, even as he ravages you in the meantime.

You reach for a kiss, it is always a good idea. He hums contently at the touch, grateful at the most basic form of contact. Obi Wan rocks against you unintentionally, and that’s how the unsatiated desire wages war, with desperate groans and roaming hands.

Then, his fingers tighten around your waist, and you find yourself supported against the vanity with your open palms, depositing most of your weight there (thank God, because you couldn’t trust your feet much longer). He pulls your hips back to his. Your back arches in a way that is most complementary to his chest, and fuck, it is a vision.

It literally is.

Fluttering your eyes open for only a second (that was your intention at least), you’re struck down with the image of the two of you in the mirror, faces contorted in the prettiest way that is possible in this dirty position, heavy lids and open mouths, fingertips whitened by the strong grasp you have on each other, the matching colors of your outfits…

Yes, even with that detail, you’re still on his side, agreeing you’d be idiots if you weren’t doing this.

Deciding to take the sight from its direct source, you turn your head to the side a little, looking at the adonis of a man you’ll soon call your husband, with his neatly trimmed beard and prominent cheekbones and long eyelashes you are slightly jealous of and so much more…

He meets your gaze, breathless with similar thoughts, that little tug on the corner of his mouth telling you all you need to know, but then he nudges your face to its previous state by a small clasp of your chin, and you’re watching him through the reflection, leaning forward when he starts to fumble with your skirt once again.

The moan that leaves you is totally incapable of being unobscured as he enters you anew. The change in the angle along with the visual stimulation has you teetering on the edge quite easily, like him, but he denies it, maintaining slow movements and choking out any noise that dares to leave him.

Of course, all is impeded when the door is knocked-

“Occupied!”

Your voices are synchronized, high and tight. The clock stops for a moment for your bodies, as if the stationary status makes it any less scandalous, and both of you fixated on the doorknob.

It never turns. Never.

Still, the dilated pupils remain a little longer, joined over the mirror, with big puffs of breath and shaking hands.

“Do you think they-“ There’s not an exact word that you can find to explain what has just occurred, but the sentiment is clear.

“Probably.” And the answer too is just as clear.

Well, the only thing lost is the trivial achievement of never being discovered before the wedding.

A wedding which is hours away.

So, you push back, wiggling your hips. His unrestricted sound is all you need to regain your spirits back, and you do it once more. Just like that, the wheels are turning.

“You realize there’s a bed behind us, right?” He asks as he slowly thrusts into you.

“Yes, but I like the view better here.”

#star wars imagine #star wars fanfiction #obi wan kenobi imagine #obi wan imagine #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan x reader #obi wan kenobi smut #obi wan kenobi fluff #obi wan kenobi angst

102 notes · View notes

angstywaifu · 7 months

Text

Reunited

Little bit of a short one today. But this one came from a prompt for Garrick with a Gryphon Rider. But I feel like despite how short it is, its still quite cute. Enjoy!

Garrick Tavis x Gryphon Rider Reader

The trek to Aretia was tough. My gryphon was not made for the higher altitudes. And I was one of the lucky ones who had one who had a higher tolerance to the higher altitude. I’d hate to think how those further behind are doing.

I tried to keep my mind focused on the journey still ahead of us but I couldn’t help my mind from wandering to Garrick. Would he be there? Was he alive? Xaden would have said something if he wasn’t alive. It had been so long since I had seen him at one of the supply drop offs. Since he had been sent to Samara, it was harder for him to get away as often as Xaden. Every time Xaden came though he gave me a letter from Garrick, and I would give him one to take back in return. We had started after Garrick couldn’t make multiple trips in a row. And sadly the tradition hadn’t ended since it started. It had been months since I had seen him. I hadn’t seen since him Athebyne.

Would he be waiting for me? Had Xaden told him about the deal that was made? Part of me hoped he would be waiting for me as I arrived. As we break through the clearing, Xaden and a few other riders are waiting for us. My heart sinks as I don’t see Garrick amongst them. I busy myself with getting my pack of my Gryphon and go to follow after the other riders. I had procrastinated enough that I was one of the last ones. As I walk past Syrena and the riders Xaden looks up and catches my eye. He smiles and motions with his head to get going. Almost in a way that tells me I should hurry. He must be here.

I step within the walls of Aretia. I had never been here, with how much I had heard from Garrick, I felt as if I had been. I felt as if I could walk these halls and know where everything was. Knowing my luck I would get lost though. There was probably so much Garrick hadn’t been able to tell me. I dump my pack in my room and decide to go explore. Maybe, just maybe I would see him wandering the halls. Or maybe I was unlucky again and he wasn’t here. Out on a patrol or something. But the urgency in Xaden’s nod had suggested other wise. Garrick was here.

As I walk the halls I am met with mixed looks from the riders. Confusion on how the hell I know where to go, and also hate and distain. You couldn’t get ride of generations worth of hate. We’d all be taught to hate each other our entire lives. Only those involved on the supply runs would be accepting of us Gryphon riders to start with.

I around to see I’ve come to an intersection in a hall way. With a painting Garrick had described to me perfectly in one of his letters, to the point I had felt like I had seen it before. As if I’m being pulled by force I follow the hallway down to the right, towards a flight of stairs. Stairs that would lead up to a tower Garrick would frequent when he wanted time to himself. Another bit of information he had told me in his letters. I don’t know how I knew, but I knew he would be there. I sprint up the stairs as fast as I can, so fast its a miracle I don’t trip over my own feet on the way up. Each step brings me closer to Garrick. I get to the top and walk through the arch way, but no one is here. My shoulders slump in defeat. I had been so sure he would be here. But then a familiar smell washes over me, and a familiar pair of strong arms spin me around into a bone crushing hug. I don’t even have to look up to see it’s him as I wrap my arms around his torso. Neither of us dares to brake away from the embrace. Just taking comfort in the fact both of us were here and finally together. And after months apart, this is all we needed.

#fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #the empyrean #garrick tavis x reader #garrick tavis #garrick tavis imagine #the fourth wing

95 notes · View notes

nethhiri · 4 months

Text

Marooned: Chapter 41

Kid x FemReader x Killer

Warnings: Sex, mentions of violence

Discovery

Waking up in Killer's bear hug made you question if you wanted to ever leave the Kid Pirates to pursue your personal goals. Even though you didn't deserve this level of affection and kindness in the first place, you greedily craved more of it. What if you could wake up every day like this? Would that be enough to fulfill you? You thought this journey you were on was purely for yourself, but the more you thought about abandoning it, the more you thought you would be letting down the victims.

There wasn't a rush. You didn't have to decide now. It had just been weighing on your mind. Surely if you stayed long enough, with the path Kid was on, you would come across boundless marines.

"Darlin?" Killer's bangs covered his eyes but he was awake. He probably sensed that you were awake and woke up too.

You pulled your face from its place on his shoulder. "Mm?"

"You ok? You were making a face."

"That's just my face." You scratched his goatee.

"No, no. Your face is usually much meaner."

You playfully bapped his cheek. "How dare you. You're lucky I like you." You pulled him towards you, guiding his lips your own. "It's "later" you know."

"It is," Killer agreed slowly. He was mentally calculating how long he had before he needed to start breakfast. It was hard to think when his mind was focused on the way his body was reacting to your lips and teeth against his neck. He allowed himself to give in to your touch.

You threw your leg over his hip, noticing that he had removed his jeans at some point during the night. Winding your hand into his hair, you pulled him back to your mouth, tasting his tongue on yours, feeling his breath hitch when your hand felt along his hardness. His hand ran from your face, to your breasts, kneading them, running his thumb over your nipples. It went lower, squeezing your hip, your ass, pulling your thigh tighter to him.

Killer rolled over you, pulling your other leg up around him. Through his boxers, he was grinding his dick against you, groaning into your kisses. His hand moved to replace his dick, sliding two fingers into your wetness. He coaxed sweet sounds from your mouth, pumping his fingers slowly in an out of you, adding a third to prepare you for him. The wet fabric of his boxers, a mixture of his precum and your wetness, clung to his skin.

You whined as he removed his fingers, licking them off, and kissing you again with the taste of you on his tongue. You felt his weight shift as he removed the last bit of cloth between you. A second later you felt his tip pressing against your slit. You pushed your heels into his back, prompting him to continue.

Killer groaned as he felt your cunt envelope him completely, pushing in until his balls gently slapped against your ass. His cock twitched hearing the wanton moan from you as he pushed past your folds. Finally, he could feel how tight and hot and wet you were. It was his own fault he waited this long in the first place, but he was right when he thought it would be all the more worth it when he finally fucked you. He could feel your eagerness from the way your walls pulsed and gripped against him and the way your hips rolled up for friction.

The dam had been broken. Neither of you could keep your hands or your mouths off each other. You were desperate to swallow his moans, and he, yours. Your hands were scratching at his back or pulling his hair. He was pulling yours, too, mostly to keep you still so he could keep kissing you deeply. He pumped into you at a decent pace, not too slow, not too fast. Making breakfast was forgotten. Killer was only focused on making one thing and it was making you cum. Killer leaned up for a moment, grabbing your thighs and pushing them down until your knees almost reached your ears. He wanted to kiss you some more, but he wanted to watch your face when you came even more.

"Fuck, Killer," you moaned as he hit a deep angle. "Don't s-stop." Your eyes were half closed, though still watching his abs contract with every thrust, watching his shaft disappear inside you repeatedly, watching his hair tumble over his shoulders. Your eyes drifted to his, where they were caught by his bright blue irises. The angle his cock was hitting you and the way he was looking at you brought you closer to the edge.

Killer stared down at you and licked his lips. Every buck of his hips made your tits bounce. Your chest heaved with how hard you panted. The sinfully wet sounds coming from your cunt were driving him wild. He was kicking himself for not eating you out first. Next time. The look in your eyes alone made him want to nut. Your pleas for him to fuck you harder did not go unheeded. He could feel your entire body tense, your thighs pushing back against his hold, your head tipping back, your back arching. The praise falling from your kiss-swollen lips and the increase in wetness around his cock made his hips stutter.

A wave of pleasure flooded your body in surges. "You make me feel s-so good, Kil." You tugged at him. "Please k-kiss me m-more." You were still riding out your orgasm, meeting the rhythm of his hips with your own. You didn't expected him to scoop you up to straddle his lap. His hands grabbed your hips and moved you up and down his length, pressing you down and grinding into it. His cock hit your deepest center, forcing you to the edge a second time in this overstimulated state. "Fuck. I'm-." His lips went to your neck, kissing it, whispering things into your ear.

"Cum again for me." He pushed your hips into his own again. "I n-need to see it again." One of his hands slid so his thumb could reach your clit, rubbing against it.

It was like his voice has a hold on you. You wanted more of his praise. The pressure against your now-oversensitive clit made you cry out. The coil in your belly was about to unwind.

"That's it." Killer brought you down onto himself harder. "You're being s-so good f-or me."

That pushed you to your climax, falling into him and moaning into his neck as you dug your nails into his back. You felt Killer's grip tighten on your hips, rutting up into you with a more erratic pace until he came with a grunt. Your hips rocked into his slowly, until you felt him stop twitching inside you. You sighed and turned your head on his shoulder to look at him while his hand drifted lazily over the soft skin of your back. You sat up and gave him another kiss before getting off him to clean up.

Wordlessly, you both put clothes on, adjusting each other's clothes and hair to mask the freshly fucked appearance that you both had. It was easy for him. He could wear his helmet. For you, the flush in your cheeks carried on as you helped Killer with breakfast. Every time Killer looked at you, with your face like that, his heart skipped. When he felt the scratches on his back sting, he thought of all the sweet sounds from that morning.

That felt so much different from the other encounters you had on the ship, even the ones that Killer participated in. It felt... tender? Loving? It made a fire erupt in your chest. It made your stomach churn. For the rest of the day, you couldn't look him in the face, for if you did, a big goofy smile would threaten to appear and all you could see was his sparkling blue eyes staring at you, filled with emotion. What did it mean?

Even Kid noticed the weird atmosphere between the two of you, pointing it out during breakfast. You had moved spots lately from sitting with the girls to sitting with the officers, sometimes at Kid's request, sometimes of your own accord.

"Fuck is up with the two of ya?" Kid spoke through a mouthful of eggs. "Thought ya would be in a good mood from all the noise coming from yer cabin this morning, Kil."

Killer shot him a look through the holes in his mask.

"Oh so you can't get up with the sound of your own name being called, but you're suddenly the world's lightest sleeper if food or sex is involved?" You rolled your eyes.

Kid looked at you like you were stupid. "Aye. Those are my two highest priorities." He glanced at his empty plate and back at you. "So how bout ya help me with the second one."

"Get bent." You grabbed his empty plate and your own to put them up.

You spent most of the day doing deck chores. When you finished them, you decided to work on how you could manipulate your power so that you could travel. You probably had the capability to create wings, though without experimenting, you didn't want to risk it, because you didn't want to fuck up your own body by accident. You couldn't create something from nothing either. Air had particles of water in it. Maybe you could condense the water to form a solid platform to step on. You concentrated until you could see droplets forming in the air in front of you. If this didn't work you would have to try learning how to moon step.

It took a long time for enough droplets to form a small square. It wasn't very high off the ground. You took an experimental step; it worked. You created another step, and another, and another. You would have to practice until you could make them effortlessly, because each one took way too long to make. You looked down; you had gone much higher up than you intended. It's fine. I'm fine. Intrusive thoughts would win today. But what if I fall? The thought banished your platforms from existence.

"Fuck!" You fell toward the deck. Please someone catch me. Please catch me. I don't want a broken back today. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to relax your body, tensing would only cause more damage. You thought Kid would catch you with his big purple hamster ball so you would float nicely above the deck. The falling sensation stopped, yet you remained in the air. Upon opening your eyes, you were floating just above the deck. You felt incredibly undignified, yelling and falling, now spinning around in this stupid fucking orb. You caught sight of Kid, who had no doubt come to see what the ruckus was about. "Well? put me down already."

"Doll, I'm not doing that." He was mesmerized by whatever was happening around you.

"What?!" You started floating around more erratically. "That's not fucking funny, Kid." More people had gathered to see what was going on.

"I swear on the one piece. It ain't me." Kid could feel a strong magnetic energy coming from you, but it wasn't regular. It was very uncontrolled, erratic. "Yer doing that."

You saw now that this thing surrounding you was yellow, not purple like Kid's power. You didn't even know how you did it or what you were doing. Sure you imagined Kid's magnetic field, but as far as you knew, you couldn't manipulate anything like that. "How do I get out?"

Heat moved to pull you from the orb but Kid quickly stopped him. "Don't touch it." Kid could tell from the chaotic energy crackling around, nothing good would come of making contact. If it was emitting magnetism in a regular field, he could have countered it. The irregularity and unpredictability of the field mad bit impossible. Plus, he didn't know what would happen to you inside it. "Ya gotta figure that out on yer own."

If you were imagining being caught by Kid in a ball, and still trying to conjure up dense particles to stand on, maybe you created a ball of condensed air particles. You didn't know much about physics. If you had, you would know that you had accidentally created a sort of plasma by bringing all the particles together in such high density, in turn disturbing the atoms and releasing large amounts of energy that only made the matter around you more unstable. And in doing so, made a solid-like protective orb around yourself. You started imagining the opposite, the particles spreading back out and dissolving into the background atmosphere. You willed your feet to be on the deck.

It did not dissipate quietly. There was a flash and a sudden release of intense heat, almost like a ball of lightning, followed by a rumbling shockwave of thunder. Nonetheless, you were dropped to the deck on your ass, mostly unharmed, only tired.

Kid squatted down in front of you. "Let's not do that on the ship again, ok, doll?" The instability of whatever you just did scared him. That was enough energy to rip apart the boat if you lost control of it. He was also very intrigued by it. If he could build something to channel that same energy, he could turn it into a power source, or better yet, a weapon. He offered his hand to you, pulling you up with him when he stood up. "Come with me. I wanna show ya somethin."

"I swear to god if it's your dick, Eustass."

"No!" He pulled his hand away, suddenly aware that it was still holding yours. "I think about stuff besides sex ya know."

"With that big, heavy brain of yours."

"Damn right!"

Kid predictably led you to his workshop. He dug around, moving a bunch of scraps, before pulling out something leather and metal. He held it up so you could see it.

"Is that...?"

"When ya called me a dog, it gave me an idea. Ya keep tryna run away, so I gotta make sure ya don't get far."

"I thought you said this wasn't a sex thing."

"Very telling, that yer thinking of it like that."

You rolled your eyes. "Shut up, Kid."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Can I put it on ya?"

"Oh... Didn't think I had a choice." You might as well let him. You kinda liked it.

Kid shrugged, maybe a hint of pink on his cheeks. "I'm a nice guy like that."

"Okay." You turned around and moved your hair out of the way. "I'll play along."

Kid knew you would like it. You acted like you were indifferent, but he could tell you wanted to wear it. It was obvious you liked things around your neck and you liked when someone else was in control. Now you would look more like a Kid Pirate, too. Kid had made you a black leather collar with "Rotten" on the tag, small spikes studded around it. He held something reflective up so you could see what it looked like on, flipping the tag around so you could see what was written on the other side: If found, return to Kid Pirates.

That made you snort, yet made you feel more comfortable on the crew. It was very well crafted. You were surprised that he could make something so nice in a short amount of time. You turned slightly to see it from different angles. "It's alright."

Kid tossed the metal aside and turned you back around. "Whatever. I know ya love it." He took the tag between his fingers and smirked. He pulled you with his devil fruit, closer to himself. He frowned when he saw you wince. There was something responding to his magnetism that wasn't your collar, or figuratively He felt bad that he hadn't noticed it earlier. "Did you get shot?!"

"Oh yeah. I did. Sort of forgot in all the action." You could feel the bullet fragments shift with the magnetism and it wasn't comfortable.

"What do ya mean ya fucking forgot!?"

"I can't feel them or anything."

"What if I accidentally ripped them out of ya!"

"That would have been inconvenient."

"Yer fuckin insane."

"But that's why you like me so much." You jingled the tag on your new accessory. "Which is also why you're gonna help me take them out.... Not like the first time though." You remembered the time he helped with the bullet fragments in your leg. This situation was more dangerous and decidedly less sexy. You had to focus on not allowing yourself to bleed internally.

Kid made a face. "Can't Killer do it?"

"Yeah sure. Did he learn to manipulate metal recently?"

Kid groaned, kind of similar to how a child groans when they don't want to do chores.

You thought it was a bit strange that he was this reluctant. "What? You don't want to help me?"

"No. Not- That's not it."

You weren't going to force him to help. "Ok. Fine. You don't have to. I'll have to dig around myself." You shrugged. It would be a lot easier and faster if Kid zipped the fragments out.

Kid felt his face get hot. "I want ta help, okay?" He was fighting himself. "I... don't want to hurt ya, though."

"Kid, please." You rolled your eyes. "When have you ever cared about hurting me or not?"

"Don't do that." Kid's voice became more stern. "Ya know what the circumstances were." Kid paused. "Ya hurt me, too."

You hummed, contemplating. "That's fair." You held out your hand. "Truce. I won't try to kill you again if you return the favor."

Kid shook your hand. "Truce."

"Cuz I would have beat you the next time and I wouldn't want Killer to be sad."

Kid pulled your hand and jerked you towards himself, caging you against him with his metal arm. "Ya think so, brat?" Kid smirked at you. "I would have let ya win. Cuz Killer really likes his little kitchen whore."

"It's called a sous chef." You raised an eyebrow. "Good thing we called truce then. For Killer's sake."

"For Killer's sake," he agreed.

There was a certain tension in the air.

Next Chapter

#FEELINGS ARE COMING #using Killer as a scapegoat lol #x reader #one piece #eustass kid #massacre soldier killer #marooned #kid x reader x killer #killer x reader #eustass kid x reader #dedicating the first part of this to a-killer-obsession for their birthday!

42 notes · View notes

theladyragnell · 21 days

Note

ooo, how about alex/thom for #29 visiting their home for the first time?

(If you are reading this and wondering why I didn't do the obvious and send them to hill country, that's because I got the same prompt twice for this round and already did that! Once again please kindly ignore the epic backstory fic implied by this ficlet.)

Roger had avoided the City of the Gods. He’d called it stuffy and hidebound and sanctimonious and staid, and Alex had believed him. He had no Gift of his own, no opinion on the place where most of Tortall’s mages trained. From Delia, from the other women who came to court from there, he’d had the idea of pampered cloisters where women and men without martial talents learned how to administer their fiefs.

When Thom of Trebond had arrived at court, with his gaudy clothes and his incessant words and his clear uselessness at anything but magic, he’d done little to disprove any of that. The City of the Gods was where people went to become decorative and, according to Roger, to stagnate magically. Alex had never expected to go there and have his vague suppositions either proved or disproved. He hadn’t wanted to.

Alex stared for a long time at the city walls of forbidding grey stone and tried to ignore the feeling of saturated magic prickling across his skin and how familiar it was. Thom, reluctant as he’d been the whole journey, seemed just as disinclined to ride the last few steps through the city gates.

“We have to do it sometime,” Thom eventually said. “If nothing else, our king commands it.”

They were, the both of them, too good at pretending not to care, not to be hurt. After the first week of travel, of the two of them reeling and snarling like wolves, they’d stopped prodding at each other and just let each other pretend. “As my liege commands, of course.” A truth, but a bitter one. Alex put his heels to his horse’s sides, and expected Thom to follow.

There were few people in the streets. Priestesses traveling in gossiping knots, or sterner and older ones shepherding along lines of girls in plain dresses. Men in Mithran robes, or scholars’ robes, or mages’ robes. Acolytes in plain clothes, their allegiances only visible from the badges they wore. All of them stared at two young lords on horseback.

“You aren’t wearing your robes,” Alex realized aloud when they’d passed a mage of about fifty, a plump and smug master of the Gift whose eyes Thom had avoided.

Thom’s edgy laugh was as abrasive as everything else that came out of his mouth. “It might shock you to learn, Tirragen, that I’m not terribly popular with the other mages here. My hair is distinctive enough. Add that to my age and my robes of mastery? Best to pretend at anonymity. If I’m even a master at all anymore.”

Thom’s Gift was one of the wounds Alex had learned the hard way not to press at. When he had, Thom had pinned him against a wall, and the very air seemed to be rusty violet, and then it was all gone, and neither of them had breathed right for the rest of the day. “Doesn’t matter to me,” Alex said eventually, and Thom snorted, but didn’t speak again.

The Mithran temple where Thom had trained was austere to the point of ugliness, and where Alex had expected pampered younger sons unsuited for being warriors, he found quiet men with pinched expressions. They were, on the whole, pale and delicate, as though kept away from the sun, and the older ones steered clear of Thom in the halls, seeming not to see him, as a novice brought them to the master they were there to see.

Alex had, in those last terrible weeks before the coronation, been vaguely aware of a Master Si-Cham, short and lively and kind, trying to bring Thom back from the brink. He’d expected, as much as he expected anything, the priest replacing him to be a similar sort of person. Instead, they were greeted by a sharp-featured man with the look of the haMinch, businesslike and unkind, who treated Thom with open dislike and Alex with suspicion mixed with a dose of pity as Thom explained in cold technical terms what had been done to them both.

“We’ll see what can be done,” the priest said at last. “In the meantime, Master Thom, you know where the guest quarters are.”

If it bothered Thom to be a guest where he’d once lived, he didn’t say it. He said something insincere and honeyed instead, and took the dismissal with as much grace as he took anything. There was no one waiting for them outside, but the priest was right. Thom knew the way, and brought them through the dim and dismal halls of Tortall’s biggest temple to the god of the sun until they found an out-of-the-way hallway where the sconces were barely lit. The quarters were little more than a room each with a washstand, and Thom abandoned Alex and put a thick stone wall between them as soon as he could.

Alex looked out the window at the kitchen garden crawling with novices hard at work and thought of the palace in Corus, how cold and strange it had seemed, how regimented after his childhood in Tirragen. How Wyldon of Cavall, his page-sponsor, had with grim duty told him that page training was about learning to endure, and that enduring was a privilege if it served a realm that Alex’s grandfather hadn’t been a part of. How mistrustful and mistrusted he’d been, until Gary had extended a hand, and then Francis, and Raoul, and at last Jon.

And then they’d all reached out to Alan too, years later, no matter how surly and prickly he’d been. Looking down at the boys in the garden, all of their eyes on their separate tasks, Alex didn’t think many of them reached out. Roger had always said, half-laughing, that mages were a selfish lot, that they would never help another one along if they might be competition later.

Thom spoke more, and more fondly, of the City of the Gods than he did of Trebond. Maybe he didn’t trust Alex with Trebond. Alex hoped that was it, and that it wasn’t that this cheerless place was what he thought of as home, the way Alex sometimes guiltily thought of Corus first, and clear-skied Tirragen after.

Alex wouldn’t ask. Thom wouldn’t want him to. Neither of them wanted questions from each other, just an end to their duties and thus to the reminder of what they’d done. If the home Thom knew best wasn’t what Alex had thought it would be, that didn’t matter.

Still, he watched the novices from the window, looking for signs of friendliness or care, until Thom knocked on the door to show him the way to dinner.

#answered asks #anonymous #cannot believe it's a month since i posted that ficlet #my brain has been SO scattered this summer it's dreadful

28 notes · View notes

googleitlol · 6 months

Text

I'm impatient so I'm getting right to what I wanna write. It doesn't take long for Zhenyuan to get back and figure out what happened to his tree and boy was he pissed.

He catches up pretty quick, fighting with the disciples before scooping them all up in his sleeve to take them back to the Abbey and make them pay for uprooting his ginseng tree. That's where the drama continues to unfold…

(PS this is a bit of a longer one)

Dove Masterlist:

Guan Yin

Last night was supposed to be relaxing, a break from camping in the wilderness. A moment of peace on this long and tedious journey. Now, after spending the entire night running away from the temple your group had disrupted, you all were presumably being taken back.

Zhenyuan, the immortal daoist that ran the temple and owner of the uprooted ginseng tree, had returned in the time your group made their escape. After fighting off the three demons followers of Tripitaka, the daoist managed to capture and drag you all back to the hall where the disciples were originally accused of thievery.

In the main hall once again, Zhenyuan orders his disciples to have you each tied to the pillars of the hall while the horse is left tied to a post at the gates outside. The immortal looks to his prisoners, his eyes shifting to each of you with a look of animosity. His violet cap nearly covers the stray crow feathers mixed amidst his hair, the pearl whit of his beard shows the extent of his time on the earth. If not for the current situation, you might have felt honoured to meet the old daoist.

One of his servants, likely one of the men he had taken with him on his previous trip, approaches. “What would you want done now, Master?”

The immortal whips his head towards his servant as he speaks, his frown deepening. “I’ve waited ten thousand years for my tree to bear its fruit. They will all be punished accordingly.” As he continues, he looks back to your group. “The Tang Monk is mortal, and so neither knives nor spears, hatchets nor battle-axes should be used.” Your hopes of survival widen at that, if only by a smidge. Perhaps you and Tripitaka could survive this after all. “Bring out the whip.”

Nevermind.

“What?!” Tripitaka shouts, his eyes wide as a disciple goes to fetch the whip. It’s quickly brought out, and you’re sure that if not for the rope keeping the monk tied to the pillar, his knees would have surely given out. You don’t trust any weapon owned by the immortal. Even if it wouldn’t kill a human, it surely won’t leave one in the state to travel ever again.

“You can start with the unworthy senior member of the party, the Tang Monk.” Zhenyuan orders, ignoring the man’s exclamation. “He will pay for the waste my years of labour has been reduced to.”

Before you can object, a voice calls out as the servant begins to wet the whip. “Wait!” The daoist looks to Sun Wukong, seemingly annoyed by his shouts. “Start with me, I’m the one who stole the fruit. I uprooted your tree.” Your brows lift up in surprise, his gaze refusing to look away from the immortal. He’s actually admitting to it? His eyes are wide, panicked as he speaks.

Zhenyuan grits his teeth, the confession only angering him further. “Insolent ape! Even if that is true, he should pay for not delivering the proper punishments for your offences.”

“He didn’t even know I did it!” Wukong objects. “When my brothers and I were asked by him and your disciples, I became spiteful and tried to trick them instead. If anyone deserves the punishment for your tree, it is me.” He lowers his head, as though he was ashamed.

You look at the demon, his head hanging low. It takes you a moment to realise you aren’t misinterpreting what is being said. Sun Wukong is really taking ownership of his actions. You never thought you would see the day.

Zhenyuan glares at the simian for a moment, sharp enough to pierce through solid iron. His servant looks up to him in silent confirmation, and after the passing of a moment, he nods. “Very well.”

With the command, the servant approaches the Monkey King instead. You watch, anxiety picking at your skin as the man raises his arm in preparation. Before your mind can register your mouth moving, you shout. “Stop!”

“What now?!” Zhenyuan’s head swivels to face you, his teeth gritting as the others turn to look at you more in confusion.

You take a moment to breathe, knowing what you have to do. You really didn’t want it to come to this, but there wasn’t much else of a choice. With one last glance of annoyance to Monkey, who was looking at you with wide confused eyes, you face Zhenyuan. “If you truly seek justice for your ginseng tree, we can revive it.” The daoist is silent for a split second before he keels over in laughter. “Revive it? And how would you do such a thing?” He asks, clearly amused by your claims.

Mentally preparing yourself, you shake your head. “I cannot give your tree new life, but I know who can. My master, Guan Yin.” Some of Zhenyuan’s disciples share looks of shock with one another at the mention of the bodhisattva’s name, some muttering to one another while the daoist remains still. “I am certain she has a cure to bring your tree back, I have seen her perform similar miracles before. If you release me, I can bring her here so she can heal it and bring your fruit back.”

The room becomes heavy in silence, the immortal narrowing his gaze as he considers your words. “And how can I trust that you won’t abandon these men to hide with your master?” He asks, gesturing to the pilgrims.

Before you can affirm your claim, Wukong jumps in with little hesitation. “I could go with her.” The response makes your stomach drop. Out of everyone in your party, why is he the one volunteering? Looking back to Tripitaka, his wide eyes seem to show he carries the same sentiments. “Trust me, if I tag along, Guan Yin will want to rush me back to my master as soon as possible.” You do suppose there was truth in the statement, though it carries truth in the context of any of the disciples leaving the monk. Nonetheless, the glare of the immortal slowly shifts. It feels clear how greatly he mourns his ginseng. You can’t blame him for his anger, after returning home to see the fruits of his labour be massacred in such a way. After a moment of contemplation, he sighs. “Very well, then. You have three days to return with your master.” As he speaks, his servants quickly approach you and Sun Wukong to untie you.

“Your companions will remain here under my care until you return. You have my word that no harm will come to them.” He promises, and you nod in thanks before looking back to Wukong, the two of you eyeing one another warily. You can only hope he isn’t doing this as some way to get back at you for slapping him. You doubt Tripitaka would believe any ‘unfortunate’ accidents that might happen on your way to Potalaka Mountain. You catch the poor monk’s eye, who’s making a terrible effort to conceal his lack of hope. You don’t blame him for the sombre look on his face, this very obviously isn’t how this stop was supposed to go. All you can hope for is that things can go smoothly from here.

One of Zhenyuan’s disciples ushers you and Wukong to the gates while others go to untie your companions. You can only manage to glance at your travel partner for a moment, uneasiness weighing you down inside. He looks just about as thrilled as you feel, which is more comforting than you thought it’d be. Better than seeing that devious telltale grin that usually meant he was up to something.

You think again of his confession to Zhenyuan, almost impressed by the fact he took sole ownership for what happened. It feels… uncharacteristic from what you’ve seen of him. At that moment, he had sounded genuinely concerned for Tripitaka. You always assumed he felt your travelling party was more an obligation, a means to his freedom. Even in his defence for his actions the night before, it sounded like he only used the disciples' rudeness towards his master as an excuse. But in the main hall with Zhenyuan, the trickster’s words truly felt honest.

The disciple leaves the two of you at the gates, and the tension only seems to grow in his absence. You quickly clear your throat, averting your eyes to the path instead of looking to the demon. “We should be on our way, then. We don’t have much time.”

He replies with only a grunt, supposedly in agreement, and the two of you begin your trek away from the abbey and towards Potalaka Mountain. The silence feels thick as you move, this tense feeling of awkwardness almost drowning you. It felt so normal to be bickering and at odds with the demon, and not having to deal with his insipid jabs for once feels off.

“…I didn’t expect you to volunteer yourself like that.” You finally break the silence, glancing to the side to see him rolling his eyes.

The monkey looks away, seemingly irritated from how he crosses his arms. “Things were easier before this stupid journey. I can handle any sort of punishment because I– I’m me! Poor Master is so frail, his heart might have given out before the whip could even touch him.” He shakes his head with a prolonged sigh. “I never intended for him to face the consequences of my actions. You were… right.”

The gasp that escapes your lips catches even you off guard, though not as much as hearing those words come from the supposed Great Sage himself. “What was that?” You look at him with wide eyes, the demon grumbling when he glances at your expression. Hearing the Great Sun Wukong admit not only that he was wrong, but that you were right? You’re almost feel unable to comprehend how he continues to surprise you.

“I won’t repeat it a second time. You heard me, woman.” You can’t help but grin at his seeming annoyance, amused by his obvious reluctance in admitting his wrongdoings. Despite how much you enjoy this, though, you can’t help but truly feel… you’re not quite sure. You have always been so sure of the Monkey King’s inherently selfish nature, seeing him act in any way that doesn’t align with it felt unnatural. “Why did you stop Zhenyuan?”

The question takes you off guard, the amusement dropping from your face when you take in the inquisitive look on Wukong’s face “What?”

The monkey demon smirks, a brow lifting at the sense of the tables turning in the conversation. “You didn’t think a little flogging could really hurt me, did you?” He leans over, stopping you in your tracks with a raised brow. “I honestly thought you would have revelled in my pain.”

“Don’t think so low of me.” You roll your eyes, resting a hand on your hip and glancing away. “The thought of asking my master for help came to me just moments before. Zhenyuan would have moved onto the rest of us after you anyways. I’m not so cruel as to watch another get whipped just because of my own feelings, even if that person is you.”

“Could have fooled me.” He laughs, making you scoff. There’s that annoying monkey you’re used to. Done with the conversation, you transform and take flight, in hopes of making the detour home quicker. You assume he’ll follow suit.

What you don’t expect is to be plucked from the air, ochre arms taking hold of your small form. You jump in a panic, your wings flapping manically before hearing Wukong’s sour tone of voice. “Stop! Calm yourself, Dove, the trip will be faster if I carry you.” He explains, huffing in a bit of amusement as he adds, “Your wings aren’t nearly as swift as my cloud.”

Of course he has to get one last jab in. You don’t find yourself too annoyed with it, though. If anything, it means you get to sit back and enjoy the sky instead of exhausting yourself. You silently tuck in your wings and try to relax, despite how bizarre this felt. It really crossed your mind earlier that Wukong volunteering was his way of making your death look like an accident, and you still haven’t crossed that situation out as a possibility. However, you can’t deny how you’re taken by surprise with how gently he holds you. He carries you in one arm, his other shielding you from the strong winds rushing past.

Though, despite the protection from the powerful gusts, you can’t help but reel from the whiplash of it all. So many of his words, his actions in these last few hours clashed with the loud and brash monkey you know him to be. Of course, you never really expected him to be heartless, but you find yourself surprised nonetheless. Atop Sun Wukong’s somersault cloud, it hardly takes any time before you spot Potalaka Mountain in the distance. In a blink, you start to feel your stomach twisting. Seeing your home again, it feels almost surreal after so long. If it wasn’t for the pressing matters you returned for, you would love to see everyone again. The mountain itself is beautiful, flowers of every kind paint freckles of colour over the grassy green surface. Bodies of water trailing from the top of the mountain run down in graceful twists, trees older than yourself towering over bushes of berries. As Wukong begins your descent, you notice the village home of your old friends. It seems bustling with life, but before you can take in anymore of the small home, you pass by it on the cloud.

Facing forward once more, you find yourself heading towards a nostalgically familiar bamboo grove. The cloud disappears, the Monkey King landing as you transform back and take in a deep breath. You quickly turn to Wukong. “Thank you, Great Sage. I am grateful for the… quicker trip.”

The King gives you a funny look, perhaps because of the more formal thanks but is unable to respond before you turn back towards the grove. You can feel her presence, an aura you can recognise even on the other side of the mountain. She emerges from the grove, a serene figure cloaked in white holding her precious vase in one arm, a willow branch in the other. A small smile emerges from the warm feeling that grows in your chest when you see her, and you quickly bow in greeting.

“Hello, Master. I–” You can barely continue when your words get stuck in your throat, caught by surprise when you feel Guan Yin’s arms wrap around you in a warm embrace, pulling you closer.

“It is good to see you again, my little Dove.” Any resolve you had mustered quickly dissipates at her words and you quickly find yourself returning the gesture, holding your master tightly in your arms.

Your smile cracks wider ever so slightly when you feel her embrace tighten. “It is good to see you as well, Master. I’ve missed you.”

You slowly release from the reunion, your mind brought back to the problem at hand when you see Guan Yin glance back at Sun Wukong. “And I see you brought company as well.” You turn to look at the demon yourself, the man giving a somewhat awkward wave to the bodhisattva, his worried smile saying enough about the situation. “Tell me, if the two of you are here, where have you left the Tang Monk?”

“About that, our travelling companions seem to have found themselves in some trouble.” You lower your gaze as you speak, searching your mind for the right thing to say. You felt bad having to come here and bother the bodhisattva at all, and now the words feel caught in your throat.

“I angered the Great Immortal Zhenyuan, Bodhisattva.” Sun Wukong steps forward, in front of you. “I stole some of his ginseng fruit. When his disciples accused us of stealing, I struck down the tree in a bout of anger. Now we have come to ask for your help in restoring it.”

The answer makes Guan Yin’s eyes widen, and you look away when you feel her gaze focus on you. “My help?” She sounds surprised, but you keep your eyes trained to the ground. Even without looking, you can hear the smile in her voice. “I am impressed.”

The words have your head whip back to face her, your mouth almost going agape. Even your monkey companion shares a look of befuddlement. Impressed? By what?! “You are?”

Slipping the willow branch into her other hand, Guan Yin holds out a hand that you take, bringing you closer as she addresses Wukong. “My little Squab has always made it a point to show her independence. Though, it was the right decision to call on me for this. I will revive the ginseng tree.” She looks at you with the same comforting smile you’ve seen since you were a child, and it quickly absolves your anxieties. You had been worried that asking for her assistance on a matter like this would be tedious to her, but the bodhisattva quickly settled your fears with her words of reassurance.

“Squab?” Wukong snorts, quickly dragging you back into reality with his snickering.

You feel your face flush, and try your best to ignore the ape. “Shall we be on our way, Master?” You clear your throat and turn to face her. The Bodhisattva lets out a titter of amusement herself, which does little to tone down the growing warmth of your face.

Luckily, she doesn’t comment on it. “Yes, the faster your journey can continue, the better.” With her words, you turn back into your dove form.

This time, Guan Yin is who you accompany on the flight back to the Abbey, perching on her shoulder. Fortunately enough for you, the importance of the situation at hand left little time for conversation between Wukong and Guan Yin. You soon catch sight of the home of Zhenyuan once more. As you descend, you spot a servant catching sight of your group and quickly run inside.

By the time you reach the ground and transform back, the old immortal Zhenyuan, accompanied by your own travelling companions, are at the gates of the temple ready to meet you. “Bodhisattva Guan Yin, it is an honour to have you with us.” The daoist bows in greeting, your master doing the same.

“Thank you, Great Immortal. The Great Sage and my disciple have informed me of your misfortune.” She nods politely, gesturing to the two of you. “Please, bring me to your ginseng tree so that I may restore it.”

“Of course.” At her request, your group is led to the gardens. You follow behind your Master, your companions a little ways behind. There’s a slight tension in the air you try your best to ignore while you are all escorted to the tree, a nervousness amongst the others. Maybe they were unsure of whether Guan Yin can do what you said she could, but if that is the case, there’s no need for them to be antsy. You have faith in your master. Entering the garden, the damage outshines the beauty of every other plant in the space. Grass and dirt overturned surrounds the thick roots that point up towards the sky. Shrivelled leaves lay scattered beneath the branches they once decorated, pieces of bark and twigs chip off the trunk, the aftermath of prideful destruction.

The group looks back at the Monkey King, who lets out an uncomfortable chuckle. Guan Yin raises an unimpressed brow, and points to the tree with her willow branch. “Sun Wukong, will you step forward, please?” With a small nod, he complies. “The hand that fell this tree will be the one to lift it back up.”

The Bodhisattva dips her willow branch into her vase, using it to brush a charm onto the sage’s hand before closing his fist. “Now, place your hand at the base of the tree, and– do you perhaps own a jade ladle?” She turns to Zhenyuan.

“We have wine goblets and tea cups made of jade.” The daoist responds, and she nods.

“Good, have one brought here.” Guan Yin smiles, and he turns to give one of his servants the silent command to retrieve one while she returns her attention to Wukong. The demon places his fist against one of the roots of the tree, one of the few that were still in contact with the ground. The dirt beneath the root starts to tremble as he follows her instructions, the ground dampening before a pool of water spurts up from below. A few of the disciples gasp at the trick, though Guan Yin remains unfazed. “Thank you, Great Sage. Now, if you would please reorient the tree to its original position.” Wukong is quick to obey, lifting the tree with relative ease and placing it carefully back so that its branches could reach up once more. The Bodhisattva then has several of their observers help in covering the roots with more soil, you and your fellow companions putting a hand in yourselves.

Just as you all finish in replanting the tree, the servant returns with the jade goblet. Once it is given to Guan Yin, she hands it to Sun Wukong. “Use this to pour the water over the tree. Once you have done that, the bark and the roots will grow back together. The leaves will come out, the branches will turn green, and the fruits will appear.”

The Monkey King nods, following the bodhisattva’s instructions and uses the jade goblet to scoop up the water from the ground. On his cloud, he hovers over the tree before drizzling the water over its branches. Guan Yin begins to recite a spell under her breath and as the water makes contact, the leaves begin to grow once more. The spots where the bark had chipped away reemerge and the uniquely-shaped ginseng begin to grow and ripen spontaneously. The servants and disciples of the temple begin to murmur amongst one another, shocked by the miracle performed.

However, it is Zhenyuan whose voice carries above them all. “Thank you, Bodhisattva.” He is almost beaming with joy as he speaks, relief transcribed over his expression. “This deed must be celebrated. Please, allow me to hold a feast in your honour. To celebrate the revival of my ginseng tree.”

Your master looks at you with a smile, one you return happily. You guess it was a good thing to have called on her for assistance after all. “Of course, I accept.” With that, Zhenyuan and Guan Yin left to speak while you finally have a chance to speak with your friends that were left behind. Tripitaka is the first to approach you, relief radiates off him in waves. “Thank goodness you came back. I’m impressed with how quickly you were able to return.” He admits, looking over to where Monkey King was talking to Sandy and Pigsy. “I thought you and Pilgrim Sun would have more of a… difficult time reaching Potalaka Mountain.”

“The trip was… quiet.” You give a shy smile, not sure how else to describe the short journey. Surprising was the first word that came to mind when describing it, but you’d rather not have to explain why the monkey’s actions felt so surprising to you.

As though he could sense being thought of, Sun Wukong jumps between the two of you, taking Tripitaka by surprise. “Looks like everything has turned out alright in the end. Right, Squab?”

“Squab?” You let out a groan when Tripitaka echoes the nickname. He really isn’t letting that one go anytime soon, is he?

With a sigh, you begin to walk away from the boys. “If the two of you would excuse me, I would like to catch up with my master while she is still in our company.” You dismiss yourself, walking just a little faster than normal to get away from the irritating face of that demon. Even when he’s out of sight, his snickering echoes through the halls as you go to find Guan Yin.

~~~~

As night creeps upon the Abbey, Sun Wukong and his companions gather in the main hall for the feast hosted by Zhenyuan. As the feast is in her honour, Guan Yin sits at the centre of the table, the Tang Monk to her right and her young disciple to her left. Pigsy and Sandy join their master on his right while the Monkey King sits to the right of Zhenyuan and the left of Dove, though her other name is beginning to grow on him. With the matter of his tree resolved, Wukong feels as though Zhenyuan is much easier to get along with. The two have already spent some time talking and, well, having fun drinking. This was a side of the old man Wukong could really appreciate.

Only when the immortal excuses himself for a moment does the Monkey King begin to pay attention to the other side of the table. His fellow brothers and master seem to be deep in conversation with the bodhisattva, sharing with her chronicles of their journey thus far. “And she dove into the river while the others were planning on how to bring you onto land?”

“I was so confused as it happened, until I recognised her, of course.” Sandy laughs, the girl in question offering a timid smile as he does. Wukong can’t help but furrow his brows at her change in demeanour. He questions whether or not it was possible for her to sit straighter, her body language tense. The usually bossy know-it-all is somehow even more composed than usual, it’s almost scary. “Our little Soother tells us she has been your disciple since childhood, is that true?”

The King almost misses the twitch in Guan Yin’s smile. “Yes, she has always been one of my most faithful. Despite the occasional pranks she would play, she has always been quite attentive from a young age.”

The room goes silent at that. Wujing looks between the Dove and her master, bug-eyed, Wukong himself feeling his mouth go agape. The pig lets out a dry laugh. “Pranks? Her??” The four men all look over to Dove, her eyes practically burning holes into the table, her cheeks growing red for the second time that day.

Guan Yin laughs softly. “Yes, it wasn’t a rare sight to see Moksa angrily chasing after her through my grove. I remember when she made him believe she had killed my favourite fish from my pond. The poor prince was distraught at the thought of me finding out.”

“Oh, really?” Wukong jumps into the conversation at that, leaning against the table to get a better look at the woman’s burning face. “Now that you mention it, I can see Squab being a bit of a troublemaker.” Her eyes flash to him as he calls her by Guan Yin’s nickname, the flames in her eyes so palpable he can almost feel their heat. Despite the very obvious anger, however, she remains silent aside from a quiet, “Hhmph.” The lack of reaction only makes the King grin. She’s obviously holding her tongue because of her master, maybe they could call Guan Yin in for some favours more often if it results in this. Wukong could get used to this poised-yet-flustered birdie.

Whether Guan Yin is aware of her disciple slowly dying from embarrassment, she doesn’t show it. “I wouldn’t say she was any trouble for us, those jokes were merely harmless fun. If anything, seeing how they made her light up was reassuring, with how reserved she was when she first came to me.” Reserved? The master and disciple look to one another, something silent in their eyes speak to one another, but before Wukong can get either to elaborate further, Zhenyuan returns.

“The food has been prepared. But before we feast, I would like to offer you all a serving of the fruit that was saved today.” He addresses the table as servants follow him into the hall, each presenting a plate of the very ginseng that Guan Yin had restored.

Thanking their host, the travellers begin to eat, Wukong remembers it well from the first fruit he stole and partly wonders if eating the fruit twice now means he has ninety-four thousand years added to his multiple immortalities. The fruit is bitter, with subtle sweet notes followed by a bit of an earthy aftertaste. As he eats, he looks to his fellow brothers at the table, enjoying the fruit. Tripitaka makes a slight face at the first bite, likely not expecting its taste while Guan Yin… she somehow looks even more serene and composed while eating the fruit.

That’s when he notices the Dove. She’s still, her fruit laying in front of her uneaten. It doesn’t take long for the bodhisattva to notice, either. She silently places a hand on her shoulder, snapping the woman out of wherever her mind had wandered. “Are you alright?” Her voice is hushed, though Wukong’s more superior hearing is able to catch her words easily.

“Yes, thank you. I just find it a little funny, I suppose.” She gives the woman a smile, and though her master returns it, Wukong can’t help but feel there was something underneath the expression.

Her eyes are sympathetic. “I know, you feel it is too late. It’s not what I planned for you, but after all this time, you deserve something for your efforts.” Wukong feels lost in the conversation, likely a sign that he shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but his curiosity will always get the better of him.

Dove sighs, her eyes falling back onto the fruit on her plate. “What was planned or not, everything I have has been given to me by you.” She looks back to her master, the bodhisattva’s smile dropping. “Now, what you’ve done today has given me something new. Thank you.”

“And who brought me here to revive the fruit?” Guan Yin questions. “Everything I’ve given you is what you have earned. Never forget that, Squab.” She brings the woman’s plate closer, the disciple nodding before taking the fruit in her hands.

“…Of course, Master.” She smiles, taking her first bite of the fruit. Sun Wukong can’t help but frown before turning back to his own plate. What were they talking about? Whether it’s his business or not, the Monkey King feels intrigued now!

Would she tell him if he asked? Likely not, but the monkey is sure he can figure it out one way or another. He’s clever when he wants to be, this surely won’t be too difficult to figure out. Besides, he has the rest of their journey to ask about it.

#wukong wants the tea #dove has 100% accidentally called guan yin mom #multiple times #the bone demon arc is next…#little dove #jttw sun wukong #sun wukong x reader #jttw guan yin

51 notes · View notes

angelynmoon · 1 year

Text

Eldritch Steve

Part 11

Eddie stared at Wayne, Wayne stared back, for several long moments neither one blinked but Eddie was human and so eventually he had to.

"Arg, remind me not to get into staring contests with Eldritch beings!" Eddie yelled as he rubbed his watery eyes.

"You never once won a staring contest with me boy, no reason to start now." Wayne said with a shrug, "You want coffee, Steve?"

"You're not mad at me for telling Eddie?" Steve asked, nervously.

"Surprised it took so long." Wayne handed Steve a mug, all of them had been replaced with the new two bedroom trailer.

Steve also knew that several soldiers had gone missing when they insulted Eddie in Wayne's presence, Steve had claimed he'd overheard them talking so he'd eaten them, which had the confronting soldiers cringing back and Owens blanching and making a quick escape.

"It wasn't my secret to tell, but he needs to know what being Mated to one of us means." Steve said, holding his mug in both hands.

"He is right here." Eddie reinserted himself into the conversation, "And I know what I'm getting into, Steve told me about spawning."

Wayne looked at Eddie and then at Steve, "How much did you tell him about spawning?"

Steve blushed, "As much as I know."

Wayne stared at him and then sighed, "Settle in, the both of you, we've got a long night ahead."

Because Wayne knew just how much about Spawning Steve knew or more exactly how little he knew. Spawning alone was different than Spawning with a Mate, and with the species difference, well, there were reasons that Wayne had yet to Spawn himself, and it wasn't just Eddie appearing on his doorstep.

As Eddie's adult he had a duty to prepare him, as the last Adult of his kind he had a duty to Steve too.

For all that Steve had killed their race he was, in fact, still considered a child of their race, not much older than those kids he'd claimed as his, if Wayne wasn't slightly afraid of Steve killing him like he'd killed all the others, he'd forbid them to even think of Spawning, but Steve was dangerous, though he did not appear so and Wayne doubted Eddie's affection for him would protect him for long if he stood in Steve's way.

So, Wayne would prepare them.

Because Spawn only appeared as eggs when one parent was involved, the embryo forming inside the parent and forming the protective shell on it's journey to the outside world.

Spawn that had two parent were born live and hungry, if Steve and Eddie Spawned they would need meat, raw and the fresher the better, ready for when their babies clawed their way into the world.

Eddie would have to distract them with the meat so Steve could heal, otherwise they might feast on his flesh, they ate their own for strength, afterall.

And Wayne would not be allowed near once Steve was expecting, Steve's instincts would see him as a threat to him and the eventual young, and Wayne couldn't say he wouldn't be tempted to eat the possibly runts, it wouldn't be the first time he'd eaten the newly born, he'd eaten several of his Spawnmates when he'd clawed his way out of his birth parent and his secondary parent hadn't been quick enough to fill his belly.

Wayne didn't remember Steve's Spawning parents, it was likely they'd abandoned him early on, expecting him to die quickly, some Spawning parents would eat their defective ones but others felt the need to let the other creatures have a taste of them. It was a testament to Steve's strength that he'd survived so long on his own.

Their race wasn't kind, not even to their young.

But maybe, Wayne thought as he looked at a waiting Steve and a trying to escape Eddie, he could change that, or at least Steve and Eddie could.

A/n: like I said Ao3 is down and well, I still have nothing better to do, so enjoy.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48500452?view_full_work=true

Ao3 is back, so here's the link, I didend up calling it From the Rot, for now at least, thank you for all you suggestions though. <3

@addelyin @merricatty @lesbiabrobin @apuckishwit @0o-mushroom-o0 @starlight-archer @darkwitchoferie @just-a-tiny-void @swimmingbirdrunningrock @intergalactic-president-awesome @vampireinthesun @goodolefashionedloverboi @adhdsummer @purpleanimeoverart @space-invading-pigeon @lilaclilyroses @nohomoyesbi @plantzzsandpencilzzs @korixae @subversivecynic @flusteredcas @persnicketysquares @freddykicksasses @little-trash-ghost @cupcakesnwhiskey @cats-ate-all-of-my-pasta @planetsoda @paintsplatteredandimperfect @irregular-child @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @steddieassheg0es

#steddie #eldritch monster steve #upside down creature steve #mpreg mention #wayne is the real mvp here #the birds and the bees talk #mentioned cannibalism #mentioned child abandonment #infantcide of sorts #culture building #if i can't read fic i will write it instead #ao3 is down #part 11 #From the Rot

237 notes · View notes

icarustypicalfall · 7 months

Text

Commander's Last Love

chapter 1 ★ fem reader ★ masterlist ★ ao3

fic masterlist

summary:

Love is dangerous, mysterious. It can be a man with a huge pride or a woman with a cold glance.

Strange, isn't it?

There was something about you that intrigued him, something that made his insides flutter. It was a feeling he chose to ignore, opting instead to resort to his usual tactic of taunting people until they broke.

Warnings: nothing for now. <3 might be some inaccuracies, fic takes place after graves betrayal.

note: this is faith, i was absent for so long and will be for a bit due to finals. (again, apparently the writer curse is exams to me.)

I had this idea since December, couldn't post it but i felt it was right tonight. Thank you my stars for your patience, all your sweet words are amazing and i appreciate you a lot 🤍 thia fic will updated slowly, but i hope to end it right 🤍

"Power is my love when my love reaches to me"

Mission [A2626]

Location: [CLASSIFIED]

Time: 20:30:27 - 09/10/20##

The airplane touched down after a grueling journey, during which Phillip had endured a series of poorly made films on the small TV. To say he was bored would be an understatement. However, as a commander, he knew better than to complain. After all, it was his position that kept food on his plate and money in his pocket. So, when General Shepard ordered him for this new mission with Colonel Farah, he kept any gripes to himself.

His recent betrayal hadn't gone down well, but he knew that would be addressed later, when he crossed paths with TF141 again. For now, there were more pressing matters at hand.

As Phillip descended the stairs of the small plane, he sported a self-assured grin, casually ruffling his blond hair.

Colonel Farah, a formidable woman whom he secretly admired, awaited him along with a small group of familiar faces. However, one unfamiliar figure caught his attention - an enigmatic masked woman.

You, on the other hand, felt a sense of annoyance under the weight of Phillip's gaze. You couldn't afford to complain, having already done so thrice, as Colonel Farah would have you on desk duty for x days.

As her closest soldier, her right hand, you had climbed the ranks at a remarkable pace, thanks to your exceptional abilities and strength. Achieving the rank of sergeant in such a short time was truly impressive.

Though you didn't know much about Phillip Graves, the tidbits of information shared by your teammates were enough to form an initial impression of the man. Despite his evident arrogance and conceit, he was nothing more than a traitor in your eyes, someone you would gladly strangle given the chance. You despised traitors, even in a field where every sin is allowed in the purpose of defending your cause.

Phillip exchanged handshakes with Colonel Farah and her husband, Alex. Finally, he stood before you, extending his hand in what he perceived to be a gesture of peace, laced in curiosity and mischief.

You, however, saw it as an opportunity to put hin in his place. Phillip's height gave him a slight advantage, but you firmly grasped his hand, applying enough pressure to make him wince. The handshake became a silent battle for dominance, though neither of you quite understood why.

Phillip touched your hand in the same curiosity to which the cat got killed. He wouldn't mind getting his whole body torn aparts, if it meant to feel the cold skin against his again.

Everything about Phillip unnerved and unsettled you, and you despised the feeling down to your core. Determined to push it aside, you resolved to ignore his presence completely. He was a handsome man, the kind of man that will push down every button till you break loose. The kind of man that will tear down the earth and sky just to get a glimpse of you. The kind of man you choose to avoid for your own sanity.

With an indifferent glare, you uttered, "Welcome, Commander Graves. Pleased to meet you."

In truth, you were far from pleased, and he could tell from your expression and demeanor. Phillip, maintaining his smug smile, let go of your hand before stepping back slightly. "The pleasure is all mine," he replied, his voice laced with a hint of something more.

It stirred within Phillip, a sensation he believed he had buried long ago with his last relationship. The way your eyes bore into his before you walked away to join Colonel Farah awakened something in him. Your indifference chipped away at the walls around his heart, leaving him feeling exposed. He stood silently, staring at the hand that was held by yours.

Colonel Farah assigned you the task of showing Phillip around since it was late and he needed rest before discussing matters the following day. Phillip smirked, noting your displeased expression, partially hidden behind your mask. He walked beside you through the empty corridors.

"Well, care to share your name, little thing?" he asked teasingly.

You huffed in response. "Ashra."

Phillip chuckled, his smug grin widening as he shamelessly admired your figure. His baby blue eyes travelled from your feet up to your head, lingering momentarily on where your lips would be if not concealed by the mask. He cursed internally at the obstruction. "Ashra? Is that your name, or some local tea brand?"

It took all your self-control not to snap at him right then and there. Instead, you retorted, "Your name is Graves. Were you born in a cemetery?"

Ah, you're quick-witted, he likes that.

This time, Phillip burst into laughter, surprised by your response. He wasn't, by any chance, annoyed by you being smart with him. If it was any other soldier, they'll be buried somewhere in the desert. Though, you? He revered your attempt to bite back, exposing the sharp fangs to the light and piercing his flesh.

You thought you'd win by that response, though he wasn't one to give away easily.

Leaning in closer, he whispered with the same smugness, his pearly white teeth on display. "You certainly have quite the mouthful, darlin'. But remember, don't bite off more than you can chew, yeah?"

You huffed once again, choosing a shortcut to the men's quarters. Phillip followed closely, a shadow to your every move, which was to be expected from a man of his rank.

Your defiance only piqued his interest further.

It was evident that you possessed an icy demeanour, a woman so cold that only a scorching heat could melt. And Phillip, oh boy, he was a fiery volcano, just the kind that could do the trick.

With a mischievous grin and a hint of a Southern drawl, he quipped, "Ash? Is that name inspired by a fireplace?"

A soldier, popping from one of the chambers couldn't resist the urge to comment as you passed by: "It means 'ten'."

You shot him a piercing glare, and Phillip furrowed his brow, clearly perplexed.

"Her callsign... it means ten..."

Wait, what?

You sighed and nodded, as the soldier rapidly sauntered away, leaving you both alone in the deserted corridor. "Ten. Ashra means ten. Happy?"

Phillip blinked, processing this newfound knowledge, and a smile began to creep onto his lips. "Care to tell me on why you go by 'ten', Doll?"

"No," came your curt response.

Undeterred, his smirk persisted, making you wonder if his face was permanently set in that way. "Well, the headquarters are just up ahead. Colonel wants to see you in her office at Seven sharp."

He nodded, calling after you as you walked away. "No 'goodnight' for your commander?"

He turned, anticipating another icy stare, but instead, he found nothing. Only the lingering fragrance of your tantalizing perfume, teasing his senses and kindling a sudden curiosity. It was as if you were a tantalizing enigma, and he, like Pandora, desired nothing more than to unravel the depths of your darkness and expose it to the light.

After his usual pre-sleep routine, Phillip was ready to retire for the night. However, his mind refused to surrender to the arms of Morpheus, choosing instead to dwell on his encounter with you.

★

kindly like and reblog to reach other people

★

#𓆩♡𓆪 faith writes #not for so long #phillip graves x fem reader #phillip graves x female reader #phillip graves x reader #cod philip graves #phillip graves #philip graves #phillip graves x you #fluff phillip graves #cod fanfiction #cod fic

85 notes · View notes

thegettingbyp2 · 2 years

Text

It's Not Forever

A/N - So ideas kept coming to me with this so it's a lot longer than I originally planned but I think I'm happy with the way it turned out. This is scenario 1 of the list I posted earlier. Also, toying with the idea of making a part two so let me know what you think!!

---

The last couple of hours had flown by in a blur for you. Your entire world had crumbled around you in a matter of hours and you couldn’t see how that was fair. From finding out that Peter Lewis had set young Jack Hotchner in his crosshairs made you furious but the fact that the situation was dire enough that both Jack and Aaron were having to go into Witness Protection for God knows how long is what really broke you; you didn’t know how you were going to cope with not seeing your two favourite boys every day.

Aaron’s hand tangling with yours brought you out of your thoughts on the drive home. You had been given tonight to spend one last night as a family before they were due to leave and already you were feeling the seconds slipping away all too quickly. The feeling of Aaron’s hand in yours made you turn your head to face him.

‘Baby don’t cry,’ Aaron said, his own voice thick with tears he wasn’t letting himself shed. You brought your free hand up to your cheeks to wipe away the tears quickly before you brought Aaron’s hand to your lips and pressed a gentle kiss on his knuckles. Neither of you could think of anything to say to each other in that moment so you spend the rest of the journey home in silence, neither of you wanting to let go of the other. When you had got back home, the three of you curled up on the couch together to watch Jack’s favourite film, Spiderman.

‘Go and give your mom a cuddle, buddy,’ Aaron said to Jack. Even though Jack wasn’t your biological son, you had always treated him like your own and in the past couple of years, he’d begun to call you mom himself. Not needing to be told twice, Jack practically launched himself into your arms and you held onto him as tightly as you could while your back leant against Aaron’s chest, the three of you not willing to part for a second as you watched the film.

When the time finally came, after putting it off as much as you could, you and Aaron both went to take Jack to bed, tucking him into bed and you made sure to give him an extra hug and read him an extra story before you and Aaron turned the light off and made your way into your shared bedroom.

It was when you heard the door close behind you that you let yourself crumple onto the bed, sobs wracking your body. Aaron was beside you in an instant, pulling you against him and kissing the top of your head before lifting your face to meet his as he began to wipe away your tears.

‘Please don’t cry baby,’ he said gently, pressing his forehead against yours as your hands reached up to cup his cheeks.

‘It’s not fair. Why does it have to be you and Jack?’ you said through your tears.

‘It’s not forever, baby, we’ll be back here with you before you know it, you know why? Because I know that you and the rest of the team won’t stop until we can come home to you,’ Aaron whispered, letting a few tears of his own slide down his face as he brought you in for a gentle kiss.

As soon as your lips connected, need filled your body and you were hyper-aware of the limited time that the two of you had left and you climbed into his lap, holding yourself as close to him as you possibly could as you shared a passionate kiss. Aaron slowly moved until you were laying on your back on the bed with him hovering over your body and he took a moment to stare down at you.

‘You’re so fucking beautiful,’ he murmured, brushing his lips along your jaw and down your neck where he pressed soft kisses until he reached the collar of your t-shirt. ‘Can I?’ he asked, tugging lightly on your t-shirt and you nodded frantically, needing to be as close to him as possible. As he pulled your t-shirt off and made quick work of sliding your jeans and panties down your legs, your fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt but shaking too much to be able to unbutton them. ‘Hey, you’re alright, let me, sweet girl,’ he said quietly, replacing your fingers with his until he’d removed his shirt and trousers until he was as naked as you.

You shivered as his hands ran gently over your body and he kissed his way down your body until he was laying between your thighs. He looked up at you and held your gaze captive as he licked a broad stripe up your pussy, flicking his tongue when he reached your clit. Your hands instantly threaded through his hair as his tongue began to trace patterns on your pussy that had your legs twitching in no time.

‘Aaron, please,’ you whimpered as you felt your orgasm approaching and Aaron sped up his movements and moved two fingers inside of you, quickly throwing you over the edge. He carried on, helping your ride out your orgasm before he crawled back up your body and pressed his lips back to yours, making you whine into his mouth as you felt his cock brush against your thigh. You reached down to take his cock in your hand and you slowly began to pump him, making Aaron groan lowly and drop his head against your shoulder.

‘Baby, you need to stop or I’m not going to last,’ he mumbled into your skin before lifting his head to look at you. Looking into his eyes made you remember what was happening and you felt tears slip down your cheeks again. ‘Hey, none of that, come on baby,’ he said, brushing your tears away as he slowly pushed into you, making you gasp in pleasure. ‘Just remember, it’s not forever, things will be able to go back to normal again soon, I promise.’ He tenderly kissed your cheek before he started to thrust his hips.

Even though he kept a slow and soft pace, you could feel the breath being pushed out of you every time his hips pressed into yours and your legs wrapped around his waist, needing to feel his body against yours.

‘I love you,’ you whispered into his ear as he slightly increased the speed of his thrusts until he stilled against you, marking you as his from the inside for the last time for who knows how long. After you had both come down from your highs, neither of you were ready to pull away from each other so Aaron gently let his body drop against yours before rolling to your side and pulling you tightly against him.

‘I love you, baby, nothing’s changing that okay? No matter how long we’re gone for, we’re coming back for you. You hear me?’ you nodded and buried your head in his chest, pressing a kiss to his skin which made Aaron’s breath hitch in his throat.

‘I don’t want you to go,’ you whispered brokenly as you wrapped your entire body around his, as if you would be able to prevent them from leaving as long as you didn’t let go. The two of you fell asleep wrapped around each other, not willing to let go for a single second.

The next day, you stood on the doorstep of the house with a fake smile on your face as you waved at Jack as the car set off down the road. You looked at Aaron just in time to see him mouth the words ‘I love you’ and you blew a kiss back before the car turned the corner out of sight. You walked back into the house, closing the door behind you and curling up on the sofa, letting heart-wrenching sobs leave your body as you inhaled the familiar scent of Aaron that always seemed to cling onto the fabric.

You heard the front door open and close again and you didn’t even have it in you to see who it was. You only looked up when you felt a familiar hand on your arm and you looked up to see Spencer Reid and Penelope Garcia in front of you.

‘We’ll catch him, (Y/N),’ Spencer said, running his hand comfortingly against your arm. ‘We’ll catch him and then they can come home.’

Your two friends left you cry until you were pretty sure you had no tears left in your body. ‘I’ll go make you some tea,’ Penelope said, squeezing your hand and walking into the kitchen.

You sat up on the sofa and your eyes caught sight of the framed picture of you and Aaron dancing at Will and JJ’s wedding. You noticed that there was a small box with an envelope sitting on top of it beside the picture and you looked over at Spencer who gave you a sad smile as his eyes followed your movements. You walked over and picked the box up. Inside, was nestled a beautiful silver engagement ring that had Aaron’s name inscribed on the inside of the band. Choking back a sob, you opened the envelope and read the note:

My Sweet Girl,

This isn’t the way I was hoping to propose but I figured we could both use a little bit of hope. This ring proves to you that I will be coming home to you so I can officially make you Mrs Hotchner. I’ve got a matching ring with your name inscribed so that, even though we’re apart, we’ve still got each other close. I love you, my sweet girl.

‘(Y/N)?’ You heard Spencer ask and you realised you must have been quiet for a long time. You looked up and you felt yourself fill with determination and anger. Anger at the fact that Aaron and Jack have had to leave just to be safe and determination that you were going to get them both back. You slipped the ring onto your finger, taking a second to admire the perfect fit before looking up at Spencer.

‘We’re going to catch Peter Lewis fast and bring my boys home.’

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds

538 notes · View notes

mimisempai · 6 months

Text

I missed you more than words can say

Summary

When the florist has to be away for several days on work-related matters, he misses Aziraphale as much as the bookseller misses him. But that makes the reunion all the sweeter.

Notes

50 Types of Kisses - Writing Prompts

Kiss #24: Deep kisses where they have their hands tangled in each other’s hair to pull them closer

On Ao3

Rating G - 1027 words

When Crowley entered the bookshop, he was in a hurry to see Aziraphale. He'd been gone for two days and a night, doing floral arrangements for a wedding in the country, and though they'd called and texted, he'd missed his lover terribly.

He was surprised to see that no one was there, but Aziraphale's coat and the perfectly placed shoes underneath suggested that the bookseller was indeed at home.

He called softly, "Aziraphale?"

Getting no answer, he walked around the ground floor before climbing the stairs to his lover's apartment.

Once upstairs, careful not to make any noise, he made his way to the bedroom and stopped suddenly in the doorway, unable to hold back a small gasp.

Aziraphale was lying on his side in the middle of the bed, sleeping peacefully, the t-shirt that served as Crowley's pajamas snuggled against him.

Crowley tiptoed out of the room, and once in the hallway, overwhelmed by emotion, he let himself slide against the wall, his heart pounding from what he'd just seen.

Once he'd recovered from his emotions, he got up and decided to go to the bathroom, taking advantage of his lover's sleep to take a shower, much needed after the long journey home.

A little later, he was drying his hair when he heard Aziraphale calling him.

"Crowley?

"In the bathroom!"

Seconds later, Aziraphale entered the bathroom and Crowley immediately dropped the towel to rush towards him, taking his lover's face between his hands to kiss him.

Aziraphale returned the kiss with equal eagerness, his fingers tangling in damp hair to pull Crowley even closer. The kiss lasted a long time, neither of them able to let go, and it was only when they were forced to catch their breath that they finally broke apart.

The bookseller asked between gasps, "Have you been here long?"

Crowley shook his head and replied, "Just enough time for a shower."

He planted another kiss on the bookseller's lips and continued, "I missed you."

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him before burying his face in the florist's neck and murmuring against his skin, "I missed you, too. You have no idea how much, my love."

Crowley tightened his arms around Aziraphale, and they stayed like that for a few moments, happy to be together again. Then the bookseller broke the embrace, pushing back a lock of wet hair that had fallen across his lover's face before saying softly, "I'll take your place in the shower."

The florist nodded and replied, "And I'll get dinner ready."

After making sure Aziraphale was in the shower, Crowley glanced back at the bedroom and saw his t-shirt on the bed, just as he'd left it the night before.

He made his way to the kitchen, and as he prepared the meal, he couldn't help but think of Aziraphale clutching his t-shirt as he slept.

Moments later, as Crowley finished stirring the sauce he'd prepared for the pasta, he felt Aziraphale's arms slip around his waist. The bookseller kissed his neck before resting Crowley's chin on his shoulder, trying to see what he was cooking. After a few seconds, Crowley relented and lifted the lid on the pot, revealing a deliciously smelling sauce.

Aziraphale hummed with delight, "This looks delicious. You spoil me."

Crowley haussa les épaules et répondit, "Taste it before you say that," and then pushed Aziraphale toward the table.

As the bookseller sat down, Crowley divided the pasta and sauce onto two plates before serving them and sitting down opposite his lover.

They talked about their days as they ate, catching up on what they'd missed in each other's lives during Crowley's absence. They never missed an opportunity to touch, a caress of the hand as Crowley passed the salt to Aziraphale, feet accidentally brushing under the table and then just for the pleasure of touching, a kiss on the cheek as Aziraphale rose to serve the wine, both revelling in the joy of being together again.

When the dishes were finished, without a word to each other, the two tired men decided to go to bed early.

As soon as he entered the bedroom, Crowley's eyes were drawn to his t-shirt on the bed. After undressing, he picked it up to put it on, blushing slightly as he remembered how Aziraphale had held it against him, resisting the urge to bury his face in it to see if it now smelled of his lover.

His lover entered the room at this point, his eyes flicking several times from Crowley's t-shirt. With slightly rosy cheeks, he looked up at Crowley and asked sheepishly, "I take it you saw me?"

The florist stammered slightly, "Ahem... yes, you were asleep when I came in, and the bedroom door was open, so I couldn't help but look in. Do you do that often?"

Aziraphale shook his head, "It was the first time."

He grabbed the T-shirt out of Crowley's hands and put it on his lover before asking, blushing, "Now, put your arms around me, will you?

Crowley, confused, obeyed anyway and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale. Aziraphale's voice came to him, muffled, "I know it hasn't been that long since we spent our nights together, but after sleeping alone for so long, I got used to sleeping in your arms very easily, and last night, without you, I couldn't fall asleep, so I took your t-shirt and here we are."

Crowley was about to respond, but his lover stopped him, adding, "Stop, not a word. I'm embarrassed enough as it is."

Crowley laughed softly against the bookseller's hair and said in an amused tone, "If I can't say a word, can I kiss you?"

Aziraphale lifted his head in response and the florist pressed his lips to his.

When they parted a little later, he murmured against Aziraphale's lips, "You know that gray vest you wear to read in your armchair? I must say, it's very comforting. You shouldn't leave it lying around so much."

Aziraphale chuckled and replied, "We're both incurable saps."

"That's why we're made for each other."

Aziraphale didn't answer and kissed Crowley again.

Because it was the only possible answer.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable kisses series : here

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here

The florist and the booksellers series : here

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #50 kisses #human au #alternate universe #flower shop

42 notes · View notes

jadedvibes · 2 years

Text

Always (II)

Summary: Bucky helps you pack for your move and makes a small request before you leave.

Pairing: best friend!Bucky x reader

Warnings: lots of feels and yearning, more angst, swearing, pet names.

Word Count: 1.7k

Series masterlist

Like, comment, and/or reblog to put a giant smile on my face ♡

You and your friends met up for one last brunch at Wanda’s insistence. You knew it’d be tough, but you were glad you did because it would be a while before your next reunion. The majority of your apartment was packed away, so you took a good part of the day celebrating your graduation with the people that got you through the journey. Fortunately, the gang was staying back in the area, so it was only a matter of time before you could see them all again.

Bucky stayed close by the entire day, and you felt his eyes on you whenever you separated. Everyone could tell that he was a little off, but they also knew why, so they made no mention of it. He was missing you before you even left.

He insisted on helping you pack what little you had left after you said your goodbyes to your friends. And since you could never tell him no, you accepted the help.

With your arm linked with his you grabbed a pizza from your favorite spot before going back to your place – at least for a few more hours.

The two of you danced around each other during the moving process, both wanting to say more, do something, anything. But neither of you did.

He kept watching you, and you stole glances whenever you thought you could get away with it; you were going to miss having him around. But it got to a point where his staring wasn’t subtle any longer, so you turned your full attention onto him. “B, you look like you want to say something.”

You wanted him to say what he was thinking in the hope that it was similar to what laid heavily in your heart – because you didn’t have the courage to say it yourself.

Bucky’s eyes widened, and he turned his head toward a stack of boxes lining the wall. “I dunno what you mean.”

“You’ve been eyeing me all day, is there something on my face or what is it?”

His brows furrowed and a smirk crossed his face. He didn’t realize he’d been that obvious. Although, it might have been a good thing – perhaps the time for subtlety had passed. Stepping in front of you, he stared down at you again.

“Definitely something on your face, honey,” he lied, lifting his thumb and dusting it over your bottom lip.

He didn’t know what he was doing, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Gazing up at him, you were moments from throwing caution to the wind and going for it as his gorgeous eyes held yours for a few seconds longer than it should have. You swallowed nervously before unconsciously biting your lip.

Bucky’s breath hitched in his throat and he slowly stepped back as he shook his head to try to push away his thoughts; he couldn’t go there, even though he wanted to bite your lip too. If you kept looking at him like that he was going to do something he’d regret, and he wasn’t selfish enough to complicate your life like that – no matter how much he wanted to.

The wheels were already set in motion. You had a plan, and you had to follow through with it. Whatever love or feelings he thought he had would fade away as you both worked on building your careers.

You shrugged off that slightly awkward encounter, realizing it was better this way. The two of you finished packing the last of your boxes into the moving truck, finally clearing out the entirety of your apartment. Four years worth of furniture and life, reduced to boxes in a small van. The entire packing process would have overwhelmed you were it not for Bucky’s intervention; he helped make it easy, and now the long distance movers would do their part by delivering it all to your place across the country.

Your cab was on its way because you had a late flight to catch, and despite Bucky’s preference, he would have to say his goodbyes now.

He wanted to drop you off at the airport, but you knew that his first day of work was the following day, and you would not be the one to mess with that.

He was going to do great, stepping into his father’s position at the architecture firm. It’s what his dad had been training him to do for years, and it’s why Bucky double-majored in business and architectural engineering. You wanted him at his best, and that’s why you insisted on this being your final farewell, for now of course.

“Thanks for all your help, B. I would not have been able to do all of that without you,” you smiled at your best friend.

“I know you would’ve managed just fine, but you’re welcome,” he gave you a soft grin, rocking back and forth on his heels with his hands in his pockets.

“So I guess this is it,” you mumbled. How do you say goodbye to your closest friend that got you through one of the most hectic times in your life? Sure, you knew you’d see him again someday, but life was busy and work schedules would conflict; the distance certainly wouldn’t make it easy. Then there was the issue of your heart belonging to him, that was a bit complicated too.

“I guess this is,” his blue eyes held yours.

“We should make plans, for maybe New Years’ or something,” you suggested.

Bucky thought about how that was six months away – half a year he’d have to go without you. He wasn’t sure how he’d manage that.

“I’d like that,” he gave you a small smile before looking down at the ground.

This wasn’t supposed to be so hard, and it wasn’t supposed to make your heart ache, so why the hell did it? Your chest tightened at the sight of your best friend torn up over your decision to go – but this was what you had to do.

“Bucky,” you whispered. You stepped forward and slid your hands over his shoulders, linking your fingers behind his neck. He wrapped his arms around your waist tightly, clutching your body, anchoring you to him.

Goodbyes were a bitch, but distance would make it easier, he reminded himself. Time apart would do you both some good, he assured himself.

But it was all a lie – he knew that too.

You saw the yellow cab turning onto your long street, and you exhaled a heavy breath. Tears welled in your eyes, and you caught Bucky blinking back some of his own. While staying close, you really looked at him, taking in his handsome features; those pouty lips that teased you, those cerulean eyes that watched out for you the last few years, and those adorable cheeks that blushed at the first sight of embarrassment. You’d miss it all.

Your heart knew why this was so hard, but you knew it was too late to do anything about it.

You had to leave behind the man you loved.

Bucky saw the cab slowly cruising over and he gave you a tight smile, brushing his thumb over your cheekbone. “I think we should forget about what’s to come and you should let me kiss you goodbye.” Though his voice was leveled, his eyes pleaded with yours.

Despite your better judgment, you nodded your head and waited with bated breath.

He grabbed your face with both hands, gently, as if you were the most precious thing in the world, and leaned in. His soft warm lips touched yours, and you knew then that you were making a terrible terrible mistake. His eyes fluttered shut and his arms suddenly curled around your waist, pulling you even closer so that your body was pressed up against his. You took his face in your hands and kissed him with everything you had, feeling his heart pound along with your own.

You tasted sweeter than your nickname, and you felt better than any pair of lips had ever felt to him before. His tongue slid between your parted lips, and Bucky knew he’d regret this then.

Urgency, warmth, and need flooded your senses as his tongue danced along yours.

Your body fit perfectly against his, better than anyone else’s ever did, or ever would. He kissed you until you were breathless, and then a little more for good measure, only breaking apart when the cab driver finally pulled up and honked his horn.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I’ve gotta go, B,” you whispered, wishing you could stay.

“I know, honey,” he kissed your forehead, before pecking your lips one last time.

Grabbing your carryon, he placed it into the cab’s trunk.

After shutting it, he stepped before you. There was nothing left to do. Holding your breath, you looked at him one last time for a long while. There was so much you could see in those blue eyes; dejection warring with desperation to touch you again. At least that’s what you thought you saw, because that’s what you were battling too.

The air felt charged, and he still had so much he wanted to say, but he knew he couldn’t stop you from taking the job you’d worked so hard to get.

“Safe travels. Text me when you land,” he finally said.

You nodded your head, reminded that you had a plane to catch. “Best of luck tomorrow. I know you’re ready and you’re going to do amazing.”

Bucky nodded with a polite smile and opened the car door, letting you slide in. He held his breath as he watched you for the final time. Once you were in, he carefully shut the door.

“I love you, honey,” he said to you through the open window.

“I’ll always love you, B.”

Bucky watched as the yellow cab took off with the love of his life. He chastised himself for waiting so damn long to realize what was always in front of him.

He shouldn’t have kissed you, because now he knew exactly what he’d lost. Although, he wasn’t sure if he could live with the alternative – always wondering what your sweet lips would feel like against his.

How he would survive waiting six long months to see you again, he didn’t know. Just like how he had no idea how to move forward with his life without you by his side.

Part III

409 notes · View notes