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bokuroskitten · 4 years ago

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Morning Bliss

⇴Summary: You wake up early on a Saturday, with an itch only Bokuto and Kuroo can reach. ⇴Genre: NSFW 18+ (although this is very soft) ⇴warnings: Ploy relationships, Ddlg dynamics (Daddy and Papa titles used), making out, eating out (female receiving) praise. ⇴Character(s): Bokuto Koutarou x Kuroo Tetsurō x Fem!Reader ⇴Word Count: 1.6k

You had surprised yourself when you woke up early on a Saturday, soft pants leaving your lips and body covered in a layer of light sweat. You groaned softly, thighs instantly clenching together as memories of your dream came rushing back to your brain.

You had been in between your boyfriends, their mouths spilling devious words as they railed you into oblivion.

You usually didn’t have such naughty dreams, considering your partners were plenty good at completing your fantasies while you were awake. This one had taken you by surprise, leaving goosebumps on your flesh and your cheeks heated up to the point of discomfort.

You opened your eyes only a bit, squinting them as the rising sun poked through the bottom of the curtain. You knew it was early, but that aching feeling in your core just wouldn’t go away. Your eyes first landed on Kuroo, who was turned away from you, back muscles loose as he breathed deeply into his pillow. You were about to reach for him, gently brush your palm along his spine.

Until you felt Bokuto’s arm slither over your waist. He was the biggest cuddler out of the three of you, usually staying close to you all night long. In your sleepy state you didn’t even realize he was still pressed close to you, his forearm resting over your tummy.

You sighed softly, slowly turning your body towards him. “Bo...” you mumbled ever so softly, your palm smoothing down his thick arm toward his hand, giving it a little squeeze. “Bo...~”

The grey haired male let out a soft grunt, reacting almost instantly to your movement as his fingers twitched, slowly following your hand which led his own to the swell of your rear. “What’s the matter Birdy...” he responded in a whisper, his eyes staying closed even as you pressed towards him.

You pressed a little kiss to the corner of his lips, a breathy little whine slipping past your lips that had his eyes fluttering open, brows furrowing. “What is it baba?”

“Kisses..” You murmured close to his lips, your hand sliding from his cheek to the back of his neck. “Kisses please...”

“Mm~” he hummed softly, eyes staying half lidded as a little smile came to his sleepy features. With his large palm tugging you closer by the rear, he felt the very subtle tremble of your thighs. “Needy birdy... C’mere.” He spoke as his lips pressed to yours finally, soft and gentle.

You sighed in content against his lips, the warmth of his body pulling you in even closer as the two of you pressed your lips together, everything a little soft and sleepy. His palm rubbed small circles over your ass, squeezing the skin ever so softly to earn pleased little mewls. Your fingers brushed the back of Bokuto’s neck, crawling into his hair and tugging on it ever so softly.

“More bo.. please.” You spoke against his lip, lazily biting on his lower lip to have goose bumps rising on his skin. He gave a soft grunt in response, his tongue easily slipping past your lips to please your desires. He explored your mouth despite his tired state, his palm slipping from your rear and squeezing along your thighs which were currently clenched together desperately. “Relax baby..” he breathed over your lips, palming the back of your head. “I’ve got you...”

“What’s got you two going so early...”

Kuroo’s voice was deep with sleep, a yawn following suit as the bed creaked, dipped a bit on his side. The black haired male rubbed the back of his palm over his eyes before propping himself on his elbow, crazy hair crazier than usual from the deep sleep.

He saw the way you curled into Bokuto, the way their lips pressed to one another and the pretty blush that seemed to travel over your cheeks and down your neck. A little grin curled on his tired lips, his palm slipping over your thigh to feel right between.

Right in your heat, where your panties were still dampened and your skin still warm from the dream.

“Mmm... need some attention kitty.” He purred slow, scooting himself closer as you huffed against Bokuto’s lips, your eyes fluttering as a chill ran up your spine.

“Please... please Tetsu..” you whispered, your eyes locked onto Bokuto’s as he brought his hand under your sleep shirt, pushed you gently so you would lay on your back instead.

“Does she have a wet little cunnie ‘Ro?” Bokuto mused, his palm squeezing your waist as he stamped the column of your throat with wet smooches. Your eyes continued to flutter, your thighs easily flopping open wide to beckon Kuroo between them. He happily took the invitation, lazily running his nose along your damp panties to take in your scent. “Oh yea babe... did you have a naughty dream or something kitty? You’re dripping.”

He was mouthing at your panties now, his gravity defying hair tickling your sensitive flesh and having you whining a bit. “Mhm, Need you guys... havfta come.” You breathed out in a small whine, your hand clutching tighter at the short locks on the back of Bokuto’s neck as you beckoned him back up for kisses.

“We’ve got you kitten.” Kuroo reassured, sighing softly before he brought his hands to the waist band of your panties, easily slipping the wet fabric off your legs. Bokuto hummed in response, moulding his lips back onto yours in order to aid in satisfying your needs. Kuroo kept his eyes half lidded, gazing up at his partners every now and then as he dipped between your thighs, pressing his tongue flat against your folds.

He gave soft and long kitten licks along you, lazy little stripes that always ended with either the tip of his tongue teasing your clit, or his lips kissing it in a soft smooch. Either way the actions had you mewling into Bokuto’s lips, your hips rolling ever so slowly toward Kuroo’s face.

“That’s it birdy...~” Bokuto encouraged, smoothing his thumb over your swollen lower lip as he watched the way your body slowly loosened up, trembles starting in your core and working their way into your thighs. He kissed your forehead, cheeks, nose, all while you moaned around his thumb, suckling it between your lips as your free hand went down to grip Kuroo’s hair.

He hummed at such an action, gripping your trembling thighs a bit tighter as his tongue spilt open your folds, teased at your hole that clamped desperately at nothing. Kuroo could already tell you were close to coming undone, but he still drew out your pleasure, enjoying your sleepy moans and taste.

Kuroo’s tongue pressed a little more pressure against your entrance, having your lips fall open in a high pitched little squeal that had both boys groaning in delight. “Come nice and pretty for Daddy baby...” Bokuto encouraged, his hand sliding from your face down your body until he felt the tips of Kuroo’s hair. He then pressed his fingers against your clit, having your back arch ever so slightly and hips pressing forward.

Kuroo muffled into your skin, wanting nothing more than to keep his lips latched tight to your sopping entrance as you came nearer to your end. He kept his eyes glued on your face, watching the way a little droplet of drool slipped from the corner of your mouth.

As Bokuto pressed down on your throbbing clit again, along with Kuroo’s tongue drawing dizzying circles on your core the knot in your stomach got too tight. You whined, nails leaving little red marks in Bokuto’s skin. “G-gunna come Bo... gunna come Papa.”

“Good girl baba. come right in Daddy’s mouth.” Bokuto praised in return, pressing his forehead to your own as you let out a little cry. It signalled your release, a little flood of fluids soaking Kuroo’s lips. He happily lapped you up, hands gripping your trembling thighs closer to his face as you rode along his lips, rode out the high of your orgasm. Meanwhile Bokuto brushed his lips ever so softly along your face, continuing to murmur praises as his fingers slowly drew circles into your clit.

As your breaths slowly evened out you fluttered your damp lashes open, meeting Bokuto’s tired gaze and lazy smile. You couldn’t help up return it, pressing your swollen lips gently to his cheek. Kuroo rose then, sheen still shiny on his chin as he licked along his lower lip. “How you feeling baby?”

“Amazing” you murmured, holding out a hand to beckon Kuroo back up. He snickered softly, making sure to pull your shirt low again to cover your still trembling thighs before rising from between your legs he made his way back to his partners, already feeling one of Bokuto’s large palms on his waist as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Thank you...” you spoke, ecstasy and sleep still laced in your tone as your eyes got heavy again, your head lulling towards Bokuto’s chest. Kuroo too let out a little yawn, tucking his own face into the crock of your neck. “Of course Kitten.”

“Anything for you baba...” Bokuto reassured, smiling softly at his partners as they already began to doze back off into one other. His arm was long enough to lay across the both of them, his palm smoothing over Kuroo’s waist as he whispered against your cheek, settling in beside them.

“Let’s sleep a little longer... love you guys.”

“Love you...” was repeated by both them, voices laced with sleep as you all curled within one another for a morning full of restful sleep.

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klbwriting · 3 years ago

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Unexpected Allies - Chapter 12

Fandom: Six of Crows

Pairing: Kax/female!Reader

Summary: a prison heist

Note: so 2 things, 1 - the song is this chapter is ‘Bulletproof Heart’ by My Chemical Romance and 2 - finally a kiss! maybe not exactly the kiss thats expected but its where they’re at for now

Taglist: @mcntsee @amwitherspoon

Kaz was able to catch sight of the carriage as it was pulling out of the gate. He and Mal took off running after it, Kaz screaming Y/N’s name. He dropped the cane, running as fast as he could, desperate to catch her. Mal dropped back before Kaz did, bending over panting. Kaz kept running, ignoring the hellacious pain in his bad leg. He ran until his leg gave out on him and he landed face first in the frosted grass. He screamed out his rage, punching the hard ground as he sat up. Mal came over and tried to help him stand but Kaz pulled away, collapsing to his hands and knees, retching on the grass. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was disgusted at the touch of another or if he was disgusted at himself for doing this to her. When they got to the prison if someone recognized her and sent word to the Darkling he would come for her. He would try to use her and if he couldn’t, he would kill her. Kaz finally got to his feet and accepted his cane from Mal.

“I’m going after her,” he said, starting to limp back to camp.

“I know, we can’t send a squad, we’d never get in, but, maybe a few thieves could get in,” Mal responded. “I’ll gather some supplies and go track the carriage, make sure of their destination. If it is Sarkoff’s prison we have a few people in there, we can send 3 more at the guard changing at the end of the month but not before then. Get planning.”

“The end of the month? She could be dead by then!” Kaz said. Mal stopped.

“You need to calm down and think with your head Brekker, you know that she wouldn’t want you running in there half-assed and getting yourself killed. Come up with 2 other team members and a plan and we will get you in there and you will get her back here safe. I know you will,” he said. Mal walked off then towards his own tent while Kaz went to find the Dregs.

He found his crew around a table eating and he fell to sit on a bench. They all looked at him and paled. They had probably never seen him like this. He was wet from the frost, bloody from his fall, and looked murderous.

“What happened?” Jesper asked.

“The fucking Dime Lions took her, prison in the south…” he started.

“Sarkoff’s?” Inej asked. Kaz nodded.

“I need a team, I need to get her back. If the Darkling finds out she’s there he will kill her, I cannot lose someone else I love, I can’t lose her like I lost…my brother…I can’t” Kaz said, eyes glazing over, memories washing over him. He knew he must terrifying them. He was Kaz Brekker, he kept his calm no matter what, if he lost his head that meant the end of the world and for Kaz this very much felt like the end of the world.

“I’ve been there as a guard to keep an eye on things,” Inej said. “I can help with the plan, we will get papers for the guard transfer at the end of the month. We need one more person to go with us.” Jesper stepped forward.

“Y/N is my best friend now, sorry everyone else here, so like hell I’m not going to break her out of prison,” he said. Inej nodded.

“Kaz, can you keep your head to do this? Get it together,” Inej said. Kaz took a breath and closed his eyes. When they opened he was alright again, the old Kaz was back and he was ready to formulate their plan.

Y/N sure how long she had actually been in this prison, every day was exactly the same. They days were spent with her hands cuffed to the ceiling and beatings were given when she wouldn’t reveal anything about the resistance. If she did say anything she sent them on wild goose chases and those beatings were especially savage. In the evening they paraded her out on a stage, cuffed at the hands and feet, pelting her with fruit and trying to get her to sing. Someone had revealed she liked to write songs and it became a daily occurrence to mock her into singing.

She saw the full moon one night through the small cell window and knew it must be the beginning of the month. New guards, lovely, more people to torment her and mock her. She sighed as the evening drew near, straining to breath after the strangling someone had give her earlier. She missed Kaz, every night she dreamed about him, just holding his hand or being in the stream again, in the day she went over every interaction they had had since they met nearly six months ago. How did she go from being alone and feeling trapped to being in love and free in six months? She marveled at what Kaz had done for her and she hoped one day she would see him again.

The evening guard entered her cell, laughing about the upcoming ‘performance’ she was going to give. They uncuffed her from the ceiling and led her out to the rec hall. They entered and tossed her on the set of boxes they made as a ‘stage’ and started hooting and hollering at her. She was looking towards the guards’ room where the keys were hanging desperately trying to think of a way to get to them. There was always a guard in there on duty and one standing by the door as watch. With the cuffs she couldn’t hope to get past them both and she sighed. She was knocked over suddenly by a metal cup thrown at her shoulder. She pushed herself up on her knees and looked towards the door that led to the cells and there he was. Kaz. Their eyes met and she nearly cried in relief. Jesper and Inej flanked him, all three dressed like guards, Inej whispering to him and motioning towards the guards’ room. He looked intently at her and she realized they needed a distraction to lure the guard at the door away, just for a minute. She nodded and slowly stood.

“You want a song you fuckers?” she yelled out at the guards. They all stopped, now waiting for what she would do next, thinking they had finally wore her down into performing something. This would be good, if she was willing to embarrass herself like this maybe she would start giving them information.

“Sing bitch!” one guard yelled and they laughed. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth.

“Gravity don't mean too much to me I'm who I've got to be These pigs are after me, after you

Run away like it was yesterday And we could run away If we could run away Run away from here”

The guard by the door laughed as she started singing and called into the room, probably telling the other guard he was leaving to join the others. He stepped forward into the fray of people who were yelling at her, calling out the most heinous things they could think of. But she wasn’t listening. This was the song she wrote for Kaz and right now she was singing for him and no one else.

“I gotta bulletproof heart You gotta hollow point smile”

Inej had been meant to stand guard at the door but as soon as Kaz heard that line he stopped and stared at Y/N. This was the song she was working on, for him. He looked to Inej who seemed to understand that something was going on right now.

“Stand guard, I’ll be able to search for her keys faster,” she said, leaving him at the door. Kaz stood and listened at the song continued, waiting impatiently as Jesper dispatched the guard and Inej found what she needed. After about a minute they both reappeared and started working back to the door to the cells. Y/N really turned up the energy to keep the guards distracted. Jepser and Inej slipped out first and Kaz took one more Y/N before they disappeared into the hall.

“You two find the laundry room and make sure we can get out that way as planned,” Kaz said. “I’ll wait by her cell until after the lights out bed check and then get her.” They all nodded and went their separate ways.

Kaz settled himself in an alcove by her cell, just big enough for a couple people to fit in, and waited. After about an hour she was brought back to the cell and chained again to the ceiling. Kaz felt his blood raging in his veins. She looked thinner, dirty, she had been beaten and he wanted to kill everyone who had hurt her in the last month. The guards left and he still had to wait. Finally, the guards called lights out down the corridor and checked her cell before walking by. After they disappeared through the door Kaz slipped out and opened her cell. She looked up at and he could tell she was relieved to see him but still terrified. He hurried over and undid her cuffs. She collapsed to the ground and he offered her his hand. ��Once she was up they headed out of the cell and he locked it again. They were shooting down hallways towards the laundry room when he heard guards coming. They were still in the cells and there was alcoves like the one by hers around so he gently pushed her to the wall of one and stood silently in front of her, facing the wall. In the dark hopefully the black guards’ uniform would keep them shadowed there. He noticed then that she was completely flat against the wall, hands pressed to it hard, holding her breath so that he body didn’t touch his. He looked down at her, marveling at how she was bruised, bloody, and scared, but she still was conscious of him and his needs. He could see that she was shaking a little, scared of being caught and he knew he needed calm her down somehow, any noise she made may draw attention to them. He looked at her and did the only thing he could think of, something he had wanted to do for a long time actually. He leaned forward silently and pressed his lips to her forehead. Y/N instantly stilled.

Kas Brekker was kissing her. Y/N felt his lips on her forehead, only for a few moments, but it was enough to draw her focus to just that feeling. His lips had been soft and warm, something she didn’t expect from him, but she shouldn’t be surprised, he wasn’t as hard and cold as he seemed to everyone else. She froze in place, reminiscing and storing the memory of his kiss inside her heart. It was just enough time for the guards to leave the corridor and for them to move again. They arrived at the laundry room where Jesper was waiting.

“Where’s Inej?” Kaz asked while Y/N hugged Jesper. She was so happy to see her friend again, and so grateful they had come for her.

“She went through the vent to open the guards’ door on the other side,” he said.

“People tried to sneak out of the laundry room all the time, they added a second room to check for escapees,” Y/N explained, voice hoarse. She looked at Kaz and saw that he was upset by her appearance. She smiled at him, completely forgetting how much her face hurt from the bruising. He was with her again and that was all she needed right now.

Inej soon opened the door to the laundry room and then to the outside. They were able to slide through a gate that had been opened for them, closing and locking it again as they jumped into a waiting carriage that Mal was driving. He took off into the night back to the encampment. Y/N didn’t mean to but she was so tired from her experience that she instantly fell asleep the moment she was safe, head falling to Kaz’s shoulder.

Kaz felt her head on his shoulder and was shocked to find that he didn’t feel much. The feeling of something being off was less this time, he barely noticed it. What he felt was relief, and complete. For the whole month she had been gone he had spent every moment feeling like something was missing. It was a similar feeling to how he felt after he had climbed on the docks and left Jordie behind. It had taken years for that feeling to go away and he didn’t want to relive it again. Inej and Jesper looked surprised that he was letting her lean to him.

“Are you alright?” Inej asked. He nodded.

“I know you noticed that something’s wrong with me,” Kaz said. “With her, its not as bad.”

“And maybe love is the reason whyyyy,” Jesper sang out, mimicking the love song that Y/N had sang on their first night at camp. Kaz glared at him but couldn’t completely hide the amusement from his eyes.

“You know she is the only safe from my cane Jesper,” he said, grabbing it from the seat where he’d left it and thumping Jesper in the shoulder with it.

“That’s just rude,” his friend said, lifting his arm and letting it fall useless to his side. “Its going to take forever for it to start working again.” Inej laughed and Kaz smirked a little, leaning his head back on the seat and feeling at peace for the time.

#six of crows #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz x reader #kazbrekker #kaz #unexpected allies series

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p4lparker · 3 years ago

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Like a Taylor Swift Mixtape;

The songs I listened to while writing this;

(Taylor Swift : How to get the girl)

(Taylor Swift : Forever and Always)

(Taylor Swift : The story of us)

(Taylor Swift : Delicate)

(5SOS : Lover of mine)

This whole one-shot was based on the first song, and it grew from there. It took on a life of its own.

Warnings; Smut, angst, vague mentions of violence, unprotected sex (wear a raincoat guys)

_________________________________________

The rain poured, hammering against the window- you sighed flopping back onto the bed. Ignoring how the lights flickered as a roll of thunder rumbled throughout the stratosphere. Your eyes cast around the room, trying desperately to not focus on the pictures littering your walls. All of the frames taking up any space on surfaces available.

Biting your lip as a pricking sensation tingled at your eyes. They were focused solely on the images in front of you. You should have really taken them all down- but you couldn’t find the strength after it had happened- and as time went on, it became harder and harder. It was almost as if you wanted to punish yourself- but you knew it was really, only because you missed the other figure in the pictures. You sighed deeply, remembering the way his cheeks would blush cutely as you sprang a kiss to them- snapping a picture quickly. Images of you wrapped around his back, leaping on him from afar and surprising the poor boy- he would always catch you though. Apart from the one time he didn’t and your happiness came crashing around you as your hit the ground hard- the ground being the truth in this case. The reality of your life hitting you harder now though. Shaking your head to try and rid yourself of the awful and terrifying memories, did you no good as your mind drifted back to then.

It was storming, rain pelting your face and wind screaming; as lightning flashed through the sky and thunder rumbled so deeply it vibrated your chest. Your looked around yourself trying to figure out what had happened and where you were. Your mind drawing a blank. Deciding to move and maybe figure out some answers, you realised you were restrained; hands tied above your head, but your feet were free. You cast your glance downwards and saw nothing- but the ground a long way off. The ache in your shoulders becoming more apparent, your hands going numb- but your wrists were raw as the harsh rope but into the delicate skin there.

Turning your head; you were at the beginnings of Oscorp, the sign being the only thing to fully intact- the skeletal structure being held up by scaffolding, as was your body as you dangled helplessly. Bottom lip trembling as you willed yourself to be strong.

You wouldn’t cry.

You wouldn’t scream.

You were no damsel- even though at this point you were in fact just that. You could hear sounds of a violent scuffle nearby- turning your head and body to try and find the source of the noise; you could only blurrily see two figures, locked in a fierce fist-fight- one figure clad in red and blue- the other with wings spread out behind him. The biting ache in your wrists, forced Y/N to stop twisting for fear of injuring your body more; you took stock of the aches and pains radiating from your head which throbbed with every breath you took, to the bruises you could feel blossoming on your skin- your attention once again grabbed by the fighting which came closer to where you were dangling precariously over the precipice. Edging your eyes downwards- which you knew was a mistake the instant your breath caught painfully in your chest and throat- you could see the tips of other buildings below your feet, dangling in air, nothing holding your there barring the rope still gnawing in to the delicate skin of your wrists. You couldn’t hold the whimper in as the gravity of the situation sank in. Burning tears leaking from the corner of your eyes- dribbling down your cheeks and dripping off your chin into the nothingness beneath you. As the realisation, that this was probably where you were going to die- with a glance at the only thing holding you from plummeting to your end, it was wearing thin- with each passing second the fibres snapping, almost teasing you.

Soon enough the rope would no longer hold your weight. And you would drop like a rock to the ground miles below; the fall would be quick, but not quick enough, your mind would be able to wander before the end, you would feel all of your regrets and relive your happiest moments- hopefully some of them involving your friends and family, but you knew they would mostly revolve around your Peter. Hair trailing behind you as your tried to grasp at something to slow yourself, there would be shrill screams and cries leaving your lips as you plunged to your demise. As the sobs wracked your body, shaking with fear and the power of your own misery- you could feel the strain on your wrists lighten. Looking up with wide eyes- your worst fear realised, you began to drop.

But just as your mouth opened to release the scream of fear and frustration, you felt a sticky substance cling to your hands- you could no longer feel the dropping sensation, your stomach righting itself within your body, but churning all that same. You were pulled back up the edge of the building- before being huddled into someone’s chest and arms. And all you could think was ‘Oh!’. You lifted your head from the firm red and blue chest in front of your face and looked up into the half hidden face of your saviour.

Your hero.

Into the familiar and unmistakable eyes of Peter.

Your Peter Parker.

“Oh…” was all your whispered, as your eyes slid closed.

Shaking your head and screwing your eyes closed as you threw one of the frames onto the floor. The sound of the wooden frame fracturing and the glass splintering as it met the floor, gave you a momentary feeling of satisfaction before guilt and heartbreak overwhelmed your entirety once more. Dropping to the floor carefully to avoid the glass, hoping to try and clean up the mess without injury, fishing the picture from the wreckage- putting it to one side, before sweeping the shards of wood and glass into the trash- as you turned away, collecting the abandoned picture once more, eyeing it and letting your gaze linger on the brown eyed boy you were wrapped around in photographic form. You gasped as your window slid open jerkily. Cautiously making your way over to the window, grabbing a blow dryer to defend yourself if necessary. Your breath hitching and heart stuttering in your chest, picture still clutched in one clammy hand, blow dryer in the other shaky one. The two stared at each-other for what felt like an eternity; the rain was still pouring and soaking the boy on the other side- body primed for attack, of the panes.

Peter slid his legs through the opening cautiously, giving your time to object- but when he heard none, and you stepped back giving him more room to enter, he continued. Once inside he pulled his mask of his face and held it loosely in his hand- mirroring the girl in front of him. He shuffled his feet and swayed his shoulders side to side; his nerves finally catching up to him- he had moved on instinct to defend your, the crashing made him think the worst. He eyed your; dressed in some fluffy shorts and a t-shirt he had been missing, a small smile tweaked at the corner of his lips and an eyebrow raised as he spotted the blow dryer brandished towards him. Arm raising of its own accord and finger pointing towards it in question- your shoulders rose and fell in a shrug and your bottom lip was worried by your teeth.

“What are you doing here Petey?” was whispered, and if Peter hadn’t been bitten by a radioactive spider, and had superior senses he would’ve missed it in the cacophony blustering outside- his head bobbing down.

“I’m always here.. or well out there, and I heard a noise and had to see if you were okay…” Peter rambled, one hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck- a nervous tick you’d missed in the months you’ve been apart, or avoiding each-other. “I couldn’t let anything happen to you..” he whispered the last part- making goose-bumps erupt across your skin as the words brushed against you like a chill from the howling wind outside.

Not really having a verbal answer prepared, you nodded slowly. It was as if your mind was on a go-slow; you could see him stood in front of you, could reach out and touch him if the mood struck you, you could smell his cologne, you could feel the longing to be with him, near him building within. Peter watched you, he was struggling not to reach out and hold you against him. He’d done what he did to protect you- he couldn’t let anything bad happen to you, not again. Breaking up with you was the only thing he could think of; distance himself from the one thing that would kill him if something terrible happened to. Not being able to control the movement; his arm reached out and hand gently gripped your arm, squeezing the skin of your upper arm- it calmed his racing heart- his lungs opening up fully allowing him to breath properly once more, relief flooding his entire being.

You on the other hand; felt your heart shatter and stutter at the touch, your eyes brimming with anguished tears- it took everything in you to not scramble away from him as if burned- but another part of you filled with hope, his touch was a comfort you didn’t know you’d missed so much until now. Alas, all good things must come to an end- so you moved back gently, letting your eyes wander anywhere but him. Peter let his own gaze turn to the floor as he could no longer feel you- before following your gaze, wandering around the room, eyes flittering over the ever-present photos from your shared past. A smile again puling at his mouth, a bitter taste filling it as his heart sank, you hadn’t taken them down- still holding prime space all over your room; evidence that you both once shared love. Peter still did love you, he only hoped you felt the same. He couldn’t bear to be apart from you any longer; as he was sitting outside your window, he was preparing himself to call you, preparing a monologue to say to you, hoping win you back. Apologising profusely, begging for you to take him back, he’d been stupid and made a mistake breaking up with you- but the more he thought he knew it would never be enough- then he heard it the commotion and burst through your window in a rush hoping to save you from apparent danger.

“It wouldn’t be the first time..” You muttered bitterly- heart aching as you saw a flash of pain in his beautiful brown eyes. Shrinking back into yourself- that was cruel, you knew that and Peter’s crushed reaction was all the more proof; and you instantly hated yourself. Your hand gripped the picture tighter- sure you were crumpling it between your shaky fingers. The blow dryer dropped to the floor with a soft thud- making you both look to the floor. Peter then stepped further into your room- he knew you probably wanted him to leave, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn away from you again; he’d vowed to never do that again, it had hurt his soul. He walked to the pictures decorating your walls- his eyes becoming more glassy as he remembered how it felt to have you wrapped up in him or around him. You stepped closer- one hand hovering over his back, the heat rolled off him and drew you closer, his shoulders sagging and you drew closer still until you made contact. You could feel him hold his breath as you hand squeezed his broad shoulder. You mind struggling no to remind you of how it felt under your hand in different circumstances- your mind flashing, a hazy image of Peter pressed between your legs- face screwed up in pleasure, sweat dotting his forehead, as he pushed into you again and again. You gasped, Peter turning his face to you- eyebrows furrowed.

“I know what I did hurt you, but I did what I thought was best. I couldn’t see you like that, never again…” Peter whispered, his chin inching closer to rest atop your fingers- still clutching his shoulder. Your lip was being worried by your teeth again, and his eyes followed the motion- darkening slightly as he watched in a trance. He could feel the stirring deep within him- seeing you do that thing- making him feel all of the feelings and a certain type of way, as his suit suddenly felt more snug around him. You nodded- still trying to calm your raging hormones; this was ridiculous, you hadn’t been touched by another person in months- always shying away from the most innocent of contact- which apparently had turned you into a hormonal mess. You let your eyes flutter shut as you tried to process what he had just said to you- your mind a jumble of thoughts, which only made you more flustered and frustrated with not only him but yourself also. Taking a step backwards and a deep breath- you shook your head as a bitter laugh erupted from your lips harshly, you threw the picture away from you and watched it flutter to the ground forlornly.

“You’re right Peter. You did hurt me. You abandoned me as I was coming to terms with the fact that you had been hiding half of yourself from me for months… I gave you everything. And you took it… not caring that you weren’t giving me the same in return!” you whispered- venom dripping from your words as the hurt was expelled from your body with each word, making room for the violent anger that was coursing through your veins like a drug. Peter’s mouth dropped open with a pop. He was surprised at your cruel tone- the light within your eyes not matching your words, they glinted with something but it wasn’t anger like he expected or hurt- they flashed in that familiar way which had him even more surprised as he felt a familiar stirring within himself. You ignored the way your arousal bubbled just under the surface mixing with your anger deliciously. He took a step towards you- you holding a hand up to keep him at a safe distance- he ignored your reaction and continued towards you- gloved hand reaching out and brushing his fingers against yours, before clasping them and tugging you towards him

“You left me, you didn’t even have the common decency to actually dump me… you avoided me and abandoned me and left me. You left me…” you whispered brokenly, tears rolling down your cheeks- Peter tugged you further towards him, tucking you into his chest as your hands tried to push him away- your clenched fists beating against his hard chest not deterring him in the slightest.

He let you.

He let your hands pound against him, until he saw you falter, letting his mask slip to the floor. He took his chance and wrapped his hands around your wrists- holding them against him. You tilted your face upwards defiantly, tears streaming down your face- but eyes burning into his own, and all of a sudden they were too close and your tear-stained lips were crushed against his own. His eyes widening before drifting shut as his muscle memory took over and he allowed himself to tattoo the feeling of you pressed against him to his memory. You hadn’t realised what your were doing; anger, sadness and lust mingling together to fuel you on- leading to you mold your lips and body against him. There was a pounding in your ears as blood rushed around your body- the sound thundering in your head, almost drowning out the sound of Peter’s pants. His fingers slipped from your wrists and down your body until they rest against the small of your back- pulling you further into him. A groan sounded- neither of you knowing who it came for and neither of you caring as your settled hands began to roam each-others bodies.

Fingers pulling.

Groping.

Pinching.

Feeling and committing it all to memory in case this would be the last time you had the chance. You tugged at the smooth, second skin of Peter’s suit. Becoming angry that the thing wouldn’t give way like you wanted. No needed. Peter chuckled against your lips- the pair of you hadn’t stopped trading feverish, sloppy kisses- his fingers drifting away from your hips, before reaching up and tapping the spider resting in the middle of his chest, allowing the offending fabric to pool around his elbows. You pulled back- eyeing up his shoulders, your hands ripping at the fabric, tugging it off his arms- leaving the material to swing idly at his hips. Your eyes trailing over the expanse of his torso; pale skin, taut over the muscles that looked to be carved from stone, your eyes caught on his left peck- it was missing your mark, it obviously having faded months before and before you could stop your movements, you latched your lips on that spot. The one over his frantically pounding heartbeat- pecks turned quickly into open mouthed kisses- teeth nipping and tongue lapping over the area, lips suckling until you were sure your mark was where it should be. Peter’s sighs spurred you on as you left a trail of kisses down his body, dropping to your knees in front of him- hie eyes widened before tugging you up and connecting your lips once more.

Pushing you towards your desk- he pushed you until you were resting on the top- legs hanging on either side of his hips; he let his lips trace over your neck, chest and stomach over your oversized top, when he reached the hem his nimble fingers ruched the fabric up until he was able tug your top off and throw it carelessly behind him. Eyes marvelling at sight revealed before him; you wearing nothing but your underwear- eyes lingering on your exposed chest, a finger delicately traced down the valley between your breasts- the light touch leaving goose-bumps in its wake and a gasp to fall from your lips. His digits lead to way and his soft lips followed- kissing the expanse of bare flesh, trailing down until he reached the band of your underwear- he stopped, his eyes fluttering to your own and at eager nod, he nipped at your hips and then the band itself before tugging the material away from your eager core- the material pinging back with a slight snap causing a groan from your lips. the material was dragged away from your body; pooling around your feet before being cast aside. Peter’s hand ghosted over your ankles, calves, knees and thighs before smoothing over your hips- once his hands settled his eyes glanced at you once more not just asking for your permission but begging for it with his desperate eyes.

“Yes… please…” you whispered brokenly, as soon as the words left your lips- his own were on you. Placing kisses around your core; using his deft fingers to spread you apart slightly his tongue darted out and traced up the outer edges of you- your replying shudder spurred him on eagerly. He lapped at you, before diving in; lips and tongue doing obscene things and making vile curses slip from your lips. The sounds pouring from your lips making a smirk pull at his face- God he’d missed that sound! You were falling apart around his tongue- as he worked you and pushed you closer to the sweet edge you teetered on. As your hands wandered to his tousled curls; dragging through the tresses as your eyes followed the motion, barely managing to stay open as you watched his face be buried between your legs. As if feeling your stare, his eyes slickered up to you, and all of a sudden you were falling off the precipice; moans echoing throughout the quiet room. Hands fisting in his damp locks, you had to force yourself not to grind yourself against his face- you could feel yourself flutter around him and he chuckled as he dropped careful kisses to your sensitive clit. When your racing heart had finally calmed, you tugged on his hair gently- stopping him giving your delicate core attention and dragging him back up your body. Once he was face to face with you- your lips collided, lips nipping and tongues licking at each-other.

Your desperate hands dragged at the material still hiding him from you, it pooled on the floor; and you had to bite your lip not to laugh at him as he awkwardly tried to kick the pesky suit away from him. He rolled his eyes at you before claiming you lips once more. As your lips met- your hands explored; tracing over him, hard in your hand, you shuffled his boxers away from his hips and wrapped your legs around him. Dragging him closer to you- if that was even possible- the head of him rubbing against your slick folds, your hand found him again and gently rubbed him against you. His hips stuttering, a groan leaving him loudly- the sound dragging him back to reality. He pulled away from you- your lips desperately trying to follow and not lose this carnal connection, but when you couldn’t meet again your eyes slid open. The sight in front of your hazy eyes made your breath catch in your throat.

Peter held his hands in front of himself to provide some modesty, his lip was being bitten harshly between his teeth. But that wasn’t what had startled you. No, it was the emotions flickering within his beautiful gaze. You could see a multitude flowing through those familiar irises; pain, lust, guilt, happiness and sadness all at the same time. You reached out to him, and he followed your beckon- allowing his body to mold against your own once more. His head resting on your chest as a wetness dripped on to you.

“I’m sorry…” his defeated whisper haunted you, you hands gripping his head harshly- forcing him to look you in the eyes. His tear filled ones staring in to you, staring straight into the centre of your being; your soul and your heart breaking and then rebuilding themselves as your mind was made up, you shook your head.

“I love you!” You murmured, keeping your eyes connected- a few more tears slipped from his expressive orbs before a watery smile filled his beautiful features. His lips pecking at you face, dotting all around; your brows, eyelids, cheeks, jaw, chin and finally your lips. He had a salty taste to him now, as his tear-stained lips mingled with your own. The delicate pecks becoming more heated until your tongues were in a passionate tangle. Hands once more roamed; remembering this time, not for future, but letting the gentle touches heal the ache you both held deep within.

With each kiss, Peter could feel you open yourself to him again; trust, forgiveness and love flowing from you to him.

With each kiss, you could feel all of Peter’s; self-hatred, adoration and desperation flow from him.

The pair of you moved together- skin kissing against skin- hands traversing familiar but at the same time unchartered territory. Your hands traced over him as his did you; he rubbed into you, fingers circling your sensitive nub teasingly- you dryly rubbed him up and down few times before pushing his hands from you and pulling him into you once more. Though this time Peter didn’t stop you- he allowed you to line him up with your entrance, and the pair of you sighed happily as he slid into you fully. The stretch you felt was welcomed as he filled you- you were once more whole, and Peter, well, he was home. He pulled away from you lips sliding down your neck to leave his own mark upon you- as his lips marked you, his hips also moved. Not in a rushed manner you had expected, he pushed back in slowly- almost painfully slow. You could feel yourself yearning for him to push you to the brink- but he had other ideas; he wanted you to remember this, memorise every inch of him as he pushed and pulled in and out of you, he needed you to remember the healing sensation as your bodies met, he needed you to never forget this- as he didn’t think he could ever let you go again.

He wouldn’t.

The slow pace was driving you to your end, but also to madness- you wanted him to be overtaken with the passion that was bubbling beneath the surface; but the moans, grunts and groans leaving both of your lips only made him wish to go slower, hoping to prolong the inevitable. But as you fluttered around him- hugging him and his body closer to you he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold the tsunami quickly approaching. His hands which had previously been tracing over every bit of skin he could find suddenly gripped you on either side of your face- forcing your half-lidded eyes to try and focus on him.

“I love you!” Peter declared proudly. Adamantly. You gasped as you reached your peak dragging Peter along with you shortly after- walls clenching tightly, as tears slipped from your eyes. Peter let his lips kiss away the salty stains, before resting his forehead against you as he filled you- a content sigh leaving him.

He was definitely home.

Once your pounding hearts had settled into a calmer rhythm, Peter pressed a kiss to your forehead- the gentle smile never leaving his delicate features, and it was one you returned, dropping a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Peter let his fingers trail to the backs of your thighs, pulling you tighter against him and moving through to your adjoined bathroom to clean you both. He skilfully opened the shower cubicle door and turned the tap to let the water fall and warm up before stepping you both in, only pulling from you as he began to soften inside of you. Once you were no longer joined, he settled you in front of him- warm water cascading over the pair of you; sharing a delicate smile as he began to wash your body lovingly. When he was convinced he had thoroughly worshipped you with various bewitchingly scented body washes, he moved on to your hair. He adoringly washed the coconut shampoo within your locks before rinsing it from them. When you felt you were fully cherished- you decided to return the favour and lavish him with the same adoration, massaging his muscles and scalp alike- revelling in the pleased little groans and grunts falling from his smiling lips. When the pair of you were clean, relaxed and smelling delightfully of a tropical island- you exited the shower, and dried off with fluffy towels before making your way back to the bedroom. Once there Peter went to the bed and pulled the covers back ushering you to sit on the edge before he walked to your dressing table and plucked a hair tie from it- before coming back to you and settling on his knees behind you. Once situated, he gently tugged the towel from your hair and began weaving the tresses together in a braid- peppering kisses along the column of your throat until he was pleased with his handiwork.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, nuzzling into your neck again- you turning your face to kiss his crown, before the pair of you fell back on to the cushioned mattress and pillows. Peter reached one hand down and tugged the blankets over your frames, and wrapped you in his arms- breathing you in until you both felt sleep beckoning, and you both succumbed.

“I love you…” was whispered to each other, as consciousness left your content selves and you both entered a dream world- which did not live up to your reality.

#repost #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x reader #peter tingle #peter parker smut

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river-bottom-nightmare · 4 years ago

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Gravity

He’s 6 years old and Dat is pushing him off the ledge, laughing in his ear as he swings over to Dya, and when he reaches the other edge, she picks him up and hugs him and says not even gravity can hold you down, my little robin.

He’s 8 years old and about to perform for the first time, the excitement and nervousness threading together in his blood, and Pop Haly pats him on the shoulder and gives him a smile, not the fake one he used for the crowd but the real one that he tries so hard to copy because it makes him feel warm and happy, and he says, you’ve got this kiddo, gravity’s got nothing on a Grayson.

He’s 9 years old and trying to brighten up the stifling silence of the Manor the only way he knows how, by swinging and jumping and being as lively as he can to make up for the deadness of the walls, and he’s hanging from the chandelier because who knew they could support so much weight?, and from underneath Alfred calls up I do wish you would pretend the laws of gravity existed, Master Richard.

He’s 10 years old and fighting crime, a proud ray of sunlight flitting around the darkness of the bat, and a thug’s got a gun pointed at Bruce’s head, not the flashy kind in the movies but the real kind from the military, so before Bruce can react, he flips up onto the man’s shoulders and swings around his arms, forcing the gun to the ground, before jumping back up on a fire escape so Batman can take him down, and Bruce looks up at him with a softened grimace that he knows is secretly a smile and says I guess ignoring gravity works in our favor, right Robin?

He’s 11 years old and in the Watchtower meeting the Justice League for the first time, perched on Bruce’s shoulders, and when Hal Jordan asks whether or not a kid can even survive as a vigilante, let alone win fights, he twirls up into the air, back-flipping off a wall before spring-boarding into Hal’s chest, then swiping his legs out from underneath him before Hal can even blink, and when he returns to Bruce’s shoulders, he beams with pride when he hears Barry ask, does gravity not affect the kid at all?

He’s 13 years old and laughing harder than he has in ages, showing off his skills on the silk for an awestruck Wally, because there’s a new kid superhero and he’s already decided he wants to be Wally’s best friend and he wants to impress him, so he makes his drops as dramatic as he can and he makes his knee holds look effortless and tries to be as graceful as Dya was on the silk, and he knows it’s worth it when Wally lets out a breathless Dude, it’s like you’re ignoring gravity on purpose that is SO COOL!!

He’s 17 years old and perched on a ledge up in Titans tower, thinking of last night when Kori had pressed him into the bed and wondering why a small part in the back of his mind wished he was watching movies and eating pizza with Wally instead, but he dismisses those thoughts and puts on a smile when Kori floats up to him and says it seems we both cannot be held back by gravity.

He’s 18 years old and on the mat, training with Jason, because yes he was beyond angry at Bruce and yes, he was bitter there was a new kid taking his name, but damn if that didn’t stop him from trying to teach the kid how to stay alive because he knows firsthand what this life does to people and what living with Bruce does to people, so he shows Jason how to kick someone while coming out of a backflip purely out of obligation and ignores the little twinge of fondness in his heart whenever Jason says you’re fuckin’ forgetting about gravity, dude.

He’s 20 years old and trying to look at Tim without seeing Jason and it’s hard, it’s so hard, but bit by bit, the kid worms his way into Dick’s heart, (and him saving Bruce from himself doesn’t hurt), until they’re at the point where they’re hanging out and Dick only feels vaguely guilty for enjoying his company, so he busts out some old tricks that he used to do with the Titans, and gives Tim a sun-lit smile when he says okay, technically I know how you did that but also it looks like gravity just doesn’t affect you how the in the world did you do that-

He’s 22 years old and quietly trying to coax Cass from her room, because she hasn’t left it in a week and a half and he doesn’t know how else to connect to her, how else to get her to open up, when he remembers the light in the audience’s eyes when he used to perform, mirrored in Wally’s eyes when he did a routine just for him, so he goes into the dimly lit bedroom and asks Cass if she wants to see a trick, and when she hesitantly nods, he does a triple backflip and laughs when her eyes widen and she signs I did not know you could defy gravity.

He’s 23 years old and crushed by the weight on his shoulders, constantly two seconds away from breaking down completely because Bruce is dead and Tim’s off on a wild goose chase that will get him killed and Jason’s back but he’s different, angrier than he ever was and on a murdering rampage and refusing to speak to anyone, and Cass is in Tokyo trying to venture out on her own, so he’s shouldering all of Bruce’s responsibilities to the city and to the Justice League and to the world and on top of all that, Bruce has a son, a rude, lonely, touch-starved assassin of a son that he can’t think of anything to do with but make him Robin, except Damian is rejecting his advances of kinship, too stubborn to learn anything he tries to teach him, so he stays on that brink of exhaustion about to fall over the cliff, but every time he flies and flips through the air, weightless, if only for a moment, Damain draws him back from the edge with a glimpse of wonder concealed behind his eyes and a somewhat envious not all of us flaunt the rules of physics in gravity’s face every other day, Grayson.

He’s 25 years old and happy, truly happy for the first time in a long while because Bruce is back and Jason’s formed a sort of tentative peace with the family and is living with Roy and Kori and he trusts them to look after him, and Tim’s back as Red Robin, the bags under his eyes and the slump of his shoulders getting a little lighter every week he spends with Kon, Bart, and Cassie, and Cass has befriended Steph, and Damian’s given up the League of Assassins for his family, and he’s becoming kinder and opening up more every day, and his family is all here together, so in the Batcave, he goes to the lyra and silk set Bruce had installed when he was a kid, and he just plays for a long time, the feeling of flying through the air a blessing again rather than a curse, and from his wineglass hang on the lyra he can see Tim at the computer with Bruce and Damian and Cass sparring, and he knows Jason dropped by for tea with Alfred yesterday, so when Bruce looks up at him and says gravity never did affect you all that much, did it, Dick? he lets loose the most warm, golden, sun-filled laugh that he can.

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tabletoptrinketsbyjj · 4 years ago

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Trinkets, 41: Interesting baubles, semi magical objects and items touched by mystery.

A rustic lute carved of driftwood engraved with images of ships and clouds.

An oval-shaped stone the size of a human eye, made from the darkest obsidian. The color is the purest black, and the glossy surface shines like a mirror. The reflections are strangely distorted, as it seems to reflect shadows rather than light. It is rumored in some occult circles that in the same way that a person can fall sick from a dark plague, so too can a ray of light become infected by shadow.

A parrot-sized urn of ashes with the name “Petey”.

A one gallon keg curiously labelled “Rations Foie Gras” along its length. The keg contains a solution of goose liver that has been fermented in lye creating a nutritious slurry that doesn’t spoil. The drinkable solution is thick enough to eat as a stew (Although it doesn’t technically require chewing) and its flavor is best left undescribed. The keg contains enough of the mixture to serve as 2d4+1 days’ worth of trail rations.

A large padded envelope containing a single silvered crossbow bolt and a note that reads; "You know what must be done. Make the right choice."

An odd receipt of a business transaction where a dragonborn adventurer wearing a full suit of ebony armor sold the shopkeeper salvaged bones collected from a half dozen slain dragons and bought 638 wheels of cheese in return.

A ceramic chamber pot shaped like an otyugh with brass accents.

A coin sized token made of etched, blackened brass which begets a connection to the spirit realm. When held, one can hear the whispers of the dead begging for retribution. Is it not righteous to answer their call?

A map of the stars that shows the mystical lines connecting the constellations.

An iron coin with an evil sigil on one side and the face of a demon on the other, flipping it causes the holder to hear a deep malevolent laugh.

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A rustic lute carved of driftwood engraved with images of ships and clouds.

A parrot-sized urn of ashes with the name “Petey”.

A large padded envelope containing a single silvered crossbow bolt and a note that reads; "You know what must be done. Make the right choice."

A ceramic chamber pot shaped like an otyugh with brass accents.

A map of the stars that shows the mystical lines connecting the constellations.

An iron coin with an evil sigil on one side and the face of a demon on the other, flipping it causes the holder to hear a deep malevolent laugh.

A small looking glass which plays tricks on the eyes. Glancing through it provides normal magnification, but one might see a spire of gold in the shape of a sunlit mountain, or a musical box and floating notes in a cloud, or a laughing rabbit in the shapes of the stars.

A mask crafted from thin cast iron covers the entirety of the head. The face itself is made of brass and shaped into the face of a hideous snarling creature.

A rabbit felt wide brimmed, high crown fedora with a band around it. It looks dusty with age.

A one gallon cask filled with inky black whisky. Thicker than most scotch whiskeys, it has a black tone that glows golden when the light hits it. The whisky has a penetrating woody taste, and does not light a fire in the belly; it goes down smooth and cold.

A small black metal box that fits under the arm. It has 20 colored pieces of glass arranged in a spiral pattern on one side. With the switch of a lever and the twist of a few knobs on the back , the glass pulse with glowing light at different rates, immediately drawing the eye to their pattern. An noncombatant viewer can lulled into a slight state of relaxation and well-being, being momentarily distracted by the pattern. A bearer can use this as a relaxation tool or as a hypnosis aid.

A piece of crimson coral carved into the shape of a shark.

A pair of earrings, made of wrought silver and ivory. The design appears to be two sinuous female forms, touching at the hands, which are extended above their heads (This is where the clasp is) and the feet.

A conch pearl the size of the thumb's first joint, of a deep and brilliant blood-scarlet hue.

A silk robe, dyed blood red with extremely long sleeves that hang past the hands, down to the knees. The outside is plain, but the inside reveals a subtle motif woven with orange threads: a nightingale swallowing a fox. Small, jingly bells hang from the hem.

A brass chalice with chilling imagery of demons and tormented humans.

A fleshy ball the size of a large man’s fist. Dozens of tiny mouths appear, disappear and reappear at strange intervals, each one constantly groaning and muttering unintelligible words.

A large, brightly colored, decorative tin containing a well preserved fruitcake. The sweet bread is studded with dried fruits, nuts and strongly flavored with brandy which adds both to taste and shelf life. The loaf is so dense and nutritious that a single slice can be substituted as a full meal. The sealed tin can be used as 2d4+1 days’ worth of trail rations.

A large conch shell that, when put to the ear, makes the wielder hear the sounds of the ocean. If the bearer closes his eyes while doing so, he will see visions of infinite horizons and calming ocean waves.

A raw, unprocessed chunk of tourmaline that catches the and reflects different colors as it moves. It protrudes out of a base of stone and is flecked with dust and dirt.

A whistle made from deer antler with a silver mouthpiece. Its single mid-range tone is strong and audible at a long distance.

A bizarre, intricately painted miniature sculpture, made of a lightweight material; neither wood nor stone. The figurine bears an uncanny resemblance to a member of the party.

A translucent pearl with a coral blue shimmer.

A set of glass playing cards in a brass case. Each card has a set of symbols and numerals unknown to scholars and the learned.

A flask with an unknown liquid. It cannot be poured out unless it is standing upright (In which case nothing happens since gravity). The flask is very sturdy and in inscription reads; “Those that drink smart and slow will drink this drink made long ago.’’

An envelope stuffed with cheap woodcut prints of men in various states of undress.

A tattered, oft-folded letter on which are written a mother’s pleas for her daughter to stop her dangerous adventuring and come home while they both still live.

A turquoise courtier’s uniform adorned with the stylized symbol of a dagger poised above a cup just above the bearer’s heart. Crow’s feathers dangle from the epaulettes.

A dented tin bucket filed with human teeth. Hundreds of them. Teeth of all shapes and sizes, from white, through all the shades of yellow, to brown. Teeth with bloody roots and with shreds of flesh attached.

A delicate silver bracelet, fashioned into the appearance of a spider, it's legs hugging the arm.

A silver charm bracelet with small kitsunes holding up different types of gemstones as if presenting a gift.

A sequined squid skin belt pouch.

An ivory scroll case with silk bands and silver plated caps.

A gold coin of strange design, one one side of the coin are two crossed-swords and on the other a bulbous eye that appears to blink occasionally.

A marble bust of a vainglorious adventurer.

An oddly detailed drawing of a pack of wolves chasing a small cloaked child. The numbers six, one, and two are arranged in a equilateral triangle pattern with the six being on the point above the wolves. Strange symbols are on the corners of the page.

A petrified pixie that would make a cute paperweight.

A lizardfolk statuette made from petrified wood and snakebone in the shape of a scaly hand emerging from water holding an axe.

An ancient scrimshaw with a well carved boat labelled, “The Mourning Hag.”

A finely tanned, soft leather pouch filled with thirty-six small, polished hematite tiles about 2 cm across, inscribed with non-magical glyphs on both sides. Some of the tiles have different glyphs on opposing sides. The pouch has a leather drawstring.

A small sapphire hairpin carved into the shape of an ocean wave.

A large oil painting of some otherworldly sea where creatures who are octopoid from the neck down but with human heads float in bliss.

A bar of lavender colored soap that when used, makes things dirtier instead of cleaner.

A mundane looking flat rock has been washed smooth by eons of swift rapids flowing over it. It still drips as if recently removed from the river that created it.

A copper pot with dragon head handle.

A large wooden box of dozens small painted lead figurines depicting knights, wizards, beasts, and dragons.

A simple silver ewer etched with a floral pattern.

A pouch of dried kelp filled with razor-sharp mollusk shells broken into pieces and tied together to act as an area denial weapon. The shells functions as caltrops in every respect.

A quartz statuette of a pegasus taking flight.

An old, straw-filled ragdoll with a patch above its heart. It is always comfortably warm to the touch.

A glossy black hunting horn, chased with runes and knotwork of silver.

A well-loved teddy bear missing one of its button eyes. An observer who looks at feels a strong urge to comfort the bear, wanting to repair it. Yet for some reason they wish to repair it with an actual fresh humanoid eye.

A squat hematite idol with blue quartz eyes.

Pocket Watch of The Far Realm: A blued steel pocket watch with a silver chain that always tells the accurate time of the entire plane of the far realm. The far realm is a place beyond space and time. The pocket watches hands move fast and sporadically, sometimes even gaining a third and fourth hand. It is completely useless at telling the time on the material plane.

A dark soapstone sculpture of a large crouching cat.

A barely legible prayer written on leather, dotted with stains. It reads “May vengeance steady your hand with righteous anger. In this den of thieves, murderers, and monsters, there is but one answer, one god, and her name is written in blood.”

A large silk flag for a fallen kingdom.

A knotted gland consisting of a cancerous mass of gnarled tissues. The tissue thumps with an irregular cadence, as if two hearts are intertwined in this tangled clump. The longer it's held, the more clear if becomes that a multitude is contained within one's own flesh.

A bronze brooch of an maple leaf.

A featureless steel cube with one open side. Light does not penetrate the open side and an overwhelming sense of power emanates from within.

A crystal that projects starry patterns when placed before a light.

A gold plated compass with cracked crystal in a small teak box carved with waves.

An obsidian tablet the width and height of a human hand upon which when viewed under the night sky tiny green and blue dots appear to move.

A large glass jug, stoppered tightly. Inside appears to be a diorama of a small forested island with a port town. If left undisturbed for a time, observers may notice that the water surrounding the island seems to move, and the trees wave. At night, tiny flickering lights can be seen in the town.

A perfectly fresh pineapple that has somehow resisted the ravages of time.

A sturdy cloth backpack made of high quality cotton, adorned with exotic feathers and pretty cross stitches.

A wand made from a rare elm with grains of sand sprinkled across its handle.

A bronze ashtray of a sleeping dragon.

A gold rimmed monocle with light rope of gold and clip. The glass of the monocle is smudged and cloudy but resists all attempts at cleaning.

A tear stained map of the local cemetery with an “X” marking a specific grave.

A hairpin with head shaped like a spider and set with red agate.

A crystalline hand-sized scorpion figurine that is so full of cracks and occlusions that it looks as if it could fall apart at any minute.

A portrait of an unsmiling woman painted on a poplar panel.

A human skull goblet with silver base.

A one gallon cask of Eye of Medusa, a paralyzing mix of grain alcohol, lime juice, simple syrup, and poppy flowers. This drink numbs the tongue before leaving you feeling like solid stone.

A slate tablet on which is carved a prophecy by a famed oracle.

A small knife forged from a unique metal alloy created by a fallen star.

The mostly straight bones of a humanoid bound with rough twine to make a macabre sort of ladder, rolled into a bundle.

A boar tusk scroll case encircled with silver bands.

A gilded puzzle box decorated with a asymmetrical geometric pattern.

A flat, round gray stone ring the size of a coin worn smooth by water and time with an attached tag reading "Shieldmeet 1120 DR, is this the key?"

A clay tablet with the answers to the favorite riddles of a certain guardian sphinx.

A tall brass rod is etched with an abstract circular design that seems to be devoid of any pattern.

A small glass sphere the size of a fist is astoundingly heavy, and appears to be mostly full of a thick golden liquid. It weighs ten pounds and has no visible opening or markings on it.

An odd contraption comprised of a small crystal orb set within a thick metal semi-sphere, covering most of the orb, and is about six inches across.

A pouch made of rough toad skin.

A small bottle of eyes-burning-from-the-smell-alone wretchedly spicy but delicious hot sauce (Which will cause vomiting and incapacitate the non-spice tolerant).

A well made bracelet of silver chain with small silver heart charms hanging off each link. A single one of these charms is carved from a rose zircon, which gives off a small amount of heat.

A wand made of a line of conjoined tiny rodent skulls with emerald eyes that makes it a grisly site to behold.

A wooden flute made of red wood with etchings of leaves around part of its base

An oddly shaped curved wand with elven writing carved within. When held at nighttime it helps its owner sleep peacefully to the sounds of nature.

A bone case containing black votive candles that burn with a green flame and can only be quenched by blood, not water.

An ode to Genial Jack, the Godwhale, who swims the Sixty Seas with the city of Jackburg on His back and in His belly. Scribbled on the back is a mysterious phrase: “The tongues of the dead wag at midnight.”

A pink stone sculpture of an ear which grows warm when it hears false flattery.

A beautifully carved wooden prosthetic arm fitted for a small humanoid, etched with tiny runes in ancient High Goblin, a language now all but forgotten along with the proud culture that produced it, who some say were forerunners of goblins and gnomes alike.

A small pouch containing a handful of moss crusted with what looks like dried blood. The blood was in fact taken from a patricide, the moss from a hangman’s tree; the combination makes this quite a valuable reagent to the right buyers.

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penguinwithitsarseonfire · 4 years ago

Text

Gave Me the Blues and then Purple-Pink Skies

Part 1 | Part 2 (you’re here!) | Part 3 | Part 4

Pairing: 13th Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 2,064

Warnings: Descriptions of an Earthquake (yes, another one, I know)

Summary: You and the Doctor enter the tunnel, but not is all as it seems. (I can’t write summaries to save my life I’m so sorry).

A/N: Thank you guys so much for the reception on the first part (and my first reader insert ever!!) I really appreciate it! I hope you enjoy this one!

At the base of the tunnel, the music sang in the distant wind. It distracted you from whatever The Doctor said in response, and you didn’t notice the warm way she smiled at you, as if you’re happiness was the only thing she wanted to achieve.

The music drew you forward, and you took a couple of steps through the sand, stumbling slightly as you did so. “Exploring, right?” You said, turning back to The Doctor.

The Doctor gave you an odd look, her nose scrunched up as if she couldn’t quite work out what was completely going on. She nodded, squaring her shoulders and looking the tunnel dead on. “Yep, exploring. Let’s find out why you can hear music.”

It was difficult to tell from afar, but as you reached the mouth of the tunnel, you couldn’t help but notice just how dark it was inside. A small pit of dread settled into the base of your stomach.

The way the tunnel wound itself inside of the planet reminded you of Tarturas, a hole that just never ends. You took a deep breath, letting the excitement of discovery wash over you, because come on, it was a tunnel made of crystals.

You pulled out your phone as The Doctor stuck her hands into her pockets, fishing out her sonic. You flicked the torch on your phone on, and belatedly noticed that it wasn’t fully charged.

You hoped it would last however long the pair of you were inside the tunnel, you really didn’t want to have to rely on one light source. Beside you, The Doctor activated her screwdriver, the orange light casting a complementary glow with your phone, causing the crystals to shine.

Holding your phone in one hand, you ran your other hand over the crystal walls as you entered the tunnel. They felt surprisingly polished, with no jagged edges or any hint of a rough surface, and were pleasantly cool to the touch.

The ground below you was smooth, the sand making way to a red sort of dirt that reminded you of the land in cheesy western movies or the Australian Outback. It was solid under your feet, and you were grateful that you didn’t have to pull your way through thick sand anymore.

The Doctor was talking, she hadn’t really stopped since you had entered, which you were grateful for. Her voice was soothing, washing over you and keeping you grounded as the pair of you delved further into the tunnel, leaving the sunlight and heat behind you.

“It’s definitely a natural gemstone formation,” she was saying, and you realised that she was just as focused on the crystals as you were. “Looks a bit like sapphire, although I doubt that’s indigenous to this planet.”

An involuntary shiver ran down your spine, and you belatedly realised that inside the tunnel, the temperature had dramatically dropped. You curled your arms around your frame, rubbing your hands against your shoulders in a vain attempt to heat yourself up.

It was like walking through the cold produce aisle in the grocery store on a particularly warm day, it wasn’t cold enough for a jacket, but it still made goose-bumps raise on your arms in response.

It was strange, there was this unusual energy hanging in the tunnel. It was almost like you had stepped into another world (which was ironic considering the fact that you were literally on a different planet), like you were entering this ethereal plane upon invitation, rather than just genuine curiosity.

The Doctor could feel it too, and despite the small talk, you watched as she gazed down the length of the crystal tunnel as the pair of you walked, her eyes scanning them with a sort of intensity that you couldn’t quite name.

The path drew wider until it came to a small cavern, no bigger than your bedroom back on Earth, that forked off into six different paths.

You deflated a little bit. “Which one do we go down?” “Pick a number between one and ten, the first one that pops into your head.”

You tell her a number, more on instinct than anything else, then frown. “Wait, how come?” Her response was drowned out as a low growl came from the ground below your feet. Dread settled deep into your gut, it sounded just like the Earthquake earlier. Suddenly, the crystals began to shake, clacking against each other with a loud shrill that reminded you of glass repeatedly shattering.

“Doctor…” You said, apprehension laced in your voice.

The Doctor turned to you and pushed you into the tunnel that had the least amount of crystals, and you tumbled to the ground, pulling her down with you. Her body curled on top of you, acting like a human shield as the tunnel around you shook. Her body was warm against yours. You tried not to let it distract you.

There was another rumble and The Doctor gave out a yelp as some of the crystals above you began to splinter, collapsing to the ground around you. It was practically instinctual; you threw your arms over her head, a vain attempt to do what you could to shield her as dust began to dance in the air.

Perhaps it was because you were still winded from the blow to the floor, or perhaps it was because The Doctor was crouched over you and you couldn’t really see anything else except the top of her blonde head, but you were too disorientated to completely work out what was exactly going on.

It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, you had lost your phone in the tumble, and the sonic only provided so much light.

The noise was loud, there were shattering cracks all around you and the vibrations of the planet bore itself under your skin and into your bones. The dust stung your eyes and made your head throb.

It was like the onset of pollen in the beginning of Spring, but your body didn’t want to sneeze. You squeezed your eyes shut, clinging to The Doctor as she buried her head in the crook of your neck.

This Earthquake was shorter than last time, and before you could even begin to process the aching of your back or the dirt in your eyes, the shaking stopped.

You felt The Doctor pull herself off of your shoulder, and it was only then you opened your eyes cautiously, carefully blinking out whatever dust had settled in your eyelashes. In the glow of the screwdrivers soft orange light, you saw The Doctors face just a hair breadth away from yours.

Her hair gently settled on your cheek and the bridge of her nose almost touched yours. You gulped as her eyes met yours, and distantly you wondered if your heart had stopped.

“Are you alright?” She said, her voice soft, as if speaking any louder would break something.

“Um,” you said, intelligently. “I’m good.”

The Doctor shifted her head so she was looking above you, and frowned. “We’ve been caved in,” she said, but the volume of her voice was the same. “No choice but to take this path.”

“Oh,” you said, and you let the word hang in the air.

The Doctor turned back to look at you, her eyes flicked over your face quickly, probably assessing you for any damage. You tried not to squirm under her gaze, and cursed the heat you could feel pooling in your cheeks. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Of course,” you said. “You always protect me Doctor.”

The gravity of what you said didn’t hit you until after you said it, and the silence that lay between you was as thick as the dust that surrounded you. The Doctors scrunched up her face slightly, as if you were a puzzle she had just solved.

She stuck her tongue out in concentration and you felt for sure that your heart really had stopped, as her gaze kept falling between your eyes and your lips.

The only sound was your intermingling breath, and if you concentrated hard enough, you could almost see how the fog you and she created danced with each other in the cold tunnel.

You began to hear the music again, softly, as if it didn’t want to disturb whatever this was. The voices felt warm, they felt safe, like they were part of you somehow. The moment stretched, the music, her warm arms shielding yours, the way you were reflected in each other’s eyes.

Above you, The Doctor was suddenly backlit by a blue light. Lined in its soft glow, with wild hair and a smudged face that still managed to have yellow sand on it, The Doctor almost seemed ethereal.

“Oh,” you breathed, tearing your eyes away from her because wait a hot second, there was a blue light coming from somewhere. “Doctor, look above us.” The blue crystals that littered the tunnel were aglow, bright in a way you couldn’t even begin to describe. It was almost like they were alive, like the light was pulsating from within them. It was like a dance, and the crystals were moving along with the distant music that you still couldn’t explain.

They sparkled in a different way than they had in the sun, the only comparison you could draw felt crude and undeserving of the crystals, but the only thing you could think of was the way light danced when your laptop was asleep but playing music.

It was life. It was life and light and this beautiful glow that existed in the crystals.

“Of course,” The Doctor said, pulling herself off of you and twirling around, pointing her sonic up at the roof of the tunnel, where the crystals glowed the brightest. “Can you hear the music right now?”

You sat up, rubbing your elbow belatedly as you stared at the sight around you. “Yeah, it’s not very loud though.”

The Doctor scrutinised the sonic, then looked up at you with a bright smile, the one that screamed I’ve-just-worked-it-all-out. “It’s a reactive manifestation of a 60gHz beat frequency harmony!” She said.

“It forms as a sympathetic resonance bonded on a quantum level with geodesic lattice structures, oh,” she cried out, and ran up to the nearest crystal, which was jagged and sticking out of the wall. “That’s why you can hear music and I can’t! It’s the crystals, they’re making the music!”

“English please, Doc.” You said and you looked at her with a soft smile, pulling yourself off of the floor and dusting some of the red dirt off of yourself.

“The Earthquakes weren’t an accident,” The Doctor explained, turning to you in excitement. “You must have a similar biology to whoever is native to this part of the planet,” she started doing that thing with her hands as she continued, that talking-with-her-hands thing you couldn’t quite describe but that she always did when she was excited.

“These crystals, they have a low sympathetic frequency – similar to telepathy but not quite, and they could read your presence here” she continued. “The crystals make music you can hear and draw you into the tunnel, and, once you’re completely silent and let yourself listen to the music, they light up!”

“Oh my god the crystals are a lighthouse,” You said, and then cringed at yourself internally.

The Doctor grinned at you. “You’re completely brilliant,” she gushed. “You know that right, completely brilliant.”

You blushed, feeling the heat in your cheeks and down your neck, and grinned a wide, toothy grin. “Well, whatever I’ve done – because I’m not sure I’ve really done anything, I reckon I had a pretty good teacher,” you frowned then, your brain finally catching up to everything The Doctor had said. “Wait, if the Earthquakes were on purpose, why did the second one happen? We’re already in the tunnel.”

The Doctor hummed. “Hmm, I’m not sure. I hate not knowing – no, I love it, it means I get to learn something new, but I really don’t know. Maybe it was an aftershock? They might just occur later on this planet.”

“But either way we’re supposed to be in the tunnel.” You summarised.

“I think,” The Doctor said. “All we need to do is continue walking and we’ll reach the other side. Hopefully by then, the TARDIS will have realised that there’s nothing actually the matter and she’ll return.”

#the doctor x reader #thirteenth doctor imagine #13th doctor x reader #thirteenth doctor x reader #13th doctor #Doctor Who #DW

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comfy-whumpee · 4 years ago

Text

NaNo 2

Kala was pacing up and down the kitchen in front of the range. She’d always been a pacing kind of person. Rain could remember her revising with them in college, up and down the living room while she tried to recite dates for their history course.

Now, she was pacing over the tiled floor because she was triggered, and trying to hold off a flashback. It was something she did often, when the spectres came back and she went quiet and tense and angry. She paced, working out the energy, forcing her body to produce endorphins for exercise and grounding herself with the hard press of the floor against her feet. Five paces from the coffee machine to the back door. Five paces from the back door to the coffee machine. Her fists were tight and swinging in the air with each stride.

Rain didn’t watch. It’d be the same as watching a pendulum. There was no point. They sat at the table, cardigan pulled around their shoulders, with their cup of tea between their hands. Chai was good for the mood today. Spicy, warm, and something homely too.

Kala had locked him in the attic, but didn’t know what to do about it.

Rain knew.

“It’s fucking illegal, but he deserves it, right?” she said, stopping suddenly and looking at them. “He deserves it and more. After all the shit he did to you.”

“And to you,” Rain agreed. “I think we can get away with it for a little while.”

She nodded. She resumed pacing. Rain sipped their tea, and thought about what they would write in their journal about today. Dear diary, today the man who tortured us begged us for help...

Kala stopped again. “But what if it’s real? He’s really lost his memories?”

Rain shook his head. “We can’t believe that right now. It’s too convenient.”

“Right,” she agreed, and started pacing again. “And even if he did, he’d still fucking deserve it. He doesn’t get to escape the consequences like that.”

Rain made a neutral noise. Dear diary, today we discussed whether it was ethical to torture someone who had tortured us.

It had started to drizzle, they noticed, looking out of the bay window above the sink. The sky had dimmed from pale blue to a light, fuzzy grey. Kala’s workout things were still in the garden on the grass. She definitely had better thing to worry about, though.

“But,” Kala said, frozen mid-stride.

Rain glanced over.

She shook her head, glared at the door, and paced on.

They waited, watching the rain patter against the window, droplets sliding down over it and meeting together where gravity willed it. The gentle undulation of white and grey moved sluggishly over the sky, drifting away from the sea. They could go to the beach later, while everyone else would be staying away.

“We have to figure out if it’s real, right?” Kala said, and when Rain glanced back they saw that she’d come to a stop in front of the kitchen table where they sat. “We have to... We have to see if it’s real. How the fuck do we do that?”

Rain put their mug down, drawing their hands back into the sleeves of their cardigan. “I can think of a couple of ways.”

Dear diary, today Kala and I tied up Lauritz Nielson and locked him in the attic.

He cut a pathetic figure. He always had, really, even while he’d held their lives in his grubby hand. Rain was scared of him, of course, but the initial panic had passed. They wouldn’t be blindsided now. They knew what to expect.

He was lying on his side, staring in apparent misery at the far wall, when the hatch opened. His head lifted, and he sat up, hope brightening his expression. It dimmed a little when Kala appeared behind them, but he moved his eyes to Rain and stayed there, leaning forwards slightly.

It was... unnerving. Rain rubbed their arm, feeling the goose bumps across it prickle in protest at the image. It was okay if they felt worried and weak, though. That was why Kala was with them, Kala was always with them. She would keep them safe. She would be fire enough to keep them both warm, as she always had been.

“Criminals don’t turn up on their victims’ doorstep pleading amnesia and begging for help,” Rain said, opening the conversation as a lawyer might, with the outline of their case. “That’s a fact. That doesn’t happen. There’s no reason for you to be here unless there’s a scheme involved somehow, and if there is, you’re a part of it.”

Lauritz watched them, appearing to listen intently. There was no immediate protest of his innocence. He just listened.

“That means, no matter how much you pretend amnesia, we can’t trust you. We won’t. The consequences are too great.”

He nodded, though he didn’t seem like he understood. More like he was just trying to show willingness to comply.

Bullshit, Rain thought. Absolute horseshit. Catshit. Dogshit. Whatever. It couldn’t be true, this guy was just – a liar, a damned fucking liar.

“You’re staying up here. We’re going to figure out what’s going on. Whoever’s idea it was to send you in here, they miscalculated.”

Kala was still wearing her black T-shirt and leggings from her workout. When she moved forwards, muscles clearly visible, Lauritz shrank back.

“N-Nobody sent me,” he protested finally, quietly. “I-I don’t think they did.”

Kala dropped to a crouch over him, and pushed him back by the shoulders until he was against the floor, back still lifted over his hands but otherwise flat. He didn’t resist the push. He was still trying to look at Rain.

“I don’t remember, I don’t know what I-I did to you.”

Rain’s eyes closed briefly. If he claimed not to know, he would make them retell it. He would force them to relive those memories for no reason other than to sate whatever sadistic urge was driving this performance.

Did he want them to hurt him? Surely not. He’d been a sadist, right. He didn’t want it turned back on him.

Kala’s hands and knees pinned him down, but he wasn’t resisting. He looked across the room at Rain, doggedly at Rain, as though they were in charge “D-Don’t hurt me,” he said.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Rain said.

“I am,” Kala interjected, and Rain smiled faintly at her theatrics. She looked down at him, her long black braid falling off her shoulder. “You don’t act like you used to, but people can change in three years, can’t they? You got to being a coward. I got fit. Heavy. I can fight now, you piece of shit.”

Lauritz stared up at her, paling. His teeth pressed into his lip. Rain watched, wondering at the catharsis this could create for them. Lauritz defeated.

“You’d fucking deserve it if Rain decided to gut you,” Kala said. “But I’m the muscle.”

Lauritz only blinked. His jaw was set, teeth clenched, as if something in him couldn’t hide the anger at her insolence, even as she overpowered him.

“Right now, though, we need to work out what your game is. So tell me.”

Lauritz didn’t sit up or try to shift positions, seemingly trapped by her heavy, stormy stare. “I-I don’t kno-ow,” he said, almost a whisper.

“You know,” Kala snapped back, her hand clipping his ribs. He winced, his breathing stuttering, and Rain kept silent, watching. “What’s the game?” she repeated, voice sharper, louder. It cut cold against Rain’s skin, and seemed to hurt Lauritz even more, as he whimpered.

When he shook his head, she hit him again, the dull thud of her fist heralding another noise of terrified pain. Was it possible for someone to act like this? What would the purpose even be?

Rain sat down, crossing their legs in the dust. Kala grabbed Lauritz’s hair and yanked his head back until his breathing squeezed down into short gasps. Still, he didn’t twitch to defend himself, no kicking, nor struggling. He just stared up at her as she drove fists against his sides, the interrogation giving way to a beating.

He had to be suppressing those instincts deliberately, Rain thought, watching closely as Kala’s fist smacked into his nose, and something crunched.

Her hand snapped back, and she hesitated as sudden tears filled Lauritz’s eyes and ran over, his cheeks reddening with an abrupt flush of colour. Seconds later, he was crying, sniffling and wincing, chest hitching erratically.

Rain reached forwards and put their hand around Kala’s elbow, stopping her from lashing out again. Her breathing was fast enough that she could have run a marathon, but she turned her face away from them, not wanting sympathy. “You deserved that,” she muttered.

Lauritz swallowed, shoulders hunching. Watery grey eyes moved to find Rain.

“You did,” they agreed.

The man’s gaze drifted down. He almost looked ashamed.

Maybe it wasn’t to manipulate them. Maybe he was trying to make penance, somehow, with a ridiculous lie as his shield to earn forgiveness from them. Maybe he wanted them to hurt him, so he could soothe his conscience.

Despite all the time they’d spent with him, at his mercy, they’d never figured him the kind of person to do this.

“Tell us why you’re here,” Kala said stonily, after a few moments to catch her breath. Her tone was as level as always. “The truth.”

Lauritz blinked. When he spoke, his voice was stuffy and nasal. “I w-woke up in a, a car park. It was n-near here. I remembered your address, thought it was – home. D-Didn’t know where else to go.”

Rain looked over him again, at the black sleeveless shirt, open flannel, and black skinny jeans with dirt encrusted around the knees and cuffs. He wasn’t wearing shoes, they realised suddenly. Just thick black socks.

There was nothing in his pockets, that much was clear. It would be trivial to see the shapes of whatever he was carrying. He had nothing on him. No weapon, no wire.

And yet he’d clearly shaved fairly recently. It didn’t make sense for him to be this dishevelled, but for his chin to only be dusted with stubble.

Something was off about this, they had to figure out what, and they wouldn’t take a single risk for the name of kindness. Even without his memories, if that could really be true, there was no proof he wasn’t the same bastard he’d always been. There was no guarantee those memories wouldn’t return. There were certain words in his voice that Rain never wanted to hear again.

“You think we’re fucking stupid?” Kala said, apparently having come to a different conclusion. “We could fucking kill you, you know that? And you’d deserve it!”

Again, as Rain watched, Lauritz merely looked back at her. He didn’t seem to have any objection to her claim.

Perhaps this was a search for atonement, then. Fine. Let him search. They had none to offer him.

Rain got to their feet, their bed socks gripping more easily on this floor than downstairs. They looked down at Lauritz, and Kala as her head turns.

“I’m going downstairs,” they announced, with a little shrug.

Kala nodded. She clearly had no intention of leaving Lauritz be.

Not their problem. Rain climbed back down the ladder, and as the sounds of the beating started up again, trailed to their room to write.

#nanowrimo extract #my fic #beating #interrogation #amnesia whump #past trauma #angry whumpee #whumper turned whumpee #whumping a whumper #revenge whump #death mention #rain #kala #lauritz

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rosy-cheekx · 4 years ago

Note

“I just feel calmer. When I’m with you.” with WTGs?

CW: brief mention of canon-consistent body horror (corruption), pretty tame but worth mentioning!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27868318

Melanie was choking. Her vision was hazy and clouded in smoke, and the sweet scent of rot mixed with the heady scent of smoke. Was that…burning meat?

She whipped around in confusion, trying to see where she was. She could feel heat radiating from every angle, but couldn’t see a source for the blaze. She was in…a lobby? There was a large desk in front of her, and she wanted to read the sign behind it.

She was in front of the sign now, behind the desk, a neat green cursive reading “Ivy Meadows Care Home.” Melanie felt her stomach drop, and she whipped around, hands clenching into fists.

She was in the hallways now, searching room after room. While there was still no blaze, the smoke stung her eyes and her lungs; she was suffocating on the thick smoke. She knew it. I have…to get out of here… Why were her thoughts as hazy as the air? The room she walked into was empty at first glance, windows drawn and dark. The bed…the bed had something in it, a lump under the thin blanket, person-sized.

She pulled the covers back and screamed. A form, barely recognizable, sagging, sloughing skin covered in sores, pus, and maggots stared up at her. Well, not stared exactly; the eye sockets were empty. But the head lolled to the side and she felt so seen by this figure. Melanie shrieked and staggered backwards, unable to tear her eyes away from the figure as it rose jerkily, as if pulled by strings, and as it rose to its feet out of the small hospice bed, Melanie learned two things. The first was that the figure was wearing stained flannel pajamas and she could make out dark blue printed with yellow and white stars despite the gore seeping from beneath. She knew these pajamas. They had been a Christmas gift a few years ago, for a man who loved astronomy nearly as much as he loved her. And that’s when Melanie realized the second detail; this was her father.

She screamed as she felt herself fall backwards, into the screen that separated the two beds in the hospice room. The sickly green-yellow sheet encompassed her, and she fought desperately, trying to pull herself out of the tangled mass of fabric, but it was too late. She felt hands on her, on her arms, her waist, her face, felt the pus and maggots crawling and dripping over skin and into her mouth as she tried to scream for help.

“Melanie.” It was her father’s voice-no, it was Jon’s. Even though she was in the dark, trying to escape her certain demise, he was still somehow here, in the peripheral of her vision.

“Get the fuck away from me!” She pushed desperately (no fucking way did she want that goddamn Archivist here) with all her might and felt her hands, trapped in the screen, hit something solid, and she was falling…

Crack.

“Mel!”

Melanie was lying on the cold hardwood floor, or at least most of her was. Her calves were twisted into what must have been the top sheet of her bed. Most of her body was, actually, but her head was free, and she could just see movement above her. Oh god, he was coming. That pus-covered thing that used to be her father was coming to infect her. Melanie twisted valiantly against her wrappings, pulling one arm out and using it to shove down the rest of the sheet until her upper body was free. She heard shuffling as Georgie’s face came into view, curly hair mussed from sleep framing her face.

“Oh my god, Melanie.” Her voice was soft and warm, the tone she only heard used for her, and she held her hands out hesitantly. “Are you alright luv?”

Melanie stared back in confusion. It was just a dream. Looking back, it was obvious. Now she felt the salt of tears in her mouth and the stiffness around her eyes; she had been crying. She opened her mouth to respond and tried to decide. Was she alright? She tried to find the words, searched to explain the cocktail of fear and anger and guilt and anger she felt all the way to her bones. Anger at Elias, at Jon, at herself, anger at the world for deciding it was fair for her to experience all this while feeling utterly helpless at it all.

A fresh bout of tears overtook her and Georgie took the opportunity to help untangle the small woman, tugging the sheet from her hips so Melanie could let the gravity drag her legs gently to the floor. She cooed to her softly as she did so, murmuring comforting nonsense until she was out of her cotton cocoon. When she was free, Melanie curled up on the wooden floor, one hand wrapped around her waist, the other cradling the back of her head, where she could feel the ache of a small bruise forming. Melanie had always been a quiet crier, the only evidence at all the great heaving of her chest and stomach as she took shallow, shuddering breaths. It was only when she felt Georgie’s warm hands stroking her hair, plaiting it and shaking it out to plait the same few strands again that Melanie opened her eyes, the planes of her bedroom floor expanding in front of her. She let out a shaky breath of air and rolled over slightly, so Georgie was in her field of vision. Georgie. Focus on Georgie. She was steady and warm and calm. Georgie.

“M’hi,” she muttered weakly, swiping at her eyes furiously as she let the storm of tears roll away, the last rumbles of thunder distant as she steadied her mind and lungs.

“Hi, darling. Bad dream, huh?” Georgie took Melanie’s face in her hands and swiped at the residual tears, quickly drying into salty patterns that made her skin feel taut and dry. Leaning over her gently, Georgie’s thick curls swung over her face and Melanie was reminded absently of jungle vines, wild and beautiful. Melanie nodded into the hands that held her—warm, soft, safe— and winced as the movement of her neck made her head throb.

“Ngh…fuck.” She clutched the back of her head and sat up quickly, exhaling shakily as her vision swam slightly.

“Ooh, hey be careful. Sounded like that hurt a lot. Let me see if I have…” Georgie’s voice cut off and she let go of Melanie’s cheeks, turning to the bedside table behind her to rifle in the drawer blindly before pulling out a bottle of acetaminophen. “There we are. Here.” She shook out two pills for Melanie, who dry-swallowed them immediately and scrubbed at her own face with the palms of her hand. Her back was up against the bed, knees drawn to chest, and she pinned her arms against her stomach and thighs, appreciating the pressure brought on by the movement, grounding her to reality.

“Do you wanna…?”

Melanie nodded weakly and Georgie dragged herself next to Melanie, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and drawing her in gently. Melanie let her head fall to Georgie’s shoulder, listening to her heartbeat, focusing on the consistent thrums to steady her.

“Do you...” Georgie’s voice brought her out of her reverie. “Do want to talk about it?”

Melanie shrugged against Georgie’s arm, threading their fingers together. “Stupid fucking Elias,” she whispered. “I hate him, and I hate Jon, and I hate this stupid fucking institute.” Melanie had told Georgie about what Elias had told her today, what he had done to her. “I hate that I’m stuck in this new world with danger and fear and ghosts-” her leg throbs absently, a reminder of how this had all started. She pinches her thigh to focus. “with all these posh idiots who don’t know how to properly defend themselves.”

Georgie was quiet, except for the periodic hum of understanding, hand moving softly over Melanie’s arm as she spoke.

“And I’m so angry with Jon for-for being so reckless all the time and so self-righteous and Elias’s stupid powers and my dad.” Her voice caught. “I wish I’d known about my dad, George, I wish I could’ve visited him more, checked in, asked if he needed anything. Maybe I’d’ve known something was wrong and taken him on holiday or something and everything would’ve been fine and he’d be fine and I wouldn’t feel this guilt and anger and sadness and hatred bubbling up inside of me.”

Georgie squeezed Melanie’s shoulder then, holding her firm against her side. “Are you still angry? Right now, I mean. We could, dunno, bake some bread and punch some dough or we can play monopoly or have a row or something?”

Melanie took a second, trying to conjure her emotions into easy, compartmentalized words for her feelings. “I feel guilty. And frustrated. And tired. But…not angry, no.” She lifted her head from Georgie’s shoulder then, catching the other woman’s eye. “I don’t know why but I just feel calmer when I’m with you.” She took Georgie’s jaw in her fingertips and kissed her lips softly, sweetly, letting the warmth of Georgie’s arms wrap around her in a bubble of safe. “I’m sorry for scaring you earlier. I didn’t hurt you did I?”

Georgie shook her head, eyes soft and bright as the pair let their foreheads fall together and rest there. “No, I think you might’ve hit the wall or something to push yourself out of bed. Are you alright? What were you even dreaming about, if you don’t mind me asking?”

The pain was fading now, and Melanie felt the back of her head. No goose egg, though there may be a nasty bruise. She relayed as much and Georgie nodded, gently leading her back to bed as she did so. Once they had curled up under the duvet, sheet abandoned, Melanie told her about her dream, wrapped tight in the safety and warmth of Georgie’s arms and with The Admiral purring softly by their feet.

Melanie wasn’t sure when they had moved from talking about her dream, to talking about other things, to sleep, but she did know the next morning that she had a long way to go. In that moment, though, held by the sleeping form of the woman she cared for, woman she loved, that she was happy.

#fanfic to a tea #prompt #hope you like it!!#feeling prolific as fuck today

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cowsaresushi-coral · 4 years ago

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Cowsaresushi’s MasterNavigation

To navigate through the dumpster fire that is my blog.

MINORS: BLOCK #suggestive, #nsfw, #nsfwish TAGS.

CURRENT INTEREST: U L T R A K I L L, MindHack

COMMISSIONS: OPEN | ETSY STORE PAGE

Spirit’s World: Webcomic | Updates every Friday at 12:00 pm EST. | Hiatus -Comic (Prologue | Episode 1 | Episode 2) -Concept Art & Extra Content -http://spirits-world.thecomicseries.com/ - ComicFury

Website: https://cowsaresushi.wixsite.com/cowsaresushi

Fandom Content: (Ordered from Oldest to Newest) Super Paper Mario, Mystery Skulls Animated, Villainous, A Hat in Time, The Property of Hate, Shovel Knight, Kirby, Ultrakill, Mindhack

Stuff I Like: (Ordered from Oldest to Newest) Kirby (Meta Knight), Legend of Zelda, Kirby Right Back at Ya, Touhou, My Little Pony (Gen 4), Super Paper Mario (Count Bleck), Gravity Falls, Lackadaisy, Jurassic World, Undertale, Mystery Skulls Animated, Pokemon Sun and Moon, Villainous, Cuphead, 5 Nights at Freddy’s, Adventure Time/Cake and Fionna, Assassination Classroom, Coco, Hollow Knight, Object Heads, OneShot, Night in the Woods, Blasphemous, NSR, Wandersong, Untitled Goose Game The Owl House, The Tick (Chairface Chippendale), Made in Abyss (Bondrewd), Shovel Knight (PP Knights), Pokemon (Guzma, Subway Bosses), Spiderverse, Good Omens, Smiling Friends, Tuca and Bertie, Dialtown, Inscryption, ULTRAKILL, MindHack, Children of the Light, Resident Evil (Krauser, Wesker), Hades, Death's Door (Lord of Doors), Baba is You, Lethal Company

Watch/Read List: (When? Heck if I know.) Duck comics, ToonKind; Amphibia, Centaurworld, The Cuphead Show, Dead End; Paranormal, The Last Unicorn, Mob Psycho 100 (season 3), Monkie Kid Lego, Over the Garden Wall, Primal, SpyxFamily, The Tick, Totsukuni no Shoujo

Frequent icon changer, pay attention to the name, not the pic.

Refer to my FAQ for further info: -Includes my preference on using my art -Quickie: lenient for blog decoration idgaf👍. No repost tho.

#masternavigation

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thegreatantonchekhov · 4 years ago

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A Trifle From Life

By Anton Chekhov

Translated by Constance Garnett

“He was absorbed in his grievance and was oblivious of the boy’s presence, as he always had been. He, a grownup, serious person, had no thought to spare for boys.“

A WELL-FED, red-cheeked young man called Nikolay Ilyitch Belyaev, of thirty-two, who was an owner of house property in Petersburg, and a devotee of the race-course, went one evening to see Olga Ivanovna Irnin, with whom he was living, or, to use his own expression, was dragging out a long, wearisome romance. And, indeed, the first interesting and enthusiastic pages of this romance had long been perused; now the pages dragged on, and still dragged on, without presenting anything new or of interest.

Not finding Olga Ivanovna at home, my hero lay down on the lounge chair and proceeded to wait for her in the drawing-room.

“Good-evening, Nikolay Ilyitch!” he heard a child’s voice. “Mother will be here directly. She has gone with Sonia to the dressmaker’s.”

Olga Ivanovna’s son, Alyosha -- a boy of eight who looked graceful and very well cared for, who was dressed like a picture, in a black velvet jacket and long black stockings -- was lying on the sofa in the same room. He was lying on a satin cushion and, evidently imitating an acrobat he had lately seen at the circus, stuck up in the air first one leg and then the other. When his elegant legs were exhausted, he brought his arms into play or jumped up impulsively and went on all fours, trying to stand with his legs in the air. All this he was doing with the utmost gravity, gasping and groaning painfully as though he regretted that God had given him such a restless body.

“Ah, good-evening, my boy,” said Belyaev. “It’s you! I did not notice you. Is your mother well?”

Alyosha, taking hold of the tip of his left toe with his right hand and falling into the most unnatural attitude, turned over, jumped up, and peeped at Belyaev from behind the big fluffy lampshade.

“What shall I say?” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “In reality mother’s never well. You see, she is a woman, and women, Nikolay Ilyitch, have always something the matter with them.”

Belyaev, having nothing better to do, began watching Alyosha’s face. He had never before during the whole of his intimacy with Olga Ivanovna paid any attention to the boy, and had completely ignored his existence; the boy had been before his eyes, but he had not cared to think why he was there and what part he was playing.

In the twilight of the evening, Alyosha’s face, with his white forehead and black, unblinking eyes, unexpectedly reminded Belyaev of Olga Ivanovna as she had been during the first pages of their romance. And he felt disposed to be friendly to the boy.

“Come here, insect,” he said; “let me have a closer look at you.”

The boy jumped off the sofa and skipped up to Belyaev.

“Well,” began Nikolay Ilyitch, putting a hand on the boy’s thin shoulder. “How are you getting on?”

“How shall I say! We used to get on a great deal better.”

“Why?”

“It’s very simple. Sonia and I used only to learn music and reading, and now they give us French poetry to learn. Have you been shaved lately?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, I see you have. Your beard is shorter. Let me touch it.... Does that hurt?”

“No.”

“Why is it that if you pull one hair it hurts, but if you pull a lot at once it doesn’t hurt a bit? Ha, ha! And, you know, it’s a pity you don’t have whiskers. Here ought to be shaved... but here at the sides the hair ought to be left. . . .”

The boy nestled up to Belyaev and began playing with his watch-chain.

“When I go to the high-school,” he said, “mother is going to buy me a watch. I shall ask her to buy me a watch-chain like this.... Wh-at a lo-ket! Father’s got a locket like that, only yours has little bars on it and his has letters.... There’s mother’s portrait in the middle of his. Father has a different sort of chain now, not made with rings, but like ribbon. . . .”

“How do you know? Do you see your father?”

“I? M’m... no... I . . .”

Alyosha blushed, and in great confusion, feeling caught in a lie, began zealously scratching the locket with his nail.... Belyaev looked steadily into his face and asked:

“Do you see your father?”

“N-no!”

“Come, speak frankly, on your honour.... I see from your face you are telling a fib. Once you’ve let a thing slip out it’s no good wriggling about it. Tell me, do you see him? Come, as a friend.”

Alyosha hesitated.

“You won’t tell mother?” he said.

“As though I should!”

“On your honour?”

“On my honour.”

“Do you swear?”

“Ah, you provoking boy! What do you take me for?”

Alyosha looked round him, then with wide-open eyes, whispered to him:

“Only, for goodness’ sake, don’t tell mother.... Don’t tell any one at all, for it is a secret. I hope to goodness mother won’t find out, or we should all catch it -- Sonia, and I, and Pelagea.... Well, listen. . . Sonia and I see father every Tuesday and Friday. When Pelagea takes us for a walk before dinner we go to the Apfel Restaurant, and there is father waiting for us.... He is always sitting in a room apart, where you know there’s a marble table and an ash-tray in the shape of a goose without a back. . . .”

“What do you do there?”

“Nothing! First we say how-do-you-do, then we all sit round the table, and father treats us with coffee and pies. You know Sonia eats the meat-pies, but I can’t endure meat-pies! I like the pies made of cabbage and eggs. We eat such a lot that we have to try hard to eat as much as we can at dinner, for fear mother should notice.”

“What do you talk about?”

“With father? About anything. He kisses us, he hugs us, tells us all sorts of amusing jokes. Do you know, he says when we are grown up he is going to take us to live with him. Sonia does not want to go, but I agree. Of course, I should miss mother; but, then, I should write her letters! It’s a queer idea, but we could come and visit her on holidays -- couldn’t we? Father says, too, that he will buy me a horse. He’s an awfully kind man! I can’t understand why mother does not ask him to come and live with us, and why she forbids us to see him. You know he loves mother very much. He is always asking us how she is and what she is doing. When she was ill he clutched his head like this, and... and kept running about. He always tells us to be obedient and respectful to her. Listen. Is it true that we are unfortunate?”

“H’m!... Why?”

“That’s what father says. ‘You are unhappy children,’ he says. It’s strange to hear him, really. ‘You are unhappy,’ he says, ‘I am unhappy, and mother’s unhappy. You must pray to God,’ he says; ‘for yourselves and for her.’ “

Alyosha let his eyes rest on a stuffed bird and sank into thought.

“So . . .” growled Belyaev. “So that’s how you are going on. You arrange meetings at restaurants. And mother does not know?”

“No-o.... How should she know? Pelagea would not tell her for anything, you know. The day before yesterday he gave us some pears. As sweet as jam! I ate two.”

“H’m!... Well, and I say . . Listen. Did father say anything about me?”

“About you? What shall I say?”

Alyosha looked searchingly into Belyaev’s face and shrugged his shoulders.

“He didn’t say anything particular.”

“For instance, what did he say?”

“You won’t be offended?”

“What next? Why, does he abuse me?”

“He doesn’t abuse you, but you know he is angry with you. He says mother’s unhappy owing to you... and that you have ruined mother. You know he is so queer! I explain to him that you are kind, that you never scold mother; but he only shakes his head.”

“So he says I have ruined her?”

“Yes; you mustn’t be offended, Nikolay Ilyitch.”

Belyaev got up, stood still a moment, and walked up and down the drawing-room.

“That’s strange and... ridiculous!” he muttered, shrugging his shoulders and smiling sarcastically. “He’s entirely to blame, and I have ruined her, eh? An innocent lamb, I must say. So he told you I ruined your mother?”

“Yes, but... you said you would not be offended, you know.”

“I am not offended, and... and it’s not your business. Why, it’s... why, it’s positively ridiculous! I have been thrust into it like a chicken in the broth, and now it seems I’m to blame!”

A ring was heard. The boy sprang up from his place and ran out. A minute later a lady came into the room with a little girl; this was Olga Ivanovna, Alyosha’s mother. Alyosha followed them in, skipping and jumping, humming aloud and waving his hands. Belyaev nodded, and went on walking up and down.

“Of course, whose fault is it if not mine?” he muttered with a snort. “He is right! He is an injured husband.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Olga Ivanovna.

“What about?... Why, just listen to the tales your lawful spouse is spreading now! It appears that I am a scoundrel and a villain, that I have ruined you and the children. All of you are unhappy, and I am the only happy one! Wonderfully, wonderfully happy!”

“I don’t understand, Nikolay. What’s the matter?”

“Why, listen to this young gentleman!” said Belyaev, pointing to Alyosha.

Alyosha flushed crimson, then turned pale, and his whole face began working with terror.

“Nikolay Ilyitch,” he said in a loud whisper. “Sh-sh!”

Olga Ivanovna looked in surprise at Alyosha, then at Belyaev, then at Alyosha again.

“Just ask him,” Belyaev went on. “Your Pelagea, like a regular fool, takes them about to restaurants and arranges meetings with their papa. But that’s not the point: the point is that their dear papa is a victim, while I’m a wretch who has broken up both your lives. . .”

“Nikolay Ilyitch,” moaned Alyosha. “Why, you promised on your word of honour!”

“Oh, get away!” said Belyaev, waving him off. “This is more important than any word of honour. It’s the hypocrisy revolts me, the lying! . . .”

“I don’t understand it,” said Olga Ivanovna, and tears glistened in her eyes. “Tell me, Alyosha,” she turned to her son. “Do you see your father?”

Alyosha did not hear her; he was looking with horror at Belyaev.

“It’s impossible,” said his mother; “I will go and question Pelagea.”

Olga Ivanovna went out.

“I say, you promised on your word of honour!” said Alyosha, trembling all over.

Belyaev dismissed him with a wave of his hand, and went on walking up and down. He was absorbed in his grievance and was oblivious of the boy’s presence, as he always had been. He, a grownup, serious person, had no thought to spare for boys. And Alyosha sat down in the corner and told Sonia with horror how he had been deceived. He was trembling, stammering, and crying. It was the first time in his life that he had been brought into such coarse contact with lying; till then he had not known that there are in the world, besides sweet pears, pies, and expensive watches, a great many things for which the language of children has no expression.

#chekhov

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