#he's literally sleeping on a slab of metal | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dreamerdeity · 2 months ago

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𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐄 ('𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐄)

*ೃ𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Il Dottore x Fem. Reader

*ೃ𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4.2k

*ೃ𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: Sleep deprived, overworked, a report requested by your Lord Harbinger. Just place it on his desk and leave–or take a nap on his luxurious leather couch before you do. What could go wrong? Well, a lot, apparently.

*ೃ𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: DARK CONTENT!!! Dead dove: do not eat. Somnophilia, non-con like straight up r*pe, subordinate x superior, scary delusional rationalizer-dottore, p in v, fingering (f. receiving), creampie, dottore thinks he's actually a nice guy, dottore is in fact just a creepy guy, dottore acts like a silly (like a psychopath), 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!! others, please proceed at your own risk!

*ೃ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: Hi lovelies! I meant to post this yesterday but had some things to take care of so didn't get around to it. This is a request part of @ficsforgaza 's kinktober event. DO NOT READ IF YOU'RE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE WARNINGS!! If my shit gets flagged one more time I'm going to kms. anyway, I hope you all enjoy dottore being a literal psychopath. byee :3

KEIRA'S FUNDRAISING EVENT 🍉

You walk through the east wing of the Sumeruan Fatui Research Facility, your eyes heavy and your senses numb from lack of sleep. The only sound that rings through your ears is the faint clicking of your shoes against the rubber flooring.

The strong scent of antiseptic has always fared excellently in keeping you awake, and you thank the archons for its potent presence in this sterilized hallway as your eyes scan over the various signs plastered on the walls. Il Dottore, Il Dottore, Il Dottore. What turn should you take? What sign bears the arrow to his private laboratory? Frankly, if it were up to you, you would've shoved the responsibility of delivering this report to Lord Dottore onto Mikhael, but he feared the harbinger even more than you did, so here you were, left to take one for the team while sleep deprived, cranky, nervous, and somewhat afraid all at once.

It was a bit of a long walk–marked by frustrated sighs and irritated mutters of disapproval at your own dull sense of direction–to Dottore's personal lab, and you weren't even sure he would be there. He's always been the most eccentric of the harbingers, which is then, relatively, extremely eccentric, and his work hours never conformed to normal people's. You round a corner and turn one last left, before a large fortified iron door faces you ever so imposingly, a towering frame that stands a solid ten feet above you, and you sigh in relief. "Il Dottore" painted in bright white slashes across the door, and you hesitantly stretch your hand out–to knock... or maybe to open the imposing slab of metal. A second passes, and as it turns out, you don't have to choose, because the door slides open automatically, a faint mechanical whirr resounding throughout the premises.

You stride in quickly. A sickeningly sweet scent permeates the air around you, the fragrance wafting off the incense sticks burning at the harbinger's desk. You fleetingly wonder how on earth he could stand the oppressively strong smell, but that doesn't matter right now. Dottore isn't here, you have the report in your hand, tucked neatly into a blue folder (Dottore insisted all papers delivered to him must be so in blue folders only. Not green, not yellow. Blue). All you had to do was set it on your Lord Harbinger's desk and get the hell out of here before he returned. Otherwise, you'll be stuck with intense heart palpitations as he questions you about one thing or the other, or goes on a philosophical rant that you didn't ask to hear while laughing manically as his terrifyingly sharp fangs glint under the white light. Yup, no way. So, you set the folder onto the pristine oak desk, eyes still heavy and head pounding from your lack of sleep.

A soft breath of relief furls past your lips as soon as the folder hits the desk, and then, you try to turn on your heel and get out of here. Keyword: try, because just as you resign yourself to leaving, your gaze strays to the long, plush, brown leather sofa seated at the corner of the office-meets-laboratory. Fuck, that looks comfortable–no, what in the world were you thinking?! Get out, you mentally scream at yourself.

Yet, the more logical part of your brain has shut down, and a tired sigh leaves you as you stumble over to the couch. Just a second. You're so, so sleepy. Just a second and then you'll leave, you think, and plop onto the cushions. Your mind is blank, and your limbs feel like they're weighed down by lead. You blink slowly, your body sinks into the soft leather. This sofa must have cost your entire annual salary, what with how comfortable it is. A faint moan bubbles up your throat at the feeling of being engulfed in softness like this, and your eyelids droop. Before you can register, you're slipping away, into the inescapable depths of sleep.

Out like a light.

It could've been 10 minutes, it could've been an hour, or it could've been all day, but at some point, your name is called, and you're too deep into the recesses of unconsciousness to process it as a word. All it manifests as is a distant voice spinning around your head.

Dottore had trudged into his lab after a rather exhausting day of fieldwork, of examining poisonous flower samples on the outskirts of Avidya Forest with the diligence of the... scientist he was. The deep velvet of his voice uttered your name, and when he received no response, he hummed to himself. He continues to stand over you now, gazing down with the eyes of a predator and the smile of a fox

"Didn't see you there," he mutters to himself more than anything, because, from the looks of it, you're in slumber. His eyes observe the scene before him. The way your chest rises and falls rhythmically, the way your rosy lips are parted just a bit, and the way the moonlight filtering in through the windows catches on the curve of your cheekbones. The inviting sight before him has him licking his lips and adjusting the collar of his coat.

"How lovely..."

The inviting sight, because yes, that's what it was, you were inviting him to indulge, weren't you? Otherwise, you wouldn't be here, asleep on his couch, in his space, blouse unbuttoned once or twice at the top. You know what you're doing, aren't you? He's not the bad guy for just... taking the hint, if you will. His hands twitch at his sides, and his smile widens. You're sleeping, and if you saw the terrifyingly sinister grin on his face right now, you would've thanked the archons for sparing you its sight by letting it stretch upon his lips now that you are asleep, unable to see it.

As though he were debating whether to go about whatever evil he was about to, he crosses his arms over his chest, gaze locked on your form and brow furrowed in thought. He wasn't thinking about the depravity of his potential actions and the psychological harm they may cause you later on. No, no. He didn't have a conscience loud enough for that kind of thought to grace his mind. He was simply thinking about the logical implications. It was... unprofessional–to say the least–to grope your subordinates in their sleep, and should word get out about it, the Second Harbinger will never hear the end of it–especially not from Pantalone. It could jeopardize his relationship with all the investors who fund his research. It could also get him in a pickle with Arlecchino, and he wasn't in the mood to deal with that crazy woman for at least the next century.

But it was dark outside. You were asleep, and he had the whole night to himself. It wasn't his fault, and if you were to awaken, well, it's not like you were going to tell. Oh, he'll make sure of that.

His decision is made, and without a single thread of doubt left in his mind, he crouches by your side, eyes locked on your slumbering face. The smile that stretches along his lips is one reserved for moments like these, for moments when he silently observes the unconscious features of those that fall into his predacious hands. There was always something about unconsciousness that stirred something in him. He was fascinated by the human brain, but he was also fascinated by the unadulterated powerlessness of an unconscious human. It gave him a power trip of sorts, knowing he was the lion and the slumbering were the deer. He chuckles to himself as his eyes fall upon the trail of drool at the corner of your lips, a sound so quiet and smooth that it could have melted butter.

"Don't worry, agent. I'll be... gentle," his words are spoken softly, yet they hold the same venom that his actions always do. They're meant for the both of you. "I won't hurt you."

He won't, will he?

Well, that was for him to know and for you to find out–should you awaken. His gloved hand, gentle but firm, snakes under your head and props it up, and his other hand is busy pushing the buttons of your blouse apart, one by one, until your raven-black bra meets his gaze. He breathes out in a soft exhale, a sound too tranquil for a man of his reputation, and his hand gently tips your face toward him. He meets your face halfway, scanning his sharp eyes over your sleeping features for a moment, his breath warm against your skin, though you can't feel it in your drowse. Slowly, almost like he was deliberately holding himself off, he lets his lips brush against yours, and then he tests the waters some more, giving them a light kiss. You subconsciously shift at the contact, but you're still asleep, and that's enough reassurance for him to go further, letting his teeth graze your lower lip.

You taste like candy; sweet, soft, and addicting. You're an aphrodisiac, aren't you? He wonders, and his tongue prods at the seam of your lips, begging entrance, but it doesn't take. A soft, almost inaudible growl emanates from him, and the distant feel of his tongue has your breathing stuttering, a whimper bubbling up from your throat, but you don't wake, and that has his pants feeling a lot tighter than they were a few seconds ago.

"tsk," he grumbles against your lips. He's not sure if he wanted you asleep or awake right now. There was a thrill he felt in his veins when he teetered on the edge of danger like this, but there also seemed to be a thrill at the thought of having you awake for this, eyes wide in fear and lust all at once, soft implorations of "please let me go, Lord Dottore" falling from your lips like a mantra.

In the end, though, he'll have his way, and it doesn't matter what your state is. His tongue slips past your parted lips and invades the heat of your mouth, his sharpened canines grazing your tongue. His saliva, mixed with the residue of alcohol he had before heading back, drips down your chin and stains your blouse. If you were awake, you would've found the whole ordeal sloppy and wet, but since you weren't, all it felt like was warmth, and a foreign feeling, as his tongue prodded and probed your mouth. Your brows knit together, and a soft, unconscious moan escapes your lips, one that he greedily swallows. You're not so sure what's going on, still in a drowse that makes you think you're having some sort of insanely realistic wet dream. You hadn't slept in almost two days after all. Archons knew you weren't about to let anything wake you from your much-needed rest.

Dottore retreats from your lips and pauses for a moment, eyes raking over your form as though his mind was scanning over all the choices of what to do to you next.

"Ah," he says, like he was hit with a revolutionary idea. It wasn't so revolutionary, because the next thing that happens is the harbinger's hands finding their way to your chest, the cool leather of his gloves brushing against the bare patch of skin he revealed to himself when unbuttoning your blouse down three or four buttons. You shift again, and the movement has his fingers accidentally grazing over your bra-clad nipples. The sudden touch causes your body to arch and a low groan to rumble in the back of your throat. You were sensitive, he notes, and a grin tugs at the corner of his lips.

But you see, Dottore was getting bored of his self-inflicted abstinence. He did tell himself he had all night earlier, but come to think of it, he actually doesn't. He wants it fast and rough, and he wants it now. So, he lets his hand trail down for a moment, shamelessly shoving it into your pants and letting his fingers play with your pussy over your panties.

"H-hnngh!" You gasp in your sleep, and if you were awake, you'd be able to almost feel the smirk he wears as he continues, a finger pressing insistently at your clit, even if the fabric of your underwear is in the way.

"Oh? Do you like this then, agent?" he asks, and the words are an almost inaudible whisper. The question is rhetorical, after all. He doesn't give a flying fuck if you do like it, and he was talking himself through it more than he was you.

Your head lolls to the side and a shaky breath leaves you. Your panties are subconsciously growing wet, an automatic bodily reaction to being touched here, and his finger doesn't relent. It's a good thing, however, that the friction of the thin fabric has you writhing, and the stimulation has him impatient, his fingers hastily moving to roughly pull your pants down, then to grip the fabric of your blouse, ripping it apart, buttons popping off the garment and onto the ground with soft clicks. The supple flesh of your torso is now exposed and open, and so are your eyes. It takes you a second to register what's going on.

You're... lying on the sofa.

What time was it?

What are you doing here, exactly?

"W-what..." the words barely leave you, and suddenly, sleep has left you completely, the feeling of a heavy weight against your body taking its place, and the realization that a man is on top of you.

Your eyes snap open wider, and the first thing you see is Dottore's grinning, almost psychotic-looking eyes boring through you.

"My Lord?!" you cry, and everything comes rushing back. You went to drop a report to the Lord Harbinger. You fell asleep on the couch in his laboratory.

"What are you doing?!" you demand as assertively as you can in a situation like this, but your voice shakes in fear despite your efforts.

"I could ask you the same question, agent," he hums, and his gloved fingers move to trail over the expanse of your breasts, fondling and groping with not a sliver of shame. "You were asleep when I came in, and so, I assumed, naturally, that you wanted me to do this. Why else would you have been so conveniently sprawled out on my couch, in the privacy of my lab, half-naked and vulnerable?"

"I-I didn't–I wasn't half naked," you try to defend yourself–with such a witless refutation too–but how could you possibly defend yourself? The harbinger was right. You were asleep on the couch in his private lab. Utterly disrespectful. And he caught you. Maybe this was karma–or just your luck.

"Hush, now," he purrs, and his fingers slither behind your back to the band of your bra. You don't have time to react as the garment is pulled off you in one swift motion, tossed away and onto the floor, and then his hands are back on your tits, kneading the supple flesh, pinching your hardened nipples.

"My Lord–stop it, please," you plead, and you can't help the gasp that escapes you, the action shooting straight between your thighs, which clamp together as best as they can with Dottore straddling your waist with all his weight.

He was a scary man, Il Dottore, and even if he wasn't physically hurting you–for now–the sheer intensity of his gaze was enough to scare the shit out of you. You were utterly, hopelessly, and vulnerably at his mercy, and the worst part is, you have a feeling that not a single person in this whole 8-story facility would stand up for you. Not a single Fatui subordinate would dare.

"Stop? Oh, darling! But we haven't even started," he laughs, like what you just suggested was utterly ridiculous, and a shudder runs down your body.

"You know," he hums, leaning closer and lowering his head to ghost his lips over the shell of your ear, the smell of alcohol strong on his breath. "You can scream–if you'd like. No one would hear."

You have no time to retort, because Dottore's head dips to the valley of your breasts immediately, then his lips ghost over one of your nipples, swiftly taking the nub in his mouth. A sharp inhale rushes into your lungs, and a whimper threatens to spill from your throat. You're not quite sure if the feeling coursing through you is fear or lust or both, because it makes your stomach churn how good this actually feels. Your eyes are squeezed shut, and Dottore’s teeth graze the sensitive skin around your nipple, sending a jolt of electricity between your legs, then his tongue flicks over the hardening peak.

"Mmh," the moan bubbles up from the very back of your throat.

"Oh? So... still want me to stop now, agent?" he muses, mockingly, and his free hand is back at your pussy, rubbing slow, teasing circles over the soaked fabric. Your hips buck up, so he takes that as a sign to push the garment aside, a finger sliding between your wet lips.

"No, my Lord," you gasp, and you can't believe the words that come out of your own mouth. Dottore's hand doesn't stop, and his thumb presses down on your clit, and a breathy, whiny moan escapes you.

"See? This isn't so bad, now, is it?" he doesn't give you any warning before his fingers dip into your wet pussy, the intrusion causing you to jerk. Your inner walls flutter around his fingers. His sharp canines dig into his lower lip.

"Aren't you a good little whore. So pretty and obedient for your Lord Harbinger," Dottore purrs, and his thumb begins to move against your clit, while his fingers curl and press insistently at your walls. Your legs tremble, a string of moans falls from your lips, and if anyone told you just an hour ago that the Second Lord Harbinger Il Dottore was going to finger you in his lab, you would've laughed and asked who the fuck would say something like that.

Alas, Dottore wasn't a patient man, so it's no surprise that he doesn't finger you long enough before his hands pull away from you entirely, and he "tsks" impatiently to himself. He has to have you now. He's been so, so nice. Hasn't he? Kind enough to prep you for him instead of plunging himself into you from the get-go. If anything, he thinks he deserves a pat on the back for his thoughtfulness.

Swiftly, his hands reach under your thighs, and with an alarming amount of ease, he yanks you down and away from the cushion that sprawled beneath your head. Then, he's settling between your legs. A soft whimper is torn from your throat when the cold, metal buckle of his belt grazes the inside of your thigh. You watch, helpless, as his hands make quick work of his pants, unzipping the black uniform, and pushing them down just far enough to pull his cock out. You can't help but gulp at the sight, and the wideness of your eyes makes Dottore laugh out an almost sadistic-sounding string of giggles.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he hums, the term of endearment spoken so condescendingly. "You'll take it well. Won't you?"

His words aren't a question. They're a statement. An absolute, undeniable fact. An order. You'll take it well, whether you want to or not, and the knowledge has you almost making a run for the door, but the thought leaves you as fast as it came.

Dottore doesn't wait for a response that won’t come, or a plea for him not to do this, not to force his cock into your tight heat, and you're not quite sure why, but you don't find yourself objecting, or trying to kick him away. Maybe you were curious. Maybe this was a materialization of one of your own depraved fantasies. Or maybe you were just scared he'd kill you if you resisted.if you made a run for the door like you fleetingly thought just now.

His fingers curl around the base of his thick cock, fist then sliding up and down in a few experimental pumps. The tip presses at your entrance almost desperately, and he's pushing the head into your tightness before you can process. He's a big man. The stretch burns. It has a hiss tearing from the back of your throat, and a pained grimace twisting your features.

"Shh," Dottore murmurs, his other hand reaching up to caress the side of your face almost soothingly, the action a stark contrast to the harshness of his current actions.

"Good, good," he whispers, his voice is sickeningly smooth, as though he were genuinely consoling you.

Then, just like that, his hips snap forward, not giving you time to adjust as the entirety of his cock is engulfed in the warmth of your pussy. You're clamping down around him, and it has him groaning lowly in his throat, his eyes squeezing shut, the grip of his hands that are now on your hips tightening.

"Agent," he sighs, and his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your sides. It'll leave a mark there. A reminder.

You're not quite sure where the burning pain had gone. All that remains is an aching desire, a desperate need, and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. Your hands move, without a conscious command from your brain, and they rest on Dottore's shoulders, holding on tightly. The harbinger smiles down at you with sickening sweetness, no, not sweetness, mockery. Or maybe sweetness. God, you were a mess. Your mind was nothing but a blob of mush at this moment, and Dottore's hands shift to the underside of your knees, pushing your legs up and thrusting his cock even deeper at this new, utterly indecent angle.

"My Lord!" the moan is punched out of you. His lips meet yours again, his sharp canines scraping over the sensitive flesh. Your hands slide to tangle into his hair, pulling and tugging at the soft blue strands. An almost whiny groan escapes the harbinger's throat at the action. His movements become more desperate. Fast and rough. So fast and rough you're scared you'll be split in two. The plush sofa under the two of you shakes and creaks.

"So, so good," he whines, face contorted in pleasure, but as though he caught himself in his haze before it spiraled, his lips pull back into a domineering sneer. "Take it," he demands, and the words, combined with the obscene feeling of being filled to the brim, are enough to have your vision going white. You claw at Dottore's shoulders with desperate fervor.

"L-Lord Harbinger. I think I'm going to–"

"Do it," he commands with the struggle of a man on the brink of ecstasy, and he folds you even more. If you weren't agile–thanks to your agent training–you're sure you would've actually split into two by now. Back arching off the sofa, a string of incoherent, unintelligible moans escapes your throat. Your pussy clamps down around the thick cock stretching it, and a wave of pleasure courses through you, rendering your muscles numb.

The sight and feeling of you unraveling have Dottore following closely after, his movements becoming erratic and uncoordinated. It's a sight like never seen before; the normally ever so composed man crumbling like this, and then, he's spilling his hot cum into you, a guttural groan reverberating throughout his chest. He fills you to the brim until the warm white liquid leaks out of your aching pussy and stains the leather under you.

A second passes, then two, then three, then a few seconds more. Dottore lets the head of his cock press against your insides one last time before pulling out. He sits back on his knees and regards you for a moment with an almost frightening calmness, and you open your mouth to try and say something, because why was he looking at you like you were nothing but the scum of the ground he walks on after literally cumming inside of you as some lover would?

"The couch will need some cleaning. I trust you can get that sorted tomorrow, agent?" He says finally with a cock of his head, voice level and calm as he climbs off of you and stands on his feet, tucking himself back into his pants as he nonchalantly hums a tune to himself, like this was just another day of fucking his subordinates in their sleep. And maybe it was; you didn’t know, but right now, you're still paralyzed in your spot, just staring at him, and so he turns to glance at you. "Get dressed. You're dismissed for today."

You can only gape, speechless, watching as Dottore turns his back to you once more and disappears into the microscopy workroom in his lab, a certain energized spring to his step.

What the fuck just happened?

The workroom's door closes behind him with a soft click, and he smiles to himself.

Ah, the thrill.

Now, it was time to get back to his research.

#fics for gaza #open requests #il dottore #genshin x reader #genshin impact #dottore x reader #dottore #genshin fanfic #dottore x you #dottore smut #genshin impact smut

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mayhemandtrouble · 1 year ago

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Feelings, of a Varied Sort: Chapter 25 of Not Giving up

Full story, detailed tags and NSFW chapters on A03

It was entirely impossible to hide his discomfort with being on the Falcon, not that Ben was trying terribly hard. There had been some modifications since he was last aboard, but not enough to shake away the memories of his childhood. Sighing, he wrinkled his nose when the door shut behind them.

“Are you sure you cleaned this place when you took over?” When Rey shot him a nasty look, Ben put his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just worried about the children!”

“My arse you are.” Rey muttered darkly, her fingers running over the familiar, discolored paneling. While Ben was making short work of his armor, letting the pieces fall to the wayside wherever gravity and chance took them, she reacquainted herself the small cabin that had been home to her.

“Please don’t tell me that you are missing the Supremacy now. I literally destroyed it for you.” He teased, hoping to get a little laugh out of her, but she only shook her head a little before giving him a wane smile. Ben had expected her to quickly divest herself of the Sith style garments but instead she sat slowly on the bed, looking about with a quiet forlornness about her.

“… I took everything with me when I left. And we didn’t have time so… the little box and everything, it’s gone.” Likely turned to ashes and now floating in space. When he sat beside her, clad only in his britches, Rey leaned against his side. “I don’t want to be ungrateful, having you here matters more, it’s just…”

“I understand.” Ben kissed the top of her head and wrapped his left arm around her waist to pull her against him. He felt a twinge of loss as well, thinking of the trinkets of their courtship that were gone. Reaching over, Ben gently pulled the Organa crest out from under her clothing with his right hand. Brushing his thumb over the time-worn metal with a contented sigh, a slow smile appeared on his features. “We didn’t lose everything though.”

“Mmm.” Rey watched his eyes, how the dark pools seemed to warm and soften when he looked at the crest. Her forehead tilting in against his and, finally, breathing out a long sigh of relief. He was right. Everything that truly mattered to her was safe, and mostly aboard this ship.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t go help?” Rey frowned, trying to push herself up with one arm. Freshly cleaned, they were both settled into the bed where she had dreamed of him so often. Ben had thrown the blankets over their naked bodies and both expected to fall asleep shortly. Only Rey was finding it difficult to rest, despite her exhaustion and the trials of the past twenty-four hours.

“Rey, if you go up there, Mother will simply march you back and Chewie will chew my head off for letting you leave.” Ben mumbled against her shoulder, tightening an arm around her waist to keep her exactly where she was. The bed was better than the ferroconcrete slab, but it was damning by faint praise. His quarters on the Supremacy had been far more comfortable. A pity there hadn’t been a way to keep the ship. All he got in reply to his wisdom was an annoyed sigh and her body shifting restlessly beneath the thin blankets.

“Where do you think we’re heading?” It was impossible to sleep, even with the lights off and Ben’s arms around her. Leia hadn’t given them a hint as their destination yet, likely to continue gauging Ben. She couldn’t seem to get comfortable either, plagued with the sort of frustrated energy that mocks exhaustion despite dark circles under her eyes.

“I truly don’t know.” Nor, for that matter, did he especially care. Rolling fully onto his side, Ben nuzzled into the back of her neck. “Unless you think Mother is leading us into a trap, there isn’t any point in worrying about it.”

“Ugh, Ben, that’s not it at all!” Rey glared at him over her shoulder, doubly so when she felt his hand began to creep across her hip below the sheets. “Ben, don’t you dare. Your mother is on this ship!”

“True.” He seemed to ponder this for a moment, then nipped at her earlobe. “I suppose I had better cover your mouth then, while I put your energy to better use.”

Rey barely had time to protest before he slipped his left hand underneath the pillow, wrapping around to gently cover her mouth from behind. Wriggling a little, she encountered his quickly growing arousal and found herself rolling her eyes at her lover even as her skin began to warm. He was trying to distract her and, worst of all, the man was good at it.

Ben pressed delicate kisses along her neck and shoulder, teeth grazing just barely along her skin, while his right hand continued its unhurried path. Every inch of her skin was a delightful feast that never grew boring, if anything each course only made him hungrier for the next. As his fingers traced the line of her folds, Ben made wicked promises into her ear.

“I hope you are aware of what you’ve gotten yourself into, Flower. We’ve barely scratched the surface of what I want to do to you.” Ben half-closed his eyes, drinking in the shiver that ran through her skin. She liked that predatory edge to his voice and he was so very addicted to how perfectly responsive she was to his broken desires. Nipping more forcefully at the tender skin between neck and shoulder as calloused fingertips began to press against her sensitive pearl.

Rey had to close her eyes, her heart racing already. It was absolutely out of the question for them to be doing this right now. They had just barely escaped a battle, his future was hardly certain and therefore neither was hers, they were on a ship with his mother and an extremely overprotective Wookie! But her thighs shifted all the same, opening a little to invite him in and groaning into his hand when he gave her what she wanted.

He stroked her expertly, bringing her breathing to a rapid pant far faster than usual. Rey had to clutch at the blankets, struggling to contain her moans - not entirely trusting his hand to successfully muffle her. Especially not when Ben slipped his fingers within, thrusting the digits in that particular movement he knew she liked so well.

Watching her writhe, struggling to stay still and quiet without the assistance of bonds, was a delight that he would carry with him. And, of course, seeing her reach her peak was his favorite pleasure. This time heightened by the surprise he knew was coming, pun intended. Ben did not give her a moment to breathe before his fingers were stroking along her clit again, soaked with her arousal and more aggressive than before.

“Ben!”

The sound of his name was muffled and distorted by his own hand but he knew it all the same. He only nuzzled affectionately into her ear, giving sweet nips to the sensitive shell and sighed in pure bliss as her body wriggled next to him. Listening for sounds of true distress, certainly, but uninterested in stopping until she had run out of energy to protest.

Rey gasped against his hand, her body arching and her thighs pressing tightly together - unsure if she was trying to force Ben’s out or keep it exactly where it was. It felt like lightning along her skin, with Ben forcing a series of rapid fire climaxes upon her. Sweat built on her skin like morning dew and she felt the tip of his tongue tracing a languid line along the back of her shoulder. Tasting her.

“Such a pretty Flower,” Ben couldn’t help a low groan as her body soaked his fingers yet again. The bedsheets would be damp, not that he gave a damn. Her body was his favorite toy, his arousal throbbing every time she jumped in the cage of his arms. Slowly sinking his teeth into her shoulder, he growled. Sheathing his digits within her cunt yet again.

Rey clawed at his left arm, leaving marks in her desperation. It was overwhelming. Each time, she grew more sensitive, yet he persisted, pushing towards some unknown goal. Grinding his arousal along the curve of her rear but making no motion to take her. Her mind was swimming, barely able to think as another wave of pleasure crashed over her.

She could feel the flood of nectars coat her own thighs, how his hand greedily cupped her sex and thumb pressed into her clit. Rey’s eyes damn near rolled back into her head, panting against his hand and unsure how long she could withstand this.

He was relentless. Ben waited until he saw moisture collecting in her lust-glossed eyes to finally withdraw the hand between her thighs. Her body melted back against his own, seemingly to have lost the ability to support itself.

Rey was mildly aware that his left hand had moved, no longer covering her lips. But she was far beyond thought, her entire body seemed to be spent and her mind was a warm sort of quiet. It took several moments to register the damp fingers that were teasing at her lips and a few more for her green eyes to open again.

Her gaze met his in confusion, but Ben only gave her a patiently sadistic smile, waiting. Though his cock certainly throbbed when her lips finally parted, slowly taking his fingers inside. Ben would have a great deal of trouble getting to sleep himself but it was entirely worth it, watching as his pleasure-drunk lover slowly suckled her own taste off his fingers.

“You are perfect, Rey. Absolutely perfect.”

She heard the words, while her tongue laved against his calloused fingers. Groaning slightly, her hand reached out towards him as Ben withdrew but he only began to wrap her up in the blankets more snugly.

“Later, my love.” He murmured, using his freshly washed fingers to close her eyes. Leaning over, Ben brushed a soft kiss against her temple. He was not a good man, musing quietly to himself in dark amusement. A better man would have sung her to sleep or some other soft nonsense. Still. She was his, to take care of as he knew how.

“Love you…” Rey mumbled back, her head snuggling into the pillow. Sated far beyond capacity, and her energy stolen, she felt warm within the cocoon Ben had created for her. Too tired to ponder his goal at the moment, Rey simply allowed herself to drift off to sleep. Safe under his watchful eye.

Ben loathed the predictability of the moment. He’d availed himself of his own hand, easing the physical frustration Rey’s muffled moans had created. Still, he could not sleep. He’d maintained indifference when speaking to Rey, but his mind was pouring over where they were going.

The Dark side and his own self-hatred were a potent team. Certainly, a cold and miserable prison would be justified for himself but not for Rey. And what she deserved, he had no right to. How many people had he killed? The death count from Starkiller base alone was more than enough to condemn him to any number of tortuous, life-ending punishments. But his children deserved better than a life wondering about their dead father. Or did he merely justify his own survival by latching onto innocents, using them as an excuse?

“Your Father used to rock you to sleep here.”

Ben paused in his steps. He’d left the main cabin, to avoid waking Rey with his tossing and turning. Wearing nothing more than the rather unfortunate cotton trousers that kept his leather armor from chaffing. Wrinkled and stained, they were in desperate need of a wash but better than searching for any of Father’s things that might be left behind. How had he missed Mother, sitting at the dejarik table in the faint light? A sign of how far gone Ben was in his own head, he supposed.

“... I know.” Turning to face her, Ben couldn’t have been less prepared for the sight. Her grey-brown hair was fully down, neatly brushed but tumbling about her shoulders as only the family had ever seen to his knowledge. His mother wore a nightgown of a pale stormy-blue, loose about the body and sleeveless, with heavily beaded, thick straps and flowers worked in vibrant colors along the neckline. Her hands looked frail, clasped around a steaming mug. Another sat just beside her, in front of an empty seat that she nodded to. It was a scene from his childhood, replaying out.

“You still don’t sleep easily?”

“Some nights are better than others.” Ben spoke quietly, sliding into the space beside her. Chewie would be upset if he found them using the dejarik table as a resting place for their mugs but, all things considered, he was willing to risk it if she was.

“Have you given thought to where you want to take her?” Leia broke the long silence they had fallen into, neither quite knowing where to begin.

“Either Outer or Mid Rim, assuming I’m not to be locked in a cell. Somewhere my face isn’t known.” A large hand threaded around the mug and he could feel Mother’s eyes on him. She didn’t have to say a damn word and it was like Leia was pulling everything out of him, making him want to fill the quiet with words. Even knowing it was probably giving the hangman the rope for his own execution. “I’ve set up access to credits under assumed identities. We’ll be fine.”

“Mmm.” Leia nodded quietly, still not tipping her own hand to her son. Only letting one of her hands rest atop his large wrist softly. “And when the remnants of the First Order find you?”

It was not an if, but a when. Had Mother gone peeking into the future or was she simply judging him and his intentions? Ben exhaled slowly and bought himself time with a slow sip. Chokolate, steamed with some kind of sweet milk. Had she prepared the Falcon’s pantries specifically for this? It genuinely wouldn’t surprise him.

“She would never go along with that, and I can’t leave her.” He spoke quietly, answering at long last. Mother wanted a better answer, he knew it. A childish part of him wished to give her the words she wanted - he would never use the Darkness again, Ben Solo was back and Kylo Ren would never trouble them again. But even now, with so much time apart, he found himself unable to lie to the woman who had kissed his wounds. His salvation was unstable, often hanging by threads.

“So you want the universe to just… leave you alone, let you have some fairytale ending while we all know the second you get bored of Rey, you’ll rebuild the Knights of Ren? Speaking of, what are you planning to do when they show up?”

The voice of Luke Skywalker grated on Ben’s nerves, causing his head to twitch to the side. Why couldn’t he have truly killed the man, killed him and burned his soul out of the Force? If someone had to appear to torment him, Ben would have preferred Father. At least Father had tried to save him.

“I’m not interested in the judgment of a man who wanted to kill me in my sleep.” Ben spoke coldly, turning his gaze back to Leia and ignoring where Luke had appeared, sitting beside Ben so that he was trapped between the two siblings. “Wherever you are taking us, Mother, I want to formalize things between Rey and I on arrival.”

“Formalize? You can’t even say you want to get married without sounding nuts.” Luke leaned back, folding his arms and shaking his head in disgust.

“Luke.” Leia’s voice held a warning, massaging one of her temples. She and her brother had gotten along well, right until that night. The night he tried to kill Ben, then just… disappearing shortly after. Trying to comfort Ben, to repair that damage… Han had tried, she had tried. They’d tried so hard yet every effort seemed a mistake, every plan she put into place was outdone by Snoke.

“So it’s all my fault then.” Ben hissed, turning sharply on his Uncle. His anger seething, saturating the air around them all. Was it possible to kill a man who was already dead? Could a saber burn through the translucent blue being. If he focused hard enough, could he squeeze his hands around Luke’s neck? His nostrils flared, every muscle in his body tensing. If he made one misstep, Luke would crow about for all eternity. All it had taken before were nightmares. Just nightmares and confiding in his Uncle about the Darkness he felt.

“No.” Leia’s clear, uncompromising voice carried the authority of more than titles, of wisdom born of regret, while a gentle hand landed on her son’s shoulder. “There is no excuse for the things you have done, Ben. But we failed you. We all failed you.”

“Failed him? Even his homecoming, his supposed redemption, was blowing up thousands of his own people. And you’re going to trust him with Rey? And her children?” Luke suddenly leaned forward sharply, meeting his sister’s eyes. Willing her to look beyond the maternal bond and at the risk she was putting the entire galaxy up against.

“If one act of self-sacrifice could redeem our Father, then surely a lifetime of penance can redeem your nephew.” Leia’s words burned through the air, hitting Luke harder than a physical blow to the gut. She watched as her brother turned away from them both, examining some bit of paneling across the room. Refusing to shift her gaze until, under the dangerous stare of Leia Organa Solo, Luke’s eyes lowered towards the ground.

Ben’s own eyes focused on the comforting mug before him. Redemption. Mother spoke as though it were not only possible, but attainable. Expected even. A few words that sentenced him to not only to hard work but to surviving. Grandfather would approve, the thought came unbidden but made his lips twist into a wry smile.

Luke’s lips pressed together, unwilling to look at his family while Leia’s words were salt into an old wound. He didn’t have an answer as to why it was so much easier to forgive his Father. Perhaps because he didn’t see Anakin’s downfall, wasn’t personally involved in it. If his Mother had known what Father would become, would she still have loved him or would she have tried to end it all before it began?

“I need to check on Rey.” Ben threw back the rest of the hot drink as though he were in a cantina. Uncle would never forgive him, nor would he forgive Luke. As if it wasn’t enough that Uncle had tried to kill him, Ben would never forget how - when his hand just about to touch Rey’s in those first connections - Luke had stormed in. Announcing Ben’s worthlessness, as if Rey didn’t already know Ben’s measure.

“Do you think protecting her now, after what you’ve put her through, will somehow redeem you?” Luke snarled, his back still towards the younger man.

“I’m not interested in being redeemed.” Ben growled back, dark eyes narrowing at the blue figure. Trying to decide if he would rather ask his Mother to move or slide through the bastard.

“Ben… get some sleep. We’ll have a lot to do once we land.” Leia sighed in exasperation, finally slipping out to let Ben leave. As he moved past, her hand brushed her son’s arm in a comforting squeeze. Startled at both the strength she felt there, and that there was a soft tremble to his skin. Her poor boy. Tactfully, she waited patiently till Ben was out of earshot, before Leia rounded on her twin brother. Full story, detailed tags and NSFW chapters on A03

#sw fanfic #reylo fanfic #redeemed ben solo #rey of jakku #rey solo #unplanned pregnancy #angst with a happy ending #reunite the dyad #fluff and angst and smut #reylo smut #star wars fanfic #fluff and smut #reylo #luke skywalker #general leia #leia organa

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hylianengineer · 7 months ago

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Alright, I have been poked, here you go. These are kinda... part ficlet, part incomplete story idea, mostly brainstorming about unconventional powers demigods could have and how they might use them. If anyone wants to take one and turn it into a bigger story, feel free, just @ me so I can read it

A child of Poseidon who uses their powers to manipulate water-based paint and create beautiful art. They've always been drawn to painting, especially nature, with all its raw power, and people, who humanize a work and add anything from a regal air to a gentle softness. In a gallery, a painting of a shipwreck calls to them. Waves crash against the rocks and they can hear it, hear the screams of terrified sailors, hear strong wooden beams crunch and snap like toothpicks. Then someone calls their name and the spell is broken. The painting is still. They shake their head and rush to rejoin their class. It must've been their imagination, they think. They need more sleep.

A child of Hephaestus who scorches patterns across a “canvas”, often a piece of wood but also concrete, brick, cloth, anything that the flames won’t entirely destroy as they leave their mark. Their story is harnessing a power often feared, and using it not to destroy but to create beauty and express humanity. Flames lick across a slab of wood, hot, yet controlled, moving like trickling water. The demigod stands over their canvas, hands outstretched, face scrunched up in concentration with their tongue peeking out of the corner of their mouth. They want this to be perfect.

A child of Hesphestaus who works as a firefighter: none of their colleagues understand why they’re always so lucky. They can’t control flames like Leo can, but they do have a certain affinity- they’re resistant, but not immune, and they can’t summon them, nor extinguish them by will alone, but they might push them a little in one direction or another. Most children of Hephaestus are at least slightly heat-resistant and possess these abilities to varying degrees, Leo was special because he had so much of this power, most people don’t even notice they have it.

A child of Hephaestus uses their pyrokinesis to fire pottery to the perfect temperature and make the glaze come out just right (raku especially interesting) or to solder, anneal, and oxidize metal into beautiful colors and patterns. Fire as creation as well as destruction.

A child of Hephaestus who knows the cultural uses of fire and prescribed burning and wildfires as caretaking for the ecosystem, allowing certain trees to release seeds, clearing brush so later fires won't get dangerously large.

A child of Athena with incredible emotional intelligence and no academic skills at all. Their journey is about fitting in- or standing out- as someone so different from their siblings, so defiant of expectations. They can’t calculate trajectories in their head, but they’re observant and intuitive. They instinctively know when someone is having a bad day, they pick up on patterns like who tenses up around crowds, they notice things most people don’t and they put the pieces together. They know that some of the Ares kids are aggressive to keep people at a distance because they’re scared of getting hurt, they know when people are pining for each other but too dense to realize, they know exactly what to say to cheer anyone up, or to tear them down. They’re also highly empathetic, which means they can be easily overwhelmed- their siblings try to keep them away from the news as much as possible, because it leads to hysterical sobbing and overwhelming guilt.

A child of Demeter with an instinctive sense for the uses and dangers of any plant they come across. Mint and ginger for nausea, don’t touch that it’s poison oak, that’s a stinging nettle it’ll hurt if you touch it, that one’s good for basket weaving, hey that’s an edible mushroom, etc.

The committed platonic relationships of the Hunters of Artemis. Cuddles. Sleeping together literally. Patching up each other's scrapes and bruises, tending to each other when they're sick. A hunter with horrible period cramps, curled up in her sleeping bag and afraid of appearing weak. Her friends bringing heat pads and ice cream and soft fuzzy blankets, settling in to keep her company. Thalia being empathetic and giving them all the day off to rest.

A support group for the parents of demigods- they worry about their kids and deal with the issues of being single parents and living between two worlds, unable to tell their friends and families what’s going on. And it makes dating a whole new layer of crazy- do I tell them about my kid’s godly parent and weird powers? If so, when? How? What do I do if they react badly? This group also pools resources to support each other and the demigod kids who don’t have available parents- lawyers donate their time to get kids away from unsafe living situations, and anyone has an open couch, a hot meal, and some emotional support whenever it’s needed. Sally is the unofficial leader of the group; she adopts all Percy's friends and has gotten used to questing demigods dropping by the apartment at all hours. She always makes them a hot meal and a fresh batch of blue cookies and lets them sleep on the couch for as long as they need to.

Hey, I have a bunch of Percy Jackson and the Olympians prompt... ficlet... things. They have been in my drafts for literal years and I can't imagine I'll ever have the motivation to expand on them. Does anyone want to poke me to post some of them?

#thank you for the pokes friends #here is your... fic? prompt? things?#they're ANCIENT they've been in my drafts for ACTUAL YEARS #percy jackson #hylian writes fanfic #percy jackson fanfiction #pjo fic #there's a couple i expanded on a bit that might get their own posts. they're a little long to go here.

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hansoulo · 4 years ago

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i feel like we as a society don’t talk nearly enough about how din literally went and took a nap with boots on?? in full armor?? like????

#shoes!!! on the bed!!!!#my asian grandmother would beat his ass #i mean maybe he took off some of the armor before he fell asleep but i doubt it bc when the alarm went off the man was Suited n Booted #he's literally sleeping on a slab of metal #whilst wearing a significant amount of metal #like what on earth 😭😭#im really hoping he was only doing that bc it was a nap and like #when he actually goes to bed he wears pajamas or smth fkjgjfgjkfg #but i doubt it lmao #hot take: din wears footie pajamas #and gets yodito matching ones #with little baby mythosaurs on them lol #lari speaks

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forbidding-souda · 3 years ago

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May I request some headcanons of Kazuichi, Miu, Chihiro & Kiibo with a s/o who is a cyborg Pls ? ^^ - 🐺

Kazuichi Souda, Miu Iruma, Chihiro Fujisaki and Kiibo with a S/O who's a cyborg

chocolate cake asmr

i'm watching downloading nancy rn and this movie everyone talks as if it is a dub but it's like no that's their actual voices "a haunting fact-based drama about an emotionally damaged woman who leaves her 15-year marriage and connects with a deeply disturbed man online." oh you mean me? WAIT I MADE THAT JOKE BC IT JUST GENERALLY SOUNDS LIKE SOMETHING I'D DO BUT I DID EXIT A LONG TERM RELATIONSHIP AND THEN GO TO AN ONLINE ONE LMAOO

oh my god this movie is crazy LMAOOSNO mE AND ASA EMORY BAHABHA this movie is fcucking ballisitci

-Mod Souda

Kazuichi Souda

❤ "Do you have an engine?" He asks for the third time, forgetting he's ever asked the question before.

❤ "I do not have an engine, babe."

❤ He likes to probe your body, wondering what parts are similar to those of cars, wondering if he can understand any of your programming or your mechanics. The slabs of metal that cover your body make it hard for him to see your innards, and it's not as if he's going to peel you apart, so he's content with poking and probing until the end of time.

❤ He loves holding your hand. When he first grabs it, the metal is cold, but it warms with his heat.

❤ He likes the flesh of your face. The small parts that resemble humanity. He can hold it, feel the goosebumps on your skin, your pores and your sweat. Kiss your soft lips.

❤ You have this terrible habit of spoiling movies for him. The two of you will watch a movie, and you've already looked it up and read the reviews in your minds eyes.

❤ He'll see birds on the street, talk about how cute they are, and you've already researched the species. There's no wonder when he's with you, which isn't inherently a bad thing.

Miu Iruma

❤ She forces you to dance with her all the time. Whether it's in private, or with her classmates, once there is music on then it's the start of the world.

❤ You didn't really understand how to dance. Not at first. But the amount of times she's grabbed your hands and forced you into swaying as deemed you a quick learner.

❤ When she sleeps on top of you, you turn on your body heater. And then you get all warm and cozy for her. You wonder if she realizes you're even doing it.

❤ She constantly asks about your sexual 'organs' and if you have any. She offers to make you some.

❤ Sometimes, when you're sleeping, you'll wake up to find she has messed with your programming. You can almost never figure out what she has done, but it's definitely something. You doubt she'd go messing around without a cause.

❤ Maybe that's why you've gotten better at dancing?

Chihiro Fujisaki

❤ He loves connecting you to his computer and looking at all your internal wiring. He will sit there for hours, sitting on your lap while he reads through the codes.

❤ Does he try to change anything? Not at all.

❤ And it takes such a level of trust for you to even allow him to poke through you. But he's so kind, so genuine and so sincere that you doubt he would even harm you on accident.

❤ You pick him up and carry him almost every day. Whether it's to the bathroom or to a nearby park, you always make sure he's moving around.

❤ "Come on, I'm gonna rust." You always say.

❤ Sometimes while you're powered off, he will curl up next to you with his computer and just sit there. He likes your presence - though sometimes it's a bit uncanny. You just... motionless and off. Kinda scary.

❤ He can't wear a lot of certain jewelry because parts of you are literally magnetic. Sometimes you'll even stick to the top of his laptop.

Kiibo

❤ He is jealous of your strength. Why do you get to be all powerful while he doesn't? It's embarrassing for him - watching you carry around all of his classmates.

❤ You hold more slabs of metal than his body would even be able to handle. Though, your face is squishy in a way his isn't, and he likes to poke you and tease you because of this.

❤ He also does not like sleeping next to you. Something about the way your body clash together, often sticking in a magnetic way, the way it pinches and groans.

❤ Though, holding hands feel powerful. You both share the same beam rod, and pressing them together it like asking for disaster. He likes the thrill.

❤ He wonders if the two of you will ever ignite each other. Sometimes, when you fuck with him him, you'll press the button on his back to spread his wings before running away. He can't even chase you - his wing span is longer than the doorway.

#kazuichi souda x reader #kazuichi soda x reader #danganronpa kazuichi #kazuichi soda #miu iruma x reader #miu iruma #danganronpa chihiro x reader #chihiro fujisaki x reader #danganronpa chihiro #fujisaki chihiro #chihiro fujisaki #kiibo x reader #kiibo #dr kiibo

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downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles · 3 years ago

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Donnie's Bad Day (It All Goes Wrong And Everything Is Terrible):

sfw yep 💫 word count: 1.9k. Summary: Donnie has a bad day.

It was four o'clock in the afternoon, way past when Donnie should have been going to sleep. But one of his computers was giving him issues, probably about to go kaput at one of the most unideal moments. He tapped away at his keyboard and squinted his eyes, and his glasses slid down his beak as he glanced at the mess of cables by his feet. He really should have detangled them sooner. They were a total mess.

Grumbling, he pushed his frames back up to his eyes. There was a twinge of agitation in the way he resumed his work, having to undo previous mods and redo other things to the point where he considered just trashing the scrap and building a whole new computer.

He tossed an empty can of cola behind himself, barely missed the trash can. It bounced off the rim and the following clang against the metal prompted an irritated sigh from him, so he paused his work to rub his temples. Damn the literal trash-tech.

Peppy footsteps came up to the entrance to his lab, undoubtedly his youngest brother judging by the short strides. He suppressed a groan and before he could even hear the incoming question that would invariably come, and said plainly, "Busy here."

"I was just wondering if—" started Mikey from the doorway.

"Busy," he reiterated without sparing his brother a glance. He wouldn't draw attention to the minor roll of his eye at Mikey's presence. What was he doing up, anyway? Donnie swore to the fact that he could never be alone, not with his home being a completely open plan with no doors. After a quick back-and-forth with Mikey (because it didn't matter if Donnie said he was busy or not), he finally left with his answer, satisfied, and he could get back to work.

Turning back to his monitor, he normally would have the drive to finish the last of what needed to be done for the sake of getting it done at once, but tonight was just not doing it for him. The interruptions, his loose glasses which needed to be tightened, the always breaking of his stuff and the perpetual struggle to find new parts. He sighed and wrapped up for the night.

Before his slab of a mattress he tugged off his suspenders and ditched his glasses to the small desk next to him. It was too firm, too hard on his joints, shell; there was no give, and he lay up for two hours straight tossing and turning trying to sleep. He was tired, but so much needed to be done! And the bed was driving him nuts.

This was the sixth time he'd switched shoulders when the mattress squeaked under his weight below him again. He paused and narrowed his tired eyes. All night he'd been hearing that same annoying creak. And just nearby, Raph was snoring like a freight train, too. He looked over at his phone on the desk with temptation. It would have been so easy to scroll for exorbitant amounts of time. But the blue light's just going to keep me up even more! Do the smart thing, Donnie. Just go...to sleep.

He reached over and grabbed the phone.

If that mattress creaked one more time—

A few minutes can't hurt.

"Come on, that was a foul!" he whispered to himself a half-hour later, somehow having fallen into a black hole of sports clips on YouTube. He was a basketball fan when it came to sports, thinking to himself bittersweetly that he would be amazing on a team. He didn't have to be six and a half feet tall for nothing. But no, that too was spoiled because of his green scales and the shell on his back, so after judging he'd be way better at slam-dunking than all of those men, he looked at the clock. Four hours till moon-up!

"You're kidding," he snorted quietly, rolling over onto his shell. He even had to prop pillows behind him at an angle so that wouldn't be too uncomfortable.

Suddenly, he was out like a light. Sleeping like the dead. And the kicker was that he wouldn't wake up feeling rested, not even after passing out as hard as he had.

Oh, waking up was going to be terrible.

Just as predicted, waking up in the morning was awful. Donnie was roused by racket in the kitchen conjured by the combined efforts of his three brothers, the breakfast rush of every morning. All three scrounged for whatever they had, which was already limited, and then there was the bickering over who gets what, mostly between Raphael and Mikey. Donnie himself wasn't much of a breakfast person, but coffee in the morning always did him good. And that, so far, was all he had going for him.

Blearily cracking open his eyes, he was stuck there for a moment in exhaustion, only taking the energy to stretch out in undirected irritation. He'd felt an underlying tone of exasperation over the last twenty four hours, all the small things adding up to amount to his current mood. Donnie was nowhere near as explosive as Raph, but his own anger tended to crawl under his skin in an incessant way. He figured that it would be easier to let out his anger in spontaneous bursts like his fiery brother, but that wasn't how Donnie functioned, and so it was persistent in the background as he went through his morning ritual. Get dressed, make coffee if they had any, get ready to head out for patrol.

He slowly shuffled into the kitchen. He knew they would have no mercy on him for his "morning mood" as usual, Mikey instantly turning around to comment on how tired Donnie looked. Here we go.

"Bro, did you sleep at all last night?" he chuckled. Donnie shook his head and made a beeline for his coffee station. "You look dead, like actually a zombie," Mikey added.

"Don't provoke him right now," said Leo dismissively, knowing Donnie's moods well. As usual, he'd already made his tea for the morning before everyone else was even up, and he took a shallow drink.

Donnie stopped at the counter. He scanned the mess along its length. They had no coffee.

For a few seconds he stood there staring at where the grounds would normally be in sour disappointment, his hairless brows stitching. Of course they would be out. It was just his luck. Who had drank it? Who? They all knew that it unofficially had Donnie's name on it with Splinter's in subscript because Donnie had been the one to go through the trouble of finding the stuff. He huffed and sped out of the kitchen, deciding that his appetite was shot. I wonder what else is going to go wrong today.

It was only a little later on their scavenge night (accompanied with the feeling that he was forgetting something) that his day had really taken a nosedive.

Rooting around in whatever tech waste he could find, he sifted through a pike of computer parts, but none of it was what he needed. Donnie called out to his brothers, "See anything I can use?"

"Nada," Mikey replied. He kicked a metal plate down the slope he stood on, which scraped an ugly sound out to grate on Donnie's nerves.

Raph wasn't even searching, but he still responded from the top of a heap, "It's a nope."

"What are we looking for?" questioned Leo in confusion, inspecting two completely irrelevant items to his brother's cause. Out of the four of them, he was the worst with technology and anything having to do with it.

Throwing up his hands, Donnie sighed and stood up. "Useless," he muttered, dejected, and tapped a piece of scrap with his boot in lieu of kicking it across the yard. Not quite explosive enough, indeed.

His eyes darted up to Raph when heard him say, "Go ahead, wallop it," and motion towards the thing he'd barely touched.

Donnie looked down at it. Physical vents of anger weren't standard of Donnie's practice, but the longer he looked at it, the more tempting it was. "Not like anyone's using it. Let's see what you got."

"Alright, I'll bite," Donnie agreed, lining up a good shot. And thanks to his steel toe boots, he'd be hard pressed to somehow hurt himself. "We'll see, then," he said, gauging his distance. Shooting straight for the other end of the yard. Raph and Mikey parted out of the way and he was offended momentarily that they thought he'd miss that horribly. And one hard swing next, the piece of scrap did go flying—slightly off target and right into a junk car. A beam of light shone from the entrance and all four instantly scrammed, peeling out through heaps of rubbish practically empty handed. Whoever had come to investigate the clamor found nothing but their dust, but that didn't stop the sharp flick to Donnie's temple by Raph, jostling his glasses loose once again.

"Really, Don?" he groused. "Great, now we have to haul ass to another spot and hope we find something good."

"Let's not do that next time," rebuked Leo. He expected it from Mikey, but his genius brother should have been more sensible. Like him. "Come on, only so much time left."

Deadpanned, Donnie pursed his lips, glasses crooked on his face, and exhaled deeply through his nose.

Of course he was getting hungry.

The family gathered at their kitchen bar and started to divide the pizza they'd managed to get (somehow without issue, Donnie snorted) amongst themselves. Splinter was actually there, meaning no free-for-all-ing for slices, Donnie settling with two before getting himself comfortable to finally eat. It turned out that skipping breakfast and then going to the surface had done him no favors, unsurprisingly, so he started to tuck in. Their diet being severely unvaried was one of his silent gripes, but no matter how greasy, a good slice had his mouth watering for the first time since the day before. A decent meal after a long series of unfortunate events. He felt he could at least try to fix the grouch he'd worked up over the last twenty four hours.

Everyone definitely knew about Donnie's grumpiness ever since the coffee incident in the morning, and since moodiness wasn't exactly part of Donnie's brand, they were all curious to a mild degree. What had their usually fine brother all wound up?

One bite into his pizza and already, Mikey was testing the waters and was piping up about their trip out. Not only was his miss with his frustration-induced, possibly immature decision at the junkyard a little embarrassing, but also an inconvenience; he wasn't too fond of bringing that up.

"Donnie, he was mad and kicked this piece of metal right into some car and some guy came out with a flashlight, so we had to dip! And…"

"Do we have to do this now, Mikey?" Donnie spat.

He couldn't even eat in peace!

Beyond tired of his luck, when they all closed out dinner and were dispersing through the lair to do their own things, Donnie found Leo in his reading nook near his bed reading a book that he didn't recognize. Must have found it while we were out. Perceptive as Leo was, nothing much missed him, though Donnie wasn't at his peak of subtlety. Leo inquired knowingly as Donnie padded by, not looking up from his book, "Bad day?"

"You have no idea."

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #tmnt donatello #tmnt donnie #tmnt leo #tmnt mikey #tmnt raph #raphael #donatello #michelangelo #leonardo

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asweetprologue · 4 years ago

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but they will know our bones as lovers

@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo

Prompt: Sensory deprivation Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier Rating: T Content Warnings: Major Character Death(s) Summary: Geralt and Jaskier get trapped in a cave. They don’t make it out. ao3

It was dark.

Jaskier opened his eyes, or he thought he did. He had to raise a hand to his face to check, running his fingers lightly over his fluttering eyelashes. He could see nothing, not even his own hand before his face. Slowly he moved to sit up, to investigate his surroundings further, but as soon as he turned his head he was met with a stabbing pain lancing through his temple. A soft groan escaped his lips as he winced.

There was a shuffling noise to his right, and his heart accelerated at the sound. He didn’t know where he was or why he couldn’t see, wasn’t sure what might be in here with him. If it was unfriendly he would be in trouble. The thing nearby moved again, a strange scraping sound echoing around the space like metal on rock. A moment later there was a grunt, familiar enough to make Jaskier’s chest release on a relieved exhale.

Geralt shuffled around some more, and Jaskier felt a hand grasp his shoulder. “Well hello there,” he said, or tried to say. The words were caught on a cough halfway through, the dust coating his throat making him choke.

“Jaskier,” Geralt’s voice came gruffly from the darkness. His hand moved from Jaskier’s arm to his chest, moving efficiently around. Checking for injuries. “Are you hurt?”

“Just my head, I think,” Jaskier wheezed, swallowing a few times to clear his throat. Slowly and with Geralt’s help, he levered himself into a sitting position, hissing at the way it made his head spin. After a second a waterskin was pressed against his lips, and he drank greedily.

“It doesn’t look like it broke skin,” Geralt hummed, his fingers probing the sore spot on Jaskier’s scalp. “Are you nauseated or disoriented?”

“Wait, you can see? Damn those witcher senses,” he pouted. Geralt gave him an exceedingly gentle shake. “No, no, I’m alright. A bit dizzy, but it’s settling. What about you? What the devil happened?”

“You followed me into the bloody arachas cave, that’s what happened,” Geralt grunted. He did not sound pleased. “One got close to you and I had to cast aard to blast it away. Caused a cave in.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said. “Well drat.”

“Drat,” Geralt echoed, sounding exhausted. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

“So, what now?” Jaskier asked, ignoring the waves of exasperation he could sense wafting off of Geralt. Somehow the man managed to convey a glower in total darkness. “Are we going to have to dig our way out?”

“I don’t know if we… can,” Geralt said, slowly. There was a shuffling sound, and he moved away from Jaskier. “There’s a huge slab blocking the way we came in. Even if I could lift it, it’s holding up more of the ceiling. And there’s nowhere to move it.”

Jaskier felt a slow crawl of something like panic begin to creep up the back of his neck. “Can’t you just blast it with aard again?”

Geralt didn’t say anything immediately, which meant he was rolling his eyes. “Likely to bring the rest of the cave down on top of us.”

“So what, we’re trapped?” Jaskier asked, flinging his hands up. Geralt’s silence blanketed the thin echo of the words in the small space, damning. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah. Shit,” Geralt said grimly.

Geralt spent the next hour or two pacing around the tiny space, supposedly looking for ways to tunnel them out. The cave they were stuck in had been home to a small colony of arachas, most of which had thankfully been crushed beneath the falling stones. Jaskier hadn’t gotten a good look at the place before he’d been hit on the head by debris, and now he couldn’t exactly explore the area.

Geralt had helped him over to one of the rock walls of their makeshift cave, and Jaskier sat propped against it staring out into blackness as he listened to Geralt move about. It was hard to tell how much time was passing. He tried to calculate in his head how much air they might have, how much time it would take for them to consume the oxygen left in the space. They weren’t all too deep underground, but Jaskier had walked down the tunnel long enough to know that they were deep enough that an exterior source of air was unlikely. He’d had a torch when he came in, but Geralt refused to let him light it again, stating that it would consume the oxygen even faster. Jaskier had to conceded to his point. Based on the sound of Geralt moving around, the cave couldn’t be much bigger than a typical room at an inn. Jaskier didn’t know how much oxygen two full grown men used per hour, but he guessed it was quite a bit. He wanted to give them a day, maybe two at most, before they started to run low. Surely enough time for Geralt to dig them out.

He had this thought just as there was a curse to his right and a sudden groan in the walls around them. “What is that?” Jaskier asked, nervously scooting away from the side of the cave. His head swam at the sharp movement, but he didn’t want to risk getting hit by even more falling rock.

Geralt’s heavy breathing filled the space for a moment, and based on the lack of any other noise Jaskier had to assume he was standing still, waiting. The creaking groan in the wall shuddered to a stop, and Geralt let out a relieved noise.

“I don’t think I can risk moving any of the stone,” he grunted, his voice coming closer to Jaskier. “The walls aren’t stable. I’m just as likely to crush us as I am to get us out.”

Jaskier wished he could see the witcher’s face. “So we’re stuck here? We’ll die either way if we can’t find a way out eventually. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, witcher, but this is likely a sealed space. As you said yourself, we’re going to run out of air.”

Geralt’s silence spoke volumes. Jaskier felt something cold spread through him, and grit his teeth against the panic. He scrambled to his feet, facing what he assumed was Geralt’s approximate direction.

“You can’t just give up after a few tumbling rocks,” he hissed. “We can’t die in this stupid fucking cave. We have to keep trying.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, and his voice was far too soft, grating against the irritation that Jaskier felt burning in his palms. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I saw it on you and I just- I just reacted-”

“You’re sorry? We’re in this mess because you saved my life! If I hadn’t come after you like you always tell me fucking not to, none of this would have happened.” Maybe it was a blessing, in a way, that he couldn’t see Geralt’s face. Jaskier wasn’t sure he could handle it at this moment. “I’m the reason we’re here. If we die down here that’s… that’s my-”

Firm hands reached out to take his, pulling them from where they’d been gripping his hair. He hadn’t even noticed. “No, Jask,” Geralt said, his tone as unyielding as stone. “This isn’t your fault. I should have been paying more attention.”

“Agree to disagree,” Jaskier said hotly. “Fuck. We have a day or two before we run out of air, probably. Do you think the villagers will realize we’ve not come back?”

Geralt was quiet for a moment, his thumb smoothing over Jaskier’s knuckles. The contact burned. “Maybe,” he said, and Jaskier decided to believe that they would. Nevermind that they wouldn’t blink an eye at a witcher not returning from a job. Nevermind that the villagers probably didn’t even know exactly where they were. Nevermind the fact that any attempt to rescue them would surely get them killed.

All they could do was wait.

Waiting to die (to be rescued, Jaskier reminded himself) was boring.

He’d left his lute back at the camp with Roach. Ah, Roach, he hoped someone would find her and take care of her. She didn’t deserve to get left behind like this. His fingers itched to fill their little space with music; he imagined the acoustics would be phenomenal. It would have been poetic, he thought, to die with his instrument in hand, but instead he was left to wrap his arms around his knees and try to distract himself from the inevitable (rescue, remember? Rescue).

“Do you remember that time we went to Novigrad and stayed in that absolutely abysmal inn, what was it called, something about cats? And they wouldn’t let me play, so you were playing gwent to try and make us some cash, and that one redhead you were playing against was cheating so badly- It was so obvious! I mean I’m not a card cheat, but at least I know better than hiding them literally up my sleeves.”

“Seven Cats Inn,” Geralt said from his seated position on Jaskier’s right. He may have been meditating, but Jaskier couldn’t be sure. “Didn’t you light his hat on fire?”

Jaskier laughed, tipping his head back to rest against the wall behind him. His head throbbed still, but after several hours of sitting fairly still he was starting to feel more evened out. “That was unrelated to the cheating. He said something rude about you, I think. I was providing a public service, regardless.”

“You stood behind him and told me his cards.”

“Turnabout’s fair play,” Jaskier said airily.

“You cheat at cards all the time.”

“Only against you,” Jaskier grinned, turning to look at Geralt and forgetting he would see only darkness. What a letdown.

Geralt huffed out an amused breath. Jaskier sighed, turning back to look into the yawning darkness around him. “Wish I could see,” he groused. “I wish I had my damn lute.”

“The one positive to our situation.”

Jaskier rounded on him, throwing out a wild punch that smacked right into Geralt’s armored shoulder. The studs left his fingers smarting, but he wasn’t about to admit to that. “You take that back, you uncultured swineherder. You would only be so lucky to have my dulcet tones lulling you into that great sleep.”

Geralt was quiet, and Jaskier realized his misstep. They still weren’t admitting to it yet. Geralt seemed to decide to pass the comment over, keeping his tone light. “I’d beg you to put me out of my misery,” he said, and Jaskier let out a relieved breath at the easy banter.

“I’d strangle you with my lute strings if I had them,” he tossed back, and Geralt laughed. The sound of it echoed in the empty black around them.

Jaskier slept fitfully, still recovering from his concussion. He didn’t want to. It made him unsure of how much time had passed, even more than before. The hours crawled by, separated by a smattering of chatter between them and Jaskier’s occasional singing, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open with any consistency. He feared at first that he’d been wrong and they were already running out of oxygen, but his head was still cobwebby and throbbing. It was almost hard to tell when he was asleep and when he was awake, with the ever present darkness, except that he was stiffer when he woke up.

He blinked awake from one of his accidental naps, groaning as he stretched out his aching limbs. “Long was I out?” he asked, bleary.

Geralt shifted near him, closer than Jaskier would have expected. Practically on top of him. “Hmm,” he heard. “Maybe a few hours.”

“How long do you think we’ve been down here?” Jaskier asked. He had no earthly idea. It felt like years.

Geralt made a thoughtful sound. “Maybe a day,” he allowed, hesitantly. “You’ve slept through most of it.”

Jaskier felt like crying at that. The idea that someone would find them in time suddenly seemed naïve. He was wasting time sleeping, when they only had a handful of hours left. Suddenly not knowing what else to do, he reached out until his fingers found the resistance of Geralt’s clothed arm. He felt his way down until his hand found Geralt’s, ungloved and warm on the witcher’s thigh. Twisting his fingers into the Geralt’s, Jaskier took a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry,” he said, and he wasn’t entirely sure what part of all of it he was apologizing for.

Geralt just squeezed his fingers back, and he didn’t let go.

Jaskier didn’t fall asleep again, wouldn’t let himself. No one was coming for them. There was no way they had more than a few hours left of air, and he refused to waste a single second that he had left. He curled into Geralt’s side, as close as he could be without sitting in his lap, and felt something in him unclench when he felt Geralt’s head tip to rest against his.

“I’m going to die first, aren’t I,” he said, barely asking.

Geralt was quiet for a long moment. “...Probably. My body doesn’t need as much oxygen. I can slip into meditation and use up even less.” A pause, his breath even and warm between them. “I’m sorry.”

Jaskier hummed. “Don’t be. I’m sorry I’ll be leaving you alone.”

Geralt inhaled sharply, and when he exhaled the sound of it stuttered through the cavern. Jaskier squeezed his fingers tightly, their palms warm where they’d been pressed together now for minutes or hours or days. “I’m sorry I fucking killed us both,” Geralt bit out.

“Oh, none of that,” Jaskier admonished, soothing a thumb over the back of Geralt’s knuckles, as Geralt had done earlier that day. Or yesterday. Whenever it had been. “I’m the one that followed you in here. You were trying to protect me. I’m sorry I got us into this mess. I only wish you weren’t stuck in here with me.”

Geralt was silent for so long that Jaskier wasn’t sure he was going to reply at all. He had almost let go of the conversation thread when Geralt said, “I’m glad.”

“Hmm? What’s that?” Jaskier said, confused.

“I’m glad I’m here with you. I’m not glad that we’re doing to fucking die, but I’m glad you aren’t… alone.”

Jaskier was suddenly, pathetically grateful for Geralt’s warm, comforting presence at his side. He imagined what it would have been like, by himself, alone and struggling for breath in the dark. It was not a pleasant idea. He would give anything, pay any price, to have Geralt escape here alive, but he was glad he wasn’t alone. “Thank you,” he said, squeezing Geralt’s hand again tightly. Geralt squeezed back just as hard, their palms molding into each other. At least, Jaskier thought wildly, at least when they died they would still be together. Holding each other for eternity.

“Can I ask you for something?” he asked after a while, hesitantly. Geralt hummed his assent, and Jaskier swallowed. “Would you mind if we lied down? I won’t fall asleep, I promise, I just… I just want…”

He could feel Geralt shift towards him, and Jaskier took a moment to imagine those golden eyes shining at him. It was absurd, how much he missed them. “What, Jaskier?” Geralt asked, not demanding. Just asking.

It was stupid to ask. Might make their last moments together - and that’s what these were, their last moments - awkward and stilted. But Jaskier wanted, burned deep in his core. He felt like he would shatter apart if he didn’t at least ask. “Would you mind if I- That is, would you, could you just… hold me? Just for a while?”

Geralt was silent, and Jaskier’s heart slowly crept up into his throat, pounding against the bruise on his skull. “Nevermind,” he said quickly, trying to pull his hand away from Geralt’s. “Sorry, that was overstepping, I don’t want to make you, ah, uncomfortable, I’m sorry.” His eyes burned with unshed tears, and he hoped Geralt couldn’t smell his distress. Bastard could probably see his flushed face anyways. Fuck witchers, he thought vehemently.

Fingers tightened on his own, preventing his escape. He jerked his head up, but the silence emanating from Geralt’s space betrayed nothing. Finally he heard the witcher clear his throat. “I’d… I’d like that,” Geralt rasped, and Jaskier deflated.

“Oh,” he said, “oh, well, good. Yeah. Should we just…?”

In answer Geralt shuffled a bit, pulling away from Jaskier for a moment. His hand felt shockingly cold without Geralt’s palm nestled next to his own. He was confused until he heard the distinct sound of leather clasps coming undone, so familiar to him he knew he could undo them himself even in these conditions. A second later he heard armor hitting the ground, the dull thunk of the leather and the clatter of steel as Geralt shed his outerwear. When the last of it was pushed away, his warm presence returned to Jaskier’s side and urged him down onto the cool stone ground.

It was wildly uncomfortable. The floor was uneven and unforgiving, and Jaskier could feel tiny stones and bits of rubble digging into his shoulders and hips as he lay down. His head throbbed at the movement, making his stomach swoop uncomfortably. They’d had a few pieces of jerky that Geralt had brought with him as a backup on the hunt, but nothing else for food in the last day or so. However long they’d been down here. He felt faint and sore and thirsty, but as Geralt’s arms folded around him Jaskier couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so comforted. He didn’t want to be here - didn’t want either of them to be here, at all - but at least Geralt was here, breath spreading warm over the top of his head. At least they were together.

Everything was growing so heavy. His mind was foggy, swimming dizzily from one thought to the next.

He was going to die. How long had it been? It didn’t feel hard to breathe yet, but they must be getting close. Suddenly he was seized by fear, all consuming panic clawing up into his throat and driving away some of the haze. Geralt’s hand tightened against his hip. Probably able to smell his distress. “Jaskier, what -”

He reached out to weakly fist his hand in Geralt’s shirt, suddenly desperate. “I can’t see,” he said, panting between the words.

“I know,” Geralt said, his tone even and soothing, “there’s not enough light in here for you. It’s alright.” He sounded worried, like he thought maybe Jaskier was too far gone to remember where they were.

“No, no,” Jaskier said, feeling too dizzy to really explain. He sat up and started pulling off his doublet, fingers fumbling across the buttons as his head swam sickeningly. Geralt sat up as well, by the sound of it, and more deft fingers took over the process for him. Jaskier wrestled his way out of the garment and pressed it to Geralt’s chest, fumbling. “Burn it, burn it now.”

“You want me to burn your doublet?” Geralt asked, sounding shocked and more than a little concerned.

“I need to see,” Jaskier said. He reached out to grasp Geralt’s shoulder in the darkness, leaning heavily on him.

“I can’t,” Geralt said, a tad impatiently. “It’ll eat up whatever's left of the oxygen in here. Absolutely not.”

Jaskier pushed forward, bending to rest his head on Geralt's shoulder. Fuck he was tired. “I need- Fuck, I can’t, I just need to see you one more time. Please.” He sounded pathetic, but the idea of never seeing Geralt’s face again was so wretched he could barely stomach it. A quicker inevitable death was worth seeing him one last time. “Please, I just want to see you.”

Geralt was still in his arms, still clutching the fabric of Jaskier’s doublet close. “You’ll die,” he choked out, the words brushing over Jaskier’s hair. “You’ll die faster. I can’t- I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Jaskier couldn’t help but let a soft sob escape him. The doublet fell between them as Geralt’s arms came up around him, holding him close. A warm palm pressed against the back of his head. “I’m sorry,” Jaskier sobbed, dizzy and heartbroken. Suddenly he laughed a little, though the sound was wet and pained. “This is such shit.”

“It really is,” Geralt agreed, sounding strained himself.

They sat like that for some time, Jaskier leaning his forehead against the line of Geralt’s throat, just letting the feeling of warm palms brushing over his back wash over him. He wished he’d asked for this sooner. Maybe Geralt was only giving it to him because he was literally dying, but maybe it had been this easy all along. Maybe Geralt would have gathered him up at any time, if he’d only asked, and held him close like this. Like he mattered, like Geralt wanted to be here just as much as he did. It made him feel brave for once in his life, too late.

So he said, “You should know.” The world was soupy around him, but he could feel the warm press of Geralt’s body against his as clear as anything. There was a curious hum above him, that Jaskier could feel in Geralt’s throat where his nose was tucked against his Adam’s apple. “You might not want to hear it. I don’t know. You probably won’t, but you should know.”

Geralt’s fingers were still petting through his hair, right at the base of his neck. Jaskier wished that he could see him. He closed his eyes, picturing Geralt’s face as clearly as he could. “What should I know?” Geralt asked.

“You should know that I love you,” Jaskier said, pressing the words to Geralt’s skin in the hopes that there, at least, they might find a warm reception. “I’ve loved you for my entire adult life, as thoroughly as I have known how, as completely as anything I have ever done. Loving you has been my life’s greatest accomplishment. When they sing the songs after I’m gone, I hope that’s how they remember me.” He smiled softly against the line of Geralt’s throat. “As the man who loved you.”

For a long moment Geralt was still around him, a statue chiseled from soft cotton and cool skin. Then suddenly the arms around him were tightening and Geralt was leaning down to press his own face into Jaskier’s shoulder as he took great, shuddering breaths. Jaskier ran a soothing if uncoordinated hand along his back where he could reach. “Fuck,” Geralt said. Jaskier was about to make an offended noise, but then Geralt was pulling them both back, just a bit. Just enough space between them to find Jaskier’s face, cupping his jaw with both hands. Geralt’s lips brushed against his own, a desperately soft press. Jaskier pushed back into it eagerly, wanting to show Geralt that he meant it.

Geralt pulled back and pressed their foreheads together, his nose resting against Jaskier’s. His breathing was labored. “Don’t go,” he said, just a whisper between them.

Jaskier could feel tears on his cheeks, and he wished so much to be able to see Geralt’s face. “Oh dear heart. I would never leave you if I had the choice to stay. After all this, you must know that.”

Geralt gathered him close again, pressing them together everywhere he could. “I don’t want- I can’t- I can’t watch you, fuck, Jask-” His voice was thick and wet, and Jaskier felt warmth flood him alongside a bone deep grief.

“I’m afraid I did get the better end of the bargain,” Jaskier murmured. Geralt made a wounded sound and pressed forward to kiss him again, and again, an unheated and yet urgent clash of mouths. They wouldn’t get anymore chances, Jaskier realized. Their first few kisses would be their last. It belonged in a ballad, really. He hoped someone would write it for them, after.

“Fuck, I wish I could see you,” he gasped, winded partly from the kiss and partly from the lack of air in the room. “I always wanted your face to be the last thing I ever saw. This isn’t fair.”

“I love you,” Geralt grit out, sounding like it cost him but he was still relieved to have it out. Like pulling a knife from a wound. “Fuck,” he said, pressing his nose under Jaskier’s jaw, and then, “Please,” so soft that Jaskier felt it wasn’t even really for him. Just a cry for help from an uncaring universe. “Fuck, I love you. I thought you knew.”

Jaskier laughed breathlessly, a pained sound. “You didn’t exactly act like a man besotted.”

“I tried not to,” Geralt said, pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s throat. “Didn’t think you’d want me. But I was. Besotted.”

“Tell me about it?” Jaskier asked. He wouldn’t have normally, but if this was his only chance he would take whatever Geralt was willing to give.

Geralt swallowed. “For years. First I just wanted to bed you. You were so bright, and cocky, and I just wanted to- I just wanted you. But you stuck around, you kept choosing to be on the Path with me, even when you were getting six letters a week asking for you to play in all those fancy noble houses. Nothing I ever did was enough to drive you away. No one- no one has ever-” He cut himself off, shaking his head. His palms were still warm where they were pressed to Jaskier’s jaw. “I don’t even know how to explain it. I used to steal your shirts before winter, just so I could have the smell of you with me at the keep. I wanted to ask you to come with me, but I was afraid you would say no. Was afraid I’d lose you if I asked for too much. But I always wanted.”

“And here I thought you just didn’t like my music,” Jaskier said weakly.

“I hated it at first,” Geralt said. “I’m not all those things you say I am.”

“You are,” Jaskier said, petting a hand across the back of his head. Silky strand of snow white hair that he wished he could see. “I always believed in those songs. In you.”

“I know,” Geralt muttered. “It fucking terrified me. I’m sorry. I wasted so much time.” He sounded so bitter, so guilty. And Jaskier couldn’t stand it, couldn’t die with Geralt thinking that any of their time together was a waste.

“I cherished every moment of it,” he said, as firmly as he could. He was fading fast, he could tell. His thoughts were coming less rapidly, sluggish to form. “You… Even when you were being a prick. Loved you all the time. I loved you- love you. It was all worth it.”

“You’re here because of me,” Geralt said, mournfully. “This is my fault.”

“Nothing you could have done,” Jaskier said. He could feel his eyes slipping closed against his will. “Would have followed you… Always.”

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s voice was panicked. “Stay awake.”

“Sorry,” he said, forcing his eyes open. “Sorry. I’m dizzy.”

“It’s alright.” He’d never heard Geralt’s voice so soft, or so full of agony. It made him want to wake up, some kind of fight or flight instinct attempting to kick in. He wanted Geralt to stop hurting. But he was so tired, and his limbs felt like lead. Suddenly they were lying down, and he blinked owlishly into the darkness. Geralt was all around him, one hand still on his face while his other wrapped around Jaskier’s waist to hold him close. They’d never been so close before.

“Kiss me,” he whispered, and a moment later Geralt’s lips found his, just the barest brush. The most honest goodbye he could have asked for.

They pulled apart. “You should sleep too,” Jaskier said, already feeling it dragging him down. “We can… sleep together. It’ll be okay.”

Geralt took a measured breath, a slow inhale and meticulous exhale, almost like meditation. Too wobbly for that though, too watery. Jaskier pressed himself as close as he could, until their heartbeats were lined up perfectly. “Okay,” Geralt agreed. “Okay.”

His arms tightened, and Jaskier lay his head down on Geralt’s chest, and together, they fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

#geraskier #sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #witcher #the witcher #witcher fic #fanfiction #writing #my work #s&s #angst #tw mcd #major character death #mcd #i'm very proud of this title it took me a long time to come up with it #also i'm sorry! don't come at me!

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no-droids · 5 years ago

Text

The Sun on Both Sides

Summary: Cassian Andor is your very close companion. He says best friend, you say pain in your ass—neither one of you are entirely wrong. But then one night you smoke some unfamiliar spice with him, and everything you once thought you knew goes sideways.

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Cassian Andor/fem!Reader

Word Count: 11.2K

Warnings: SMUT, sex pollen (therefore DUB-CON by default), recreational drug use, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, dirty talk, oral sex (both male and female receiving), penetrative sex, me just making so much shit up honestly

A/N: All phrases in Festan are taken from other Star Wars conlangs. I don’t even know if that’s the name of the language people from Fest speak tbh. Probably not. None of this is real. Anyways this is Cassian as a young rebel pilot long before the events of Rogue One. This oneshot will likely be deemed obsolete by Cassian’s new Disney+ show but whoooooooops~

—knock knock knock knock knock—

You know that knock. It’s too quick, too rapid and annoying to be anyone else.

“I’m sleeping,” you huff with your mouth full, sitting on top of your mattress in a hoodie and sweatpants, legs crossed.

“I have gifts,” Cassian’s muffled voice asserts from the other side of the door.

“I don’t care,” you return, swallowing and shoveling more slop together with your tiny little biodegradable spork. “S’the middle of the night.”

—knock knock knock knock knock—

“Stop it.”

“Knock knock,” he beckons vocally, as if you didn’t hear it the first ten times. “Come, open the door. Please—I will get into trouble.”

It’s exhausting being Cassian’s friend. Truly exhausting. It doesn’t matter what Maker-forsaken time it is, as soon as he comes back to base from patrols, he’s at your door. You don’t know why he chose you as his sole victim to personally inflict this torture upon, but regardless of reason, he’s called you his close friend ever since you first offered to help the lanky, dark-haired six year old with his Basic and his best friend ever since your junior year of flight training. Apparently with the promotion came the lingering, severe misfortune of his present company, almost always.

“Can I put in for a transfer?” He also technically outranks you.

“Open the door and we will talk,” Cassian bargains. Bantha shit, you and him both know it. He’ll rip the papers in half before you can even finish filling them out.

You let out a dramatic groan just loud enough for him to hear, dragging yourself off the bed and padding over to the door. “If I accept your gift, will you leave?”

“Maybe.” No.

“If I accept your gift and trade it for the rest of this, uh,” you look at the MRE packet in your hands, “rice and shredded tauntaun meat in glockaw sauce, will you leave?”

“Maybe.” No.

“Good call, not as great as it sounds. What if I—”

He says your name impatiently, accented and sharp. You roll your eyes as his knuckles rap on the door once more. “Quickly, quickly—before someone sees.”

“It’s the residential quarters and it’s two in the fucking morning, Cass, nobody’s going t—”

He cuts you off once more. “Open the door and I will submit for your transfer work, yes?”

You throw your spork prong-down into the beige pouch in your hands and pop your hip, narrowing your eyebrows at the thick slab of metal separating the two of you skeptically. “No, you won’t.”

“No, I will not,” the voice behind it concedes immediately. “But for you, I will pretend.”

As soon as you the door slides open and disappears up into the ceiling with a quiet shhhft sound, his dark silhouette quickly slips past you and sneaks into your room, immediately bouncing his bony little butt down on top of your sizable but thin box-spring mattress without a word. You press the button to close the door behind him with a long, drawn out sigh, turning around and resting your back against the wall panel.

Cassian meets your tired, expectant gaze head-on and wide awake, perched on your bed and huddled around something hidden in his thick jacket. “First. You cannot tell anyone. Understand?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “Are we children, Cass?”

“Secondly.” He blinks up at you. Maker, his eyes are so… wide. Dark and warm and bright, framed with thick, long lashes. “If you do not want it, just say. Okay?”

Your expression suddenly narrows. This is new. It’s… still bantha shit, but it’s… new. New bantha shit.

“Because the word ‘no’ holds so much meaning for you,” you tilt your head to gesture at the door to your right, “clearly.”

“Come. Sit here,” he ignores you, patting the space next to him as if that isn’t your own fucking bed he’s inviting you to join him on. “We will look together.”

“I will literally murder you,” you tell him genuinely, though you push off the wall to move toward him all the same. “If that’s not a cute little mini-lothcat in your arms you got me for my birthday, Andor, I will literally murder you.”

“Today is your birthday?” He glances up at you in surprise just as you’re lowering yourself down onto the mattress next to him.

“Two weeks ago, but you were off-base.” You dig around inside the pouch for your handy little spork, not looking at him. “Quit avoiding the subject, my death threat still stands. Where’s my cat, asshole? Who do I have to tolerate in my bed this late at night to push that kind of paperwor—oof—”

The second you catch the hard little end piece of it between your fingers is the second he reaches around you and pulls you into a tight, one-armed hug. You fumble with the packet of food as you’re abruptly jerked forward, trying not to let it get squished it between you.

Stars, he smells good. His parka smells just like him, the fur lining its hood so warm and fluffy and soft as it tickles your nose. It’s still slightly damp from the wet sleet outside, but it smells so good. The smallest undercurrent of clove and spice hidden beneath the sharp, clean scent of fresh snow.

“Happy Year-Over, caraya,” Cassian says next to your ear, quiet and fond. “I know it is late, but I have your gift now.”

“‘Caraya’ better be Festan for ‘here’s your cute little lothcat, birthday girl’,” you warn him, moving to rest your chin on top of his padded shoulder and trying not to sound as breathless or affected by his sweet talking as you feel. He’s never called you that before. Caraya. What does it mean?

It’s… it’s bantha shit, you remind yourself, trying not to close your eyes or lean into his half-embrace. It’s all bantha shit.

“No,” Cassian acknowledges with a small head tilt, pulling his shoulder back but still keeping his long arm wrapped tight around you. “No. Not a… a cat, but…” He slowly opens his other hand between the two of you, finally showing you.

You blink down at the thing in his palm, cradled carefully in thick gloves from the sub-zero temperatures outside. It’s. No, he’s right, it’s not a cat. It’s a… a stick. Reddish-pink, ground up plant matter wrapped in a semi-transparent binding. Rolled up in a nice, even cylinder, a filter secured around one of its ends.

Spice. Hand-rolled. Expensive. Probably swiped off a supply raid, whether by Cassian himself or another rebel fighter he bought it off of. Ludicrous he got his hands on it, much less brought it on base. Here, to your fucking quarters.

“I was wrong,” you eventually say, taking the joint from his open palm and holding it up to examine its strange color in the dim light. “You don’t think we’re children. You think we’re teenagers.”

“I think we are adults,” he corrects, swiping the MRE from your other hand, “with a reason to celebrate.” He releases you and takes his arm back, sitting on your bed and digging two fingers around in your half-finished packet for your spork.

“You’re a bold pilot, Cass,” you tell him, studying the spice. You’ve never seen any strain even similar to this before. “It was one thing to do this during flight training, but now? What happens if we have a piss test tomorrow? Or, well—today, actually?”

“Different kind from before.” He doesn’t sound bothered by the thought, though his mouth is currently full of tauntaun and rice in glockaw sauce. “Only five hours high, not detectable after. Piss tests are expensive, the rebellion has no money.”

“X-wings are expensive, too,” you counter, turning to look at him. “You crash one of ‘em ‘cause you smoked this shit and your ass will be dead before you can even survive.”

“You hurt me.” He uses the utensil to dig around the bottom corners of the packet for more slop, not looking hurt in the least. “Also—you were right. This one is… horrible.”

“Not to mention I have a oh-nine-hundred call.” You both watch each other with matching looks of distaste as he continues to eat your food, clearly neither one of you enjoying it. “You’re giving me barely two hours to come down before I got orange jumpsuits crawling all over me.”

“You did not hear?” Cassian swallows. “Reassigned Dreis during debriefing. I will be leading red squadron tomorrow. Or, today.”

You blink at him. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” he shakes his head exactly once, throwing the spork into the empty packet and flattening it. “No, I would not do that to you.”

“Course not,” you agree diplomatically. “You’d just barge into my room at two in the morning, eat my food, offer me drugs, and then tell me I’ll be taking orders from you tomorrow.”

”Today,” he corrects. “But I could not get our call changed, and for that I am sorry.” He lifts an eyebrow at you, quirking the side of his mouth up and pushing the empty MRE pouch into your hands to throw away. “But only for that. Happy birthday?”

“We’re going to lose this war,” you tell him honestly, sliding off your mattress with a sigh to trash it. “We’re all going to die horribly, and painfully. The Rebellion is fucking doomed. You and I will be but a mere footnote in the Empire’s endless reign of terror, you realize. A footnote. Our names at the very, very bottom of the page, in tiny little six point font, and it’ll link to a one sentence obituary for the both of us. Died horribly and in pain. Did you bring a lighter?”

“Here,” Cassian shifts to one buttcheek and pulls an arc lighter from his back pocket, offering it to you when you come back. “Okay? You will start it then? Birthday girl.”

“You said five hours for one person, right? So that’s two and a half each if we split it,” you reason with a shrug, putting the filter to your lips and talking through the side of your mouth. “Two o’clock right now, nine-hundred call. At least four hours to come down, and thirty minutes to shower if we’re both lucky.”

“We will be fine.” He waves your careful calculations away with his hand as you flick the lighter. “Because we are lucky feetnotes, yes?”

***

You’re not fine.

It’s fucking boiling in here. Maker, you’re on fucking Hoth; why the fuck are you boiling? It’s never even been warm in your quarters before, much less this hot. You feel like you’re sweating buckets through your hoodie, your hair sticking to your neck in thin little curls.

And… and Cassian.

He’s sitting so unbelievably straight on the bed across from you, parka and gloves long abandoned on the floor. His dark eyes flick over to you occasionally, though it looks like he’s trying really hard not to move a single muscle other than that. His hands are clamped tightly between his thighs and he just… holds there. A compact, rigid statue perched upright on the mattress, looking far too still and tense to fit the comfort of his surroundings.

“Are you okay?” You ask him, blinking at how hoarse your voice comes out sounding. Holy fuck, your mouth feels like a desert.

Cassian stares at you, and for some reason, his large, expressive eyes seem even wider now. They’re glassy and a bit red, but also so big and lovely and framed with long, dark lashes.

“This is not.” His accent sounds thicker, words coming out deeper in his throat. It settles down inside you just right and you feel a spark of heat at the base of your spine. He blinks twice. “This is not how it usually feels.”

“Should we stop?” You look down at the half-finished joint in your hand, tilting your head thoughtfully as you consider the drug pulsing through your veins. “It’s… it’s different, but I think it feels good.”

“Yes—I…” He closes his eyes. “Th-that is the problem, I think.”

He shifts a bit on the mattress and bites down on his bottom lip, and you must look so fucking dumb as you stare at him with your jaw slack, watching his lithe body stretch and handle the spice. He’s fucking gorgeous. Stars, you always thought he was gorgeous, but this is something else. He flutters his eyes open to look at you through his lashes, and—

—oh. Oh. You see now. You see what he meant. Warmth pools deep down in your tummy as he looks at you with impossibly dark eyes, slowly drags his glassy gaze down your body. Fuck, you’re getting turned on. You go red and blink softly at him while he stares at you, trying to control your breathing.

“You need to—” your voice jumps, trying to remember the right cadence. How do you speak to him normally? “You can… take—take my pillow, if you want. Lay down. You’re too tall, your eyes are too big. Look like a… like a Kaminoan. Heal any—heal any clones recently?”

Bad joke. Maker, he’s so beautiful. Rich, dark features taking you in, blinking slowly at you and clearly not hearing a single word you said.

You shift your weight and throw him the cushion you’re partially sitting on without waiting for an answer. You both need to calm the fuck down. Hopefully the pillow will help. Even if it’s squished and warm from your butt. “It’s warm ‘cause I was sitting on it, m’sorry. Fuck, it’s warm in here. Do you think it’s warm in here?”

It’s like he still doesn’t hear you. Cassian just takes your flattened pillow in his lap and looks at it for way too long, slowly rubs the fabric on the corner between his fingers and examines it, like if he tries hard enough he’ll be able to see through it.

“Cass,” you eventually call his name in reminder. “Lay down, put that under your head—”

“Do you feel turned on?” He asks quite suddenly, whipping his head to the side to look at you. You almost drop the spice.

“No,” you say immediately, acting on impulse alone and trying to rearrange your face into something… something negative. Something just generally negative, because you can’t even think of a negative emotion specific enough with the way your heart is pounding at the thought of something like this actually happening right now. Holy fuck, you’re sweating. What the fuck is in this shit? “No, of course not.”

“Of course not,” he nods, turning back to look at your pillow. “Me too. Not.” He shakes his head. “Neither. Either?”

“Lay down,” you tell him once more, desperately needing something else to do now, something to distract yourself from the way your lower muscles are starting to cramp up with heat and arousal. “I’ll get us some water. We need water.”

You’re off the bed and setting the smoldering spice on the small metal counter without another word, grabbing two empty cups and beginning to fill them up in the tiny little sink with your back to him.

Stars, he was right. It’s not supposed to feel like this. It feels… it feels like everything is burning inside you, but such a good burn. Like your mind is being seduced by your own body right now instead of the other way around, and the paradoxical sensation is manifesting itself in an unprecedentedly strong urge to jump your best friend’s bones. The urge has always been there, granted, but it’s never been this shameless before. Never arced and pulsed so brilliantly in your veins before, never been steadily fed by such a tempting outside source. Not the drugs—but him. The tangible fuck-me vibes Cassian is radiating towards you right now, staring at your back with those big, gorgeous brown eyes of his, silent and unmoving behind you as he watches you from your bed. He’s never done anything to encourage your desire for him like this before. He’s never wanted anything more than just platonic companionship and playful banter in the midst of war zones from you, and yet you can feel the heat burning from him too, feel it start to intensify your own high.

It’s bantha shit, you have to realize. This whole Maker-forsaken situation—it’s forced; none of it’s real. Cassian is your best friend, and he’s only looking at you like this because spice is chemically altering his hormones right now. You can feel it doing the same to you, just steadily stirring deep in your floor muscles and amplifying your baser desires, but you need to snap yourself the fuck out of it and be the levelheaded one here. Despite the arousal burning hot in your tummy, at least you know your thoughts are still fundamentally sound—in contrast, you have no fucking clue what’s going on in that hard head of his right now. At least one of you needs to buck up, handle your drugs, and be the adult before things get out of hand. If it falls to you, then so be it.

You focus on your breathing and do as much as you can to mentally will the tingling sensation down deep. Taking a second to put a comfortable expression on, you finally turn around and start walking back to him.

When you raise your head and make eye contact with Cassian again though, the look in his eyes almost immediately threatens to undo everything you just decided. Fuck, he looks like he just had an internal pep talk of his own, but in the entirely wrong direction you went. He’s a bit more relaxed now, same as you, but his gaze is now searing hot on your body, tangible enough to stop you dead in your tracks in front of him. It burns through you, and you literally feel the sweat drip down your back as a shiver rolls down your spine.

No. Hold strong. Maker, irresponsibility has always been appealing but never so fucking seductive as this is, has it? Taking such a gorgeous fucking form. You take a few more steps forward, quickly trying to gather composure.

“Should we stop?” You ask him once more and stars, you were aiming for calmer and gentler and with more lung support—not this breathless scrape of a sound that feels like sandpaper in your throat. He hasn’t said a fucking word and your resolve is already wavering. You try not to make eye contact as you carefully hand him one of the cups. “We’re only twenty minutes in, barely halfway through it. We can stop and coast, it’s not a big deal.”

Cassian takes the water from your outstretched hand, letting the tips of his fingers brush lightly across yours in the process. Your heart skips in your chest. “Do you want to stop?”

You absolutely should fucking stop. Just standing here and handing him water without ripping your clothes off is a challenge; you’ve still got half a joint left and you’re not even sure you’ve reached the come-up yet. What if this is just the beginning? What if this is just laying the foundation? What happens when you actually peak on this shit?

“It’s not a big deal,” you repeat instead, keeping your answer as ambiguous as possible and taking a sip of the blessedly cold liquid. At least the water is responding correctly to the frigid environment on this horrible fucking planet. You feel ready to burn up. “Just wanna make sure you’re cool.”

Cassian flicks his eyes over to the joint still cherried and smoking on the metal counter behind you. “We can keep going.”

Your breathing picks up slightly. Does he know what he’s really asking right now? He has to have figured out what that spice does by now, right? But no, he’s so steadfast in the way he looks at you, blinking up at you confidently. Fuck, you should stop. You should stop.

You should… compromise?

“If we keep going, no more of this,” you tell him, gesturing to the way he still hasn’t moved or drank any of the water in his cup. “You need to. Chill out, alright. Act normal.”

Fuck, you’re normally so blunt and outspoken with him, so why is it that everything happening here is so fucking unsaid? Everything is transpiring right below the surface, a conversation taking place within another conversation. You’re telling him to cut the heart eyes, lay back on the bed and spend some rare quality time with his best friend. Regardless of the weird side effects, this spice is still giving you an incredibly strong body high. If he could just stop looking at you like that so you can stop rhythmically clenching and pulsing between your legs, you’d probably be incredibly relaxed right now.

“I will lay down,” he finally agrees, breaking eye contact with you and grabbing the pillow from his lap so he can throw it down next to him. “Go, get the rest of it.”

“Drink.” You stay rooted to your spot.

He gulps down the entire cup of water right in front of you, and something about how sassy and exaggerated it is makes you unwind just a bit and head back for the spice.

This is better, you think. Butting heads with your strong personalities is better than whatever mind games you two were playing before, more familiar and grounding. Cassian sets down his empty cup on the floor as you pick up the joint, and then you sit on the edge of the mattress across from him when you come back.

“So how were patrols?” You ask him, taking another hit of it and studying the strange color it burns as you hold the smoke in your lungs, almost a light pink.

“Not bad,” he says, scooting back to lay lengthwise across the back of the bed. His long legs stick off the end but he looks way more comfortable now, settling back into the pillow and watching you with a calmer, more easy-going look in his eyes.

“Where’d you get sent this time?” You have to lean forward quite a bit to hand him the spice.

“The Lothal Sector,” Cassian responds casually, taking it from you.

“Oh, fuck off,” you snap, already unamused before he’s even started to mess with you. “I will shoot down red leader tomorrow, Cass, don’t you dare fucking test m—”

“A local was trying to sell kittens to the pilots,” he goes on, completely ignoring you and relaxing back down into the mattress with the joint between his fingers. “They were very cute. But then I tell him no, because I did not know of anyone who could care for one.”

“That’s not fucking funny.” Cassian smiles slowly at you as you glare back at him very, very sternly. “This is a no lothcat joking zone, I’m sensitive about this.”

He keeps smiling even as he takes his hit, gentle and fond and lovely on his face, but his eyes eventually go softer and a bit melancholy on the exhale.

“I am sorry I missed your birthday, caraya,” he says to you truthfully, something sincere and tender in the way he looks at you. “But I will get you something better than a cat.”

“What does that mean?” You lean forward and grab the spice from him when he holds it out for you.

“No idea,” he admits during the careful exchange. “Maybe something with less claws and teeth, I think.”

“No,” you shake your head, settling back on your butt once more. “Caraya. What does that mean?”

Cassian quickly opens his mouth to reply, but then pauses and takes a second. As if he’s debating on what exactly he wants to tell you. You inhale from the spice held between your fingers and wait patiently for him. Probably something to do with birthdays, right? Since he only started calling you that after you told him he missed yours.

You end up waiting for his answer so long, you actually feel like you should take another hit. But when Cassian does eventually speak, it’s incredibly calculated and slow, like he’s actively trying to find the correct words to translate its exact meaning into Basic.

“Fest is part of a binary star system,” he finally tells you, breaking the silence. “It is… it is what my people call the times when… when one of the stars sets while the other is rising on the opposite horizon.”

You pause with the joint halfway to your mouth, staring dumbly at him.

“It is rare. I have seen it only twice. Each time, for less than a minute. It is very rare for them to match up perfectly, but when they do.” His eyes go a bit softer, losing himself in his memories instead of concentrating so much on the words. “The sky shines with every color. Reds, yellows, and pinks to the west; blues, indigos, and violets to the east. It is… it is also… something we call the ones close to us,” he continues, blinking his gaze slowly back to you. “Caraya na cotâ vi zas iz’búsdari. To care and be cared for is to feel the sun on both sides.”

You… you just keep staring at him. Blank, unmoving, not really even breathing. Your chest suddenly feels incredibly tight. He looks back at you and stars, he looks so fucking gorgeous; long lashes dusting over his cheekbones at this angle, one hand resting lazily over his abdomen as he relaxes on your bed.

“It sounds…” You sound winded. “Lovely.”

“Yes,” Cassian returns softly, tilting his head on your pillow and blinking at you. “It is.”

You don’t know why the fuck you thought this would be okay, honestly. This whole thing was such a horrendous fucking idea right from the start. You’re surprised you haven’t set the both of you on fire by dropping the lit spice between your fingers. You were a fucking idiot to think you could resist him. You were overconfident, underestimating him the way you did. It’s like… like he’s approaching this in surges, almost. Lulling you into a false sense of security for a bit, and then carefully pushes forward, toeing the line between best friend and person he wants to fuck and seeing how much you’ll let him get away with.

You’re… you’re a weak, spineless little thing.

“Is it—is it your turn?” You eventually ask him, looking down at the joint in your hands. It’s barely above a whisper and it’s vaguely squeaky and it’s probably one of the dumbest fucking things you’ve ever asked in your life. Of course it’s his turn, who the fuck else’s turn would it be?

Cassian would normally rip into you for being such an idiot, but he doesn’t. He just blinks softly at you, pupils dilated and glassy as they take you in.

“Would you like to…” He sounds equally breathless now, swallowing thickly before he speaks again. “You can… come closer, if you want. Here. With me.” He pats his belly. “No more reaching.”

What is… what is happening right now? Is Cassian Andor actually, like—for real making a move on you? His best friend? The one he’s never looked twice at?

“You want me to…?” Your cunt clenches. Stars, you’re so wet already. You can feel it, dampening your underwear as his eyes flutter slightly at the rasp in your voice.

“Come,” he pats his stomach once more. “Lay down with me.”

You slowly begin to shuffle over to him on shaky knees, trying to move normally as he watches you. He stretches out across the back of the bed, giving you a perfect spot along his open torso to relax into. Your heart pounds as you carefully hand the spice to him before settling yourself on your back with your head on his tummy, making a little perpendicular t-shape with him on the mattress, vision slightly blurry but pulsing at the same time.

Maker, he smells so fucking good. He smells like fresh snow and something warm at the same time, so lean and long above you. You’re almost panting now, burning up in your thick layers as you try to get comfortable.

“Maker, it’s so fucking hot in here,” you whisper, using your sleeve to wipe the sweat gathering at your temples. “Fuck.”

“Take off your shirt,” Cassian suggests quietly, and your mouth instantly goes bone dry, your chest forgetting to rise again after it collapses with a quick whoosh of breath. “You have something on underneath, yes?” He adds quickly before you can completely ignite in flames. “Take off the top one.”

You… you have a thin undershirt on, but nothing underneath that. It’s nearing three in the morning, of course you don’t have a bra on right now. And the undershirt is white, and you’re sweating buckets, which means—

“It… it might show some…” You have no clue how to phrase this, but Cassian quickly responds.

“It is just me,” he reassures, carefully reaching his arm around your head to hold the joint up to your lips for you. You inhale the drug deeply, watching the pink light illuminate the tips of his fingers. “We are best friends, and this is your room. You should relax.”

Maker, this is… this is dangerous. He’s dangerous. He’s smart, choosing to go at it from this angle. He’s not toeing the line anymore, he’s just… blurring it until it doesn’t exist anymore. Or better yet, just walking over it and pretending it doesn’t exist at all. Pretending nothing at all is happening between you right now. Trying to see whether you’ll be more willing to give in if he comes at you from the side like this, not necessarily catching you off guard but refusing to outright confront you about it either.

Apparently precedent rules. You’re a weak, spineless little thing, especially when presented with such a compelling out. He’s… he’s totally right. You are best friends, this is your room, and you should relax. Nothing sexual about it at all, right? Furthermore, relaxing trumps overheating any fucking day of the week, so… so that’s why you tell yourself it’s okay to sit up and immediately reach behind your head, grabbing the hoodie and beginning to pull the thick fabric off.

Only, it’s damp and clings to your thin undershirt, dragging both of them up the length of your back as it goes. You stop when the lower hem pulls up just below your breasts, trying to reach back behind your head even further and separate the two materials but struggling with the angle.

“Cass,” you eventually prompt, trying not to flush. Not like he’d be able to tell, though; you’ve been unbearably warm and fidgety this entire time, your embarrassment conceals itself without your assistance. “You wanna help me? Or you just wanna keep watching?”

“Do not ask me such stupid questions,” he tells you plainly, unmoving. “What did I say? We are best friends. Of course I am not going to help you. You are…” he trails off when you lift your shoulders upright just a bit to see if the angle will work better that way. It does, but the fabric drags further up your ribcage from the shift, “…You are nice to watch.”

Your heart pounds, and you’re even clumsier knowing he’s staring at your exposed tummy right now. Maker, this should not be as difficult as it is. You swing your arms back around behind you, arching outwards and trying to separate them from the bottom this time, but gravity doesn’t appear to work in your favor.

Maybe you can do like, some sort of weird, half-and-half thing to get them apart? Maybe? Where you hold the undershirt from the bottom with one hand and pull the hoodie from the top with the other?

Yes, okay—that could possibly work. Cassian inhales more spice as he lazes behind you, getting a front row seat to watch this subsequent genius unfold.

You get into your monkey-like position, beginning to pry the two materials apart from behind like you planned. But then—oh, your undershirt still sticks to your hoodie at the front, pulling up a few inches with it and flashing the lower curve of your breasts to the room before you immediately halt and switch tactics, reaching back down and trying to pull them apart from the front withou—

A large, warm palm comes up to settle on your bare spine, right in the middle of your shoulder blades.

You freeze. But Cassian doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything more than that. He just holds his hand there, steady and solid against your upper back.

Neither one of you move. It’s like… it’s like you’re both trying so hard to get a read on each other that your reactions are equally stunted. Is he doing this to bring you to a still so he can help you? Is he simply as blazed as you are right now and not thinking about things before he does them? Is he—

But then Cassian starts slowly dragging his hand down your spine, carefully riding the gentle curve of it downwards as your breathing subtly picks up. Your arms are halfway caught in the fabric, not able to stop him unless you untangle them and reach behind you. So you just hold there statuesquely as his palm inches down the sweat-slick muscles of your lower back, thumb just barely brushing the hemline of your sweatpants.

Fuck, you feel like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin. Heat pools deep in your tummy, spidering outwards and sending pulsing shocks down your legs when he keeps his hand there for just a second.

Until… until he traces all the way back up and carefully hooks a finger around your undershirt.

Your heart pounds as Cassian gradually pulls it over the top of your head with your hoodie, guiding you to bring both of them around your arms. He pushes against your shoulder wordlessly, urging you to lie back down with your head on his stomach once more, the fabric stretched tight over your upper-body and the entire length of your spine now fully exposed as it touches the mattress.

“C-Cassian,” you breathe, fluttering your eyes up at the ceiling.

“Yes, caraya?” He murmurs, and you completely forget what you’re going to say when he continues to pull the hoodie and undershirt down over your arms, exposing your naked breasts to the open air.

Your cunt pulses between your legs and you hear him throw the thick bulk of fabric carelessly on the floor. “I—I-I don’t—”

“You will stay like this?” Cassian tells you softly, brushing your damp hair back from your shoulder so that your bare chest is completely unobstructed as it faces the ceiling. Your nipples are hard, a thin sheen of sweat covering your entire body, and you can feel his gaze drag down your naked skin, even if he doesn’t actually touch you. No, he just takes another slow drag from the spice in his hand and tilts his head back to rest on your pillow, relaxing into the mattress with a gentle shuffle of his shoulder blades. “If you are too warm, you will stay like this, okay? Be comfortable.”

Is it possible to die from arousal? Your clit is fucking pounding; everything from the waist down is unbearably tight and cramped. Stars, you feel like you’ll cum if you even move wrong right now. He told you to be comfortable, but you’re not—you’re boiling from the sensation, topless on your bed, trying not to close your eyes or squeeze your legs together. It’s too fucking casual and unacknowledged, how he’s going about this. You feel like you’re going to explode.

Cassian gently taps your bare shoulder to get your attention and shifts his head slightly to look down at you. You bite your bottom lip and flutter your gaze sideways to meet his after a second, hoping you don’t look as flushed and tight with burning arousal as you feel. Deep brown eyes look back at you, hazy and dilated. He takes a second to slowly drag his gaze down the length of your half-naked body once more, now that he knows you’re watching him. Your breath comes audibly now, quicker and shallower than it should be after laying flat on a bed for this long.

“Here,” Cassian prompts, holding the smoldering joint out for you to take. His voice sounds raspier now, but still so… casual. Like he’s out here talking about the weather with a mildly sore throat, not because your tits are out while you stare at each other and neither one of you is saying a damn thing about it. It’s like he’s determined to hold onto the splitting tension, drag it out between you as long as he can. “Want more?”

You know what he’s really asking, and it cramps your lower muscles up even harder. He’s asking if you want more of this spice that’s currently getting you naked in front of him. More of this madness, twisting up your insides with need and jumbling your thoughts. More of him treating you like this, like there’s not a damn thing out of place in the universe right now, like you’re still just best friends so that’s why it’s okay you’re both doing this together.

Stars, do you want more? Do you want him to keep winding you up like this? More of this torture, this agonizing foreplay, wondering when he’ll finally give in and touch you? Pretending like this is still completely platonic, like what’s happening here isn’t wildly unprecedented, insanely inappropriate, and so fucking hot?

You can feel your eyebrows pull up in the middle as you look at him, almost pleading with him to… something. To stop, maybe? Stop altogether, or just stop… fuck, stop ignoring the way your cunt feels clamped around itself tighter than a vice between your legs? Stop neglecting your burning desire for him, even when it’s right in front of his face. Stop refusing to acknowledge the way you’re just letting him look at you right now, how you haven’t once stopped playing along with this fever dream just in case you aren’t imagining it? Fuck, but Cassian just looks back at you, his expression completely blank except for the smallest little glimmer in his eyes. A silent, heated glint as he just barely quirks an eyebrow at you.

So you make the decision all at once. You carefully reach over for the spice with your far hand, feeling your breasts shift towards him slightly with the slow movement. Cassian doesn’t even feel like he’s breathing as you gently take it from him. He just stares down at your naked chest and swallows thickly, eyelids dipping slightly as he moves to meet you halfway.

You let your nipple brush up against his knuckles just slightly with the exchange.

When you face back towards the ceiling again and readjust your shoulders flat on the bed, he lets out a slow, shaky breath under your head as it rests on his tummy. The tension rockets up to eleven, weighing heavy and unspoken and ready to snap.

But then like that, the moment passes—it’s just another invisible spark igniting between the two of you, just another thing buried beneath the silence and yet ringing so unbelievably loud because of it. You’re both emitting and absorbing the same buzzing energy, amplifying it back to one another in a slow, endless feedback loop of rising pressure.

The spice comes up to your lips, and Cassian’s fingertips carefully trail along your other arm as it rests by your side.

“This is better, no?” He asks you quietly, the rough tips of his fingers just barely gliding across your skin in small, mindless patterns. They dance down your skin like feathers, tracing a small arch over the ridge of your elbow so lightly you almost feel like you might be imagining it. Your eyes flutter when he gradually skims down the length of your forearm and brushes his thumb in a smooth circle around the bone in your wrist. “Or you are still too warm?”

You bite your bottom lip when one of his fingers carefully stretches all the way up to your hip, running along the hem of your sweatpants.

“Yeah, m’still a little—” you gasp, trying not to stutter when Cassian starts to draw up the length of your waistline, pausing right when his fingers reach your drawstrings. “Little w-warm,” you finish hoarsely, painfully aware of how fucking wet you are, how your nipples are peaked and glistening with sweat as they move with your soft, shallow breathing.

He slowly dips one finger below the elastic wrapping across your hips, dragging it back and forth under the damp waistband.

“This fabric is heavy,” Cassian remarks, just the slightest husk in his voice. “You… you will take this off, too?”

“I-I don’t—” You’re about to say have anything on underneath except you immediately go quiet, because he’s suddenly slithering his entire hand down into your sweatpants and brushing his knuckles along the gentle slope of you.

He pauses once more when his longest finger reaches the very top of your slit.

But then he just holds it there for a second, tracing small arches back and forth along gentle give of it, the slight dip that separates your soft curls from your soaking heat. You tighten up and wait in breathless anticipation for it, before the tip of Cassian’s finger finally comes to a rest over the soft split of flesh.

And then he’s suddenly pushing in, and down—

—fuckfuckfuckfuck—don’tcumdon’tcum—don’t—

You make a soft, vulnerable sound in bliss as he slowly slides his finger through the hot, slick cleft of your pussy.

“You are warm down here, too,” Cassian murmurs quietly. Your eyes roll back when he drags the entire length of it up against your clit, letting you feel each individual ridge and joint and crevice across the swollen bit of flesh. “Is it the spice?” He asks, sinking his finger back down into you once more. “Or are you always this wet between your legs?”

Neither. Both, maybe? Mostly it’s just him. Cassian, whispering softly to you through the hazy darkness, lazily dipping his fingers into your cunt and letting it drench and engulf his skin in its heat.

“Tell me,” he prompts when you don’t say a word. His finger pulls up and begins tracing slow, gentle circles around your clit.

“No,” you breathe haggardly, arching your hips up just slightly as he touches you. “N-No, this is…”

“This is different,” Cassian confirms when you don’t finish your sentence. He keeps circling your clit, and it’s like he’s just casually, carelessly stirring a pot that’s about to boil over and set everything on fucking fire. You pulse threateningly under the tip of his finger, swollen and tight and just trying your best to control your breathing. “So it is the spice. Why you are this hot, this… this soaking.”

“It’s…” Don’t you say it. Don’t you fucking say it. Don’t you turn this into something it isn’t. “Yeah. It’s—it’s the sp-spice.”

His finger follows the hard curve of you down to where you give, where you’re leaking wetness and heat from the source, before he’s suddenly shifting his wrist and pushing the entire thing into you down to his knuckle.

Now you do arch your hips, spreading your legs and helping him go deeper even as Cassian hums, stretching his finger and feeling you clench hot and tight around him. He says something softly, something in a language you don’t understand.

And then he’s pulling out and rubbing circles around your clit again, the tip of his finger steady and firm as he steadily drags the pleasure out of you.

“We need to finish it soon,” he eventually reminds you, and it takes a remarkable delay for you to realize he’s talking about the lingering quarter of the joint still clenched tightly between your fingers. “Take your hit. We have a nine-hundred call, remember.”

Fuck, you bring the spice up to your lips with a shaky hand, trying to remember whether you should inhale or exhale first. Cassian’s finger just keeps circling your clit, winding you up tighter and tighter. His motions are so repetitive and predictable, but they’re somehow still lighting you on fire from the inside, slowing you down spectacularly as you try to take a steady breath in through the filter.

“Stars, you are so wet,” he remarks after a moment. “Are you going to cum soon? You feel like you are so close already.”

You are close. Everything is swollen and slippery and tight, and hearing him say it out loud like that makes the pleasure rocket up even tighter inside you. You don’t even feel him reach around with his other hand and take the spice from you. You just lose yourself in the mindless sensation of Cassian’s finger on your clit, rolling your eyes back and reaching your hands down to fisting the sheets at your sides as he touches you.

“Does this feel good, caraya?” He whispers quietly to you, inhaling deeply from the spice. “You are usually so… mouthy with me. Is this helping? Do I need to rub your clit like this more often?”

“Fuck—Cassian, I’m gonna cum,” you tell the ceiling raggedly, chest beginning to arch up and hips bearing down.

“Do it,” he murmurs, reaching his thumb through your slick lips to pinch and roll the pulsing bud between his fingers. “Right here. All you can.”

And then wild, painful bliss stabs through you, launching you headfirst into a blinding orgasm. A desperate sound tears from your throat as you cum hard all over your best friend’s hand, agonizing pleasure shredding mindless rapture through your veins. It rings white noise through your ears and rips you apart from the inside out, arcing lightning down your spine more bright and explosive than ever before. Fuck, it’s unprecedentedly powerful. You’re drenched but your clit is hard and pulsing and swollen, and he’s able to keep it between his fingers the entire time your hips writhe desperately on the mattress.

Cassian inhales from the spice once more and massages your clit through the torturous, blazing hot aftershocks. He drags the pleasure out of you until you’re a trembling mess, exhausted from the spasms wreaking havoc on your body.

But then… but then you’re still so hot. It’s like your limbs have no energy left but your cunt is still pulsing and wanting more from him. You feel your wetness coating his hand, your inner thighs, probably soaking through your sweatpants, but fuck, you want him to keep touching you like this—you want him to keep doing this.

It’s the spice, something tells you in the very back of your mind. It almost made you black out with a wild orgasm and now it’s quickly preparing your overheated body for another one. Your feet come up to brace against the mattress and your eyes close, jaw going slack as you grind feverishly against Cassian’s hand.

“Again?” He whispers to you, fingers continuing to pinch and roll your clit and then—and then another debilitating wave of euphoria is suddenly slamming through you, pulling your chest up and flooding his hand with another series of wet, powerful contractions. Cassian rasps something in his native tongue and rides you through the second one just as steady as the first, your pussy spasming uncontrollably as he slowly wrings the pleasure from you.

Fuck, it feels so good. You’re worked up and trembling and trying not to whimper for him, desperately wanting him to keep his hand right here forever, buried right between your legs like this. But you also—you also want Cassian to feel it too, feel the way the unrestrained hedonism practically burns you alive when you cum.

So you carefully turn over on your side and shuffle forwards a bit, resting your head on his lower stomach, right in front of the mouthwatering bulge in his trousers. His fingers can’t fully reach your cunt from this angle, but Cassian is resilient. He just drags his hand over your hip and slithers his fingers into your pussy from behind while you start unbuckling his pants with shaky fingers.

He’s unbelievably hard and throbbing and leaking when you pull his cock out of his underwear, the pulsing urgency of his erection not lining up with the way he’s still relaxing on your mattress, still hasn’t moved under you. So you just hold his length up to your lips and open them, slowly sliding your tongue around the tip of him three times before taking his curved head into the hot cavern of your mouth.

Cassian takes a deep, shaky breath as you suck softly on the head of his cock, fluttering your tongue along a bead of precum he leaks from the slit. He drags his fingers through your drenched pussy lips from behind as you carefully move your head down his tummy, opening your jaw wider and letting him fill your mouth deeper.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and you hum softly and lift your back palate slightly, sliding your tongue drift down his shaft and taking him a bit deeper still. He shudders under you and pushes the tip of his finger up against your clit.

And then you shudder because Cassian completely bypasses your hood at this angle, bumping into the swollen bit of flesh without any resistance or protection and just… holding it there. Barely moving an inch while you begin to slowly bob up and down just slightly around his cock, just keeping his fingertip right up against your clit and sparking heat down through your legs.

You move your hand down to cup his balls and start to roll your hips against his fingers. Cassian’s breathing stutters as you lazily suck his cock, rubbing a tight little circle on your clit in silent encouragement.

“We should—” his voice is hoarse now, now that you’ve got his dick in your mouth and you’re gently swirling your tongue around it, almost as unhurried and casual about the act as he was bringing you to your first orgasm. “We should do this. More.”

You slowly pull off him, kissing the tip of his cock and mouthing at the way he’s steadily releasing thick drops of precum for you. Cassian’s finger rolls firmly against your clit in response.

“You just want your dick sucked every time you come back to base,” you counter breathlessly, brushing your lips against him while talking with his cockhead resting on the edge of your tongue.

His hand shifts, and then he’s suddenly pushing two thick fingers deep inside you. You moan around his tip and prop one leg up on the mattress so he can fill you easier, going back to sucking and swiping your tongue over his frenulum.

“I would not mind it,” he admits with a shaky exhale. “You are. Very g-good. Fuck. And wa—” he gasps, feeling you clench tight around his fingers, “—warm. Fuck, every… everywhere.”

Fuck, it feels so good like this. Laying here, topless and being penetrated two different ways by Cassian, feeling him throb in your mouth while you rest your head on his tummy, feeling him stretch your cunt walls with his fingers while you hold your legs open for him.

You pull off him to drag your slick tongue over your palm, coating your fingers in saliva. Cassian groans when you wrap your hand around the thick base of him, and then he lifts his hips slightly as you start to slowly jerk him off into you mouth.

“Fuck—caraya, if you keep doing that, I will—” he whispers after a moment, curling his fingers inside you in warning. You just tighten your grip and add just the slightest twist to your wrist and “Wait—wait—” Cassian grunts, starting to pull his fingers out of you—

You pull off him just enough to murmur the words against his throbbing head. “You’ll want more than one, okay. Trust me. Cum like this, okay? Cum just like this, right in my mouth.”

You wrap your lips around his cock once more and keep jerking him off slow and tight into the heat of your mouth, and Cassian’s abdominal muscles go incredibly tense under your head. And then you squeeeeze your lower muscles around his fingers, and all the tension suddenly snaps.

His cock goes rock hard on your tongue and starts pulsing steadily as he groans out your name like it hurts, fingers stuffed deep in your cunt. You swallow around him and moan, clenching rhymically around his fingers and letting him slowly empty himself into your mouth. Fuck, he takes forever with it, shuddering and gasping and pumping cum down your throat, his orgasm clearly as powerful as yours was. The spice drags it out, makes you both lose yourself in the raw heaven of release for far longer than normal.

The spice also prevents him from softening when Cassian finally stops spurting hot cum in your mouth. You suspected as much—which is why you keep sucking his cock even as he stops throbbing, you keep him in your hot mouth even when he’s laying trembling and exhausted under you. And he still stays rock solid on your tongue, swollen and needing more.

Cassian’s voice sounds shredded when he finally speaks. “I—I am going to crash my x-wing tomorrow,” he tells you hoarsely, fingers finally slipping out of your channel with a vulgar, slick sound. “You were right.”

You pull off him and kiss the tip of his cock one final time, making sure you’ve cleaned up the mess completely. “Today.”

“Fuck. Today,” he acknowledges tightly, adjusting his hips when you lift your head off his stomach. “Fuck. In a few hours. You will make me crash, just thinking about this.”

“Why is it,” you turn around and blink at him, “that after literal decades of my friendship, you only acknowledge my perpetual rightness after I make you cum for the first time?”

Cassian just smiles softly at you, and his fingers are drenched as they rest lazily against your thigh. “Caraya. Two suns. Twice the illumination, no?”

You bite your lip and try not to smile back at him, wanting to blush and roll your eyes in equal parts. Stars, why is he so… so lovely? Speaking to you so sweetly, looking back up at you from your pillow like you’re every single color in his sky. Your heart seizes in your chest, staring at him with the same kind of fondness and admiration his beautiful eyes are shining with. Fuck, you want… you want to…

“Can we… can we have sex now?” You whisper. Not really shy, but… but it almost sounds shy in its quiet, breathless hope.

“You do not want me to taste you?” Cassian immediately asks, reaching out with one hand to offer you what’s left of the spice while the other stays firmly wedged between your legs. “I want to. I have…”

You bite down on your bottom lip and take the nearly finished joint from him, feeling his fingers curl against your pussy lips at the same time and knowing you’re going to regret letting him finish his sentence. He swallows thickly.

“I have thought about it,” Cassian eventually tells you, carefully admitting the words like he never expected he’d ever say them aloud and is completely unprepared. “Sometimes. Sometimes when… when I am about to sleep. I think of… of you. What you taste like. Right here.” He barely slips the tip of his finger back between your folds, fluttering his eyelashes at the way you’re still dripping in his hand. “I bet you are so sweet. Will you let me find out?”

Except. Except you’re suddenly blanking.

He’s… he’s thought about you before? Like this? Fuck, he isn’t just… just saying that, right? Just telling you what you want to hear? Because fuck, it’s almost too good to be true; like everything out of his mouth since you first put his cock in yours has somehow sounded even better than the last. You feel like you’re dreaming, and it. It makes you almost frantic with need, overcome with the desire to solidify your connection with him before it can be ripped away like it always is.

You don’t respond to him. You just quickly wiggle out of your sweatpants and get on top of him, swinging one of your legs around Cassian’s hips. The spice is held in one hand while the other reaches down and aligns his cock right up against your opening.

Cassian grabs your thighs tightly and takes a long, shuddery breath under you. Fuck, he really is a dream, isn’t he? Long and lithe and beautiful, still throbbing and pulsing and ready for you after you already swallowed his first load. You straighten your back and slowly sit down on his cock, letting the thick, hard length of it break you open slowly.

His hands trace up to your hips and then slide along the gentle curves of your sides, measuring the size of your ribcage before eventually grasping both of your tits in his palms. You breathe through the pleasure and the stretch, letting Cassian pinch and roll your nipples between his fingers as you gradually slide down him and come to a rest flush against his pelvis.

Fuck he feels spectacular. You can feel him pulsing inside of you, fitting and stretching the contours of your slick cunt perfectly. You shiver and clench around him, finishing off the last hit of spice as you roll your hips slightly to adjust to the tight fit of his cock.

You twist your shoulders to carefully toss the smoldering roach into the sink when it’s done, really taking your time with aiming it to make sure you don’t miss. The second it lands in the metal basin is the second Cassian grinds his hips up into yours while giving both of your nipples a gentle tug, and a jolt of pleasure rocks its way down your spine.

“Im-impatient,” you whisper, trying to scold him but it comes out sounding all wrong, far more needy and breathy than you wanted.

“I wanted my tongue in your pussy,” he whispers back in reminder, squeezing your tits as you start to circle and grind against him, letting you both enjoy the sensation of each other without any solid aim at the moment. “You could not wait.”

“Later,” you gasp, tipping your head back and just—fuck, just enjoying his cock. Enjoying how it feels, pressing up deliciously tight against something inside you that just absolutely loves the pressure. You scoot yourself back just a bit, just so he is really shoved up hard against that spot as you grind and roll your body. It ignites sparks deep in your floor muscles, makes you clamp tighter around him as you slowly ride your best friend’s cock.

And stars, Cassian just watches you. He drags his hands over your naked body as it swells and rocks back over his hips like waves in the ocean. He’s still completely clothed, and while something inside you wants you to get him as naked as your are, rub your exposed skin against his and make sure he never forgets how you feel against him, most of you is just fucking burning at the eroticism of being so bare and tall above him while he looks at you.

“Later,” he eventually repeats after you, definitively confirming what you said. Cassian’s voice is somehow soft and rough at the same time, quiet but tight and hoarse in his throat. “I will taste you later.”

You jerk a nod in agreement, starting to gain just a little bit of a rhythm on top of him. Your eyes flutter closed as you lean your weight back slightly and begin to pull up when your hips twist in towards him, and then sinking back down on his cock when your hips circle back around again.

“Fuck,” you hear Cassian grit as you keep doing that, relaxing your lower muscles as he’s thrusted into you and then clamping down on his length as it’s slowly dragged out. “Fuck, you are—a-amazing, caraya. You are. You are—fuck—”

A sinful heat starts simmering deep inside you as Cassian cuts himself off with a gasp and squeezes his eyes shut, starts rocking his pelvis up in time with your slow, sensual rotations. Both of his hands clamp down hard over your hips as they continue to undulate in slow circles around his cock.

“Maker,” you whisper, trying to focus on your rhythm instead of the terrifying, building sensation inside of you. Fuck, you can literally feel the threat of your orgasm start to carefully wind itself around the base of your spine, simmering and sparking with dark pleasure as it gradually spreads its electric claws outwards. It’s huge. You can already feel it gathering together inside you, culminating into something monstrous and fierce.

Cassian says your name, and you suddenly blink your eyes open at the unexpected urgency and tightness in his voice. Your vision takes a second to focus on his gorgeous face, and when you immediately see the same exact storm of swirling desperation in his eyes, your jaw goes slack as you speed up, trying to chase him as Cassian all but hurtles towards the blinding explosion nearing its detonation.

“Fuck, I—” he gasps, and then he’s suddenly going rigid under you and cumming deep in your slick heat with a desperate sound, shuddering and gasping for you as his thumbs dig into your thighs. Fuck, you grind harder, trying to find and focus on your favorite angle now as Cassian whimpers through the bliss and writhes under you, throbbing and pumping in steady, helpless jolts.

You whimper, too—fuck, you’re almost there, you’re gasping and trying to surrender to the swelling sensation, but it’s so intense and overwhelming and you’re close to tears because you’re fighting it just as much as you’re seeking it out, and—

And then the breath is suddenly knocked out of you when Cassian reaches up to grab you and flip the both of you over, your back coming down hard against the mattress. He kneels between your legs, hooks both of your calves over his shoulders, props his arms next to your head, and then he starts thrusting.

You sob brokenly, slapping an open palm against his chest. Fuck, his cock is still so hard and it shreds up achingly deep against that blinding spot so perfectly, you can’t focus on anything anymore. The dark, evasive build immediately twists up sharp and impending as Cassian fucks you steady and deep, and you start to muffle your cries and gasps into the back of your hand.

But then, oh—words are coming, too. Oh Maker, you can feel the urge to say them rise up along with the ferocious stirrings of your orgasm, clawing its way out of your throat before you can do anything to stop it.

“Fuck—” you tear your hand away to sob brokenly, not being able to stop yourself as the tsunami begins to peak, “oh, fuck—I love you. Oh, fuck, I—I love you, Cassian—I love you, I—IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou—”

His cock splinters up against sheer euphoria inside you as you cum with a desperate wail of his name, pussy clamping down hard as it erupts into searing hot ecstasy around him.

—and then suddenly Cassian is lurching against you and bringing his lips down to yours, licking into your mouth and cumming deep inside you once more. Maker, you nearly scream at the sensation, your tight cunt milking the throbbing length of him with endlessly wet, hot contractions as he grinds you both through the aching bliss. He kisses you like he’s wanted to do it for years, bites your bottom lip as you whimper and spasm wildly around him.

Fuck, you can hear the mess you’re both making. It’s obscene, filling the room with the slick sound of your desperate coupling. Cassian eventually pulls his mouth away to look down at where he’s rocking into your drenched cunt, the evidence of his own pleasure slicking up hard lines of his erection.

Your eyes roll back when he doesn’t stop thrusting.

***

You lose track of everything.

Time, direction, responsibility—nothing matters, because Cassian goes on like that. For hours, taking you apart every single way you can imagine. You fuck the effects of the spice out of your body until nothing exists but him—Cassian’s cock stretching you, his tongue gliding along your skin, his whispered words of broken praise murmured against your neck.

Strangely, your body feels absolutely amazing when you finally manage to gain the slightest bit of awareness of your obligations again. You feel like you’re floating above everything, almost dreamlike in how unbelievably satisfied you feel.

You slowly blink up at the ceiling, and then suddenly remember the nine-hundred call you have to make. You’re both naked, sprawled out on top of your mattress, and Cassian—

“Cass—” you rasp, pulling on the thick waves of hair tangled between your fingers and feeling his hot tongue slip out of your pussy. It’s still slightly dark in your room, but that could just be the horrendous weather blocking the sun. “What—what time is it? Did we miss—?”

“Almost eight,” Cassian rumbles low against your thigh. “We still have some time before we need to get up.”

You lurch into startled awareness, getting go of him to prop yourself you on your elbows. “But that’s—no, we have to shower, and—”

“A ten minute walk to the hangar from here, yes?” Cassian reasons, pressing a lazy kiss to your thigh and not sounding bothered in the slightest. “Twenty minutes to shower together, ten minutes to get dressed. We have at least ten more minutes before we need to think about getting up.”

You shudder and blink down at him, naked and relaxed as he mouths over your skin. Maker, how can everything change and yet still be so familiar at the same time?

“I think I might crash my x-wing today,” you finally breathe out, dropping your shoulders back down to the mattress once again.

“No,” he returns, turning his head to kiss your other thigh. “You will not. Because I checked my holopad earlier, and they sent the coordinates for red squadron’s patrols.”

You narrow your eyebrows at the ceiling. What does that have to do with anyth—?

And then you suddenly go shock-still under him, trying not to let the blind, overwhelming hope surge up inside you.

“Bring extra credits, caraya,” Cassian murmurs, lowering his head back down between your legs. “We are going to Lothal.”

#Cassian Andor x reader #Cassian Andor x you #Cassian Andor #Smut #fanfic #no-droids

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lethargicsunlight · 3 years ago

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'Demon': Prologue ♡ BakugouXFem!Reader (Book 1)

Alright I'm doing it.

I'm doing the thing.

It literally keeps me awake at night I gotta write thisss *cough* okay

Originally I was only going to post this unto Wattpad, but getting traction on their website is a little more difficult than good ole' Tumblr, so I'll be posting it on both. Feel free to visit my Wattpad here: LINK if you want to support my writing on that end. (I would so appreciate it)

This post is going to run pretty long, as it will host both the prologue of the story and my author's notes. Just a heads up.

Summery:

A slow-burn action/romance where you begin in the bowels of a Villain base and rise up to join U.A.'s top Hero Class. This life was your choice. In the event of learning then losing the love of a friend, you make a decision that changes your reality at the core--to become an imposter among villains and bring them down from the inside out. The organization that ruined your premature perfect life was known as H.H., after their leader Head-Honcho. His crime of choice: intelligence. Training and conducting espionage agents and assassins across Japan as a means to further the dark underground network. Your training began at thirteen, after managing to impress the multi-faced villain with your stealth and your conviction. Rumors would soon spread through the dark alleys of Naruhata City of a masked assassin known as Demon, whose bare face could steal the souls of her targets. Everything appears to be going to plan; but the Hero Agencies you've been slipping information to are calling for an end to your superior sooner than you had anticipated. Your time as 'Demon' is limited. What will happen when your world comes crashing down? Where will you go, when everything you had known you helped to destroy?

AUTHOR'S NOTES

This is a slow burn fan-fic; and I am not italicizing those words without reason. This is going to be an agonizingly slow action-packed adventure-romance. This is a self-insert story, just like my three-part series 'Some Combat Training' (link) where you as the protagonist will not be described outside of being female, general physique, and a generalization of your uniform(s). Skin, hair, eyes, etc. will not be described at all--besides ambiguous adjectives. That said, I am taking liberties with physique and stature due to the nature of the story. You're abilities rely on stealth as well as close and fast combat, therefore you are described as 'small', 'lithe', 'athletic', and all of those other fancy little ninja woman words. Your personality has been shaped by the events of your life and the people within it; but if I were to describe it I would choose words like: Intelligent, determined, self-sacrificing, quiet, humble, and studious. The story will follow along with the anime for the most part starting at around the time of the USJ event, though at some point the story will branch off and become more my original concoction. (Such as, fast-forwarding the time-line to when the characters are older.) Some information about you as the protagonist will not be written here, as I plan for those to be revelations within the story. There will be angst, blood and gore, adult-humor, trauma, death, bad language and warnings will be listed with each chapter as needed. Feel free to comment on those chapters as soon as you see something that isn't mentioned that might make someone (if not yourself) feel uncomfortable. I will not be offended. This story is meant to get a little dark. Please comment if you can about your opinions! I have never posted an on-going fic before, and anything you have to say I would appreciate! <3 Now, please enjoy this short prologue~ Chapter 1 is being reviewed and edited, to be release very soon! 👹🖤⛓🔪💣 ...four...five...six.. You counted the footsteps behind your left ear, round the corner of the dim abandoned subway. You'd been stationary; still so long that your digits had all but numbed. Turn... one...two...three... The footsteps were distancing from the hall your attention had been set upon. A T-section, where the entity had gone down and away from your destination. You had to cross that 'T' to get to the junction--where you needed to leave a note completely undetected. The slightest mis-step would lead to suspicion. Suspicion would lead to investigation. Investigation lead to the five percent chance they could find that note--and no percentage was too small. It all hinged on absolute perfection. Nine...ten...eleven... This was their fifth round. A patrol. You had to make sure their movement were predictable before this would work--despite having successfully delivered the note fourty-two times and counting--you did not have the luxury of assumption. Only if their stride was even, only if you absolutely knew they were moving at a certain pattern, could you depend on the following information: It took fifteen steps before they would reach the broken light on their route. The haze of the dust and pollutants reflected in the working lights prior to that was your cover. Cross the 'T', leave the note, and cross it again. Out of sight and out of earshot, mission successful. Fourteen... f-- You turn, and it takes three steps to arrive at the drop to the tracks. You bunch and leap, and even the quietest friction of fabric from your uniform creases your brow. You land, just outside of the light's reach on the thin concrete slab beyond. Your eyes track the metals, the jutting wall tiles; that with which the barest touch could emit a sound--and you maneuver around them. Under, creeping low--and over, leaping to land on the balls of your feet and checking your balance before moving forward. Careful to not cast a shadow into the hall. Paced, so as not to move too quickly nor too slowly. Counting, because every second was controlled and calculated. You reach the juncture, and once again

edging the light you propel yourself to land back on the main thoroughfare. The next obstacle--removing the loose brick. Behind a metal bench centered between two closed-in stair cases, where the tile meets what had once been a decorative brick mosaic; eight bricks right and eighteen bricks up, was your note's destination. Just above your head, where you had to bend at an awkward angle to reach. Not practical, less detectable. You're wearing tight fabric gloves with grips on the pads, but thin enough you can feel the texture of the brick as you gently lace your fingers at each of the corners. Lifting, centering, and pulling the brick from its slot. Holding it just right, you can avoid the loud scrapes and grinds--but you have to hold it perfectly centered. Success. In goes the note. As does the brick, back into the wall. But you're only half-way done. Leap. Quiet, maneuver, avoid, measure. Silent. Leap. Hide. You're back is once again at the wall, the footsteps of the lackey you'd been avoiding closing in proximity to the Hall you'd just left. Four... five... six... Your eyes focus on the wall opposite of you as you ground yourself. The next few seconds determined a new reality. Either they followed their pattern, or they didn't. You had to be flexible. No assumptions. If they move towards the junction, you have to follow. If they move towards you, you'd calculate on your feet. Seven... eight... nine.. Turn. ...one...two...three.. You don't relax. Even after you count their steps to fifteen, even as you slip away back through the hall, even as you exit the unattended vent and breathe in fresh air--you don't relax until you're sitting on the floor in your room, calming down, your mask in your hands. After checking to make sure your door had not been opened, and no one had looked for you. No tracks in the dust. Only then do you allow yourself to ruminate on the contents of the note you had written, because you could still see every letter of it in your mind. ------ 55-1, Minami Senju 5-chome, Musutafu Target: Fukui Mitsuo Floor 8 3 AM. 7. Accompanied. Head. ------ For the briefest moment, you feel your hands shake. They always did on these nights. Realistically, you'd left no openings. Tested and re-tested every method. Calculated every movement. Left nothing to chance. But the 'what-if's' still linger, and you let them. The fear is good. It keeps you on your toes, your mind on edge, your tongue to the roof of your mouth. If he found out, you wouldn't know it until it was over. So you pretended he already did. Below you, underground in his base, plotting how to get at you when you were most vulnerable. Tear you to pieces, throw you in a pit or in a cage. No--too risky, he'd just kill you. A dead-end is better than a possibility. You'd learned that from him. You swallow, head turning so the amber morning sky is in your peripheral. All things considered, you would still unfortunately need sleep. You cherished the brief moments of sunlight and let your mind swim in the memories of your childhood spent in the daytime; before retiring to the broken and borrowed mattress. Seven days. You would check the location of your note in two. If there is another note in response, you would create a reactionary plan. The pattern continues. Until he finds out. ...Until he finds out.

#Bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou x fem!reader #bakugou x y/n #katsuki x reader #katsuki x y/n #bnha #bnha fanfic #slow burn romance #bnha fanfic slowburn #bakugou x f!reader #mha #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #my hero fanfiction #bakugou x you

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imagine-the-fanfics · 4 years ago

Text

Seized

Characters: Goro Majima x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Kidnapping, involuntary imprisonment, implied attempted rape

Inspiration: Request by Anon – “Uhh can I get a fic where the reader gets kidnapped by Majima if you'd be fine w/ it? 👉👈”

A/n: Okay, so this got… A little intense. I was able to water it down a lot, but please look over the warnings and take them seriously. Hope you enjoy it none the less, Nonny. Also. My autocorrect keeps trying to change “eye” to “eyes” and I’m sorry if I miss some of those. This fic is dark (much less so now than it was originally) and I am sorry. I don’t support anything in this fic and it is not meant to glamorize.

When you came to, your head was pounding. You tried to yawn, but you couldn’t seem to open your mouth. You tried to see what was stopping you, but you couldn’t move your hands. Your eyes opened, but you couldn’t see. You started to whimper, struggling to get out of your bindings.

“Oh good, yer awake. Fuckin’ finally,” a man’s voice said.

A chill ran down your spine as you realized the position you were in. The hood you didn’t know was on your head was removed, and you found yourself face to face with a man you didn’t know. The sudden light was blinding, and you struggled to keep your eyes open from the sudden light.

“Oh, what the hell,” the man grumbled. “I told ‘em none of this tape on the mouth shit.” He reached over, working a bit off to grab. “This is gonna hurt, darlin’,” he said before immediately ripping off the duct tape, causing you to let out a loud but short shout from pain. “Exactly why I told ‘em not to fuck with that shit,” he sighed, crouching down so the two of you were eye-level. “How are ya? Ya feelin’ okay?” His tone was softer, more concerned, as if he actually cared about you.

“I—”

“Juuuust kiddin’,” he said before standing up. “I don’t give two shits. Yer pops probably does, though.” He looked down at you and you looked up at him, speechless. “Oh, ya didn’t know? Yer dad’s neck deep in with the yakuza, sweetheart. Owes a lot of money to a lot of people, including me.

“I thought, ‘Maybe if I take his kid he’ll know I mean business,’ but so far that ain’t been the case. ‘Course, ya ain’t been here too long, maybe he just needs some time.” His eye raked your body, taking in every ounce of what you had to offer. He’d be lying If he said he wasn’t attracted. You were so quiet that he was a little surprised.

Truth was, you were embarrassed. You hadn’t worn these pajamas expecting to get kidnapped, but who ever expects to get kidnapped? You were in maroon short shorts, a sports bra, and a white tank-top. Panties, too, of course, but nothing that was fun or exciting just plain and black, matching the sports bra.

Memories of getting here were nonexistent. The last thing you remembered was laying down in bed to sleep. You, again, tried to move your hand to your pounding head and found it couldn’t move. That was when you started to assess your surroundings.

The man continued to watch you; being under his gaze made you feel like a small rabbit about to be devoured by a mad dog. You felt small, afraid. The look in his eye was enough to chill your soul. “Ya realizin’ the mess yer in now?” The man asked, pulling up a chair you hadn’t noticed and sitting in it. You were starting to panic as you looked around the room. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt ya.” You were tied to a chair, arms bound behind you and legs bound to the respective legs of the chair you were in. Another rope was tied around your chest, just under your breasts. You struggled a little bit.

“Well, not yet at least,” the man sighed. “Yer just… So delicious to look at.” The man’s eye raked your body again, stopping at your chest for a moment before lowering, pausing again and then meeting your gaze again. “I could eat ya right up,” he grinned wickedly at you.

“Maybe I will,” he said, still grinning.

You tried to meld with the chair, hoping to get as far away from him as possible, but that wasn’t possible.

“But not yet,” he said, sounding too happy, clapping his hands once as he stood up. “Let’s get ya some water. Gotta stay hydrated, after all.”

You blinked, watching this enigma of a man as he walked out of the room you were being held in. You took the moment too look around and fully take in your surroundings. There was a bed, a hook in the ceiling, and a chain on the ground with the far end connected to the floor that had a cuff on the other end. “What kind of sick place is this?” You gulped as your gaze shifted to the windowless cinderblock walls that surrounded you.

When the door opened you jumped and yelped.

“Here’s yer water. Gotcha a straw,” he said with a proud grin, as if the straw was a thoughtful gesture when you were literally tied to a chair in a room that looked like it belonged in a horror movie.

“Thanks,” you muttered, sipping the water through the straw.

“’Course!” He smiled at you. “Gotta keep ya hydrated, like I said.” He continued to hold the cup and straw for you until you finished. “There ya go,” the man said with a smile. You just stared at him. “Alright. Let’s try callin’ yer dad and see if he’s gonna pay up now.” He took out his phone and called, holding it to his ear.

“Ahhh, Mr. Y/L/N, yeah?” the man said into the phone. You could only hear half of the conversation. “Good. I got yer kid here. Ya ready to pay yer debt yet?” A pause, the man’s face turning sour. “Fine, here.” He pulled the phone away from his ear and put your father on speakerphone.

“Y/n?” Your father��s voice asked, sounding a bit worried.

“Dad,” you gasped, not really expecting to hear your father. “Dad? Is that you? I don’t know where I am. Please help!

“Ohmygod, Y/n!” He was sufficiently panicked, and the man took the phone back holding it up to his ear.

“Easy, easy, Y/L/N-san. Focus.” Majima’s face contorting in frustration. “I said to calm the fuck down!” He shouted into the phone, looking pleased as he continued. “That’s better. Now, when I can I expect yer payment?” A pause, another sour face. “Do ya really think Imma let ya have until tomorrow when yer just gonna skip town. Ya got two hours, otherwise I’m keepin’ the girl.” The man hung up the phone, sliding it into his pocket. “I guess we’ll haveta see if yer Dad thinks yer worth payin’ his debt for.” He paused, looking you up and down again. “I’d pay for ya.”

You squirmed, looking away. He knelt down in front of you and looked into your eyes with his eye, watching you curiously. “I might have some fun with ya later. We’ll see. For now, I gotta get some work done. Tata~” He said, standing up and waving as he walked out the door. A moment later he came back in. “I almost forgot.” He pulled your chair over, clasping the cuff around your ankle and then cutting the ropes off that had you tied to the chair, freeing your wrists as well. “There, that’s gotta feel better.” You just stared at him, unable to move in fear. “Alright. Bye, for realsies this time, Y/n-chan~!” He walked out, waving again and you were left sitting in your chair, still too deep in shock to do anything.

What felt like hours passed and you stayed in the chair, still coming to terms with what happened and where you were. You had always thought that you would be stronger in this situation, that you would fight back – but you weren’t, and you didn’t. You just sat in your chair, rubbing your wrists, and feeling the cold metal of your ankle cuff on your skin. You felt tears floating around in your eyes, looking around as the reality of your situation settled in.

Eventually you stood up, walking around to see how far your chain would allow you to go. Not very far. You couldn’t reach any of the walls, and you could barely reach the bed and lay on it. You couldn’t even get near the door, not that you could break it down if you could reach it. From the look of it and how it sounded when it closed, it was solid wood.

You settled on sitting on the bed, looking up at the hook in the ceiling, wondering what it was for. Images of hanging slabs of meat floated through your mind and you looked away, trying to find something else to distract yourself with.

It shocked you that you weren’t crying. At this point you didn’t feel scared or sad enough to cry; you just felt numb. You didn’t feel like you were in your body. You laid down, resting you hear on the shitty flat pillow, curling up in the fetal position for warmth since there was no blanket, and closed your eyes.

/// You were awoken by the angry slam of the door and the one-eyed man looked even more angry than he had when he was on the phone. “Yer dad still ain’t payin’. Do ya know what that means?” You shook your head. “Means I gotta rough ya up a bit to show Daddy just how much I mean what I’m tellin’ him.”

You heard your dad’s voice panicking on the phone and your stomach turned sour. You cowered on the bed, not sure what was coming. The man set his phone down, climbing onto the bed with a pair of handcuffs he pulled out of his back pocket, wrestling with you until your hands were cuffed together and you were crying. What was he going to do to you?

“Majima! Don’t touch her!” Your father’s voice called out.

So this one-eyed monster had a name, and that name was Majima.

He grabbed the cufflinks and pulled you off the bed, bringing you below the hook and effortlessly putting the links into it. You tried to wiggle out of it, but you could barely touch the floor on your tiptoes, and the hook was too high to maneuver the links over it. You whimpered, knowing whatever he was going to do next was something.

“I gotta say, Mr. Y/L/N, yer daughter is… well. Ya see what I’m seein’ ain’tcha? That tank top is just… So tight. Leaves nothin’ to the imagination. Them shorts are just…” Majima’s voice trailed off and he looked over to the phone on the chair. “Ah, s’pose not. Lemme fix that.” He maneuvered the chair and phone so he could see exactly what was happening.

“Let’s begin,” the man said, pulling out a tanto, unsheathing it.

You heard your father protest, but you couldn’t understand him. Your heartbeat was whooshing in your head as you feared the worst was coming.

He was going to rape you, wasn’t he?

“Da—Dad?” You whimpered, crying. “Dad—Dad please don’t let—”

“All yer dad has to do is pay me what I’m owed, and then yer free to go,” Majima assured, approaching you. “I don’ wanna hurt ya, but I gotta get my money. Sorry, darlin’.”

“Let—Let me go home, please! Please! I won’t tell anyone! I won’t!” You begged, crying. “Please don’t—”

“This is yer dad’s doin’. All he hasta do is pay. Once he pays, yer free!” Majima laughed. “Easy as that.”

“MAJIMA!” Your dad shouted; you closed your eyes when you heard his voice crack.

You felt the tip of the blade against the skin of your neck. It wasn’t pressed enough to draw blood, but you tilted your head back in an effort to pull back from it, it didn’t work. Majima looked to his phone, and your eyes followed, seeing yourself on the screen and trying not to shriek. The blade slowly slid down to your collarbones, tracing the edges of them. You continued to whimper.

“Last chance, Y/L/N-san,” Majima’s eye was raking your body yet again, and you felt his hand playing with the fabric of your tank top. “It’s like she dressed this way just ta tease me,” he sighed, removing the blade and replacing it with his lips. “She tastes good, too,” he continued to kiss and lick your neck, maneuvering to each side. As you tried to get away, you only gave him more access. At one point he grabbed your throat. “Quit. Moving.” You did, closing your eyes and whimpering some more.

By this time, you were sobbing. You knew what was coming, and you were powerless to stop it.

“MAJIMA! STOP IT!” Your father shouted again, falling on deaf ears.

“If yer neck tastes this good, I can’t wait ta try yer pussy,” Majima growled, causing you to whimper louder, trying to lean away. He back away for a moment, turning to look at his phone, making sure your father had a good view. “Well, Daddy, what should I take first?” He asked, tapping his chin with the flat of the blade.

“Majima, please! I’ll pay! Just give me a little—”

“Ya had yer time,” Majima responded so coldly that it felt like the room temperature dropped.

He approached you, your crying and sobbing having shifted to tears and mindless babble that was begging him to stop. He wasn’t going to. He took your tank top in one hand and used the tanto to start cutting your shirt off. Once it was completely ripped open, he took another step back. You were sobbing, looking at the floor. Terrified and ashamed of what was happening.

“What’s next, Y/L/N?” Majima asked, looking at the phone, listening to your father beg him to stop. “You keep beggin’ me to stop, but you beggin’ ain’t gettin’ yer debt erased.”

“I’ll give you my home, my car, my daughter— just don’t make me watch this anymore!” Your father begged.

Majima hesitated, and it took you a moment to process what

“Deal.” He hung up the phone, looking at you, watching you cry for a moment before unlocking the cuffs. “I can’t believe that fuckin’ asshole would sell his own kid like that,” he grumbled. “She’s yer kid, dipshit, yer supposed to protect her, not sell her to clear yer fuckin’ debts.”

You didn’t care, you were just crying. You fell to the ground once you were no longer being held up by the cuffs. Majima caught you, rubbing your back as you clung to him. It was strange, clinging for comfort to the man you were sure was going to rape you not even a full minute ago. Yet, here you are, clinging to him. He picked you up, carrying you to the bed and sat you down, undoing the ankle cuff and then sitting on the bed next to you. You leaned away from him.

“I wasn’ gonna hurt ya,” Majima sighed. “Just hadta make yer dad think I was. Figured he’d pay that way, can’t say I expected him to sell ya to me.” You dived into his arms, sobbing violently. “Shhh… It’s okay,” he assured, resting his cheek against your head as you cried.

All you wanted was to wake up in your bed back in your apartment. That you could call your dad and tell him what you dreamt about and how much it hurt. He’d comfort you; tell you that would never happen, that you were more important money or material items. That wasn’t going to happen, though.

All you could do was cry, waiting for Majima to decide what he was going to do with you.

#Goro majima #majima #Goro Majima x reader #Majima x reader #yakuza

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goji-pilled · 3 years ago

Note

I had thoughts, and they were about Akechi-ny AU! Last we left off, Anthony fucking murederized two Magical Girls, a Magical Boy, left one to slowly turn into a Witch and left one to rot in the aftermath.

Wonder how she's doin'?

---

She didn't know how long she had been unconscious for, the cold hard dirt nearly suffocating her as she breathed in a clump of dust mixed with splinters and metal. She found herself in a ditch, scaffolding and skeletal pipes rising high above her little concrete tomb. Rain had started to fall almost as though the world wanted her to wake up soon.

Lifting herself up, the weary veteran known only as Wolf hunched forwards, wrapping her arms around her gut. No wounds or bruises were on her body, yet she felt a phantom pain of sorts when she tried to arch her spine back; there was also an ache in her chest, a blow to the heart? After taking a moment to pulse magic through her veins Wolf gave herself a once over.

She still wore her uniform, a long grey coat that she manifested over an altered pair of black leggings and a mix between shorts and a skirt. She felt a hole around the back of her black sleeveless skin-fit shirt and white vest. Her right glove seemed to have quite literally been blown off her palm, the other still wrapped around the whole of her forearm and hand. She must've stepped in something or kicked a thing on her way down, the magenta soles of her black boots tinged a deeper red now.

Racking her head for any loose memories, she recalled what happened to her earlier. She was fighting some masked fish-man when something punched through her back. Then she heard the thing speak and-

No.

No no no no no.

Flinging herself onto the stone walls Wolf scrambled to find purchase on the slowly sickening concrete. She couldn't trust herself to use her magic to not implode and bury herself in this open casket. When she couldn't find any crevices to grip Wolf lost her patience and dug into the stone with her bare hands. All Magical Girls were able to dampen their senses - it was how they'd be able to get back up in fights when they should rightly sit the fuck down - just as they were able to strengthen their meat puppets to be more durable or stronger.

Wolf climbed her way out of her tomb, a trail of cracked stone and bloody prints left in her wake. She didn't waste any time healing her broken hands and ran up the empty construction site. Her fears came flooding back into her mind, memories of Yokohama rushing to the forefront, the rain playing percussionist with the many metal pipes around her. Wolf's ears started to ring as she pushed her weak body to climb stairs after stairs, conserving her magic and pushing back the tide of despair in her heart.

When she finally reached the floor her friends the team she was responsible for, she nearly threw up in her mouth.

Yoshimura Mitsuko was strung up by wires and pinned to plywood, a gaping hole just below her collarbone. Blood had poured out of the wound, coating a path down her blue t-shirt and jeans. Lifeless eyes stared down from the corpse's perch, shock and surprise etched immortal on a young woman's face.

Shima was sliced in twain, the halves of his body pierced with many more stab wounds. The one half of his head was twisted in an odd way, almost as if his neck had been snapped before he was cut. A purple dress shirt and black sleep shorts were left in tatters around him.

Takei Yasuko had nearly all the same deformities and inflictions as Shima's remains did, however, her hand had been reduced to a bloody stump with no sign of any remaining bone or flesh. She was wearing a thin nightgown with a long coat draped over her back.

"Shima and Yasuko were..."

The ringing faded from Wolf's ears, a quiet noise penetrating the white noise of rain as she looked at the last of her charge.

Minami Hideko was currently nothing more than a pinned slab of meat, blood pouring out from where her arms should be. Wolf saw the bubbly girl shaking her head back and forth, sobs escaping from her mouth as empty whispers flowed out. She rushed to save at least one of her charges.

"Minami! Minami, stay with me! Focus on my voice!" Wolf slid on her legs, kneeling beside the sole survivor of the quartet. She pulled the spears out of the leader's legs, the wounds cauterized by the flames that covered the blades. She then wrenched free the crimson katana out of the kid's stomach, blood pouring out from the hole. Wolf went to carry Hideko when she was kicked with a weak foot.

"S-S-Senpai...?"

"Yes, it's me kid, it's your senpai. I'm gonna get you outta here!"

Hideko shook her head. "No... I can't... I can't leave them... I don't want to be alone again..." The girl slumped over on her side, revealing the dark Soul Gem that was underneath. "Please senpai... just end it, please...

"I can't live with... all this. This was all my- my f- my fault! I can't go on without them! I can't live without Mitsuko-chan! Just kill me! Kill me!"

Hideko was left a blubbering mess, crying out for death.

Wolf... would give her mercy.

Picking up the gem in one hand she placed her other on top of the dying girl's head. She leaned down to place a chaste kiss on Hideko's crown and then on her soul. Wolf pulsed her magic into her hands, two magnetic forces finding their opposite attractions. She cupped the gem between her hands and slowly charged the forces, crushing the Soul Gem.

Wolf looked into Minami Hideko's eyes on last time and spoke,

"I'm sorry."

Crystal shattered and faded away, the last of Hinami's life fading away.

"Thank you... sen... pai..."

Her body was left in a large sleep shirt and sweat pants, soaking in the blood that oozed out of her wounds.

Wolf looked up into the sky, the moon shining down as the only witness to her mercy, and howled a pained scream.

"Over here, I hear someone!"

"Freeze, put your hands up where we can see them!"

"They're running! Open fire!"

---

a bit shorter than usual, but I wanted y'all to see what popped into my mind a while ago. maybe next time I'll send in some fluff!

／人◕ ‿‿ ◕人＼

adhd be damned my boy knows how to make a massacre! *breaks down sobbing*

#felix answers #io3 #good god.#anthony.#what have you DONE.

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willadisastercry · 4 years ago

Text

The part where they try not to freak out: ‘When the Dust Clears’ pt. 2

tw: minor mentions on gore. this is very tame and not graphic at all, mostly just Lance hurt/comfort and Pidge being a smart ass.

The onset of another quake spurs the three trapped paladins into action. Well...? Really only Pidge. But without much from the barren ruins to go off of, she’s finding it difficult to macgyver her way out of this one. The water level is rising and the longer Lance goes without medical care, the more anxious Shiro is getting. Everyone’s resolves are dwindling with the threat of another quake that can occur at any moment hanging over their heads. How the hell are they going to get out of this alive? Good question.

This update was kinda short but stay tuned for the wrap up of this fic. It gets very harrowing and I’m not nearly done hurting Lance ;)))

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Shiro took his arm off Lance once the only thing still shaking was him.

The quake came on so fast that there wasn’t time to do much in the way of preparation, not that there was much to do anyway. But Lance was the only one missing a helmet so Shiro settled for gruffly pulling his injured teammate down next to him, shoving his head in the crook of his arm, and covering the top of it with his very human hand in an effort to protect him from any falling debris.

But the rumbling stopped before it moved anything significant. And when he finally shifted to inspect the damage, the pebble sized bits that he’d saved them from fell off easily.

Lance let out a few timid coughs against the dust that was stirred up, not having the energy to roll onto his back and shield his nose from the irritating particulates with how horribly his head was hurting. But the act of coughing and what it angered hurt his scrambled brain worse than the actual head injury.

“I don’t know if that’s the last of it, but I think it’s dying down now,” Pidge noted as she began pulling herself up from where she’d scrambled for cover.

“How do we know if that’s the last of the big quakes and these are just aftershocks?” Shiro asked, his face pinched with worry he wasn’t even bothering to hid anymore.

“We don’t. But I think we have bigger issues for the time being....” her gaze was glued on the bit of water dribbling from underneath a stone in front of her.

“Mmmmh—ugh,” Lance groaned. Words were hard to summon. His mouth was so dry he thought he might asphyxiate on his own ragged breathing if he didn’t clear his throat several times before trying again.

“D’it stop for you guys?” he inquired sluggishly, his voice hoarse and trembling.

“Yes...” Shiro noted slowly, his mind working over too many things at once to compute what that statement might have meant for a moment.

“Did it not for you?”

“Nope,” Lance strained through a shudder, his body shaking like he was cold despite the regulation of his paladin armor. His heavily battered paladin armor.

“Everything’s spinning now actually... the tilt-a-whirl kind...”

Lance’s eyes hadn’t stayed open long even after the dust had cleared. His hands weren’t working right to brush the gunk out and he’d be dizzy either way so he didn’t fuss about it.

“Do you want to try sitting up, maybe that’ll help?”

But they had gotten so heavy. And now that Shiro was looking at him he noticed he could hardly even blink without effort.

“Nah, s’okay... gonna sleep for a bit—“

A rough hand on his shoulder had Lance jerking abruptly, fear twisting his stomach in knots similar to the one throbbing on the side of his head at the thought that another quake had started before Shiro cut through his panic with a serious ‘hey’.

His leader voice was back.

“I was phrasing it as a question out of sympathy. You’re still not allowed to sleep and it’s not a choice, it’s an order.”

“Such a... buzz kill sometimes... know that, right?”

“Yep, wouldn’t have it any other way if it meant you actually listen to me when I give suggestions.”

“This is not... a suggestion... s’bullying...”

“Come on,” Shiro huffed in exasperation as he worked his arm out from under Lance who grumbled at the loss when that meant his aching head was now completely horizontal.

He wasn’t even sure he was still on solid ground with how aggressively dizzy he became after that, the rock floor beneath him shifting like it was melting and he was falling. Except he was well aware that he wasn’t.

“Up you go... thanks Pidge.”

The vertigo only worsened when a strong hand was pushing at his back while another tinier one tugged at his limp arm, their combined effort guiding his pliant body into a sitting position.

“I can handle Lance while you survey the area for anything that might be useful, the water’s rising fast so we don’t have a lot of time.”

Shiro’s hand remained firm on his shoulder when it was apparent he still didn’t have the ability to keep himself even semi upright without assistance.

“Useful how?”

“I don’t know, maybe something that you can shove under the rock to prop it up and use as a lever... something strong...”

There’s a groan of rubble crashing in the distance, displaced from the pressure of the tons of water pouring on top of it.

“Why don’t you get going, yeah?”

Shiro suggested when he saw how Pidge blanched and Lance winced at the sound, the minute vibrations that reached them jarring his brain once more.

“We’ll be right here when you get back,” he reminded with a tight smile.

“You’re seriously not nearly as hilarious as you perceive yourself to be.”

“I know.”

The landscape wasn’t littered with much in the way of useful materials. Mostly giant slabs of uneven stone from the pavilion that made traversing the debris field really annoying with only one hand for balance, especially when additionally trudging through rising water that made everything slippery.

“This is pointless,” she grumbled.

There was nothing useful. Aside from bits of rock that she could maybe jam on either side of Shiro’s arm to alleviate enough pressure for him to slide out once the water rose enough, but there wasn’t any point in lugging those back with her when there was plenty where the boys were.

A particularly slick stone had her heart rate elevating when she narrowly avoided taking a header. It only served to enervate her further.

“Pointless and treacherous...”

But as Pidge made her way closer towards the ruins from the building that got swallowed down with them, the crushed squabble of rubble started to pique her interest. There were actual items squished under large swathes of sediment instead of just more sediment.

The blue light of her suit glinted off of any bits of metal she passed by, though for a while it was mostly rebarb rods and plumbing pipes sticking up between rocks. But the more she spotted the more they got Pidge’s mind working.

It would need to be something smaller. Something that was already bent and not sharp. Something she could free with a few tugs.

She scanned the rubble with a renewed passion once she knew what she was looking for, the water lapping against her ankles as she made her way around the destroyed landscape an unpleasant reminder of what was at stake if she didn’t hurry.

The same couldn’t be said for Shiro and Lance who were sitting on a ticking time bomb. Well? More like in.

“Hey Sh’ro...” Lance whispered, his voice timid.

The wait for Pidge grew bleaker as the time droned on. Not that Lance could even really gauge how much had passed or focus on their impending deaths for long. The several inches of water beneath them was a good marker though.

“Yeah, bud? What’s up?”

They hadn’t done much talking. Lance had made it clear that even Shiro’s hushed voice made his head spin and so he only spoke when checking in every now and then.

“I didn’t...”

He watched carefully as Lance looked down at the water in his lap and shuddered. His breath catches in his throat before he can get his question out and Shiro’s blood goes cold despite the temperature regulators in his suit being in perfect order.

“What’s that?”

He takes as deep a breath as he can manage and averts his gaze.

“Know m’out of it... but I didn’t, right?”

Shiro begins to run through every field medicine fact he knows regarding brain injuries before he follows Lance’s eyes back down to the water lapping against his crossed legs and the several splinters in the lower half of his armor.

He stowed that away for later. That the dents ripped into Lance’s suit meant it was comprised. It meant that so was Pidge’s and so was his and their helmets wouldn’t do them any good because water was bound to get in anyway.

Just like water was getting into Lance’s now...

“Oh, shit you mean—no Lance, no you didn’t. That wasn’t you, it’s just some water from the pipes that broke.”

The sigh he let’s out is a jagged one but he seems to visibly relax at the confirmation.

“Kay... s’good. Was worried for a sec...”

Shiro has to close his eyes and breathe deeply for a second to keep from laughing. Or crying. He’s not sure which but either one would have been hysterical and he was certain that he didn’t want to indulge in that.

The literal only thing he could do was keep Lance calm and he was not about to comprise it by losing his.

Lance hums idly and it eases Shiro’s frayed nerves. He has to be righted briefly when he relaxes his arms and it sends him lurching to the side, but once he remembers himself and locks his elbows again Shiro offers him a terse smile of encouragement.

“Don’t have’t do that, y’know...” Lance grumbles in response.

“Do what? Keep you awake or keep you from splitting your chin open? Because you already know what my answer to both of those questions will be.”

Lance steels himself to turn his head and face Shiro. His eyes are bleary and unfocused when he does. It takes an extra minute for him to process what he’d just heard and another to put together his response.

Shiro’s frown somehow deepens at the realization that he’s getting worse and wonders if he’s already forgotten what they were talking about, maybe even the question he wanted to ask.

“I’m happy to remind you though,” Shiro decides on following up with, his tone gentle as he forces his wrinkled forehead to soften.

Lance hums again but this time it’s contemplative and his brows knit together in concentration.

“Pretend you’re not scared,” he drawls slowly, taking his time enunciating each word but still sounding slightly drunk anyway.

Shiro catches himself before he smiles, before he lies to Lance again.

Lance who is concussed and losing blood from several gashes on his face and head that are more likely to scar to longer he goes without a pod, but coherent enough to know that Shiro is bullshitting him and subtlety tell him to screw off.

“Alright,” he says instead. And this time Shiro allows himself to laugh.

The half of Lance’s face covered in cuts is undoubtedly numb and swelling from the bruises sure to be forming beneath all the blood, but he tries to smile anyway.

Shiro mucks his hair with a light hand far away from any patches of red and they fall into a comfortable silence as they listen for Pidge. It’s what feels like a mini eternity and another three inches closer to drowning before they finally hear her approaching.

“Pigeooooon,” Lance calls out.

“Present,” she mumbles exasperatedly.

Her hair is matted to her forehead with sweat and there’s a skinny pipe tucked under her trembling arm. Shiro would’ve told her to rest for a minute if she wasn’t already clutching a jut of upturned stone for dear life.

“What is that for? You’d need something a bit wider for a wedge...”

“Maybe I wasn’t shooting for a wedge.”

“Pidge this is serious.”

“I’m well aware, you don’t have to remind me—he’s going down.”

“Shit Lance,” Shiro gruffs as he yanks him up from where he was seconds away from falling face first into water.

“Sorry. M’awake.”

“Sure you are,” Pidge agrees sardonically as she kneels beside him and grabs his chin to look him over. His pupils are still dilated and his wounds are still dribbling spurts of bright red but the flow isn’t as heavy as before. At least blood loss won’t get him first.

“Hey, Pidge...”

“Hi, lover boy.”

The nickname elicits what can only be guessed was a sorry attempt at an eye roll but he gets distracted in demonstrating his contempt by what Pidge is presenting Shiro with.

“Mmh was’the tube for?”

“Ever seen the wonky mask that scuba divers use? Well, Shiro’s going to take an unprecedented dive today and this is the best substitute I could find.”

“Hold up—“

“Nope, you don’t get a say, I nearly busted my ass pulling this lose. Tube goes in your mouth. Pinch your nose so you don’t accidentally waterlog your lungs. And pray that the others find us before you have to do any of that.”

Shiro is silent for a long moment but Pidge doesn’t care. She’s too busy catching her breath and willing the fire in her arm to ease to give her stubborn superior any room for protest.

“I should’ve sent Lance.”

29 notes · View notes

kitkat1003 · 4 years ago

Text

On the issue of Mortality

AO3 Link

MK chose to be mortal, to be vulnerable, for the time being, and Monkey King is fine with that.

On the surface, at least. Now he has a successor, one that he likes, and he’s vulnerable????

Yeah, he’s never going to sleep easy again.

(Or, 11 chapters through season 1 about Monkey King, and anxiety his successor gives him. Who knew being a dad teacher would be so hard?)

Chapter 1: Picking a successor

(Or “Look, I’m gonna come clean. Um...I’ve been kinda watching you”)

When Sun Wukong—the Monkey King—decides he needs a successor, it isn’t an easy decision. For one, he refuses to admit why. Because that would mean confronting it all and he doesn’t want to.

He needs a successor because he wants one. Who doesn’t want to retire? It’s not like he’s spent hundreds of thousands of years in technical retirement, waiting for the Demon Bull King to return. No, he’s been...super busy. Yeah. Turning Flower Fruit Mountain into a paradise has totally taken him…forever, and, like, he’s got lots of stuff to do. He watches TV, once humans get electricity figured out. Gets a computer too, once those things start popping up. He gets a lawyer or two, yknow, keeping up with the times.

He’s...super busy. He definitely deserves a retirement.

So all that’s left is find a successor. Easy, right?

Well....

He actually starts looking when he hears whispers that the Demon Bull family is starting to get close to figuring out how to lift his staff. So about a hundred years before Demon Bull King actually escapes.

He finds a few kids he thinks might work, but nothing happens, anyway, so there’s no point in interrupting their boring normal lives for nothing. Besides, he doesn’t really see any of them with the spark of...something that he wants in his successor in any of them

He watches them grow. Child to teen to adult, he watches, and then he leaves before they get too old because he doesn’t want to see the headstones.

He doesn’t understand why they have to be human. Why they have to be mortal. Why they have to be able to die.

Why he has to watch them die.

Years and years pass. He gets lax, when looking for a successor. Lax when it comes to keeping an eye on the Demon Bull family.

He does, on occasion, watch the town where his staff is. It’s a pretty populace place, always buzzing with some sort of activity, which is both fun and boring.

One night, he watches a kid—no older than 13, he thinks, since he’s gotten used to watching humans grow and can gauge it pretty well—sprint down the street in the rain, wearing nothing but a ratty old hoodie, a shirt, shorts, torn up shoes, and a headband so dirty that even he can’t discern the original color.

There are three other figures chasing him, and he ducks into an alley as they sprint past. Monkey King watches as the kid settles down, sitting in the alley, and pulling something out from beneath his hoodie.

A puppy.

“Hey there, little guy,” the kid’s voice is soft, and he scritches the tiny pup behind the ears. “Sorry I couldn’t get your siblings, but they’d already been thrown in the lake—” the look on the kid’s face is nothing short of heartbreaking.

Monkey King has plans for the group of thugs he saw earlier, if that’s what they were doing. Humans.

“But hey, managed to save you, huh? I’ll bring you to a shelter in the morning. Someone will take you home and you’ll get loved to death.” Monkey King rolls his eyes at the saccharine display, but he wonders.

There isn’t a lot of crime in this city, with its advancements. What’s a kid doing outside this late at night?

“I’d take you home with me, but mine’s more of a hovel than a place to live. You can still see it, though! C’mon,” the kid gets up, stumbling a little, and Monkey King notices that he’s favoring one leg, that the elbow of one of the sleeve’s of his hoodie is wet.

He follows.

The kid’s house is literally a shack made of a metal sheet wedged between an alley wall. There’s a ‘bench’ that’s a slab of rock placed on top of more rocks, where a well loved sketchbook sits.

The kid sits on the bench, setting the puppy down beside him as he flips open his sketchbook.

“I’m gonna draw you, so I don’t forget, kay?” He pats the pup on the head, and then, using the smallest, most worn down pencil Monkey King has ever seen, he slowly carves out the puppy’s features, getting the soft tones of fur. He keeps squinting, but Monkey King thinks that’s because all he has is the light of the lamppost for his vision.

This kid...is pretty darn good.

Monkey King watches for way longer than he would like to admit, and then watches as the kid pulls out a very worn blanket-substitute, curling around the puppy beneath it.

He frowns, but isn’t sure what to do about it.

So he leaves, and makes sure those thugs learn a thing or two about treating animals with respect.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

This kid just keeps popping up in Monkey King’s peripherals.

He likes to people watch, and the kid will just appear from nowhere. He’ll be running down the street, hanging out with this girl who looks about 3 economic classes above him. They’ll go to the arcade and play for hours, and she’ll pay for practically everything.

He decides he likes her, if she’s nice enough to do that for the kid. Plus, he feels a familiar energy coming off of her, something he trusts.

They typically end their day at a noodle shop. Pigsy’s? The kid always pays there, with coins of various sizes. The girl, when the kid isn’t looking, will slip the cook some more money. They get steaming hot bowls of ramen, harass the cook, and eventually get half chased out, laughing all the while.

“You know you can stay with me, right?” The girl says, one day, when Monkey King is people watching (read: eavesdropping on their conversation. It’s like his new favorite TV show, at this point). Kid rolls his eyes.

“Mei, c’mon, your relationship with your folks is as strained as mine! I wouldn’t want you to end up like me. Besides, I’m fine!” he insists with the grin Monkey King has grown accustomed to seeing on Kid’s face.

The information Monkey King gains from those two sentences is certainly something, and he ponders on Mei, the girl who spends her days as far away from home as possible.

Mei frowns.

“You still won’t show me where you’re staying. Or explain why your clothes are all torn up!” She pokes him in the chest, and the Kid shrugs.

“Cause you wouldn’t like either of those things! I can take care of myself! Promise.” He rocks back and forth on his feet, all smiles.

Mei fixes him with a glare, before she sighs, relenting. “Fine. But, if you won’t take my hospitality, you get my undying loyalty and free stuff!” She whips out a brand new red winter coat.

Kid takes it slowly.

“It’s getting colder out!” She explains. “And red just isn’t my color, you know?”

Kid slowly pulls the jacket against his chest, like he doesn’t know what to do with it, and then he smiles. This one is smaller. Less performative. Monkey King didn’t realize that he’d been watching the kid to be able to tell the difference, but it’s not too hard to see. Kid uses big smiles like a cloak, to hide what’s underneath. The smaller ones-those are like the slivers of sunlight shooting out from an eclipse. Wukong finds he prefers the smaller ones.

Kid wraps his arm around Mei’s shoulders.

“Thanks, Mei.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The days get colder, and Kid is still in that shack. Monkey King finds out that Kid doesn’t steal for money. Instead, he does little odd jobs for short change, and then looks for coins people have dropped. Apparently, the city’s wealth has made people more loose with their change.

Mei drags him to warm places as often as she can, but apparently this time of year she has a lot of responsibilities, or “social events,” as she calls them, so she can’t be around as much.

Kid doesn’t seem to mind, shivering through the nights, curling himself as tight as possible with that jacket and shitty blanket, and Monkey King doesn’t know why he even cares, but...

He’s not cruel. It isn’t pleasant to watch a kid suffer.

And then, Kid gets sick. Like, delirious, fever sick, and he’s not getting better.

And Monkey King has told himself, a million times, that he would let Kid figure his own life out, but he ends up picking Kid up anyway, depositing him at the ever familiar noodle shop.

The cook drags the boy inside, and Monkey King doesn’t see Kid on the streets after that.

Good.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Kid starts working at the noodle shop, apparently, and he lives above the shop. Slowly, he accrues random objects. Sketchbooks, games, figurines, Monkey King comics? He watches the show near religiously, and Monkey King is both flattered and weirded out.

A super fan, huh? Okay then.

And when he isn’t working, or watching “Monkey King: The Animated Series,” or reading Monkey King comics, he’s begging the resident bookworm, Tang, for stories, which he then sketches out.

Monkey King actually goes through the sketchbook once, when Kid’s asleep. Yup, Kid’s really, really good at this. Monkey King actually thinks about stealing a drawing, but that would be both very obvious and also stupid.

So he lets it go. He ought to look for his successor, anyway. He hears the Demon Bull family is getting close.

He leaves Kid to his life and moves on to his own.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He can’t find a successor. Somehow. It’s like every person in this city (and it would have to be in this city, because you need to be close to the staff in some regard if you want to have a connection with it. Being born near it, living near it-makes it easy for the energy, the chi, to find you) doesn’t want anything to do with hero business. The kids he considers are too small, the adults too...boring.

And he’s getting pretty frustrated here, because he thinks he might just have to fight the Demon Bull King all over again, which, ugh.

And then, it clicks.

He’s watching Kid drive around town, delivering orders, and somehow the kid steers towards the construction site. Toward the staff.

Of course.

God, it was literally staring him in the face. He feels kind of dumb, now that it hits him, but whatever. Not like anyone’s around to tease him about it.

He watches Kid waltz towards danger, music in his headphones too loud to notice the literal demon family, until Kid opens his eyes and sees the whole demon army there, and hoo boy, is this comical.

Monkey King wonders if they’ll succeed this time, in lifting his staff. They certainly seem confident. He’s kind of curious, kind of bored. The whole ‘take our rightful place as rulers of this world’ schtick is super annoying, and Red Son’s voice is grating.

The light show is pretty nice, though, and then.

Then.

Demon Bull King’s a lot smaller than he remembers, but his voice is the same, as is his attitude. Monkey King can feel Kid shaking and takes a quick sweep of the area. Seems his successor is right above Red Son.

He smirks to himself, not that anyone can see considering he’s a bird right now.

This is going to be hilarious.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Kid touches the staff, Monkey King isn’t prepared for the feeling he gets.

It’s like he’s been the single Sun in an endless galaxy, surrounded by darkness, when suddenly another star appears from nowhere, throwing him into orbit with it. The galaxy shifts, the light doubles, the darkness recedes.

Monkey King’s own center, his sun, feels red hot, warm, and tempered by years of life, with a spark of yellow and white in its center. Kid’s is bright, brilliant golden yellow, more white than any color, bursting with energy.

That energy gets put to work pretty quickly, as the Kid fumbles his way out of the demon’s den, and Monkey King soars after him, watching the escape with a smile.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He doesn’t properly meet Kid until he gets shot all the way to Flower Fruit mountain. After Kid escapes Red Son, he panickedly tells his friends what’s going on and tries to get there on his own.

Well, all the way is a bit much. Maybe Monkey King had to catch Kid and fly him there, because Kid was looking half dead and Monkey King was a little worried, but that’s beside the point. He leaves Kid on the shore, and follows him when Kid gets up.

He isn’t expecting the frustration, when he can’t be found, but he supposes that’s his cue.

Getting stepped on is unpleasant. Guess Kid doesn’t like bugs.

God, the look on Kid’s face, when it hits him that Monkey King’s been watching him! If he could frame a memory, that would be it. Hoo, boy, is that going to be replaying in his head for a while. Kid seems more bewildered than anything else, and the idea of being Monkey King’s successor doesn’t sit well with him.

Which, Monkey King doesn’t get that. Who wouldn’t want to be taught by him?

But maybe he overestimates the kid’s spunk, his confidence, because waving off his worries doesn’t spur him on; rather, it seems to deflate him.

Ugh. Why is being a teacher difficult? It’s not like his teacher had a hard time with him, right?

Distantly, he thinks he can hear his master shouting at him. He hops off his cloud, says just the right thing to get Kid pumped up, and watches him race off.

He considers just sitting back and not watching, but then, that wouldn’t be any fun, would it?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He isn’t actually sure what having a successor means, really. How much their powers, their lives, would mirror his own. A part of him was terrified by the prospect—could he even be known as anything special, if he was no longer one of a kind?

But there’s also something quite exciting about this. The idea that your life is being rewritten, the story unfinished and yet also repeating itself. The Demon Bull King is on the loose, with his army and family, trying to take over the world.

And only one person can stop him. The Monkey King.

Kid’s powers are volatile. He can feel them flare up from time to time, wildly flickering out of control. A lack of self confidence, that might be causing it. A part of him is annoyed by that, a part of him is relieved. Far better to have to teach someone to believe in themselves than teach them humility. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t learned that latter lesson all the way yet.

Kid vanishes into the Demon Bull King’s chest, where the staff lies, and for a moment, the new sun vanishes. Monkey King feels the cold rush of space in its absence, and feels panic, even though he’s only known this warmth for a few hours.

But then, it bursts back into existence, as a familiar stone drops from the Demon Bull King’s chest, cracking open, and, well, it’s history being written the same way over and over again, isn’t it?

Kid has a flair for silliness, childish maneuvers. He likes to have fun, and that’s the best part of the powers they share. To be invincible, to have fun while saving the day.

It’s a repeat, until, well, it isn’t.

The blow Kid takes makes Monkey King wince. The body becoming invulnerable takes time. It doesn’t just immediately show up. Every second, Kid’s body is absorbing and meshing with the powers thrust upon it, but that doesn’t mean getting hit a mile by a guy twenty times your size doesn’t still hurt, at this point.

But Monkey King knows this is what has to happen. Because heroes aren’t heroes if they never feel pain, never get hit.

Heroes, he thinks, as Kid tears himself from the wall he’s embedded in, as Kid stands, eyes ablaze, are heroes when they get hit and they get back up.

And Kid sure as hell does.

“I’m the Monkey Kid!” He shouts, like a battle cry, like a challenge, and Monkey King smirks. Monkey Kid, huh? It suits him. And then, Kid slams the staff on the ground, and the world shifts.

A part of him is kind of jealous. How come he never got a mech?! Has that been a thing this entire time? Another part is in awe of this Kid’s creativity, ability, at such a young age.

And seeing DBK get trounced again certainly keeps the jealous part of him quiet.

Kid’s got a nice group of friends. Reminds him of his journey days, him and a rag tag group of idiots going around wreaking havoc and learning moral lessons at the end of it. He’s glad Kid isn’t alone or on the streets anymore. A strong foundation leads to a stronger ability to grow.

Well, he’d better get some sort of training regimen ready. Or, at least, start thinking of some things to do to train this kid. He’s sure at some point Kid is going to bug him for a lesson or two.

Somehow, the thought doesn’t bother him as much as he thinks it should.

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid mk #monkie kid monkey king #sun wukong #kitkat1003 #monkie kid mei

51 notes · View notes

missytearex · 4 years ago

Photo

Here are the fics that kept me entertained this month. Remember to leave kudos/comments if you choose to check them out. Under 10k fics are under the cut.

🌊 Follow Your Arrow by @bitter-leaf --- [fic post]

larry | 78k | explicit

Harry was the golden child, blessed in every way; Niall was the charming miscreant, a bad boy; Liam was the future-son-in-law parents of daughters dreamt of, and Zayn was the kid parents wished was their son. But Louis, Harry thought, Louis was the special one.

It's senior year and everything is about to change.

🌊 Caves End by @jacaranda-bloom --- [fic post]

larry | 39k | explicit

When a recurring injury cuts short Harry’s time as the Captain of the English Football Team, he needs to rethink his career and his future. His best mate and manager, Niall, decides that what Harry really needs is a change of scenery, time to relax, and to get some perspective on his life. What Harry doesn’t expect is for them to end up in Australia, on a farm, with the most gorgeous man he’s ever laid eyes on.

OR the one where Harry has lost his future, Louis has lost his past, but maybe together, they can find a way through the dark.

🌊 What You're Signing On For by @a-brighter-yellow --- [fic post]

larry | 29k | mature

Back at home in London after a whirlwind romance, Louis wants nothing more than to break ties completely with the sophisticated Frenchman who swept him off his feet. In order to do that, he needs the help of Harry Styles: former town bad boy and adopted brother of Louis' flatmate.

An O.C. AU about flawed first impressions, the seductive power of French pastries, bad romance novelists, and getting on the same page.

🌊 Home (It's You) by Anonymous --- [fic post]

larry | 28k | mature

When Louis left his high-powered life in the city to settle down in the suburbs, he had hoped to one day fall in love and start a family. He certainly didn’t expect to meet the omega of his dreams within five minutes of moving in.

He also didn’t expect the love of his life to hate him so much.

Or, Louis and Harry are neighbors who can't seem to get along...until they fall in love.

🌊 driving down a one way road (to something better) by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed --- [fic post]

zouis | 26k | teen and up

“I’m at the airport.” It’s followed by a bitter laugh. “I’m - I’m literally at the airport, hiding away in the toilets to make a phone call. They’re probably going to barge in here in a minute, thinking I’m doing something illegal, but I didn’t know what else to do Lou.” He sounds desperate, wild, nothing that Louis is used to associating with Zayn. “My flight leaves in an hour, and I wasn’t gonna do this, but, I didn’t know what else to do.”

Louis frowns. “What do you mean, love?”

“Can I - Can I please come and stay with you?” It’s barely more than a whisper, and Louis honestly isn’t sure if he’s heard it right, but the lack of an immediate response on his part makes Zayn’s breath come out all shaky and Louis won’t stand for that.

“Yes,” he decides, repeats it, in a softer but no less certain voice, when he knows Zayn is about to protest. “Yes. Of course. I’ll be there, yeah? I’ll come pick you up. When will you get here? What airport?”

---

When Zayn breaks up with his boyfriend, he needs a place to stay. Louis wouldn't be Louis if he didn't immediately open his doors to him. Never mind the fact that he's been in love with him for two years. That's not important, right?

🌊 A Road To Something Better by @taggiecb --- [fic post]

larry | 25k | explicit

Louis Tomlinson, famous romance novelist, has just had the rug pulled out from under his feet when his boyfriend leaves him without notice. What's the most appropriate response to this? Move a thousand miles away and seclude himself in a tiny lake town, of course. But nothing is as he expects it to be in the very best way, especially not the handsome mayor of McAll, Idaho.

🌊 When Tomorrow Comes by Anonymous --- [fic post]

larry | 11k | explicit

When Louis and Niall are partnered up to complete a project on Omega scents and how they effect the nesting behaviours of Alphas, little does Louis know that the course of his life is about to be forever altered.

OR the one where Louis is an Omega who has been keeping himself pure for his Alpha, Harry is a traditional Alpha focusing on his studies while he waits to find his bondmate, and Niall is a sneaky bastard who keeps borrowing Louis’ clothes and never returning them.

🌊 I can’t do this alone (sometimes I just need a light) by @beau-soleil-louis --- [fic post]

larry | 7k | not rated

“Harry,” he says after another contemplative moment, “can I hug you?”

It’s been...well, Harry doesn’t actually know how long it’s been. Less than an hour, probably, but already Louis says his name like it’s safe in his mouth, and now he’s opening his arms like Harry could be safe there too.

“Please,” Harry nearly sobs, and sinks into him the way butter melts on toast. It’s an apt metaphor, really, because what Louis is giving him is as essential and sustaining as a loaf of bread to a starving man. His basic need for physical affection is as vital as his need for sustenance, for sleep, and he can’t believe he’s allowed himself to ignore it for so long.

Or: Harry is having a rough time. Louis is the kind stranger who makes him smile again.

🌊 Nailed By Louis by @haztobegood --- [fic post]

larry | 6k | explicit

It had started as a joke, just two months earlier. Louis had tried to make recipe from HarrySizzles Instagram account. It looked doable: no strange ingredients, no scary kitchen machinery. Just a simple layered lettuce salad. The result had been catastrophic. His friends had laughed so hard at the disgusting appearance of his salad, and after a few drinks, Louis had been convinced to start his own Instagram to track his food failures.

🌊 You Drive Me Wild by @jacaranda-bloom --- [fic post]

larry | 5k | explicit

Most people would think that keeping a tube of lube hidden behind the driver’s side visor of their car is foolish and completely unnecessary, but then most people don’t have to chauffeur Louis Tomlinson around for a living.

OR the one where Harry has a brilliant idea to while away the time as he waits around for his boss but fate decides to rain on his parade... or maybe it’s the universe answering his prayers.

🌊 You're A (Total) Distraction by @lululawrence --- [fic post]

larry | 4k | not rated

Harry’s hand sprang out and took the arrow back in her grasp, Louis’ entire face having lit up when Harry spoke. “Thank you for returning this to me.”

“Well, it was my fault, right?” Louis gave her a big smile before glancing up at Harry’s ears and then over towards her target. “Fuck, are those all bullseyes?”

Harry shrugged. “I haven’t checked on them yet, but maybe.”

Louis’ eyebrows were raised. “I didn’t realize archery was such a big thing for deer hybrids.”

Pursing her lips, Harry tried to figure out how much to say. Why was Louis talking to her? Why had she called out in the first place? Was it because she thought Harry was a freak, like so many other humans?

“It isn’t for everyone,” Harry finally settled on.

Or the one where Harry is a deer hybrid trying to prove to her clan she's more than what's expected. When she meets Louis, a human, she thinks it's just a one time thing. It's not.

🌊 Raise My Body Back To Life by @fallinglikethis --- [fic post]

larry | 1k | mature

“You sure about this?” Harry asks one last time, looking over his shoulder at the young blonde standing there. She’d come to his office earlier in the night and nearly interrupted Harry’s meeting about a case he’s working on with the Chief of Police in her haste to get her brother back. Luckily, his assistant, Niall had held her off until he was done. “Death changes people sometimes. He’ll remember it. All of it. Dying, how it felt. If it hurt. You’re positive you want to put him through that?”

“I don’t,” she says, wringing her hands and biting her lip to stop it trembling, “but I have to.”

Harry stares, taking her in. Her eyes shine with unshed tears but she’s standing tall, certain. Harry nods once and turns back around to face the body lying on the metal slab before him. His name is Louis Tomlinson and, as he rolls up his sleeves, Harry Idly notices how gorgeous he was. Is. He hopes this isn’t going to traumatize Louis.

Inspired by Kill My Mind.

🌊 Devil in my Brain by @bitter-leaf

larry | 1k | general audiences

Louis’ pissed; pissed drunk, pissed off, seething as he eyes Harry in the club, waving his arms and shaking his hips like he couldn’t care less about how stupid he looks.

Louis might be going a little crazy.

🌊 Demarcation by @musiclily

larry | 1k | not rated

Walls

#june 2020 #28th appreciation #fic rec #my recs #my lists

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blue-lions-baby · 4 years ago

Text

Scars That We Can’t Erase (Dimitri x F!Reader)

hi!! this fic was requested by an anon! i’m so sorry i realized too late that once i replied to the original request i can’t like reply to it anymore does that make sense i’ve been studying for six hours pLEASE i absolutely fell in love with the given prompt, and i hope my writing did it justice! here is the original request--

“Hi! Can i get some dimitri × fem reader in which dima literally adores the reader please? One time, the reader takes a grave hit for him in battle and he is a worried mess? He cant stop thinking about her, his training is sloppy because he cant concentrate, he feels awful. He even stays at the infirmary with her all day and night while she's unconscious, manuela has to force him to get some rest. He feels terrible and guilty when seeing the scar that the reader has (oh poor boi-) Thanks! Ilysm♡ “

i should also let you guys know that this fic (imo at least) is a bit more... intense, compared to my other ones. it does get rather lighthearted towards the end, so hopefully it kinda balances out ???

pre-timeskip and no spoilers!!

~*~

No...

No, no, no...

The last thing that Dimitri saw was your quivering, paling lips and your frame crumbling to the blood-soaked ground.

The last thing that Dimitri heard was Byleth’s cries for a healer and the way your name mangled out of his throat in a blood-curdling scream-- along with the sickeningly sweet cries of the bandit who struck you down as he stabbed, stabbed, stabbed the poor bastard’s soul out of his botched body.

The last thing Dimitri felt on his lips was blood. Blood from his tongue-- the pink, throbbing muscle oozing with red liquid-- or from the pulp of that bastard’s corpse, he did not know or care. The hauntingly warm liquid stained the corners of his lips and the core of his very soul as the deep holes and gashes he imprinted on the man’s body left ribbons of flesh hanging from visibly cracked bones, rendering him nearly unrecognizable as a human being.

“Dimitri! That’s enough!” A voice that sounded eerily similar to his professor’s wormed its way into his mind.

“How dare you lay a finger on her, you monster!”

“Your Highness, he’s already dead! Just leave him alone!” Cried a legion of voices, none holding familiarity to him.

“I will punish you for what you did! For what you did to (F/N)!”

It was his fault.

It was all his fault.

If only he saw that bandit rushing towards him.

If only he saw the glistening of the ruffian’s axe as he swung the sharpened slab of metal at him.

If only he heard you call out his name, a foreshadow to his bloody fate.

If only you didn’t jump in to save him.

If only he could have saved you.

Scenes of you falling before his very eyes kept replaying in his head, tearing open the fresh, guilt-induced wounds in his heart in a never-ending cycle. Something solid-- arms, perhaps-- grappled onto his pulsing, aching arms, which he shrugged off with ease. He wasn’t going to stop until that monster of a man suffered the consequences for hurting you. He wasn’t going to stop until that monster of a man paid his dues. He wasn’t going to stop--

Until he felt a gentle hold on his wrist.

Dimitri, snapping out of his blood-lusting reverie, paused instantly. He jerked his face to the small, shaking hand that just barely ghosted the surface of his gauntlet.

Your small, shaking hand.

“Dimitri...” A hand as beautiful as the one steadying his shaking wrist cupped his cheek, erasing the splatters of impurities that marred his smooth skin. “Please, stop...”

The fractured lance in his hand fell to the ground as its owner caught you in his arms, preventing you from suffering the same fate. Dimitri stumbled to his knees, fatigue and overexertion having finally caught up to him. Wheezing and hugging you as tightly as he could, he stroked your matted, sweaty, yet gorgeous locks with the gentleness of a lover. The delicate footsteps of Mercedes caught his attention and he looked up at his peer.

“Your Highness,” her eyes turned to you then back to him, “she’s going to be okay.”

Everything went black.

~*~

The carefree songs of swallows were the first to greet the groggy prince as he re-entered the world of consciousness. Although his hearing slowly came back to the awakened male, he just couldn’t will his eyelids to lift. And so he laid there, his ears the only channel to the bustling world around him.

“How are they?” Asked a monotone voice, stained with concern.

“Thankfully, the prince didn’t suffer any major wounds. A few scratches here and there, as well as some swelling and light bruising, but nothing too serious. Still, we should be careful straining his body any further. As for (F/N)...”

He heard the flirtatious healer heave heavily; his heart crumbled.

“That Mercedes girl did a splendid job patching her up in the moment. If you were to come even a moment later, we would have lost her.”

“So they’ll both live?” Dimitri recognized that worried tone from anywhere-- his loyal retainer.

“His Highness, for sure. (F/N), she... I’ve done everything I could to patch her up, but...”

“So... The best thing we can do is just... wait?”

“That’s the only thing we can do, Professor.”

Dimitri heard footsteps approach his bedside, then shortly congregate to elsewhere. The royal, disheartened and spirit-broken, let out a pitiful gurgle akin to a cry.

“Dimitri!”

“Your Highness!”

Through brute force and sheer will, he wrested his eyes open. The gentle morning light harshly struck his still-delicate pupils, making him wince. A raging headache tore through his temples, threatening to split his skull open.

“(F-F/N)...” He found himself muttering. “Where--? Where is--?”

“She is here, Your Highness.” Dedue motioned to the still figure beside the prince. “She is... not in the best condition.”

“I heard.” Dimitri dismissed the oncoming report, knowing his heart would all but collapse from within if he had to hear your grim fate iterated again. “I heard... everything.”

“Dimitri,” his professor began, “do you need anything?”

“Actually... May you please help me sit up?”

I can’t get a good look at her from this angle...

“No can do, Prince Dimitri.” Manuela retorted. “Even though your wounds are not as severe as (F/N)’s, we really shouldn’t put your body under any more stress.”

“Ms. Manuela, please. I beg of you.” Dimitri paused. “T-Truthfully, this position is rather uncomfortable. I would feel much better if I were to be readjusted.”

Manuela sighed, glanced over the royal’s swollen limbs and cut appendages, and reluctantly nodded.

“All right, fine. Let us know if anything starts to hurt.”

“Of course. You have my thanks. All of you.”

While Dedue busied himself propping and fluffing the pillows to Dimitri’s comfort, Manuela and Byleth worked together to assist the royal. They slowly managed to complete the task, doing their best to inflict as little pain as possible to the wincing and grimacing male.

“T-Thank you.” He breathed out shakily. “I feel... better now.”

“Do you require anything else, Your Highness?” Dedue questioned.

“I am fine, thank you. I just need time to... reflect.”

“I understand. I will wait outside should you need anything.” Dedue arose mechanically, bowed, and went outside to his station.

“Well, I need to run to town to restock on some medical supplies. I will be back as soon as I can. Goodbye.~” Manuela winked, patted Byleth on the shoulder, and sauntered away.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” Byleth asked again, double-checking on the fluffed pillows.

“I am fine, Professor. Thank you for your help, as always.” Dimitri smiled slightly.

Byleth nodded, glanced at their other student, and leaned down.

“She’s going to be okay, Dimitri.”

Dimitri said nothing, the words meant to reassure only fueling his anxiety. All he could muster was a feigned smile and a small nod.

“Thank you for the encouragement, Professor.”

And Byleth was off, no doubt hurrying back to the rest of the Lions.

Now Dimitri was alone, save for Dedue who was ready to attend to his lord's every whim and command.

And... you.

Dimitri’s head lolled to face you. You were neatly tucked in the infirmary bed, a thin blanket cascaded over your body. So thin, in fact, that he could see the outline of the thick bandaging about your torso and shoulder.

Memories of the previous battle flooded his mind.

Distinct, biting, and painful memories that he’d do anything to bury in the oblivion-- to tuck away in the dark recesses of his mind, never to see the light of consciousness ever again.

He lifted his arm, forgoing his body’s desire to rest the battered limb, in a futile attempt to reach you-- to hold you.

So close, yet so far.

He remembered how his name was the last thing to spill out of your shaking, colorless lips as the lilting (E/C) hues he fell in love with gave way to a hollow, lifeless sheen.

How you were within his grasp-- within his reach-- yet he could do nothing to save you.

Except needlessly pulverize a dead man’s body into literal shreds.

Oh, Goddess.

His classmates.

His fellow Lions.

He had no direct memory of the faces or expressions he saw in his frenzy, yet he remembered it so distinctly. Although he possessed no recollections to base this on, he could clearly see each and every one of their faces painted with horror and quite possibly revulsion at the murderous monstrosity he managed to commit.

“Deem...”

Dimitri almost choked. He very nearly jumped out of bed if the shooting pain in his legs didn’t remind him of his sorry state.

“(F/N)...?!” Groaning, he turned his whole body to face you. “C-Can you hear me...?!”

“...ma.”

Your eyelids shuddered before stilling once more. He heard a quiet, labored wheeze rise from your chest before you succumbed to another deep sleep. A rush of emotions throbbed through his heart, each one too complex and short-lived for the prince to process.

“(F/N)...” He reached out his hand again, knowing full well that you were beyond his grasp. “I do not know if you can hear me, but please... Live.”

~*~

Within a day Dimitri’s body was healed of most of its external wounds, but his soul was still as ravaged as the battlefield you fell in. While the rest of the Lions greeted their leader with open arms (all except one, spitting out how his display in their previous skirmish proved he was “nothing but a feral boar,”) Dimitri could only return a fraction of their enthusiasm. He still smiled and trained and attended lectures, but the dark bags forming under his blank eyes were a physical manifestation of the raging storm within.

“Ope! Gotcha again, Your Highness!” Sylvain fisted the air triumphantly, hoping his smug arrogance would arouse a competitive flame within the despondent teen.

“Ah... It appears you have.” Dimitri mumbled, more so to himself than to Sylvain, and slipped into a fighting stance. “Let us try again.”

“Actually, Your Highness...” Sylvain leaned on the wooden training lance. “How about we take a short break. We’ve been training all afternoon.”

“Has it been that long?” Dimitri blinked, looking up at the still-blue skies.

“Yeah. C’mon. I’ll take care of the lances, you just sit down and make yourself comfortable.”

Although Dimitri would typically fight and say something along the lines of how he couldn’t possibly allow someone to take care of something he could so easily do himself, Sylvain found the lance slip out of the royal’s fingers with ease. After propping the training weapons on a rack, Sylvain joined Dimitri on a bench.

“So Your Highness,” Sylvain slid to his friend’s side, “we... couldn’t help noticing that...”

“Yes?”

“Well...” Sylvain trailed off again. “Ever since... you know... You haven’t been your usual self. At all.”

“Is that so...” Dimitri mumbled, staring at the ground with great interest.

“Yeah... We’ve all been really worried about you, Your Highness. We just... We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Dimitri stared unblinkingly at nothing, utterly reaction-less to his friend’s voiced concern. He remained unmoving for a long time; Sylvain thought that if he so much as laid a hand on Dimitri’s shoulder, he would all but shatter into irreparable shards.

“... I apologize for my rudeness Sylvain, but I must go to the infirmary.”

“Huh--?”

“It is of utmost importance. Please excuse me.”

“Ah--! Hey, wait--!”

The prince managed to just barely slip out of the redhead’s outstretched palm, gracefully bobbing out of reach and the training grounds.

♠ ♥ ♣ ----------------------------------------------------------- ♣ ♥ ♠

“You have to take care of yourself too, you know.” Manuela clicked her tongue disapprovingly, setting down a lit candle on a nearby table.

“Thank you for your concern Ms. Manuela, but I can assure you that I am feeling just fine.” Dimitri replied flatly, his glossy pupils not leaving your frame for a second.

“Sure, but the bags under your eyes say otherwise.”

Dimitri’s fingertips grazed the sensitive stretch of skin on his face, his upper eyelid twitching in response to the gentle touch.

“I do not care much for personal vanity.”

“It’s a sign that you’re not getting enough sleep.” Manuela retorted sharply, smoothing out the crinkles on a nearby bed. “Here. I prepared a bed for you. If you’re going to spend the night here, at least do it on a bed.”

Sunken azure hues rested on the stiff, plank-like cot longingly before snapping back to your ashy complexion.

“Thank you, Ms. Manuela. I will make use of it later.”

“No, Prince Dimitri. Rest. Now.”

Brown, fiery eyes clashed with bleary blues as the healer and prince remained locked in a fierce staring match. Dimitri’s eyes began to water as he stifled a yawn, reluctantly accepting defeat as he slowly stood up and headed for the bed.

“Good. Thank you.” The prince’s yawn seemed to rub off on Manuela as she stretched her arms to the sky. “Go to sleep, all right? Don’t stay up too late.”

“Yes, Ms. Manuela...”

Manuela initiated one last check on your battered body, bade a goodnight to the royal, and slipped out of the infirmary.

Dimitri peered blankly at the barren ceiling, a cacophonous symphony comprised of self-hatred and regret premiering at the forefront of his thoughts. And the soloist singing for eternal damnation to his soul was none other than you-- you, whom he so lovingly adored. You, who helped pull him from the abyss more times than he could count. You, the light that warded off his thickening darkness. And how did he show his profound appreciation towards you?

By sentencing you to eternal sleep for his carelessness.

Dimitri twisted his body to face you, the delicate mask that he had so calculatingly designed crumbling at the near-lifeless shell before him. The shallow, unsteady rise and fall of your chest was the only indicator that your soul hadn’t left your body; he grew terrified at the prospect of it dipping and never rising. He made conscious effort to avert his eyes from that region-- not only out of the high regard he held towards you, but...

The more he lingered on images of your stilling body, the tighter his chest grew.

Just thinking about it threatened how much air his lungs could take in.

He rocked himself to a sitting position and slipped his feet out of bed. He dutifully made his way back to his original post-- on a rickety stool by your bedside. He firmly planted his rear on the round slab of wood and tenderly brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead.

Goddess you were so, so beautiful.

He felt almost guilty admiring you while you were in such a state, but the way the singular lit candle contoured every feature, every dip in your face in the most heavenly way possible... He couldn’t help it. His hand found residence in yours, taking painstaking note of the very obvious size difference. His other hand busied itself smoothing your unruly hair, quelling the frazzled strands from a complete uproar.

He’d trade his life for yours in a heartbeat if it meant that he could witness the lively (E/C) hues he fell so desperately in love with shine once again.

A lone finger hooked under your jaw and the rest of his digits caressed your icy cheek.

“(F/N)...” His voice cracked out, “I am so, so sorry...”

Something hot leaked out of his eyes and splattered onto your cheek, in which he alarmingly wiped away. He reached up to halt the steady stream of tears pouring out of him, but the dam had broken. His large frame hunched over into a quivering mass, broken sobs echoing off of the indifferent walls of the dark infirmary. Only half-empty bottles of medicine bore witness to the royal’s breakdown; his sloppy apologies and implorations fell on the earless bushels of medicinal herbs.

The small candle that Manuela had previously set up was nearing its end, the stumpy mass of wax and wick now a mere puddle of its former self. Before the few remaining trickles of light embarked on their last pilgrimage across the room, Dimitri made one last guttural plea.

“Wake up, my Beloved...” He called out, the name he had granted you only in his mind slipping out in his desperate hour. “Please, wake up...”

♠ ♥ ♣ ----------------------------------------------------------- ♣ ♥ ♠

The mellow arias of songbirds heralded the beginning of a new day. A biting breeze blew through an open window and sliced your exposed skin, eliciting little goosebumps on the affected areas. With a breathless sigh and a pain-stricken moan, your eyelids managed to wedge themselves open. A bland ceiling was the first to welcome you back to the land of the living-- along with a large, dark mass hovering beside you.

You felt the remnants of a scream scratch out of your sorely unused throat and a sudden barrage of aches and pains besieged your frail body. You opened your mouth to yell, to cry for help, but no sound manifested. You felt something rough but warm adjust its grip on your hand, further sending your mind into a groggy panic.

“Mmph... (F/N)...”

That... That voice...

You stilled yourself (not that you were moving much anyway) and silently studied the steadily breathing shadow beside you. The dim dawn’s light reflected off of a bundle of disheveled gold locks, as well as a bright blue cape that was messily slung over a male’s shoulder.

A maelstrom of memories swirled through your mind.

A ruffian racing towards Dimitri, the edge of a bloodied and rusted axe swinging right for his neck.

Your legs discovering a mind of its own as it placed you right on the receiving end of the strike.

Your head throbbed, each surge of memory more painful than the last.

Darkness, followed by the putrid, metallic smell of blood in the distance and other auditory sensations too disturbing to fully comprehend.

Something warm and comforting pricked the corner of your heart as you recalled a certain sensation akin to embracing before you blacked out. Your thoughts frustratingly hazed into nothing. It felt like a certain memory was locked, forever lost behind an impenetrable brain fog. You wracked and sifted through your fragmented memories, but pieced together nothing.

The first few rays of light began to peak over the horizon, streaming into the room in gentle waves; you squinted your eyes, still unused to any light source brighter than a candle. As your vision slowly readjusted to the brightening room, your eyes caught sight of something that almost sent you back to sleep.

Your fingers tightly entwined with Dimitri’s.

Your weak heart thundered loudly in your ears-- so loud, in fact, you worried that it would be enough to rouse the slumbering prince. As cautiously as you could, your body writhed itself in a futile attempt to sit yourself up. You kept a careful eye on the prince, noting how dark the circles under his eyes have become and how hollow his cheeks have turned. The fact that rest had eluded him for however long you were unconscious was as plain as day.

You shifted your stiff legs a bit; the frame of your bed let out a booming groan.

Dimitri quietly snorted and his neck reeled upwards; alarmed blue eyes met with equally alarmed (E/C). The veins in Dimitri’s neck swam to the surface of his skin, growing more and more defined as every choking second passed.

“H-...” You began. “Hi...”

“(F/N)!”

Your surroundings whizzed right past you before you were unceremoniously slammed into something solid but so, so... warm.

Ah...

You remembered now.

This tenderness.

This contentment.

This warmth.

Dimitri held you in his arms, stroking your hair and mumbling rushed whispers as he did the day you fell.

“(F/N)... Oh, (F/N)...”

You felt how hard and rapid his heart was beating, almost deafening the incoherent whispers he sighed into your hair. Your arms weakly wrapped around his heaving back, rubbing it as soothingly as you could. He pulled you closer in response-- closer, closer, closer, until every inch of you was smothered by him. Hesitant, trembling fingers graced your tightly wound bandages and you felt something warm and wet splatter onto your exposed shoulder.

“Dimitri...” You pulled away slightly to look up at him and smiled. “It’s okay... I’m okay...”

“(F/N), I--” Clear, shiny beads of remorse pricked the corners of the prince’s eyes. “I’m so sorry. Goddess, I am so sorry, I... I’m so--”

You reached a finger to his lips, your heart splintering into tinier and tinier pieces as you watched the man you love slur apology after apology for a crime he did not commit.

“It’s okay, Dimitri... I'm okay now... I’ll be okay.”

The door quietly clicked open and a slender leg slipped itself into the tiny crack. The rest of Manuela slid in, along with a tray of vials and herbs.

“Oh--!” The healer tripped on her own two feet, dropping the tray and all of its contents onto the ground. She stumbled over the tied wad of herbs and leaking bottles of medicine that she had so desperately haggled from a travelling merchant.

“(F-F/N)?” She stuttered, slowly closing the distance between you two. “H-How are you feeling?”

“Um, w-well...” You peered down sheepishly, suddenly becoming very aware of the... intimate position you were in. “I am a bit achy all over but--”

“Ah!” Dimitri immediately released you from his arms and he shot out of his stool, almost tripping backwards. “P-Please forgive me! I was so caught up with my emotions, I did not even ask for your consent to hold you in such a way, a-and your wounds--!”

“Oh! N-No, Dimitri, it’s all right! I-- Uh--”

A rich chuckle from the older woman padded the shrill squeaks that poured out of you and your house leader.

“Well, Prince Dimitri... I’m afraid you can’t have her just yet. I still have to do a thorough check up on her. But after that... she’s all yours.”

Scarlet seeped into the royal’s cheeks, his sickly pallor bursting into hearty ruddiness. Broken vowels tumbled out of him as he clumsily rested his arse back onto the wooden stool.

“Actually Prince Dimitri,” Manuela began as she checked your vitals, “can you notify the professor that (F/N) has awakened?”

“You can count on me, Ms. Manuela.” Dimitri dutifully stood up and bowed. “I will deliver the news to Professor Byleth.”

Casting one last glance at you and bashfully looking down when he caught your eye, Dimitri hurried out of the infirmary to complete possibly the most important mission ever entrusted to him.

♠ ♥ ♣ ----------------------------------------------------------- ♣ ♥ ♠

After your awakening, your classmates and professor began incorporating regular infirmary visits into their schedule. They showered you with kind, encouraging words and occasionally bore small gifts, constantly reminding you that they were right alongside you on your road to recovery.

But your most frequent visitor of all was your beloved house leader.

Every morning, without fail, he would grace your presence with the pleasant aroma of freshly prepared breakfast.

Every afternoon-- after class and training-- he spent his days with you, informing and personally tutoring you over concepts the class learned that day. Or simply providing his company, ensuring that the sinking and crushing feeling of loneliness never found residence in your heart.

Every evening, after all of his academic and princely duties have been met, he delivered your dinner trays with a sparkle in his eye and a smile on his lips.

"Is everything all right? Is there anything else you would like to go over from today’s lesson? If not, perhaps I can fetch you a glass of water in case you grow parched during the night.”

“Dimitri,” you laughed as you slowly rested your weary back on freshly-fluffed pillows, “you’re just downright spoiling me! I’m going to miss all this special treatment when I’m finally discharged.”

“W-Well, I would be more than happy to continue doing this long after you have been discharged.” Dimitri coughed. “I love-- er, rather, I find my time with you to be quite enjoyable.”

“Even though you’re constantly running around and fetching me whatever my heart desires?” You giggled.

“Why, of course! Seeing you content and well brings me insurmountable joy.”

“You’re so thoughtful, Dimitri.” You couldn’t help but grin after seeing how flushed his face turned. “Thank you so much for everything. You and all the other Lions have made my time in the infirmary so much more bearable. It’s... nice to feel loved like this.”

“You are loved, (F/N).” Dimitri threw the thin blanket over you. “You are an integral part to our house... and... t-to me.”

“Pardon?” You leaned forward, hoping to catch whatever he stuttered.

“N-Nothing. Please do not worry yourself over it. It is not very important.” He shot you a reassuring smile before your bandages entered his field of vision. Shame streaked across his features; his hold on the edge of the blanket loosened as he unconsciously stepped away from you.

“Dimitri...” You reached out for him, hoping he would take your hand as he always did. The prince kept his distance however, refusing to even look at you.

“(F/N)... (F/N), I’m--”

“Dimitri,” you raised your palm, “stop.”

Pure, unmasked horror bruised his handsome features.

“I-I apologize if I have offended you in some way--”

“It’s not that. It’s...” You sighed, closing your eyes. “Dimitri... What happened that day is not your fault. There is not a single drop of rage or bitterness in my heart. I can’t forgive you, simply because I was never mad at you to begin with. So please... Don’t look so pained when you see my bandages.”

Your stomach knotted painfully as a second alternative was made clear in your mind.

“Unless... Perhaps my wounds disgust you in some way...”

“Goddess, no!” Dimitri interjected immediately. “That cannot possibly be further from the truth. Your beauty has never waned-- not even for a second.”

The royal’s hand flew to cover his mouth while you both peered at each other, sharing the same shocked expression on your faces. Dimitri had never possessed such a strong desire to catapult himself into the sun. He remained frozen in fear, unsure how or if he could even save himself from his slip.

You tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear and looked down, the corners of your lips slightly turned upward. Dimitri found it unnecessary to fling himself into the sun since his cheeks had practically burst into flames at this point.

“O-Oh... Um... Thank you...” You managed to mumble, fidgeting with your blanket sheepishly.

“Um--!” Dimitri cleared his throat, jumped out of his seat, and bowed deeply. “I-It is getting quite late, is it not? I am afraid I must retire for the evening. Goodnight (F-F/N).”

The upper half of his body snapped downward in another deep bow as the prince hastily retreated from his social blunder. When the door clicked closed, you had all but broken into laughter. You pleasantly recalled Manuela’s previous remark towards the prince, and your heart danced in your chest.

“Your beauty has never waned-- not even for a second.”

You buried your face in your palms and let out a quiet, airy scream, a delightful rush of emotions coursing through you. You laughed almost maniacally to yourself, and you were certain if someone were to walk in on you right this moment they would think you had gone absolutely mad. Look at you! Acting like an antsy little schoolgirl! How embarrassing!

Then again, there should be no shame in experiencing such highs. Especially when it’s related to Dimitri! You gingerly twisted your body so you that you were face-first into your pillow before letting out a happy, muffled scream.

Meanwhile, Dimitri was marching back to his room, head down and thankful that at least the cover of night was enough to hide the flushed tone of his face. Like you, he replayed that one line-- that little slip of his tongue-- in his head over and over again. Unlike you, he wished to chain his feet to a cinder block and toss himself into the lake. Hopefully the fish would be willing to share the same space with an idiot of his caliber.

Still, even as he flung himself into the comforting embrace of his bed, his thoughts couldn’t help but drift to your response to his idiocy. The way you looked down, smiling gently at his words, the tips of your ears adopting a shade of baby pink...

You were so...

So...

Cute...!

Dimitri subjected his poor pillow to a bone-crushing hug as he buried his face in the mushy thing, imagining the soft, velvety texture of his pillow to be your skin and the warmth of the stuffed fabric to be your body pressed flushed against his.

Racing thoughts and rose-tinted fantasies propelled you both further and further away from Sleep, who desperately sought out her sleepless prince and fidgety (Favorite Class). When Sleep finally took hold of you, she could do little to obstruct the joyous meeting you both shared with each other in the forgotten land of dreams.

♠ ♥ ♣ ----------------------------------------------------------- ♣ ♥ ♠

“Are you ready, (F/N)?”

You met Manuela’s steady gaze with your own. With a firm nod, you replied,

“Yes.”

The healer moved closer to you, her skilled hands undoing the set of bandages for the last time. Dimitri averted his frantic eyes to the wall when the dressing loosened just enough for your chest to peak through. A cold, unforgiving breeze whipped the newly exposed skin, jolting a shiver down your spine. Manuela clicked her tongue softly and slowly traced your shoulder.

“The wound’s all healed, but I’m afraid this scar’s here to stay...”

Your eyes immediately flashed over to Dimitri’s stiffening frame.

“I see...”

“You can apply certain creams on site to reduce its appearance, but it’ll never go away completely... I’m sorry, (F/N).”

“It’s all right, Ms. Manuela.” You flashed her a controlled smile. “Honestly, with all the regular outings to dispel bandits and whatnot... It was only a matter of time before I bore my first battle scar.”

Manuela’s lips curved upward and she patted you on your unmarked shoulder.

“Do you need anything else, (F/N)? Some water, or food?”

You hummed thoughtfully, then shook your head.

“All right. Should you need anything, all you have to do is holler.” Manuela gave you one last smile before excusing herself from the room.

Dimitri stood unmoving and unblinking, countering your hard stare with blatant refusal to look at your scar-- a physical memento of his failure.

“Dimitri.”

The prince visibly recoiled at the sound of his own name.

“Look at me.”

His jaw clenched tautly; his eyes crunched into a pain-stricken wince.

“Look at me, please.”

He refused.

“I don’t blame you for this.”

. . .

“And I’ll never blame you for it.”

. . .

“If it means saving you, I’ll gladly do it again.”

This struck a chord with the prince, his enraged face suddenly mere inches away from yours.

“Don’t you dare say such a thing.” He growled lowly. “I will not allow you to throw your life away for me.”

“Dimitri...” You cupped his cheek in your hand, in which he immediately melted into. “I’ll gladly do it again because... Because... I love you.”

Not a moment later did you feel something warm and soft press against your lips. The tips of his bangs lightly dusted the surface of your skin, tickling your nose with the crisp smell of Faerhgus pine. A pair of gloved hands caught either side of your face, thumbs rubbing shallow circles into your cheeks as he pressed his lips further into yours. His mouth moved sloppily but lovingly, awkwardly yet ardently adoringly against yours; a medley of celestial colors you’ve never seen before flashed brilliantly at the forefront of your mind, casting you into a dreamlike stupor.

Dimitri leapt back, panic stewing in his deep briny blues. His fingers brushed his still-tingling lips as he bowed lowly.

“F-Forgive me (F/N), I-.. I have no idea what possessed me to do such a thing! I suppose I was just, um, c-caught in the moment and--?!”

More than tired of hearing his apologies, you grabbed his shirt’s collar and jerked him back to where he was before-- contently and firmly pressed right against your lips. Your fingers bunched themselves into patches of velvety, wispy gold while your lips moved sanguinely against his, happily leading your mouth and his in a spicy dance. A small moan escaped your slightly opened lips and Dimitri, consumed by nothing but base desires, surprised your tongue with a face-to-face meeting.

The wet muscle wrapped about yours, pulling you into an unyielding fight for dominance. You felt smooth sheets hit your exposed back; you hadn’t even noticed Dimitri progressively lowering the both of you onto your bed. He planted his hands on either side of your body, ridding any hope of escape from his ravaging kisses.

Not that you wanted to anyway.

Dimitri’s lips left yours to wander around your face and neck, taking particular interest in the latter. He nipped the exposed skin, teething and sucking wherever his heart desired until you were covered in nothing but love bites.

Then he caught sight of your cleavage, simply irresistible and downright begging to be marked with his love.

Then he suddenly remembered that you two were in a very public place and not in the private confines of his bedroom or dreams.

“Ah-- Um--” Dimitri stammered, quickly pulling away from your panting form. “P-Perhaps we should... stop... before it escalates any further...”

You whined, wanting nothing more than to be showered with kisses and bathed in his worshiping love. But your senses, hazy as they may be, pulled through the fog and coldly reminded you of your current whereabouts.

“Fine...” You pulled his fingers to your sultry lips and pressed a hot kiss on each digit. Dimitri’s jaw and pants tightened, the prince desperately clinging onto the last thread of sanity and reason which threatened to snap at any moment.

“My Beloved,” he purred sweetly, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, “rest now. When your strength returns to its fullest, we can pick up where we left off. I swear it.”

You giggled, finding his attempt at being serious too adorable. The heat and passion was still very visible in his eyes, and it was obvious that anymore teasing on your end would send him over the edge.

You nodded sleepily as he pulled the covers over you. He graced your lips with one more kiss before he stood up.

“Class will be starting shortly. Do you need anything before I go?”

“Mm...” You looked up coyly. “One more kiss, please!”

Dimitri chuckled, happily fulfilling both of your wishes.

“My Beloved is too cute for her own good...” He murmured huskily into your ear. “It should be a crime to be this captivating.”

“Then maybe you should punish me tonight~?”

“T-That’s...” Dimitri’s smug confidence had instantly dissipated. “S-Sleep well, (F/N).”

You had never seen a person’s cheeks go so red so fast. Dimitri zoomed out of the infirmary with a chorale of laughter bubbling out of his beloved.

Not a moment later after the door closed, it opened again just enough for the prince’s head to pop back in.

“Oh, uh, (F/N)?”

“Yes, darling?”

“I...” He cleared his throat loudly and shyly smiled. “I love you too.”

bonus: your discharge from the infirmary prompted a day of celebration in the blue lions house, with byleth cancelling lectures and training for the day to celebrate your miraculous recovery.

the rest of the lions organized a mini ‘welcome back’ party; the desks that previously held books and other study things now harbored all your favorite dishes on one side and a cluster of gifts on the other.

and when the sun dipped below the horizon, well... let’s just say dimitri made good on his promise from that night onward ;)

#fire emblem #dimitri fire emblem #fire emblem x reader #dimitri x reader #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #fe3h dimitri #fe3h #6039 words #yOU GUYS #i love this man sm #it got pretty ~smexy~ towards the end #( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)#fire emblem three houses fanfiction #fire emblem three houses

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