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masonmtxo · 8 months ago

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Insatiable

Summary: Y/N teasing Mason relentlessly while his barber does his hair

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: this is sorta filthy without there being any actual smut?

Note: this is a result of my brain going into meltdown when the picture of Mase with a marked neck from the barbers gown was posted 🫣 please please leave feedback, it really means the world 🩷

•••

Mason groaned loudly in your ear as he released into you, instantly dropping his head into the crook of your neck, the weight of his body pressing you even deeper into the mattress as he relaxed into you. You giggled softly, gently raking your fingers through his hair as he came down from his orgasm that had him near enough trembling against you. He had been so pent up, the post orgasm come down had hit him hard so you gave him a moment, knowing full well he wouldn't form a coherent sentence for several minutes after the event.

Once his breathing had finally slowed you gently tugged on his locks, encouraging him to lift his head and look at you, needing to see his face after the intensity of what you had just done, "you okay?”

He nodded, eyes still bleary, lips red and swollen, a pretty grin adorning them at the sight of your equally as flushed face, "yeah, just needed a minute."

You smirked at him, loving the way you could work him into such a state of sexual bliss he was rendered speechless. He had been away for a few nights with the team for a match in Italy, making him extra needy for you when he stepped through the front door. You hadn't even made it upstairs before you had him whining for you, on your knees taking your time to swallow him down your throat until he came. Your escapades had continued throughout the house, ending with him pounding into you on your shared bed after giving each other multiple orgasms throughout the early afternoon.

You checked the clock on the nightstand beside you, eyes bulging at the sight, "fuck Mase, it's nearly half 4 already!"

He didn't lift his head from where he had burrowing back into you, letting out a short laugh, "Jesus, I got home at 1."

"Nearly 3 and a half hours, that ridiculous," you couldn't help but chuckle with him, "think that's a new record."

His head lifted from your chest so he could look at you, the sight of his disheveled hair making your heart jump with love for him, knowing nobody else got to see him this way.

"Dunno, I reckon when I got back from the world cup we must have been going at it for longer,” his smirk made you twitch, instantly floating back to the night you shared after being separated for weeks. He had been relentless, his head between your legs bring you to more consecutive orgasms than you thought was humanly possible, before fucking into your overstimulated body for multiple rounds that had you screaming.

You both fell silent, enjoying the peacefulness of just being with each other, your bodies aching in the most perfect way. You couldn't help but stare at his soft features, heart expanding with even more love that you thought possible as you admired his pretty face, wanting more than anything to kiss over the freckles dotted across his flushed cheeks but you stopped yourself, not wanting to disturb him as his eyes fluttered shut again, feeling your eyes closed and head lull back as you joined him for a late afternoon snooze.

The sound of your doorbell had you both jumping upright in an instant, Mason exclaiming a loud "shit!" Before springing up out of bed and grabbing the black gym shorts he had thrown to the ground an hour earlier in his haste to get you into bed.

You couldn't help but giggle as you watched him hopping to the door, naked arse on show as he scrambled to get the shorts up his legs, still not fully situated on his hips when he darted out the bedroom door.

He was gone in a flash, no further explanation as to who was at your door but you figured you may as well follow, curiosity getting the better of you, pulling on Mason's large t-shirt.

It wasn't until you were midway down the staircase that you noticed it, too late to say anything as Mason had already pulled the door open, his barber, Adam, standing on the other side of the threshold. Your eyes fixed on his muscled back, long red scratches littering the expanse of it. They weren't deep by any means, caused only by your fingernails in desperation to grab hold of him in any way you could.

Though the worst marks were left across the back of his neck, inches above the tattoo you loved to trace over with your lips when you cuddled him from behind, caused by what you could only presume was the chain of his necklace that you had pulled tight around his neck as he fucked into you. The angry red indents stood out against the soft, pale skin of his neck, making you cringe as they were far from unnoticeable.

You winced as he turned to guide Adam into the house, watching as his eyes landed on the recognisable marks on Mason's back, causing his lips to twitch into a slight smirk. In a moment of horror, you felt his eyes flick to yours, noticing the way you stood frozen on the staircase in only a T-shirt, cheeks burning as you had unmistakably been caught red handed.

Offering a quick wave, you spun on the spot and ran back up the stairs, extremely conscious of the fact you hadn't cleaned yourself up yet and could still feel Mason's cum between your thighs.

You let out another squeak of horror as you slipped into the bathroom and caught sight of your appearance in the mirror, kicking yourself for even following him out the room when you weren't even remotely presentable for anyone at the door. Everything about your reflection screamed 'I've just been relentlessly fucked for the past few hours’ making yourself cringe more than you already were.

After cleaning yourself up, you quickly stripped your bed of the sweaty, stained bedsheets, the smell of sex in your bedroom slowly disappearing as the candle you lit began to burn.

Grabbing a hoodie of Mason's and a pair of knickers, you made yourself at least decent, attempting to tame your hair with a brush. You were observing your reflection in the mirror when you heard the bedroom door open, your shirtless boyfriend appearing in the doorway.

"Baby, what the fuck have you done to my back," he smirked, spinning so you could have a clear view, "I just clocked it in the mirror as I was coming upstairs."

"Oopsy?" You offered, shrugging at him with a cheeky grin, knowing full well he loved it when you marked him up in bed, loving it when you were so desperate for him you would frantically scrape at his back and bite down on his shoulder.

"I'm guessing Adam's already noticed," he laughed as he made his way towards you, wrapping his arms around your neck and pecking your cheek affectionately.

You stood up from your dressing table and cuddled into him, nodding into his neck, "judging by the look on his face when he followed you in, he's well aware of what we just got up to."

Mason couldn't help but let out another laugh, unbothered by the fact his barber had just caught him post-fuck, he was never ashamed of anyone knowing what the pair of you get up to when your alone, bar his parents. Poor Woody had been victim to your antics on multiple occasions when he stayed over. You learnt early on in your relationship that Mason had no shame when it came to sex, and for the most part, neither did you, the teasing in the kitchen from his best mate the next day about your noise levels never bothering you. But something about his barber knowing made you cringe internally.

"Why are you up here anyway?"

He gestured down to his crotch, his half hard dick prominent in his tight shorts which did nothing to cover up what he was packing, "I need to put some boxers on before I give Adam another eyeful."

You watched as he stepped away and pulled the shorts down, eyes not moving away from his naked body as he stood completely exposed. He smirked down at you, enjoying the way you reacted to the sight, pulling you back up against his body, "you're insatiable, been fucking you silly for hours and you're still dribbling at the sight of my cock."

"You did that on purpose to work me up," you whined, closing the gap between you again, hand skimming down his chest in an attempt to grab at his length, but he stopped you, holding you wrist in his and stopping it from traveling any further.

"Behave," the firmness of his voice made you shiver in anticipation, "and once he's gone I might give you what you want."

He raised his eyebrows at you as you whined, pouted lips and screwed up nose making him smirk in amusement at how bratty you could be when you weren't getting what you wanted. He stepped away and around your body, grabbing a pair of boxers from his draw before slipping them up his narrow hips.

He turned to see you still boggling at his exposed body, eyes hazed over, "can you stop staring at me like a piece of meat and give me my shorts," he teased, gesturing the material on the floor by your feet.

Reluctantly, you picked them from the floor and tossed them towards him, sticking your tongue out childishly as he smirked.

Mason pulled up his shorts slowly, hand dipping into the waistband to 'adjust' himself in a way you know was purposefully to wind you up even more, “come down with me?," he asked sweetly, a complete 180 from the teasing tone he had taken on before, "I want to go shorter but need your opinion."

"Fine, let me just grab some joggers," you turned to walk away, stopping when you felt his hand grab hold of your hip.

He smirked, "don't bother, he's already seen you without, and I like the view."

Rolling your eyes, you allowed him to take your hand in his, reluctantly following him downstairs.

You weren't stupid, he never usually consulted you for haircuts, you knew he wanted to watch you squirm in front of Adam, sensing your embarrassment at the situation a mile off. But you refused to let him get to you, determined to make him as flustered as he was attempting to make you.

Adam had already set his kit up along the kitchen island, pulling a chair out from under the counter when you walked in, throwing you a polite smile when he noticed Mason had you in tow.

Situating yourself on the sofa across the room as you watched your boyfriend discuss the style he wanted, you couldn't help but admire his side profile, quickly turning away when he caught you staring, a smirk pulling across his pretty lips. You knew this game was fruitless, his ability to get you flustered with just a look was enough to make you hand him the win. But you were determined to at least make him squirm a bit.

The TV was already switched on the sport channel, some form of golf competition showing on the screen. You didn't bother looking for the remote to change it, knowing you wouldn't pay attention to whatever you flicked onto.

You pretended to be disinterested in the men's presence, not joining in their chit chat as Adam got to work. Eyes following the screen, but mind running wild of how Mason would look dressed in some of the outfits worn by the professional golfers, seeing a particularly cute jumper you thought you'd buy for him before he next went golfing with his mates.

"Don't I know it mate, y/n is a nightmare." Your ears pricked at the sound of your name, brows creasing at Mason's choice of words, your head twisting to glare at him. You knew it was intentional the second you caught the teasing look in his eye, he had wanted to pull your focus back onto him.

Refusing to back down, you bit back, "and how am I a nightmare, do tell Mase?”

"Adam was just saying how his missus made them half an hour late to dinner last night, I was saying you're the same," he responded, "takes you about 10 years to settle on an outfit."

"Not sure about that Mason, since I don't even remember the last time you took me out for dinner," you knew it was a low blow and not even remotely true, he had wined and dined you not even a week ago, before he had gone away.

But he picked up on your challenge, instantly clocking on to your attempt to bait him, "don't be such a spoilt brat baby, l'm a busy man."

"Yeah, too busy for me apparently," you whined, spotting the remote sitting on the other side of the sofa, the clogs in your brain spinning as you thought of a way to rile him up further.

Watching out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Adam move to his front, focusing on scissoring through Mason's quiff. Taking the opportunity, you quickly cleared your throat to make sure you had his attention before getting onto your knees and stretching across the seat for the remote, arse stuck in the air. Glancing over your shoulder you noticed your boyfriend's expression drop, the teasing look from before now long gone, replaced by what you can only describe as panic.

You couldn't help but giggle quietly, giving your arse a quick wiggle as you purposely pulled the jumper over your hips to give him an even more explicit view, a lacy red thong the only thing stopping you from being entirely on display.

Not wanting to get caught, you quickly sat back on your heels, grabbing the remote before looking back over, Mason’s eyes still fixated on your every move. Adam was still messing around with his fringe, combing it and tidying it up repeatedly.

You werent sure what came over you, but you quickly dropping back onto your elbows with your back arched, forcing you bum are far out as you could and gyrating your hips in the air the way you do when you are silently begging him to hurry up and fuck you from behind.

His sharp intake of breath had you tensing, hoping Adam wouldn't catch on to the tension building in the room, but you breathed out when you heard him start humming, too focused on his job to pay you any mind.

With one final moment of bravery, this teasing side of you not one that came out often, you found your hand trailing up your body, firmly grabbing over your bum to grope it in a way you knew Mason would be itching to in that moment. And without a second thought, you grab onto your panties, quickly yanking them to the side and giving Mason a clear view of your dripping pussy.

“Enough.” He spat, making you drop back to the sofa instantly with a gleeful giggle, Adam stopping what he was doing and giving Mason a puzzled look.

“Sorry mate, I dunno why it came out like that,” Mason rushed out as he realised his barber assumed he was talking to him, none the wiser to your antics, “I just think that’s probably enough length off the top.”

Adam laughed lightly, still visibly confused but feeding into Mason’s cover, “no problem bro, I’ll just tidy up your beard then you’ll be done. Want it like usual?”

“Yes, ple…”

You cut him off, leaning on the arm of the sofa, jumper now covering your decency, “don’t take any length off, just tidy it up.”

Adam turned back to Mason with a questioning look, your boyfriend watching as you smiled at him sweetly.

“You happy with that Mase?”

“Yeah bro, whatever the missus wants I guess,” he shrugged, knowing you loved him with longer facial hair and wanting Adam out the door as quickly as possible.

Sitting back on the sofa as Adam started asking about his plans for the summer once the season was over, you grabbed the remote to pass the time until he was finally done.

•••

"All finished mate," you heard Adam say at last, glancing over to see him unclipping the cloak from Mason's neck, not missing the way his lips curved into a small smirk as the evidence of your antics on his neck was uncovered. The harsh red marks looking even more prominent than before.

"I won't take a picture to post on socials this time... you know..because of…” Adam gestures to his neck, Mason's face dropping into a smirk as he clocked onto what his barber meant.

"Yeah sorry about that mate, she gets a bit carried away sometimes," he chuckles, both sets of their eyes darting to you as you continued to flick through the channels, pretending to ignore their conversation to save you any further embarrassment.

You stayed put as Adam quickly cleared his equipment, making small talk with Mason about the upcoming match before throwing a quick bye to you and heading to the door, Mason in tow to see him out.

"Cheers bro, see you in a few weeks." Mason's voice was followed by what sounded like claps on the back as they embraced, the door finally clicking shut as silence fell through the house and your stomach clenched with anticipation.

You heard his feet quickly making their way back to you in the lounge, his voice sharp but you knew he wasn't actually annoyed, frustrated and horny, but not annoyed, "you're a little shit, you know that right?"

“What did I do?” You smiled coyly, reaching for him as he made his way over to you. He dropped himself over your body, hoisting your legs around his waist as he pressed his hard crotch into yours, absentmindedly beginning to thrust his hips against you.

“You know exactly what you did, my dick popped up so fucking quick I dunno how Adam didn’t spot it,” he laughed inbetween lazy kisses against you mouth.

You couldn't help but blush, shocked at your own actions, but secretly happy to have gotten him so worked up he seemingly was ready to go for another round without much convincing. “He probably did, just didn't want to mention you getting hard at the sight of him doing your hair,” you teased with a bubble of laughter at his misfortune.

Mason rolled his eyes, burying his face in your neck, “little did he know my brat of a girlfriend was humping the air and flashing me behind him.”

Pulling him up for another kiss, you both smiled into eachothers mouths, messily making out like teenagers.

“C’mon, let’s go upstairs,” he whispered, lips trailing down your neck in a way that had goosebumps prickling across your skin.

"There's no sheets on the bed, they were filthy after this afternoon's session,” you moaned, pulling at his hair.

"Right here on the sofa it is then,” he smirked.

#mason mount #mason mount smut #mason mount fic

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daisynik7 · 1 year ago

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and if I'm gonna be drunk, I might as well be drunk in love

You squint your eyes at the pink neon sign flickering against the fake moss tapestry to the left of the bar. A young couple poses in front of it, smiling at their mutual friend who holds the phone to take a picture. Beautiful, radiant, charming. All while you sit on the barstool, hunched over the half-empty cocktail that you swirl in your grip, relishing the condensation on the rim of the glass. With your straw, you stab at the maraschino cherry floating around in there, popping it into your mouth. The sweetness cuts through the bitter liquor, or loneliness, lingering on your tongue and you think that maybe tonight isn’t so bad, despite your sulking.

It's another happy hour, courtesy of your boss. Everyone on your team is here, who you genuinely get along with, no problem. But there’s one person missing, the one person you want to see the most. Nanami is the only one to decline tonight’s invitation to the new trendy bar downtown. During your lunch together, you don’t ask why. You don’t want him to suspect that you’re devastated by his decision, which you are. So, you talk about how much you’re craving cake instead, changing the topic all together, hoping he doesn’t catch the hint of sadness in your tone.

Ever since he walked you home in the rain the other week, protected under his umbrella, there’s been this obvious vibe between you. Still, it could all be wishful thinking on your end. You never did get around to confessing your true feelings for him; you’d rather enjoy what you have as it is. Why ruin something good? There’s the hope that maybe things could be even better if you take this leap of faith. But it’s always terrifying taking the plunge, isn’t it? Especially when you don’t know if you’ll sink or swim.

It was by the fourth cocktail that you decided to leave your group gathered around the back table. That’s why you’re here now, sulking between strangers at the bar, chewing on your tiny straw until it’s gnarled on one end. Your friends on the team know the real reason, trying to dismiss all the jokes from your more annoying coworkers about how you must be missing your “work husband”. Even they’re shipping the two of you together. If only you knew what Nanami truly thinks about all this. About you.

To your complete shock, it doesn’t take you long to find out. Still in his work attire, Nanami walks through the front door, hair swept beautifully as always. As soon as his eyes find yours, he smiles, making his way to you. It’s only when he approaches you that you notice a small box in his hands. “Good. You’re still here,” he says, smile growing wider.

You blink at him several times, as if you’re not seeing him clearly.

“Can you come with me? I have something for you.” His voice is trembling slightly, excited.

You nod, still rendered speechless, wobbly as you follow him outside. When you’re alone in front of the establishment, the voices of those inside muffled and distant, you stare down at your shoes, anticipating what’s about to happen. He holds the box out to you, opening the cover slowly, revealing a personalized cake decorated beautifully with your name written in neat frosting on the top.

You meet his gaze, putting your hand to your mouth, hiding a gasp. “Nanami.”

“I made this for you. Because of what we talked about today.” He swallows hard, taking a step towards to you. “I’ve been wanting to tell you this for a while now. I…” He trails off, nervous, scared, uncertain. Just like you.

This time, you follow through with what you’ve been wanting to do since that rainy night not too long ago. You close the distance, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. Sparks fly and whatever buzz you have from the alcohol is replaced with this electricity. “Me too.”

Author's Note: A continuation of this. Yet another coworker!Nanami drabble inspired by a song that’s making me feel all sappy and soft. 🩶 Divider credit to @/cafekitsune.

#nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento fluff #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x you #kento nanami fluff #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami fluff #coworker!nanami #jjk fluff

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thatfandomslut · 11 months ago

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Healing You

Regina George x Reader

Word Count: 1k

Trigger Warnings: description of an injury & fluff that might rot your teeth

Request:

Can I re request properly for a Regina x reader where there’s loads of hurt/comfort and Regina’s back problems because the bus can be a part of it. Thank you so so much

Mean Girls requests are open.

When Regina George sent a text to her girlfriend that she was in desperate need of a back massage, (Y/n) made sure to pack all of her essential oils. Regina had finally lost her corrective neck collar but still had severe back pain due to the bus accident. Anytime she needed a massage, (Y/n) was there with essential oils and what could be a new career as a masseuse. Or, at least, that was what Regina deemed as (Y/n) gently rubbed out the knots that had formed down Regina's back. Regina wasn't sure if she was tearing up at how much pain she was in, or if she was tearing up because it felt so good.

(Y/n) gently kissed the back of her head as tears rolled down her cheeks, her eyes shut as her chin rested on top of the pillows gently. "What's wrong, princess?" (Y/n) asked as her thumbs gently rolled over her skin carefully. She made sure to work hard at the deep knots but to be careful to not further injure the girl. She was always so gentle when massaging Regina, recognizing all of her limits or signs of pain. "Does it hurt? Would you like me to stop?" (Y/n) inquired softly, easing up on her touch. She didn't want to keep massaging Regina if it hurt.

"No, no, please keep going," Regina gasped as (Y/n) fingers got right back to work. Regina wiped some tears away as she thought about all of the words inside her head. "I was just thinking of how I wasn't a good friend to Gretchen, Karen, or Cady. Nor was I always nice to you. And, I'm sorry. I know I don't use that word very often, but I genuinely mean it. I'm sorry I wasn't a good girlfriend, (Y/n)."

The notion rendered (Y/n) speechless as she took in Regina's words. Her fingers slowed to a stop as she lay next to Regina, gently nudging her so that she could meet Regina's ice-blue eyes. "You were never a bad girlfriend. Neither of us is perfect, but that doesn't make us bad. If you were ever mean to me, we talked it through. I am happy and content with you. I think an apology could go a long way with the girls, especially Gretchen, but you were never a bad girlfriend to me." (Y/n) whispered, letting her know that this growth was okay and normal to go through.

Regina nodded before leaning over to kiss (Y/n), who responded quickly, kissing her back. (Y/n) smiled on Regina's lips, glad to have brought her comfort in what seemed to be her hour of need. Gently pulling away, (Y/n) placed another kiss on Regina's nose and the other on her forehead. "Do you want me to keep massaging you, or would you like to take a nap? I could wake you up when it's time for your pain medication." Everything was on a schedule for Regina. Normally, (Y/n) would get calls and texts asking for massages around this time because it was when her medicine would be wearing off and she would need more.

Regina smiled as she thought for a moment. "Would it be wrong to ask for both? I could really take a good nap as you massaged me. When I fall asleep, you could also hold me." Regina offered as she tried to bribe (Y/n) into something she already knew she was going to do. (Y/n) moved to continue her massage, agreeing to Regina's offer easily. She didn't need Regina to bribe her with cuddles in order for her to massage Regina as she fell asleep.

It wasn't long before Regina's soft snores were heard, and (Y/n) stopped herself from massaging Regina's back. Sneaking off the bed, she made her way to Regina's bathroom as she washed her hands from the essential oils she had on her hands. Returning, she was happy to see Regina still asleep. (Y/n) laid in bed as she gently cuddled up to the girl, holding her close as she set an alarm. She wanted to make sure that Regina received her medicine.

The alarm's beeping woke (Y/n) up from her dozing as she pulled away from Regina, who groaned in protest. Retrieving the medicine, she gave Regina her water jug to take it. "Why do you stay here and help me so much (Y/n)? I really appreciate it, but don't you have other things to do? I don't want to be a burden." If there was anything that had changed about Regina since the bus accident, it was her speaking up about insecurities. And ever since (Y/n) had been coming over to help her, Regina constantly checked to make sure she wasn't being a burden or keeping (Y/n) from something.

"Healing you is very important to me, Regina. It's why I make sure you get proper rest to heal. I learned how to do massages, and what essential oils are the best, and I would do all of that again if you ever needed me to. I love you, and I will always take care of you whenever you need me to." (Y/n) said softly before sitting next to Regina and taking the water bottle back to sit on the nightstand. "It's what partners do. They take care of each other."

Regina smiled over at her, more comfortable and less insecure. "I love you, too. Thank you for all you have been doing to help me (Y/n). Your support and care have meant the absolute world to me." Regina admitted, laying down and motioning over at (Y/n) to join her. (Y/n) accepted the invitation happily before snuggling up to her girlfriend and pulling her into her arms carefully. She would always be there for Regina, no matter what, and she knew that Regina would do the same for her, too.

#regina george x reader #regina george #mean girls x reader #mean girls

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thunderingwisdom · 6 months ago

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morning daze

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail

Rating: Mature/Minors DNI

Pairing: Jing Yuan/Reader

Word Count: 1340

Summary: You're used to your partner coming home late, and you're used to him lavishing his attention on you. It never gets old, and your love for him only grows.

a/n: mom I LOVE him!!! also I tried to keep this one as gender-neutral as possible, I think it worked out?

honestly i just have jing yuan brainrot-wrote this in a rush might edit later?

tags: mature themes, implications of nsfw themes, cuddling, toothache

Consciousness beckons, curling around you, pulling you closer. The morning light tries to reach you through the thin barrier of the linen curtains as you cling to the last vestiges of sleep.

An arm tightens around your waist.

Perking up, but fighting to keep your eyes shut, you try not to react to the warm breath ghosting over your neck, to the smile pressing into your skin.

“You got in late,” you murmur, voice thick with sleep. It was nothing out of the ordinary–he would either come to bed really late or not at all. “Did you get any sleep at all?”

His mouth doesn’t leave your shoulder; a long inhale is his first response, followed by a sound of laughter low in his throat.

“With such a beauty in my arms, sleep itself insisted on postponing our meeting,” he tells you, hand ghosting across your ribs. There’s not a hint of sleep in his voice. He laughs when you squirm and moves to press it low on your belly, moving the sheets aside.

“Flatterer,” you accuse sleepily. “Even an accomplished general needs sleep.”

“Maybe this general needs the warmth of his beloved more.” An edge of possessiveness underlines his touch, his hand continuing its journey over your hips, leaving a trail of warmth that you swear you feel down to your bones.

“…you have to go back soon, don’t you,” you ask resignedly, fingers reaching for his bicep, dancing over his skin. Old scars littered throughout, a story you quite enjoy following with your mouth. “Jing Yuan..”

“In a few hours,” he reassures you, nipping at the delicate skin below your neck, chuckling at the way your shoulders jerk. “Preparations for the Wardance are about to commence.”

“Perhaps these few hours would be better spent asleep, regaining your strength?” You grumble, knowing he would be fine but unable to help it.

“My dear, you severely underestimate the influence your affections have on this haggard soldier.”

“And what kind of affections are on your mind?” You ask, amused, as his hand creeps lower; you turn your head to brush soft kisses where you can reach, readily meeting his mouth when he leans in.

A rush of warmth low in your belly, familiar–it never fails to find you when you feel him smiling into your kisses. Which is almost always. A soft curve to his mouth, gentle eyes, leaning into your touch–a side only you get to see.

“Whatever my beloved sees fit to bestow upon me,” he murmurs, the lightest of sighs leaving him at the butterfly kisses you leave on the corners of his mouth, his cheek, his jaw. “Although, if you keep this up, my simple mind will surely be lured down wicked paths…”

“Simple,” you muse out loud, turning over in his arms to see him properly. Jing Yuan meets your eyes steadily, giving you a moment to search his face. Tired, but in good spirits. “If our general’s mind is rendered such, what would become of the rest of us?”

“There are people more than capable of taking over. And we get to live out the rest of our lives in this bed, of course,” he responds easily, both his hands teaming up to stroke up and down your back. “I’m sure we could scrounge up a meal or two.” His palms slide lower, curving over your rear to press you closer.

You laugh into his skin, sliding your arms around his neck. Questing fingers sneak into his wild hair, gentle as they rake across his scalp. He groans into the crown of your head, melting in your arms. “I don’t think I could live with starving you.”

“A life spent between your legs is a life without regrets,” he says promptly, if a little dazedly. “Truly, that would be the one thing I couldn’t regret even upon pain of torture.”

You roll your eyes, fondly yet exasperatedly, hands gliding down to knead gently at the nape of his neck. A burst of affection has you kissing him deeply, a foot sneaking up his calf.

He’s not one to turn his brain off easily, but you know after all this time spent together that kissing him long enough will get you close. Whether it’s fierce, fueled by a need to be as close as possible—or slow, gentle, pulling you in with the desire to just feel. You’ve worked hard to give him this, a place to feel safe and shed his armour.

“One of these days, I’m going to keep you here for days, coaxing you to sleep and filling your belly until you grow round,” you inform him, the hint of a playful growl in your tone. And yet, it’s your heartbeat that quickens at the darkness that shades his eyes.

“Filling my belly? Not with food, I hope?” He purrs, teeth sinking into the soft flesh below your jaw. His hands dig into your skin at the sounds that escape your mouth.

You long to pamper him more, kneading away the knots in his muscles and chasing away the shadows in his eyes. When you get the occasional evening together, you’re eager to spend it lounging in the tub, exchanging lazy kisses and tales of your lives before each other. Or you cook together, finding new dishes to adore or experiments to laugh at.

The first time he let you sit him down and work a brush through his hair, he fell asleep in the chair. It relaxes him in a way nothing else can, even if it often leaves you giggling at the way he paws at you, pressing his face into your stomach. The claws of self-consciousness had long faded, with each worshipful touch of his hands, and his greedy mouth.

That was another thing that came as a surprise.

“You leave me unable to form a coherent thought, and yet I can nearly hear you thinking,” Jing Yuan comments, nuzzling your hair. “Rather cruel of you, darling.”

Once he let himself settle into your life tougher, you began to see glimpses of it. He’s greedy–for your gaze, for your thoughts, for your hands on him, and the taste of your skin.

“Would it help to know you’re the one in my thoughts?”

“But of course. If it were someone else, I’m afraid I would have to put in extra work to eradicate the very thought,” Jing Yuan declares. A shudder climbs up your spine at the thought of him doing more work, although you being the focus of it might not be a bad deal. “Hmm, actually…”

“Who could ever find the space to slip into my mind with this greedy general occupying every inch?”

It makes him laugh, eyes curving at you. “Now who’s the flatterer? And if you spoil a starved beast too much, it’s only natural for it to become greedy.” You feel his breath against your mouth—hovering, teasing. The intent in his gaze is clear as his prowling comes to a close.

“You’re right. I should’ve trained you better,” you lament. “Is it too late now?”

“I’m afraid it is,” he tells you somberly, a twinkle in his eyes. “The hunger is ever-present, and it feels endless.”

“I have food in the fridge,” you suggest innocently, fighting a grin as you tap his chin. Jing Yuan snaps at it playfully, and your laughter leaves you in sputters.

“Good. You’ll need it,” he nods decisively, before turning you over onto your back, climbing over you with more grace than is truly fair. You want to sigh at the way your legs fall open, accepting his place between them. “I hope you won’t mind if I eat first?”

He leans in for a kiss, then another. You want to tell him to get more rest, and he waits, watching you with a smile. But you love giving him what he wants and know you’ll get to hold him after, when he’s sated and dozing against your chest.

You’ll try your luck then, to keep him close a little longer.

#jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #hsr fanfic #jing yuan honkai star rail #he snores btw #its cute at first tho

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apheliia · 7 months ago

Text

FAMILY LINE. — In which Venti aids a lost little one.

— trigger & content warnings. draff is a shitty parent, child neglect, alcohol and referenced alcoholism, parentified reader, etc.

— pairings & notes. hurt/comfort. venti & child!reader. reader is gender neutral (they/them pronouns used). reader is diona's biological older sibling and therefore has cat-like features. 2.5k words.

— author's thoughts. (about draff) oh BROTHER this guy STINKS!!!!!!!!!!! i fucking hate draff, this is a draff hater household <3

Sharply cold droplets of rain battered their skin as they stumbled blindly through the woods.

It was normally quite the easy feat for them to see clearly at night, but the water clinging to their lashes made it significantly more challenging; they had to squint to even have a chance of seeing at all, and they were constantly blinking away the wetness. It was no easier for them to hear or smell—the sound of the rain and rolling thunder overwhelmed their sensitive ears (that were now pinned firmly against their head in some feeble attempt at muffling the sounds) and the earthy scent of dirt and grass drowned out any potential indicators of where they were. Despite having such heightened senses, they were so easily rendered helpless. It didn't help that they were sure it was already late into the night—yes, the rain contributed to the darkness, but it was irregularly so. It had to be the middle of the night, or close to it.

Cold, wet, tired, and lost in the woods behind Springvale with all of their senses hopelessly stifled...

Dread crept into their chest. A whimper threatened to slip through their lips, but they swallowed it down and pushed onward. As gratifying as it would probably be to do so, caving in on themselves and crying like the lost child that they were would be completely and truly useless; weeping would not help them get home. It would not make the rain stop, and it would not make their senses grow strong enough to help them navigate through the rain. They had no choice other than to continue moving forward.

The wind howled violently, whipping cruelly at whatever flesh was exposed and even at that which was not, since the rain had dampened their clothes so severely that the fabric clung impossibly tightly to their skin, therefore offering little to no protection against the brutality of the wind. They squeezed their eyes shut as they pushed against it.

"Ah—!"

A frightened gasp was snatched from their chest as their foot was caught by an exposed root, causing them to tumble forwards and downwards.

They didn't scream, though perhaps that could be attributed to their utterly paralyzing terror, or perhaps they recognized that the sound would only be completely and utterly swallowed by the raging storm. Trembling arms shot outwards in a panicked attempt to brace their fall down the hill, and...

And they were fine—save for a few scrapes on their palms—caught in a stranger's arms (or what they assumed had been a stranger's arms) before they could hit the foot of the hill and potentially break something.

"My, little one"—his nimble hands moved to help them stand up straight, and their eyes flicked to his face, panicked and disoriented expression shifting into one of reassured recognition—"playing in a storm this fierce? I admire your courage!"

Venti, the passionate and enthusiastic bard that they sometimes encountered in Mondstadt City while running menial household errands that their father neglected to. If he wasn't busy performing, harassing Diluc, or doing who knew what, he was trailing after them, which they couldn't honestly say they minded. It was nice to have someone actively looking after them while they were in the city.

(Though, they really could not help but wonder what he was doing out in such a storm, at such a late hour, but then again... he was an enigma—most of Mondstadt's population knew that, and so did they. Therefore, they did not ask.)

Precise eyes shifted from his swirling green and blue gaze, riddled with something they couldn't quite discern, to the city gates. Oh. So that was where they ended up, then—a short distance from the bridge that crossed the lake, leading to the city's gates. Now that they knew where they were, they couldn't help but feel the slightest twinge of embarrassment.

"I wasn't playing, Venti," they murmured. The winds were calmer in his presence, no longer howling and whipping against their shivering body but instead swirling around them gently. "I was hunting, but it started raining, so..."

"So you couldn't find your way home?"

"Yeah."

"I see," he mused, but sniffled before he could continue. They were quick to attempt to take a step back, squeaking out a sudden 'Sorry,' as if his allergy had only just occurred to them. There was no doubt in their mind that the rain was probably only making it worse, spreading whatever it was in their fur that Venti was allergic to even further than the air on its own normally would.

They did not manage to get far, however. With a swiftness that could perhaps be attributed to his Anemo vision, he swept his cape off of his shoulders and draped it over their head. Over the scent of the rain, they could now catch a vague hint of fruit and flowers. Apples and cecilias, if they had to make a guess, since their senses were still muddled and largely overwhelmed by the scent of dirt.

He turned away, sneezing into his arm.

"But my fur will get all over it..." Their protest was weak at best as their little fingers clasped around the edges of the fabric, pulling it closer to their body. A chill had sunken into their bones quite a while ago, perpetuated by the wind blowing against the continuous rain pelting their skin, so the warmth that being wrapped in his cape provided was more than welcomed.

"Worry not," the bard said with a smile. "A little fur won't hurt me... too bad, that is. Shall I walk you home, then?"

They could get home on their own. Since they had emerged from the forest near one of the commonly-traversed paths to Springvale, they knew that they could easily find their way home without getting lost a second time.

"Okay."

...But Venti's presence was warmly comforting, and they did not want to be alone again with only the rumbling thunder and distant flashes of lightning for company. He probably would have walked them back, anyway, regardless of if they insisted on being able to do it themselves.

He held out a hand for them. It was more of an offer than a requirement, but they were nonetheless happy to place their hand in his while the other maintained its hold on his cape.

It was then that the walk back to the little village a short ways away from the city began.

His fingertips were thoroughly calloused; they supposed that was the impact of years of archery and lyre playing. It wasn't something they were bothered by, nor was it something they were unfamiliar with—being born into a bloodline of renowned hunters made it so that their hands were not exactly soft, either. Somehow, though, the rougher nature of his hands was comforting. Fleetingly, they mused to themselves that it was quite similar to how their father's hands felt.

The walk was largely silent, save for the rain and thunder that had faded into the background and the gentle hum that originated from their companion. It made their ears stand upwards attentively. They did not recognize that particular song, and they had attended many—but not all—of his performances. It was completely possible that they had simply missed the time that he sang it. Either that, or...

"Have you performed that song before?"

"Nope!" the bard chimed, suddenly raising their conjoined hands and twirling them; they squeaked in surprise at first, but then giggled and joyously obliged him. Whatever unease that managed to nudge its way into their soul and settle there had almost entirely dissipated by then. "Do you like it?"

"Uh-huh. It sounds pretty."

"Well, in that case, I'll have to be sure to perform it the next time you're in Mondstadt City!" He paused, then added on, "Free of charge for my littlest fan, of course."

They pouted, absentmindedly swinging his hand in theirs back and forth. "I'm not little. I can take care of myself, y'know... and I'll bring you an apple, anyway, even if I don't have to."

Amusement danced in his eyes at their annoyance. "Oh? I'll think of it as a gift from you, then, little one."

"I'm not little!"

"Sure~"

— flower of the universe !! 🌸

It took less than half an hour to reach their hometown. With Venti at their side, the time felt exceptionally short.

(A vague sense of sadness invaded their mind at the thought of having to part from him and return to their household. They knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what would await them, and they were not looking forward to have to care for a blackout drunk grown man again.)

"We're here," the bard announced, freeing their hand from his hold. He watched as they hesitantly approached their front door. Something knowing brewed in the light tones of his voice as he said, "Take care of yourself, little one."

"I will— oh!" they gasped, realizing that they had not given his cape back. As they gingerly unwrapped themselves from it, they turned back. "Wait, Venti—"

...He was already gone. It was like he had vanished into the wind, gone just as fast and suddenly as he seemed to arrive earlier.

"Oh."

Well, they supposed they would give it to him the next time they had to run into the city for household supplies. At least his spontaneous disappearance gave them time to clean it up; it was the polite thing to do, they thought, as they turned back to their front door.

A soft breath was sucked in through their nose as they turned the handle, entering quietly.

Unlocked. Of course it was. Their father had probably forgotten to lock it—they would not, however. After closing the door behind themselves, they quickly turned the locks, before facing the living space. Their ears twitched, picking up the sound of snoring.

Ah. Their father was sprawled on the couch, his own ears twitching absently in his sleep.

They'd check on him in a moment—their first concern was where their little sister was.

With swift and silent steps, they padded across the room, down a hallway, and up a set of stairs. A breath that they were not aware they were holding was released; talking to their father when he had been drinking was... largely unpleasant, if for no other reason than his drawling, slurred tone that grated their nerves. He wasn't particularly mean or nasty, but something about talking to him when he was so incapacitated lit their nerves on fire with poorly-contained anger.

A soft creak resonated through the hall as they opened their sister's door.

A sleepy mumble caught their attention. "[Name]..?"

They smiled.

Gingerly treading over to the small bed pushed into a corner, they whispered, "Shh. Hi, Diona~"

She blearily blinked up at them, yawning a wide yawn that exposed her little fangs. Her hands, balled into tiny fists, tried to rub away at the sleep in her eyes to little avail.

"Did you eat?" they asked quietly, stroking her pink hair soothingly, as if to lull her back to sleep. A quiet, barely audible purr rose from her throat.

"Mm-hm. Fruit."

"Just fruit?"

"Yeah. The ones you picked earlier," she mumbled. "They were really good."

"Are you still hungry?" She shook her head, and they hummed. "Okay. I'll make you fish in the morning, then... go back to sleep for now. I'm home now, so if you need anything, come get me."

She nodded, stretching briefly before curling back up. They took that as their sign to go back downstairs, leaving her door cracked open the smallest bit as they did. They tip-toed their way to the kitchen and rifled through the cabinets until they found what they were looking for, face lighting up triumphantly when they did—a bottle of painkillers, courtesy of Albedo, who was reluctant to give them to such a young child at first, but ultimately handed them over when they explained that the medicine was not for them.

After filling a cup with water and placing a few pieces of bread on a plate, they made their way back to the living room, where their father was resting.

(Bread was good for... something, wasn't it? They weren't entirely sure. Even if it wasn't, they really didn't feel like making anything more elaborate; they were still wet, cold, and tired. It wasn't even their job to take care of him, so if it wasn't sufficient, then /he/ would have to do something about it. That was never meant to be their job.)

As quietly as they could manage, they set the items down on the coffee table.

Thankfully, he did not so much as stir.

They hurried back upstairs to run a warm bath for themselves.

— flower of the universe !! 🌸

It was a few days later that Venti caught wind of their return to Mondstadt City.

After exchanging pleasantries with Blanche, they bought a few things that were far more difficult to produce at home, things that had longer and more painstaking processes behind their production—salt, pepper, cheese... all of their items were tucked neatly in a little basket they'd taken from home, alongside an apple they had picked on their way to the city. Venti's cape was draped over their arm.

...They were a little worried that a few strands of their fur would still cling to it, despite how many times they hand-washed it with care and attention.

He said it was okay, so they truly hoped it was.

With a polite wave to Blanche, they turned on their heel and walked past Sara's shop towards the stairs leading to the city's second level.

The slow churning of windmills overhead, the chatter of other citizens, and the joyful laughs of children younger than them running around and causing innocent-intentioned mischief...

Mondstadt City indeed felt freer than their home. If they could spend every day here, away from home, they're certain that they would. The air did not threaten to suffocate them here, and their nerves did not light up in flames at every annoyance that crossed their path so long as they did not run into any of Mondstadt's notorious drunkards.

Treading up so many stairs to reach the Barbatos statue in front of the Cathedral did not feel like such a dreadful task when the wind was so lively and soft against their skin, much unlike the way it was on that stormy night a few days prior.

A tune they faintly recognized only encouraged them even further, and their swift, tiny body flew up what remained of the stairs just to reach the source in time. They scurried over to the base of the statue to join the crowd that had formed around a familiar bard, missing his cape. His eyes seemed to brighten when he spotted them, and they grinned.

Listening to the performance he had promised them, cape draped over their one arm and basket full of various items in the other, they felt content.

Yes, they would later have to return to their household, burdened by their father's poor habits...

...But for now, they were happy and free, if only for a short time.

please consider supporting me if you enjoyed! the best ways to do so are as follows: comments, asks, reblogs, and reblogs with tags.

#✧— aphe's creations.#astronetwrk #genshin x reader #platonic genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #platonic genshin x reader #venti x reader #platonic venti x reader #platonic x reader #platonic venti #child reader #✧— series: family line.

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peachdues · 2 years ago

Text

The Wind and His Moon: Part 2

A/N: ok, I lied. I decided to finish writing/edit this instead of studying -- all 3500 words of it.

The first half is pretty heavy on dialogue/exposition, since I need to set up the rest of the story. The second half brings all the emotional gut punches you all seemed to love from part one.

Enjoy!

Massive CW: canon-typical violence, graphic violence, mentions of gore and child death. Swearing and later smut. MDNI.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

The Butterfly Mansion had been prepared for the party's arrival, thanks to a pair of crows who had managed to fly ahead of the rushing Hashira to give Kocho the warning. When Sanemi and Rengoku skittered into the manicured courtyard of the Mansion, its mistress was already waiting alongside a small group of Kakushi and her mouthy second. Sanemi's feet had no sooner come to a rest before Kocho's attendant — Aoi, he remembered her being called — delicately plucked the unconscious girl from his arms and placed her on her side on a stretcher before rushing her inside, barking orders at the other Kakushi.

Kocho had lingered behind for a moment to get a more detailed account of how the Wind and Fire pillars had found the girl, before she too, disappeared back into the Mansion, eyebrows drawn and eyes serious. Sanemi had not missed how the Insect Pillar's staple serene smile had slipped from her face as he and Rengoku had posited their theory of the girl's assault.

It was only after Kocho left that Sanemi unleashed his pent-up rage on the Kaksuhi who had accompanied them back from the decimated village, not allowing them courtesy of a moment's rest after the frantic journey back to the Butterfly Estate.

Sanemi had screamed at them until his vocal cords twinged, his voice turning hoarse from the strain. How, he had sneered at them, could they possibly claim that they were capable of rendering lifesaving first aid if they couldn't distinguish between someone dead and someonewithafuckingheartbeat.

In fairness, Sanemi had thought bitterly later, after Tengen had all but dragged him off of the Butterfly House's grounds, it wasn't as though he or Rengoku had bothered checking the girl for a pulse either. They were all equally guilty of nearly burying alive the only surviving member of the Lunar Breathing Clan.

But it was far easier to take it out on those who had been closest to her. The ones who should have seen what he had not.The ones who should have caught his failure.

His failure continued to plague him as the days bled into weeks without any sign of life from the girl. Before long, a month had passed since that horrible day.

One month since they had thought her to be dead, only for her to claw and pull her way out from the sodden earth.

The Hashira had gathered with Oyataka-san for an emergency meeting, called to discuss the brutal annihilation of the girl's village and the decimation of the Lunar Breathing Clan. By the end of the meeting, both the Master and the other Hashira knew only two things:

First, there was no question that the girl was the sole survivor of the Lunar Clan. And until she awoke, no one would be able to use Lunar breathing against Kibutsuji and his parade of horribles.

The girl had survived, but not without great effort. Kocho had been able to stabilize the girl after several, long hours, but she admitted it had been touch-and-go for a while. The girl's blood loss, combined with internal injuries sustained from either final selection or whatever confrontation that took place at the Manor, plus the early stages of infection resulting from attempts to bury the girl alive had severely complicated Kocho's medical intervention. It had been well past midnight that evening before Kocho had emerged, sweaty and tired, resignation pulling at her features. But the girl had lived.

Kocho's exhaustive efforts to save the girl brought them to the second key takeaway: apart from a fractured wrist likely sustained during final selection, the rest of the girl's wounds had not been caused by any demon. Neither claw nor tooth mark had been found on the girl.

What was found, however, was a deep slice between the girl's shoulders that was about an inch deep. The wound was a single, long gash, estimated to be about four inches in length. Kocho said it had been caused by a blade of some sort, and she breathlessly admitted she had been shocked that the girl's spinal cord had not been severed.

Framing the wound were smaller punctures, ragged at their edges, and deep, as though whatever had caused them had been dragged down the girl's skin before they were removed. The Master had inquired whether those wounds could have been the work of a demon, but Kocho was adamant they were not. Those wounds had been too even, too precise to have been anything natural (however natural demons could be).

Kocho's conclusion: the girl's injuries had been caused by weapons. Though Sanemi had anticipated the explanation, it did nothing to soothe the chill that rolled over his skin.

The Master had been uncharacteristically grim throughout Kocho's assessment, his lips thinning as Kocho confirmed what Sanemi and Rengoku had feared — the girl had been subjected to some form of bodily assault either before or after she had been wounded.

Kocho clarified she had not found evidence requiring her to use any — preventative — medication. Rather, bruises along the girl's wrists and legs suggested an attempted assault, further proven by the state of her clothing. An assault that likely had been interrupted by the Hashira's arrival.

The news that their arrival may have prevented the girl from being subject to the sick pleasures of lowly bandits did little to soothe the rage toiling beneath Sanemi's scarred skin. If anything, it only added oil to his fire.

At the end of the day, the girl's monsters had been human, not demons.

An uneasy silence had fallen over the group as Kocho conceded that she did not know when — or if — the girl would ever awake.

The Master had made no movement, save for the tap of his finger against the hand folded in his lap.

"I won't pretend that the idea of asking the girl to join our ranks once she regains consciousness doesn't cause me great discomfort," the Master had said quietly after a long moment. "But I am also not unaware of the implications for our cause should we completely lose the Lunar Breathing technique entirely."

"Lunar Breathing has been an invaluable asset to the Demon Slayer Corp, more so because it is a hereditary form of breathing," Iguro's voice was low, serious. "We would be doing ourselves a disservice if we allowed those techniques to die with the girl."

"Had the Head of the Lunar Clan not also have been slaughtered, I would suggest we urge him to take a wife and produce new heirs," Uzui had agreed, though to Iguro's scowl, "but we're not left with many options besides training the girl."

"You say 'training' as though the girl has not survived final selection," Iguro shot back, "It's not as if we would be starting from scratch. At the very least, she has some training under her belt."

"You know what I mean," Uzui waived his hand dismissively, "even if she were to wake up at this moment, she would require intensive rehabilitation." Uzui had looked pointedly at the Insect Hashira. "Right, Kocho?"

"Precisely. If she awakes." Kocho replied, voice dangerously soft. "And I would not discount the time it would take for her mental injuries to heal. To send her directly into battle would be needlessly cruel."

Uzui's slammed his fist on the polished wood of the Master's floors. "But we don't have the time to waste. What do you think Kibutsuji'll do once he learns that she survived his little game?" The Sound Hashira's eyes were cold, calculating. "Do you think he'll just leave her be? The last heir of the Lunar Breathing Clan?" Uzui scoffed, folding his trunk-like arms across his burly chest. "Especially not once he gets wind that she was already training to be a Slayer."

A vein in Kocho's forehead ticked at Uzui's brashness, but before she could open her mouth to snap back, the Master raised his hand. All fell silent and bowed towards him.

"I'm curious as to why we haven't heard from the two who found the girl. What are your thoughts on the matter, Sanemi? Rengoku?" The Master turned towards the pair.

Rengoku spoke first. "Master, please do not think that I underestimate the girl's heritage and its value to our cause," Rengoku bowed deeply, his nose nearly touching the floor. "But I do know that the carnage in the Merchant's village was unlike anything we have ever seen." Rengoku grimaced, struggling to find his next words. "I fear what the girl may have endured may be more than any of us can fully comprehend, and it makes me hesitant to send her into battle."

The Master nodded. "I also fear the risk of sending her into combat too soon." The Master turned his unseeing gaze to the direction of Uzui, who hastily bowed. "While I agree with you, Tengen, that Kibsutsuji will stop at nothing to seek the girl out to achieve his goal, I also wonder whether the girl herself won't try and seek revenge at the expense of herself and her comrades." The Master paused for a moment, considering. "That is, I wonder if sending her out too soon won't be a liability to our cause, rather than an asset. And it's as Shinobu said — we don't know whether she will wake up at all."

The Master turned towards his Wind Pillar, a curious smile tugging at the corner of his ruined mouth. "What say you, Sanemi? It is rare for you not to have an opinion on such matters and not make it known."

Sanemi felt his cheeks heat slightly, and he was sure he felt the tips of his ears turn red in his mollification.

"The caliber of demon slayer recruits has been in a steady decline, and we lose more rank-and-filers now than can pass final selection. There is no doubt that we are desperate for some sort of reprieve." Sanemi began, his voice sounding gravelly and foreign as he spoke to his revered leader with a formality he did not know he possessed.

"But I have to agree with the sentiments shared by Kocho and Rengoku," he continued. "There's too much risk with forcing the girl into combat right away. We don't even know if she can even use Lunar Breathing, let alone master it."

"Isn't that the point of training, Shinazugawa? For the girl to learn?" Tomioka's pathetically quiet voice rose over the heads of the other Hashira, causing Sanemi's nostrils to flare as he loosed an annoyed huff.

Had the Master not been present, Sanemi would have had no qualm in shooting back some biting, sarcastic remark; but because Sanemi respected the Master far more than he hated the insipid Water Pillar, he held back, his fists clenching in his restraint.

"Response, Sanemi?" the Master asked him, pointedly, as though he were prodding Sanemi into objecting. As if he wanted Sanemi to protest, as if he wanted an additional reason to spare the girl from a decidedly shortened and violent life with the Demon Slayer Corps.

Sanemi suppressed a smirk. "Master, tell me – how long has it been since the Corps last had a Lunar Breathing user?"

The Master returned Sanemi's soft, knowing smile. "Nearly fifty years."

Sanemi's eyes flitted over to the dull, azure gaze of the Water Hashira. "I dunno, I'd say the Corps has made it this far without Lunar Breathing. No sense in changing things now." His smirk deepened to something more antagonistic as the Water Hashira turned his gaze away from Sanemi, instead fixing his stare on the wall before him.

The Master nodded in agreement. "Then the matter is settled. We will not approach the girl about continuing with the Corps as a slayer should she awaken. That decision is to be left with her – even if it means the death of the Lunar Breathing technique."

Sanemi relished the grinding sound emanating from his right as Uzui ground his teeth together, his jaw clenched impossibly tight. Sanemi knew that the ostentatious Sound Pillar would rather reduce his teeth to dust than argue with the Master.

"Now, onto other matters. I've been made aware of an incident--." The Master began before a pair of Kakushi came spilling into the meeting room, tripping over one another in their hasty, frantic effort to bow before the Master.

"Please forgive us, Oyakata-sama!" one of the Kakushi spoke up, forehead nearly touching the tatami beneath them. "But you asked us to inform you immediately if --!"

The Master's face turned solemn and grave. "Has she awoken? The Lunar heir?"

Sanemi felt his stomach lurch in surprise. From the corner of his eye, he saw Kocho shoot up from her crouched position, her eyes shining.

"Yes, Oyakata-sama!" the Kakushi answered in unison.

The Master nodded. "Shinobu, please – go check on her." Kocho nodded once and disappeared in a flash, darting back towards the Butterfly Mansion to aid the now-conscious heir. "I will dismiss this meeting until we can all gather together once more. Please, my children, take care of yourselves. I hope to see you all again soon." The Master concluded, his children flanking his sides as they helped him stand and retreat to the room beyond the antechamber in which they had gathered.

Sanemi rose alongside the other Hashira and locked eyes with a pair of crimson eyes threatening to burn a hole through his skull with their intensity.

"You thinkin' of heading over there too, Rengoku?" Sanemi asked, already making his way toward the entryway of the Master's mansion.

The Flame Pillar nodded. "I would like to know at least what happened to the girl upon her return from final selection. If there are any details she may be able to provide about the attack, then we may be able to seek justice for her."

Sanemi grunted, and the pair fell silent as they began to make their way down the little rock path leading out of the Master's sprawling manor grounds and towards the direction of Kocho's estate.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Though the outside grounds of the Butterfly Mansion had been tranquil as the Wind and Flame Hashira arrived, with fat wisteria blooms lazily shifting against the frigid night breeze, the inside of the Mansion was anything but calm.

Specifically, a small group of Butterfly Mansion staff and Kakushi had gathered in a semi-circle in the hall, outside of one of Kocho's recovery rooms, all clamoring over one another in a desperate attempt to catch a glimpse through the thin sliver of glass of whatever was going on behind the firmly shut door.

"Move, you vultures! Don't you have work to do?" Sanemi barked, the gaggle of them moving quickly out of the Wind Pillar's way the moment his gruff voice had cut through their anxious tittering.

The hallway now empty, Sanemi and Rengoku took up the position in front of the room's doorway, both alternating in sneaking furtive glances through the door's small window.

Peering through the small glass pane in the door, Sanemi first saw Kocho standing at the side of a messy, empty bed. Kocho's arms were raised slightly, palms turned up in supplication as she spoke gently to something near the window he knew was on the other side of the room.

Not something; someone. Sanemi craned his neck slightly in an effort to see what had drawn Kocho's attention away from the haphazard bed and towards the window across the room.

That was when he saw her.

Truthfully, she looked like shit. The top of whatever sleeping kimono the girl had been dressed in had been pulled away from her torso, clinging loosely around her hips and obscuring her legs from view. Her shoulders and collarbone were both exposed, but her chest and lower torso were completely covered in tightly-wrapped medical gauze and bandages that extended down past her stomach, disappearing from sight under a loose-fitting drape of her kimono.

There were additional bandages wrapped around one of her biceps and one of her wrists –one Sanemi suddenly remembered had been snapped into a grisly angle when he had found her behind the fountain. Though clearly in the later stages of healing, Sanemi could see deep bruises dotted nearly every inch of her exposed skin. Her long, dark hair was unbound, falling to her waist in an unkept tangle.

Sanemi's gaze lifted to rest on the girl's face, and once he did, he was unable to look away. Her silvery eyes were wild, distrustful, just as they had been when she had so desperately tried to crawl through the blood and snow away from them – from him – all those weeks ago. Her eyebrows were drawn close together, as though skeptical of whatever it was Kocho murmured to her.

"She's barely standing," Sanemi said quietly to Rengoku, who tried to peer over Sanemi's head in interest. Sanemi watched as the girl dug the fingers of her good hand into the grain of the window pane, clutching for dear life to hold herself upright despite the violent trembling of her limbs as they struggled under the effort. The girl's shoulders were curved in, and her chest was rising and falling rapidly, as though she struggled to regulate her breathing. Her other arm was wrapped tightly around her torso as though she were literally trying to hold herself up.

"Tell me where they are!" Sanemi's ears pricked at the sound of the girl's voice, hoarse from a month of non-use.

Kocho shook her head. "Please, your injuries are still healing – let me help you back into-."

"Tell me where you put the others you found at the Manor!" The girl demanded, her voice cracking slightly. "Are they here? Have they been cleared?"

Kocho's eyebrows drew close together, her eyes flashing with a glint that Sanemi knew meant she was irate. "If you continue to stand, you risk tearing the stitching in your back." She said crisply, deftly avoiding the girl's demands.

The girl shook her head vigorously. "There was a little girl – Suzuna – she is eight years of age. She is about this tall," the girl removed her hand from its iron grip on the windowsill to quickly gesture to her hip, returning it to its previous position before she could lose her balance. "And I need to find her. I need to go to my sister. Now."

Sanemi's mouth went dry as dread filled his gut, heavy and nauseating. Beside him, Rengoku softly swore.

Because there had only been one child discovered amongst the carnage of the Lunar Merchant's estate.

Only one child had been found – torn in half – and crushed beneath the weight of her family's fountain.

No.

No. No.

Sanemi felt as though he had disconnected from his body, helpless only to watch Kocho from afar as the Insect Pillar's face softened, remorse filling her eyes. The girl seemed to have noticed the shift in Kocho's expression as well, her panic seizing at her features. The girl's head began moving side to side, shaking her head as though she could stave off whatever would come next.

Kocho took one small step towards the girl, who now cowered against the window, her grip on the sill slipping. The girl's argent eyes, which had previously been so fierce, so cold, now filled something else, something desparate and pleading.

"Let me help you sit," Kocho said gently, taking another step towards the trembling girl.

"Please," the girl whimpered, as though begging Kocho to spare her of the truth that loomed, "please. My sister."

My sister.

Sanemi felt the nausea settling in, as his mind flashed back to the grisly discovery he had made beneath the stone that day, the little girl's broken body a stain on his memory he knew he could never remove. Only now, the child's face – frozen scream and all – morphed into that of the familiar, scarred face of his brother. His Genya.

Get the fuck out, get the fuck out, Sanemi chanted in his mind, the words becoming a prayer that he desperately clung to as he sought to escape the sterile halls of the Butterfly Mansion.

Because Sanemi knew what the next words out of Kocho's mouth would be. He knew that she would be the harbinger of calamity for this girl, for she bore the news that was his own greatest fear, the image of his brother's lifeless form flashing through his mind.

Backing away from the door, his hands shaking, Sanemi sought to escape. He sought to escape the catastrophic storm brewing just beyond the recovery room door, to escape the roaring in his head. As he retreated, Sanemi became distantly aware that Rengoku was calling out to him, but he could not stop his feet, could not stop his body's instinctive need to get away from the Mansion and to get away now.

So, Sanemi ran, and he ran as fast as he could without destroying the Insect Pillar's pristinely kept estate, desperate to avoid the weighty truth that would doom this girl to a life of revenge and solitude.

Sanemi supposed he would have succeeded in running if it had not been for his ears, cursed with a level of hearing beyond that of an average man's.

And so, even with the wind he had summoned howling at his heels, Sanemi still heard the words that fell from Kocho's lips.

And, even hours after he had returned to the silent sanctuary of his own estate, Sanemi could still hear the girl's anguished scream as it tore through the night sky.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

#kny sanemi #sanemi x reader #sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi drabble #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kimetsu rengoku #kimetsu shinobu #demon slayer shinazugawa

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usafphantom2 · 5 months ago

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26th July 1943. Medal of Honor action of 2nd Lt John ‘Red’ Morgan, a B-17 co-pilot with the 326th BS of the 92nd Bomb Group. Rejected for military service in America due to previously breaking his neck, he had instead joined the RCAF and ultimately flew 12 missions as a Flight Sergeant with RAF Bomber Command. Morgan transferred to the USAAF in March 1943 and was now flying his fifth combat mission with the Eighth Air Force, a raid against Hanover.

As the bombers reached the German coast, they were met by Luftwaffe fighters. Morgan’s B-17, ‘Ruthie II’, came under heavy attack from Focke-Wulf 190s and was badly damaged. The oxygen system to the rear fuselage was knocked out along with the intercom, while the top turret gunner had his arm severed by a cannon shell. He was found bleeding to death on the fuselage floor by the navigator, who bailed him out of the aircraft, an action which saved his life. Found and treated by the Germans, he was repatriated in 1944.

Meanwhile, a frontal attack had smashed the cockpit windscreen and a machine gun bullet inflicted a severe brain injury on the pilot, Lt Robert Campbell. He reflexively gripped the control column as he slumped forwards, putting the B-17 into a dive. Through sheer strength, Morgan managed to heave the aircraft back into formation. He was fought for control all the time by the semiconscious pilot, who even physically attacked his copilot due to the effects of his fractured skull.

Morgan couldn’t hear firing from any of the gunners behind him and believed they had bailed out or been killed. In fact, they were all unconscious through lack of oxygen. Believing that it would be more dangerous to turn back, he opted to continue with the formation. As the navigator and bombardier manned the nose guns against continued attacks, for up to two hours Morgan flew the B-17 with one hand, while fighting off Campbell with the other, as he continued his attempts to wrest control of the aircraft from him. He could have severed the pilot’s oxygen supply to render him unconscious, but feared this would kill him.

Finally, as fighter attacks eased, the navigator was able to leave his gun and secured Campbell in the nose with the help of the bombardier. With Morgan now firmly in control, the B-17 reached Hanover, dropped its bombs and returned safely to make an emergency landing at RAF Foulsham, with barely any fuel left in the tanks. Campbell’s injuries proved fatal and he died shortly after the landing, while the five men in the rear fuselage knocked out through oxygen starvation had all survived, though with varying degrees of frostbite. They had regained consciousness as the aircraft descended on the outward flight.

Awarded the Medal of Honor in December 1943, Morgan was promoted and given the option of going home, but continued to fly combat sorties. On 6th March 1944, his H2X radar-equipped B-17 was flying as a formation lead aircraft on a mission to Berlin when it took a direct flak hit over the target. Morgan grabbed a parachute, but hadn’t had time to fasten it before the aircraft exploded. He was in freefall for an estimated 20,000 feet as he struggled to clip the pack to his chest, succeeding with around 500 feet to spare.

Captured almost immediately, Morgan spent the rest of the war in Stalag Luft I, the only Medal of Honor winner to become a prisoner of war after receiving the award. He saw service again in Korea, flying cargo aircraft when denied a combat assignment. Ending his Air Force career in the Reserves as a Lieutenant Colonel, he died in 1991.

Pictured:

1) John Cary Morgan receiving the Medal of Honor from Lt Gen Ira Eaker, 8th Air Force commander, 18th December 1944.

📷 afhistory.af.mil

2) Morgan’s B-17 ‘Chopstick G. George’ descending in flames over Berlin, 6/3/44. This image was taken moments before the aircraft exploded, killing six of the crew.

📷 b17flyingfortress.de

3) Morgan manning a field kitchen at Stalag Luft I.

📷 thisdayinaviation.com

@JamieMctrusty via X

#b 17 flying fortress #bomber #8th air force #boeing aviation #aircraft #usaaf #aviation #ww2

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sev-on-kamino · 2 years ago

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Could you do something for f!reader x tech for prompt 14 or 12? No pressure though. LOVE YOUR WRITING 🩷✨

I can, and I will, friend! Thank you so freakin’ much 🥹🥰 I apologize this took so long 😩, but I hope you love it🥰

Blossoming Romance #14: Looking at their lips as they talk (prompt list here)

Tech x afab!Reader

warnings: prepare yourself for fluff, a lil misunderstanding, followed by more fluff🥰

word count: 772

Tech liked to talk, and you liked to listen. The topic didn’t matter. Linguistics, flora and fauna, the finer points of hyperspace travel. You absorbed it all like a sponge. He would get so excited, yet serious. His eyes lighting up, his hands gesturing about. His voice holding your focus captive.

You loved it all, but lately you were distracted. You’d ask a question, he’d launch into the answer, but instead of focusing on the answer, and adding to your increasing compendium of knowledge, your mind would wander. Your eyes hopelessly drawn to his lips.

Every so often his tongue would dart past his teeth to wet his lips, and it would really take everything you had to pretend you’d heard whatever he’d just said. It was growing more and more difficult not to interrupt him with kisses. You wanted to tug his helmet off, press up against him, and indulge in those lips of his. Unfortunately your split focus had not gone unnoticed.

Tech had been thrilled to finally meet someone who could not only handle his tendency to dig into almost any subject in great detail, but who seemed to genuinely enjoy every moment. Lately though it seemed like your mind was anywhere else. The friendship turned relationship was still new, but according to Tech’s research you shouldn’t have been bored of him already. There was still so much for the two of you to learn about each other.

You still sought him out, still asked him to teach you things. It didn’t make any sense to him when you would inevitably get distracted and he’d lose you for several moments.

“Tech,” you called, as you entered the cockpit holding your holopad. “It’s giving me that error message again. What issue did you say corresponds to code 221B4?”

“Leave it there, and I’ll fix it,” He replied not looking up from the piece of equipment he was working on.

“You don’t have to. I wanted to try myself,” you took the seat next to him, and watched him. “What are you working on?”

“The alluvial dampers,” Tech answered. You waited for him to continue like he always did, but he just kept on working. Your brow furrowed in confusion.

“Those go in the coupling motivator with the artesiatic dampeners, right?” You pushed.

Tech looked up, his lips pursing into a thin line, as he regarded you. Normally recalling information would earn you a smile, and if you were really lucky, he’d press his forehead to yours.

“Yes, that is correct,” he said after several seconds that felt like hours.

“Alright, Tech, what’s going on? Are you upset with me?” You asked utterly confused by his icy behavior.

“I’m merely surprised you remembered given that you no longer bother to pay attention during our conversations.”

Your face warmed up instantly, and you tugged nervously at your earlobe.

“Tech,” you ventured quietly.

“It’s quite alright. Even my brothers don’t listen as attentively as I would like at all times.”

“It’s not that,” you said with a nervous chuckle. “I’ve been wanting to pay attention, I’m just a little distracted is all.”

“Distracted by what?” he asked confused. You cleared your throat and took a breath.

“Distracted by you, Tech,” you said staring down at the floor.

“I’m not following, cyare.”

“It’s…it’s your lips,” You stammered out. He brushed his fingers over his lips, frowning in confusion.

“What about them? Is there something wrong with them?”

“No, not at all. Quite the opposite,” you giggled. “I just keep thinking about kissing you.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but he was rendered speechless by the realization you had simply wished to connect with him physically. It made sense given what he knew of your affectionate nature, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t realized sooner.

“Well, I apologize for my assumption and subsequent accusations,” He said placing the piece of equipment down, and reaching for you. You took his hand, giggling once more as he tugged you into his lap. You cupped his face with your hands, as you brought your lips to his, satisfaction spreading warmth and comfort through your body.

Tech wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you close. Imparting knowledge to you would always be something he enjoyed, but he decided he would make time for this far more often. The contented hums this simple action elicited were far too enjoyable to miss out on.

You broke the kiss with a sigh, and pressed your forehead to his with a small smile playing on your lips.

“Apology accepted, darling,” You said before leaning in to steal his lips once more

#tbb tech x reader #tbb tech x you #tech fluff #the bad batch #tech x reader #tech x you #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #seven writes for shades #seven writes #these blossoming romance prompts really warm my heart #reader insert

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maboroshi-no · 1 year ago

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Hamefura LN13 Yamaguchi SS Story Translation

I have translated one of the SS story related to Hamefura LN13 that Satoru Yamaguchi has posted on their blog.

This story contains heavy spoilers about LN13.

A Prince's Jealousy ~Geordo~

I was called by my eldest brother Jeffrey just after breakfast.

When I headed to Jeffrey's room while suspicious about why he would call me at such an hour, he wasn't making his usual frivolous face but a serious one, so I braced myself for what would come.

Jeffrey: To tell you the truth, yesterday, some dark magicians broke into the home of Maria Campbell, the Wielder of Light, and tried to harm her and her mother.

Hearing Jeffrey's words, I gasped.

Maria Campbell was a friend I had worked with at the Academy of Magic as part of the Student Council, and someone I still engaged with.

Geordo: Are Maria and her mother alright?

Right after I had asked this,

Jeffrey: Yes. Luckily, she has no injury, and I had a doctor take a look at her and there's no problem, so she is currently safeguarded at the Ministry of Magic.

…he replied.

I breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing that she wasn't injured.

Geordo: Still, why would dark magicians suddenly attack Maria? There should have been guards assigned to her, right?

After my question, Jeffrey frowned and replied this.

Jeffrey: It is still under investigation. There were several competent people assigned as guards, but they were made unconscious because of dark magic. These guards have also regained consciousness and they have no physical issues.

As I knew that the woman manipulating dark magic named Sarah had moved around and was manipulating quite dangerous people behind the scenes, there had secretly been guards assigned to Maria, the Wielder of Light.

However, with dark magic cast on them, even competent guards would be rendered powerless.

After this, I would probably need to think more about things.

Jeffrey: And you see, the people who rescued Maria Campbell and her mother…

At that moment, I gasped even more.

The ones who had rescued Maria… For some reason, they happened to be Katarina, and the prince of Ethenell, Cezar.

Geordo: What?!

While reflexively raising my voice, when I asked for more details, it appeared that because Katarina was Katarina, and Cezar was Cezar, they each had the feeling Maria would be in danger, and they had separately gone to Maria's home.

Why would it happen, why at the same time… While I was in a terrible state of confusion, Jeffrey continued.

Jeffrey: Then, during the rescue, Lady Katarina seemed to have let her dark magic go out of control…

Geordo: Her dark magic went out of control?!

I reflexively leaned forward.

Magic going out of control was common with people with high magic power while they were still not used to their magic, but it could also happen with dark magic!

Jeffrey: She cast a powerful dark magic spell, and then her consciousness seemed to have clouded right after.

Geordo: And is Katarina alright?

Jeffrey: Yes, after that, she properly regained her senses. Right now, she seems to be passing time without issue.

After hearing this, I felt relieved.

While I was not here, such a thing happened to Katarina. A chill ran down my back.

Geordo: But why so suddenly?

It had already been a long time since Katarina had obtained her dark familiar, so I felt like it was too late for her magic to go out of control.

Jeffrey: This is something I still don't really understand, but anger was likely the cause this time.

Geordo: Anger?

Jeffrey: Yes. According to Lady Katarina, after she had caught sight of the injured Miss Maria, a strong anger erupted in her, and before she knew it, it had come this. Or so it seems.

It seemed like a very Katarina-like reason.

Katarina was really sensitive to her precious ones getting hurt.

Geordo: And so, her magic went out of control, and her consciousness clouded… However, it was only temporary and she regained her senses soon after, right?

Jeffrey: Yes. It was like this, but it seemed like Prince Cezar lent a hand since she couldn't regain her senses by herself.

Geordo: Prince Cezar did?! How?

I was convinced that she had regained her senses by herself, I didn't expect she would have used Cezar's help!

Jeffrey: Ah, well… If I remember correctly, he thought of catching her off guard so that she could regain her senses, so maybe he kissed her?

Geordo: …kiss.

After hearing these words, the inside of my head went completely blank, and something dark arose in my heart.

To catch Katarina off guard, a kiss would indeed have a strong effect.

Katarina was highly inexperienced with this kind of thing, so it would make her awfully shaken.

To catch Katarina off guard, it would probably be an effective method.

It was an act to save Katarina who had let her dark magic go out of control.

Geordo: Prince Cezar has kissed Katarina…

Jeffrey: Huh, that? Maybe Susanna made it up?

Jeffrey's words didn't enter my head anymore.

The inside of my head was only filled with the fact that Cezar had kissed Katarina.

Jeffrey: …Eh? Where are you going, Geordo…

Before I knew it, my feet walked to a carriage and, like that, I was heading to the Claes house.

When I arrived there and heard that Katarina was receiving a visitor, what's more, someone who appeared to be a foreigner, the face of that man appeared inside my head, and my feet became even hastier.

Despite knowing it was impolite, I hurriedly knocked and opened the door of the room where Katarina and her visitor were. When I did, the person I expected to be here and Katarina were looking at each other from a close distance!

I had already lost my usual composure and the inside of my head got even messier. Then,

Geordo: Prince Cezar, could you not approach my fiancée so familiarly?

After pulling Katarina toward me, I told this to Cezar in a stern voice.

But despite my attitude, Cezar elegantly greeted me in return, and his relaxed attitude shook my feelings even more.

If it were Keith, also a rival but one I knew very well since childhood, it wouldn't have upset me this much.

But if this man, this relaxed man, were to be her partner, I just couldn't accept it.

When I asked Cezar why he was at Katarina's house,

Cezar: Ah, yesterday, I got involved with Lady Katarina in an incident. I was concerned about her condition after that, so I came for a visit.

He replied this like it was the most natural thing.

Geordo: Thank you very much for expressly coming here. However, Katarina is my fiancée, so it is fine to leave her to me.

Despite being aware that my plainly hostile attitude was not something to direct to a royal of another country, I couldn't seem to put on a facade like I usually did.

However, as Cezar interacted with me no differently despite my attitude, his relaxed demeanor upset me even more. On top of this,

Cezar: I see, but as someone who fought together with her yesterday, I felt concerned. And I also wanted to give her an apology.

While saying this, Cezar smiled at Katarina as if saying "Right?".

"Don't be so familiar with my Katarina". The black thing in my heart swelled up.

Katarina: Umm, regarding this matter, it is really fine, so please forget about it, Mister Cezar.

Katarina said this after waving her hand from side to side.

Geordo: …"Mister Cezar"?

When, without thinking, I sternly asked her to explain herself after she had addressed him familiarly, it wasn't Katarina, but Cezar who…

Cezar: I asked her to please call me that way. Since I have her treat me intimately.

He replied that.

Why are YOU answering? And what do you mean you're intimate?

I saw red and I blurted out the reason I had come here.

Geordo: Does it mean you did such a thing with the goal of surprising her and ultimately getting intimate with her?

A voice so cold I couldn't believe it myself, came out of my mouth.

Katarina: Ah, Prince Geordo, so you know about yesterday's (nose bite) incident…

As Katarina admitted it extremely easily, the black thing in my heart swelled up even more.

Geordo: I heard the gist of it from my older brother.

After I had said this, Cezar…

Cezar: Regarding this, I was just offering my apologies to her once again. As I couldn't think of any other way at the moment, I did something extremely improper. I am also offering my apologies to you, Prince Geordo, her fiancé.

He politely offered his apologies like this.

The attitude of a splendid royal in all regards. And,

Katarina: Umm, it is because Mister Cezar did this at that time that I could regain my senses and be saved…

Even Katarina said this.

Yes, I knew. I knew this very well. Still…

Geordo: … I know. I do understand that it is thanks to Prince Cezar's action that you were saved. But I just can't stand someone else, someone who isn't me touching you. Katarina, you are my fiancée.

Yes, I knew. I understood. I was also well aware that I was speaking rudely because of my pettiness.

But my chest hurt without me being able to do anything about it, and I didn't know how to deal with my overflowing emotions. I couldn't fabricate a smile like usual. I couldn't properly act as Sorcier's royalty.

Katarina's small lips caught my eyes.

When I thought of another man, of this splendid and relaxed man touching these lips, my jealousy was beyond control.

I wanted me, her fiancé, to be the only one allowed to touch these lips…

I brought down my mouth on Katarina's lips.

"She is mine." "I will never hand her over." I devoured her lips just like a beast.

Then, I faced Cezar and…

Geordo: Katarina is my precious fiancée, so please don't involve yourself with her anymore.

I declared this.

Inside my arms, Katarina was bright red and limp after losing consciousness.

However, afterward, I learned that "Cezar has kissed Katarina" was my misunderstanding.

I apologized to Katarina, whom I had made unconscious, and to other people as well, and thus managed to avoid further trouble, but I loathed myself and felt embarrassed over losing control over my emotions again.

And I fiercely resented Jeffrey for giving me equivocal information.

#hamefura light novel #hamefura #my next life as a villainess: all routes leads to doom #bakarina #geordo stuart #katarina claes #cezar dahl #jeffrey stuart

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onedaughterofman · 2 years ago

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Writing Sessions #7 (Papa Emeritus I x g/n reader)

Summary: Your punishment for not memorizing the Lord's word is to have some special lessons with the head of the chruch himself.

Tags/Warnings: +18, orgasm denial, power imbalance, desk sex, kinda abuse of authority?, slight dom/sub dynamics, teasing, not so explicit but oral sex, fingering, improper use of Nameless Ghoul. Blonde Peepaw. I didn't proof read this, sorry.

A/N: Satan whispered in my ear and I listened to it. "Make them Peepaw fuckers," he said, and I replied: "Whatever you say, King." Partially inspired by @ghestie-nun Primo wip

A loud noise shatters the silence in the room. The sting of the ruler on your inner thigh is enough to force a hiss through your teeth, jaw clenching tight. An angry, red mark begins to form on the skin.

Fuck.

“Did I say you could stop?”

The claws dig deeper in your flesh. Not enough to pierce the skin, but with the necessary strength to make you endure it. Legs spread on the desk, you are left completely at the mercy of him.

Papa Emeritus I. The one who most Siblings fear and respect, because of his authoritarian nature and severe personality. He’s mostly a solitary figure, quietly walking around the long halls always surrounded by his ghouls.

Primo is a strong man, capable of rendering a bunch of Siblings silent with only one look. And now those mismatched, deep eyes fall on your face, harsh as always. There’s disappointment coating his pupils, wood ruler still firm between his fingers.

“You need to focus more on the texts,” he adds, clicking his tongue. “Distractions and temptations are all around us, but we must learn the word of our Father nonetheless.”

Slowly, the cold wood slides over your skin, knuckles ghosting on the burning, red spot. It hurts, but it also provides an unexpected relief. His hands are icy too, skin hardened by time. Primo works a lot, in the Ministry and the garden, and his fingers know exactly how to move to provoke a reaction.

Shivers explode up and down your spine. Your body quivers, trying to move away from his exploring fingers, but it’s useless. The Ghoul behind you won’t release you, won’t yield no matter how much you squirm. His chest is hot and hard behind your back, and you can only fall more onto his body, trying to hide.

“Continue.”

The book shakes so much in your loose grip, but not as much as your legs when Primo’s head goes back between them, warm breath hitting right in your most sensitive spots.

Fuck, again.

You want him. No, not want. You need him, right here, right now. You want your Papa to take you in this desk, to pound wildly into you until you can’t do anything more than to call out his name, brain completely fogged with pleasure and lust. Still, he doesn’t move. His fingers keep circling around your body, coated in his own saliva and your excitement.

The disappointment clings to his blown pupils. “If you stop, so will I.”

The oxygen is not nearly enough when you gather a deep breath, raw air burning all the way down your lungs. Your voice trembles, merely a whisper, and your throat is dry, almost like sandpaper. You need him to grant you release, to free you from this tortuous teasing that you have been receiving for what feels like hours, now.

When Primo reprimanded you earlier for now knowing today’s gospel, you expected nothing of it. You were a bit embarrassed, of course, but he looked unhappy, mad even. His jaw was clenched tight, and there was a heavy furrow on his face when he ordered you to meet him in his office later.

This is not what you expected.

“How hast thou fallen from heaven, Lucifer. I shall be as my father, who is of many forms. I shall be at one with the Fire, Darkness and Storm…”

Your voice breaks when his tongue finally joins his fingers. Primo follows a slow, tortuous rhythm, something both capable of transporting you to the edge of pleasure and then cast you back down on the floor. All your muscles are tense, and from behind you can hear a low, rumbling growl coming from the Ghoul. His claws dig deeper, forcing another gasp out of your mouth.

“I will ascend…” Primo urges, cheek resting on your thigh. It’s a breathtaking sight to behold, and your eyes scan every inch of it, from the wetness coating his mouth and chin, to the smudged paint, to the way his blonde, wavy hair falls around his face. There is also white and black paint on your skin, marking the path he followed from your neck to your waist.

“I will ascend to Heaven. Above the stars I will raise my throne. There is no God beside me…”

For a long moment, Papa doesn’t mention anything. Then, looking up at you through his lashes, he lets out a hum that travels right through your body, vibrations softly caressing your sweet spots. Face buried between your thighs, devouring you with a measured pace, Primo looks pleased, almost proud as you continue to recite from the texts.

Voice full of air and high pitched, you finish the paragraph right at the edge of your orgasm. When you can feel it coming, legs trembling and toes curling, it escapes right thought your fingers. Primo’s name dies in the tip of your tongue, turning into nothing but a frustrated moan.

Out of a mysterious mercy, the Ghoul lets go of you. Your joints ache and your muscles remain tense, chest heaving.

“Don’t look at me like that, Sibling. This is your punishment after all,” Primo says, deftly working on the buttons of his habits while he licks the fingers of his other hand. “Our Father has been kind enough to share his knowledge with us. You still have much more to learn.”

Then, taking his righteous place between your spread legs, he towers over your exposed body. His long hair falls around you, tickling at the sensitive, overstimulated skin. “Turn the page,” he orders.

As always, you obey.

ps: peepaw can fuck.

#papa emeritus i #papa primo #papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus i x reader #ghost band fanfiction #my writing #writing sessions #my fic #peepaw primo #go peepaw

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therealjackdsaf · 5 months ago

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warning me being stupid and dumb about things I like under the cut

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST

Statement of Angel McCarthy, regarding their time missing between the months of January and April, 2012. Original statement given May 15th, 2013. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)

I… I guess, erm, I should just start, then, right? All right. Ahem. This happened a few months ago, um, New Year’s Eve, exactly. Back in California, USA. I had been working on my writing, a novel about deities and succubi, when I was struck with a rather severe case of writer’s block. It was late, but I decided to venture out into the forest surrounding my home. I lived with my father, at the time, a rather rude old bastard, but for some reason he… he never minded me leaving, if it was for the forest. Ahem.

I walked out the front door, the crisp, pre-spring air filling my lungs. It was a familiar scent- I grew up playing with my siblings in that house, and- Oh. I’m getting off topic. Right, so, I ventured into the forest, making note of things I could incorporate, or, y’know, use in my story, when I suddenly realized- the part of the woods I had gotten to looked… strange. Different.

Now, that was unusual, since I knew the forest like the back of my hand. I knew the path I had taken well, due to the fact I used to go fruit picking down this path with my brother and sister. It had the same elements, but it had a weird feeling to it: like it was fake, y’know? I’ve had derealization episodes before, but this… it was different. Nonetheless, I steeled myself, and continued.

And for a while, it stayed normal. Or, well, you know, not normal, but, unchanging. I figured I had just had an episode due to the argument I had with my father hours prior. I figured it was just my anxiety acting up. I figured the brighter shades of green flickering on the trees was a trick of the light.

I had only realized something was off when I looked at one of the trees: it looked like a bad model of a tree, like from a 3D game that just didn’t land the mark correctly with its rendering.

And as I progressed, I realized that the trees, and ground, got more pixilated and fake looking. I finally decided enough was enough, so I turned around, but there wasn’t… a forest, anymore. No.

It was a green door. A large green door, with blacked, tinted windows, and golden J-shaped handles. Then I turned around. The same door. I was starting to feel stressed out, but I tried to steel my nerves and think logically. There was probably someone inside. Someone who could help. Maybe.

There wasn’t.

The second I walked inside, I knew something was wrong. There was a strong scent of… Grease and something sour. It made my skin prickle. I almost vomited. I slowly stepped inside, looking around. It seemed to be an arcade. There were huge arcade boxes, air hockey tables, things like that.

I was already regretting going inside, when he showed up.

He was tall. Far too tall to be human. Not that he could’ve been human. No. The only thing humanoid about him was his frame. He was like a figure drawing. Something an art student would sketch up, except, he didn’t have a face. Or rather, he did, but it wasn’t… normal. It was like a bird. Or, maybe, a plague dictor mask. And he was completely hollow. I could see right through him, literally.

His voice was loud, bitcrushed, and seeming to come from everywhere in the arcade, almost as if he was the arcade. So, I asked who he was, and where we were. He laughed, a sort of, ‘Jeheheh’ if that makes sense. J seemed to be a common theme for him. Along with green.

He told me his name was Jota, and we were in Jota’s arcade, a place where “Fun Spreads Like The Plague!” Macabre theme, I muttered, but he didn’t seem to notice.

He took me to a room- It looked like the main dining room to a greasy kid’s pizza joint. Do they have Chuck’E’Cheeze here? Unimportant. It was sort of like that, you know, and the smell of grease seemed to get stronger. He told me to take a seat, and that I had caught him on a good day, not everyone gets such a pleasant interaction with the owner. That’s what he said.

And I could tell he meant it. He definitely had a threatening aura around him. One of his arms was severely… glitchy. Yes, it looked glitched. His fingers on that hand came to sharp, green points, and he carried a green scythe with him. Almost like a god of death.

What I asked next seems stupid now, but I asked him if I was dead. He simply laughed, his Jehehe, and shook his head. “Far from it. This is the single most alive place you’ll ever be.” He told me, and I felt a shiver go up my spine as I felt he meant it.

I asked how to leave. His expression seemed to falter.

I decided not to ask about it again. I don’t think I would’ve made it out if I asked again.

And then he asked me to play a game. He said it was simple, a short game, it wouldn’t take long. I had a terrible feeling, and… I’m sorry, I can’t do this, I- I have to go.

ARCHIVIST

Statement ends.

Angel attempted to leave, stating that they feared “he was watching” and that “they don’t want him to find [them]”.

I’m honestly not sure what to believe for this one. It’s highly likely that Angel had a long term hallucination, but it doesn’t explain why they were missing for months, with no sign of them being in the woods.

We cannot question their father for the details, nor either of their siblings, as Michael, Delilah, and Gabriel McCarthy have all sadly passed since then. Angel also refused to come to London for further questioning, which, makes sense, considering the distance and the fact they wish to put all of the happenings at their house behind them. They’ve settled with a wife, Lilith Potter. Hm.

I have a few other statements from them made on the same date, most of them starting with ‘I’m here, might as well’, but as far as I could tell the only mention of that plague doctor was once in an earlier statement, and surrounded by nonsensical ramblings about mirror people, and gods. I know that we don’t need anything getting into the religious territory. Not anymore.

Ahem. Well, I suppose that’s it, then. Though, one thing did come across as strange… I have been able to find a page on the website tumblr that bears striking similarities to the place Angel described. I might have to look into this further. Hmm.

Recording ends.

[CLICK]

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annoyinglandmagazine · 2 years ago

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Summary: In which Eol is his usual unpleasant self and gets on the bad side of every single Noldor in attendance

There was a round wooden table sparsely lit with candles while the wind howled and echoed outside the stone keep of Himring. Around the table were seated several lords of Doriath, a considerable portion of the grandchildren of Finwe and a few more senior generals.

Eol was leading the delegation and they all knew that they were running into a dead end, as they had been once they’d dispatched with the bare minimum of passive aggressive greetings. He was clearly disinclined to give the Noldor any of the trade deals or military support they were asking for and there was little reason for him to try and reach a deal, as they had nothing the Sindar particularly needed. Thingol would certainly not care either way, in fact he may be more pleased with him if he did end up just wasting the kinslayers’ time.

They’d been at it hours, going in circles until most in attendance were resting their chins in their hands and staring listlessly at the same proposals before them, rendered meaningless by repetition. Suddenly an idea occurred to him, he spoke, interrupting a point the Noldor king’s son had been making and the Noldor all turned to look at him, both in shock that he’d interrupt their highest ranking prince and surprise that he’d finally began to show some interest in the proceedings and contribute for a change.

‘I think we can all see that this is going nowhere. I do not wish to do business with you and I should need considerable incentive to change my mind.’ Eyebrows were raised at this bluntness but none could deny that this was an accurate summary of events.

‘And what incentive did you have in mind?’ this was said in a mocking tone by one of the Feanorians, a blonde who had done nothing but smirk arrogantly over the course of the meeting.

Eol straightened up and voiced the proposal he’d come up with, ‘Well I think a bride would make a pleasing good will gift as a show of your commitment. A woman is a fine enough prize and my willingness to take on the challenge of taming one of you Noldor sufficiently, with all I’ve heard of you letting your females fight, to make one fit for a Sindar court is payment enough.’

Some of his delegation nodded, perhaps it could be a way of creating good faith potentially (oddly diplomatic by his standards) but the Noldor looked taken aback. Perhaps their society was not accustomed to political negotiations not involving the threat of violence.

The leading golden haired prince from the slightly less murderous side of the family, though all the Noldor were tainted with the blood of the Teleri, spoke first, clearly attempting to make peace as if Eol had just issued a grave insult. ‘I’m afraid such marriages are not in our custom. We do not have a supply of women ready to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.’ His tone remained light as if Eol had simply made a badly timed joke and was being forgiven.

‘What about that one?’ His eyes travelled to a raven haired lady sitting at the table next to the arrogant blonde from earlier. She had seemed engrossed in her note consulting and all that was said as if she were actually involved in decision making, Noldor women were strange creatures but at least she hadn’t presumed to speak herself.

Though the bloodthirsty nature of the Noldor repulsed him he could clearly see why they were renowned for their beauty from her flushed cheeks and soft figure. He continued, oblivious to the room suddenly going so silent it was as if all the noise had been sucked out of it and left only with tension.

‘She must be of high enough social status to be permitted sit in, and none of you are reported to have wives. She’s certainly pleasing enough to the eyes, and healthy too, she could bear me good heirs for my house. She’d do very nicely I think.’

He’d directed this towards all of them in general, and did not notice the moment that the woman in question had heard him and slowly lowered her pen and raised her head while listening to him speak. He did not notice the way she stiffened at his words, frozen to the spot and clenched her hands into fists.

He received a reply after a moment of silence from the crown prince. His voice was quiet and shook slightly as if in horror, ‘Are you talking about Caranthir?’

He shrugged ‘If that is what she is called.’

He did not not notice how much paler all the Noldor in the room went as he let his eyes cast a lingering assessing gaze over the woman’s curves. He was not looking in her eyes and so missed how they widened in discomfort until he glanced up a second and grinned at her, relishing how she hardened her gaze into a blistering glare and his leering at her seemed to make her shrink back.

‘Yes she’ll do nicely. Seems to be some fight in there but if I took her off your hands I could straighten that right out of her, she’d be sweet and submissive for me in no time. A strong hand at the beginning is all, you Noldor make too many allowances for your women, it makes them insolent.’

*******

Even his own delegation looked uncomfortable with his words now, clearly Eol’s views on how to treat a wife were not ones that many would like to see as that of their culture as a whole. Many were looking at him wide eyed, practically begging him to just stop talking.

Of course Fingon was much less concerned about the Sindar right now than trying to avoid this escalating further, though with both his and Finrod’s attempts to give him hints to avoid digging himself further and further into a very dangerous hole going thoroughly unheeded he wasn’t sure what else there was to say.

After all they had probably arrived at the highest possible level of escalation short of holding swords to everyone’s throats and setting the room on fire when a Sindar lord expressed, in full hearing of all six of Feanor’s sons, a desire to rape Caranthir.

Worse still, going by her uncharacteristic stillness he’d actually managed to scare her. He’d never had a particularly close relationship with her and he knew she could certainly take care of herself but all the same in that moment he was indescribably furious himself towards the person responsible for her unease.

His thoughts of Aredhel, mercifully still in Nevrast with Turgon and not in the presence of this disgusting excuse for an elf, did not do anything to make him think more rationally. The idea that someone could even think to talk or look at someone in that manner, if someone had behaved like that to Aredhel- really he was impressed Maedhros hadn’t slit all their throats yet, he wasn’t sure he’d have the same restraint.

On reflection perhaps Maedhros and his brother were simply in shock, tinder just waiting for a light that came in the form of a single split second glance of distress to the lord sitting in the centre of the table.

Maedhros sprung out of his paralysis, his sister had signalled to him that she was distressed and that was enough for him.

‘That is enough.’ And his voice was not a yell, but still more full of rage than any yell could have been.

‘That is the daughter of Feanor you are addressing, and she far outranks you any aspect of status, ability or character you could imagine. She is certainly not some prize to be bargained with and will make her own decisions on who she chooses to marry or will not marry at all. I would never dream condemn her to a life with a person like you if you offered a silmaril in her place.’

As Maedhros unleashed the full force of his famed wrath on that wretched creature Curufin was mostly distracted from making any proclamations of his own by trying to warn Celegorm against flinging himself across the table with no weapons but his nails and teeth, at least until Maedhros had finished speaking. Amrod and Amras were reluctantly waiting but menacingly sharpening daggers while making full eye contact.

Maglor gave his full focus to the subject of his protective fury, he was talking to her in hushed tones and, with slow caution, placed his hand on hers, receiving an uncertain smile of reassurance in return from the still slightly shaking nís.

‘So get your filthy eyes off my sister right this second or there is no power in all of Arda that could keep me from cutting them from your head.’

He seemed to take a moment longer to decide what action he could afford to take, right this second Fingon knew he wished nothing more than to kill him in some horrible manner and though he could not really blame him both of them knew there would be repercussions.

In all technicality Maedhros could not make proclamations and decisions in regards to Doriath without conferring with the High King but neither Fingon more his father would have dreamed of saying that this matter was in anyone but the Feanorian’s power. Whatever they decided he would see to it that all their factions knew it to have the full backing of the Noldor as a whole and he knew Finrod would assist him there; in the name of Galadriel and Aredhel if not of Caranthir.

He did not let his blazing gaze falter for even a moment as he continued, ‘You will leave this place right this moment and never darken my doorstep again. No land of the Noldor or those who wish to be our allies or trade partners may permit you entry or any other form of assistance.’

‘If I find you have ever so much as spoken one word to her, in a letter or if you somehow manage to be in her presence again, you will consider that a death warrant signed. I will send an emissary to Doriath who your king will permit entry to explain what you have done and your fellow delegates,’ here he glanced threateningly along all the Sindar present, ‘will corroborate his story. I’m aware Thingol distrusts our people, thinks of us as his enemies. If he does not see fit to punish you in some manner he will learn what it is to have made an enemy of the House of Finwë.’

#Silmarillion #tolkien #female caranthir #genderbend #maedhros #Eol #celegorm #feanorians #Caranthir #fingon #finrod

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starqueensthings · 1 year ago

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Pairing: pirate!Kix x Fem!reader

Summary: the final chapter of Colder Weather. This one is exceptionally long… and it didn’t need to be, but sometimes I can’t just reign it in and that’s okay. Please read the prior two parts before proceeding to this one, and please heed warnings below.

Rating/Warnings/WC: Teen+ for subject matter, TW: mentions of a complicated labour, mentions of postpartum challenges. This chapter is probably 60% sad angst. 40% happiness, but the happy parts make up for the sad parts. 8000ish words (sorry lol)

A/N: y’all… I was so close to killing off the reader, but I’m glad I didn’t. He’s made his mistakes, but deep in his heart and soul, our favourite medic Kix deserves a happy ending. Thank you for reading. Not proof read because this has gone on long enough. If you see a typo… no you don’t.

part one | part one.five | part two

“When I close my eyes I see you, no matter where I am. I can smell your perfume through these whisperin’ pines. I’m with your ghost again, and it’s a shame about the weather but I know soon we’ll be together, and I can’t wait ‘til then.”

That intrusive hum should not have wielded enough power to yank you so unceremoniously from the embracing, semi-lucid doze you’d unintentionally fallen into. That brief reprieve of darkness was meant to be nothing more than just an extended blink; a momentary break from the throbbing headache brought on by several days without sleep, yet that whirring, artificial whine had instantly imbued you with such an unbridled panic, that a gasp near-left your lips as your eyes snapped open and darted urgently toward the front window.

Nightfall had already begun to kiss the horizon, the last of that so reclusive winter sun bathing only that of which it could reach between barren branches. The soft hush of dancing leaves, and the indignant squawks of native wildlife begrudgingly adapting to the change in season, had long since silenced; their departure triggered by the crystal blanket of frost that never failed to drape itself upon every unmoving surface during those extended hours of darkness.

The jarring return to reality had your heart hammering heavily against the walls of your chest, and attempting to reaffix your senses to that disturbing rumble proved nearly impossible over the rhythmic pounding in your ears. A moment's pause had you nearly convinced that familiar hum was nothing but the remnants of a nightmare wiped clean from your memory upon waking. Perhaps your weary mind had clutched so vainly at whatever semblance of sleep it could find, knowing reality would continue to rob your being of the repose it so desperately needed yet continued to neglect, but its stark contrast to the the cherished serenity of nature rendered it harrowingly familiar, and there could simply be no further denying that grinding vibration.

“No,” you implored to the empty room as the implications of that wretched noise forced a shiver down your spine.

You hurried to press yourself into a seated position, and that near-debilitating crest of pain radiating from the tender space between your legs had your face contorting tightly and a soft whimper issuing from behind pursed lips, but with the entirety of your waning focus attuned to that haunting roar, you could spare no attention to your body’s plea for stillness.

“No!” you repeated sternly, as if begging some divine force to halt the imminent invasion.

Snatching the ice pack from its nestle between your thighs and tossing it onto the seat of the chair by the window, you clambered to your feet as gingerly as your frantic mind could permit.

The intensity of your labour only days previously had left you “wiggly”; an inappropriately comical label for how unstable you found yourself in those handful of purgatorial moments between sitting and standing. But a trio of sluggish blinks were all you could offer to placate the stars erupting in your vision… there was simply no time for the deep breath your body craved. The sound of that sputtering engine meant you had mere seconds until it parked itself atop your gravel drive, bringing its unwelcome rider to within only feet of your front door.

“No… no… no… no, no!”

Every resounding thump of your socked feet descending the stairs had that defiant refusal pouring from your snarling lips. The adrenaline doped blood pounding in your veins kept your legs in motion; the desperate need to fortify your home by whatever means necessary quickly diminishing those electrifying jolts of pain between your thighs to nothing but an annoyance, and you utterly refused to suspend your frenzied actions until the satisfyingly audible click the deadbolt met your ears.

Breast heaving under agitated breaths, you pressed your forehead to that cool, steel barrier, reaching a trembling hand to blindly activate the lock and engage the chain across the door. That infuriating hum had ceased, replaced by the sporadic ticking of an engine entering slumber mode after a long journey and the rhythmic crunch of heavy boots treading apprehensively across compacted gravel.

A faint draft danced across your ear as you pressed it flush against the gap between door and frame, biting your lip in an effort to quiet the huffs still pouring from your lips.

How many steps until that calloused hand wreathed itself around the glimmering gold door knob perched innocently at your navel? He drew nearer with every exhale; already his steps had near-muted as they transferred his weight from gravel to pavestone. A potent remorse swelled like noxious gas in your chest, pure exhaustion and repressed sadness flooding your mind with flickering images of all the times you sprinted down that cobblestone path and threw yourself, unabashed, into his embrace..

A shiver stole down your spine as you backed away from the door, folding your arms over your chest and fitting a thumbnail between your teeth. Every moment on your feet saw your body beginning to yield further into exhaustion and the primal need for rest, yet the resolve required to yank gaze from the door and head back upstairs for a fresh ice pack and a long nap had utterly abandoned you.

The stare you affixed that dome of gold was unrelenting, and had the Maker blessed you with even a fraction of the power those old wizards known as “Jedi” once possessed, there was no doubt that gold knob would have burned red hot under the intensity of your gaze.

Your thumbnail continued to shred and fray under the anxious gnawing of your front teeth, little shards torn painfully from the tip of your finger and spat unceremoniously to the floor at your feet were offered none of the attention that you’d affixed to the sounds of his impending arrival. His boots had stalled their movements on the other side of the threshold, and the small scraping of plastoid against plastoid sounded through the door as he shifted to remove his helmet. Any second now that knob would wiggle under his touch. Any second now…

“Go away!” you shouted at the first signs of that handle failing to permit his entry, your anxiety momentarily abated by the same surging rage that sent your hands curling into fists.

“Wh— what? Did— did you say ‘go away’?” That voice. That stupid, forsaken voice.

“Sure did!” you spat back at the man who didn’t deserve even an ounce of the confusion that had stalled his advance. “Get your ass back on that bike and get out of here!”

“Mesh’la…”

Your blood boiled at the outrageous levity in which that endearing coo left his lips, and had it not been for the abandoned baby monitor in the next room, interrupting your increasing indignation with the beeping reminder of a dying battery, at least one of your shaking fists would have crashed heavily against the back of that door.

“Don’t you dare call me that,” you seethed through clamped teeth. “Now get away from my kriffing door before I grab my blaster and shoot you through the peephole!”

A brief moment's weighty silence preceded his answer. “I would deserve that,” Kix acknowledged, no doubt sensing the validity of your threat, having personally dismantled and cleaned the pistol you kept hidden in your nightstand.

“Yeah, you would. Now, goodbye!” you snarked back at him, the responding, poignant sigh that left his lips failing to soften your invective.

“Look, Mes— ”

“Didn’t I just say, don’t call me tha—”

“Okay. Okay…” Every emotional huff expelled from his lungs was a breath that only further ignited the embers of your vexation, and saw you withdrawing further and further from the door. How dare he be upset? How dare he feel exasperated? How dare he even show up here, let alone stand at the entryway to your home and attempt to belittle the agony of his betrayal with his own undeserved feelings of remorse?

“I owe you some big explanations,” he muttered slowly. “I have a lot to apologize for, and I— I want to say it all because you deserve it.”

“Oh I ‘deserve it’?” you snorted near-maniacally. “Now? And not six months ago when you hightailed it out of here, and left me in the kriffing clutches of hell?”

“Of course you did, Mesh’la,” he assuaged. “You’ve always deserved it, and I’ve been— well… I’ve struggled a lot, but you know that and it’s no excuse. Can you please unlock the door and let me in?”

“No.”

You intensified the knot of your arms across the tender swells of your chest and snarled as silence ensued. Every elongated second that ticked present into past saw your jaw begin to mutiny against the continued force of irritably grinding your molars together, the discomfort only masked by the powerful pangs of pain between your legs as your body continued to beg for your retreat. But physical agony was mere childsplay; nothing… nothing compared to the debilitating heartbreak that had rendered you emotionally distraught and struggling to keep your head above water since he last fled your embrace, the haunting image of his anguished face erupting in your mind's-eye every time you sought the respite of sleep.

“No,” you repeated weakly. “You’ve had so many chances to talk, Kix. You made your choice.”

Sorrow and grief, respawned by the reminder of a life longed-for and lost, threatened to envelop you. How many months had you begged him for the knowledge that he was now, inexplicably, offering? How many nights did you attempt to chisel away at his walls, refusing to see the efforts as futile, and doggedly convinced that he would feel the same devotion to you if he would just let himself? Now here he was, offering all the things you’d once prayed for on a silver platter at your door, and the undeniable longing that had previously seen you gazing limitlessly into his eyes, still held the maddening power to sag your shoulders and wet those tired eyes.

You hastily wiped the emotion from your face and shook the malignant thoughts from your head; too many tears had already been shed on his account, too many nights had vanished from underneath you, lost in the shadow of loneliness.

He upheld a near-suffocating silence from his unseen perch, and it lingered just long enough to make you wonder if he’d simply turned on his heel and left. Despite reminding yourself that such a departure would ultimately be for the best, the notion of another temerous abandonment at his hands wrapped itself like an iron fist around your gut, further restricting every already pained inhale.

A gentle thunk against the door exposed his presence, and your eyes darted to the area where he’d likely just rested that weary, tattooed head.

“Well,” you offered sadly, unknotting your arms and stretching the tension from your neck. “Not that this hasn’t been… enlightening… but I’m in desperate need of some sleep, so… goodbye.”

You cast one last glance toward the peephole before turning to ascend the stairs again, attempting to placate the twisting in your stomach with a deep, controlled inhale.

“Goodnight, Cyare. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Your hand froze on the railing, chilled toes ceasing their movements at his unexpected valediction, and the slow breath that had promised you some semblance of relief, now escaped your nose in a huff of indignant disbelief.

“What are you talking about?” you barked over your shoulder at the deadbolt.

“I’m not leaving,” he explained. “You deserve an apology and I’m giving it to you. I’ll sleep in the driveway if I have to.”

A scoff left your lips as you shook your head, eyes rolling extravagantly at his unprecedented impudence. “It’s freezing outside,” you snorted coolly.

“Not cold enough to stop me.”

With patience utterly diminished by both his audacious dedication, and the continued throbs of pain in your core, you turned and stomped back down the stairs, a frustrated growl leaving your lips as you unlatched the deadbolt and yanked the door open only wide enough to peer out into the increasing darkness.

There he stood. Your Kix. Those characteristically piercing, dark eyes now so soft they were nearly unrecognizable, and framed by knitted, forlorn brows. Those subtle creases across his forehead, of which typically only emerged in moments where surprise or potent emotion lifted his brow toward his hairline, had deepened and embedded themselves with the same plea swaddling the rest of those familiar features. His tall frame still hid behind that scuffed and blemished blue plastoid kit, that marred and dented helmet hung loosely at his side as it always did when not masking his face, and that bushy, unkempt beard failed to conceal the emergence of several blue, day-old bruises, their pigmentation only matched by the swollen bags beneath those brown eyes.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” you hissed at him through the door’s meager opening. “Where do you come off thinking you can just show up here and make demands? What makes you think I even want your dumb apology?”

“I’m not here to make demands, Mesh’la,” he pleaded, the perimeter of his frame disappearing behind the door as he stepped as close as the gap would permit.

“Then what do you want?” you pressed him sternly, mirroring his unintended concealment by narrowing the gap in the door. “Why are you here?”

“Because I love you,” he urged in a whisper. “And I want to explain everything. Please… just let me in.”

That pure and unfiltered expression of love nearly cleaved you in half; his admonition monetarily overpowering your composure and threatening utterly rob you of the dwindling resolve you’d somehow funnelled into continued refusals.

“No, Kix,” you argued in little more than a pathetic whine. “You’re not coming in her–”

“Why?” he challenged.

“Because! The second you're within arms reach, I’m going to want to smack you for all the bantha-shit you’ve pulled, and I’m not doing that in front of my newborn baby!”

Kriff.

It slipped from your lips… that unintended profession leaving your mouth on a wave of unbridled emotion. You hadn’t formulated exactly how or when you planned to break the news to him in those frantic seconds between learning of his imminent arrival and this moment. Truthfully, you hadn’t expected the conversation to get this far… hell, you hadn’t even expected this conversation to happen. He should have just conceded to your wishes and left when you demanded it of him, not stubbornly refused to leave your side, and revealing the birth of his child so casually and without intent had unmistakably shaken him.

You could only watch regretfully as his head snapped upward from its solemn hang, tired eyes widening and darting back and forth between yours as if peering into their depths would offer him an unfiltered truth. That cherished, sharp jaw softened with shock; lips falling open, chest heaving beneath that old distressed cuirass as you reciprocated his imploring gaze with a diffident, guilty one of your own.

“You— you had the baby?” he choked, eyes boring into yours as the aluminum threshold creaked under the weight of his step, his hand rising to grip the edge of that door as if its previously irksome existence was now the only thing stabilizing him.

Too laden with self-resentment for having so-loosely uttered the revelation, you cast his gloved fingers only a fleeting glance as they pressed the door open as wide as the chain would permit, but the mental space quickly earmarked for regret and self hatred was near-instantly usurped by an unprecedented sense of pity as your gaze fell upon his again.

“Yes,” you admitted in a whisper, nearly cowering beneath the intensity of the plea in his eyes. “Four days ago.”

His throat bobbed, eyes unfocusing as they darted to and fro between yours, and you could only watch apprehensively as those familiar lips parted and closed, continuously failing to communicate the myriad of thoughts and allegations currently ravaging his mind. “But… you weren’t due until the end of this month?” he managed to splutter out. “Weren’t you? That’s what you said: ‘The baby isn’t due until the last week of the year…’”

“Yeah, well… these things happen sometimes,” you answered apathetically, a weak shrug lifting one shoulder as you averted your eyes downward to your toes. “I was shocked too, if that makes you feel better.”

His abrupt about-face stole your attention back immediately, his boots scraping across the cold stone as he drug his feet toward the grass and stooped over. His helmet hit the lawn with a thud, dark hair disappearing entirely as his hands fell to his knees and his chin hung to his chest.

The shift in his demeanor froze your breath in your lungs, his derailment such a surprise that even attempting to locate a consoling word amongst your own tornadic thoughts was feat proven impossible. A sigh left your nose, the biting chill of the breeze turning your exasperation to cloud as your fingers drummed indecisively against the soft cotton of your sweater. The urge to barrel into the darkness and wrap your arms around those sagging shoulders was near-irrepressible, yet doing so would communicate a message you weren’t entirely certain you wanted to send in this already tense moment. You swallowed heavily, confusion sending your thumbnail back between your teeth as you maintained your position behind the door, resignedly averting your eyes from the discomfited sight of a man completely defeated.

“I missed it…” he breathed, standing upright and turning back toward you, his lips pressed tightly together in a disappointed grimace. “I can’t believe that. I— I thought I had time.”

You fought against every ounce of sympathy surging through your veins. You simply did not want to feel bad for him; that wandering pariah had dangled happiness in front of your nose only to snatch it away one too many times to warrant feeling slighted in this moment.

A shiver stole down your spine as you reached blindly for the door handle and began to close the door. Triggered by the squeak of the hinges, his gaze darted toward you, the torment behind those darkened eyes intensifying as your figure slowly disappeared behind that steel barrier again. But his crestfallen frame was hidden from you for only a moment as, against your better judgement, you disengaged the chain from the door and pulled it wide.

“We always think we have time,” you grumbled, leaning against the door frame and perching one cold foot on top of the other. “Until someone we love vanishes, and we’re left with nothing but pieces of ourselves and no desire to reassemble them.”

He took a selfish moment to breathe in your appearance, eyes shifting from your head to your toes, lingering for a fraction of a second on that soft bump still protruding underneath your clothes. You hurried to fold your arms across your chest again, the abrupt exposure to both his eyes and the cold sending another sending your shoulders ashiver again.

“I know the feeling…”

It was barely audible. Had you not been near-glaring at him as he spoke, those whispered words would have simply wafted away with the cold breeze, yet the way his jaw clenched as he trod eagerly back toward you had rendered you more immobile than the horrid implications of his passive statement, and you stood rooted to the spot as he reached to cradle your elbows with his palms.

“Mesh’la,” he beseeched. “I’m sorry about a lot of things. But kriff, it kills me that you went through that alone.”

“Almost killed me too if I’m being honest,” you groused, jerking your arms from the tenderness of his touch. “For making an early entrance, he sure put up a fight on the way out.”

“He?”

‘Maker, have mercy,’ you grumbled inwardly, instantly aware of your second monstrous mistake. As you hurried to shield your face with your hands, he intercepted your need for a moment's separation by enclosing your fingers with his and holding them tightly.

“Please, love,” Kix begged. “Please, let me in. There’s so much to sa—”

“I don’t have it in me for another one sided conversation, Kix,” you interrupted dispiritedly, attempting to snatch your hands from that devastatingly familiar grip. “I did that for years and you fled every single one of them. I’m too tired—”

“I won’t run this time,” Kix urged, letting your hands tear away from his before hastening to gently drape them around your elbows again. “I’m done running. I promise. Once I can say what I’ve been meaning to say, we can stay up for a week straight and talk. Or— or I’ll get back on the bike and leave if that’s what you really want. I’ll do anything, Mesh’la. Please.”

The glorified return of his touch to your body both wilted and unnerved you; the urge to simply fall into him and let those strong arms carry your weary self to bed was strikingly dominant despite the deep-seated resentment that you undeniably still harboured for the reticent pirate.

“Fine,” you hissed, not waiting to gauge his reaction before turning on your heel and climbing gingerly back up that handful of stairs, leaving him to cross the threshold and kick his boots off alone.

Your frigid feet took you on a direct path to the caf machine, desperate for that glorious nectar to reinvigorate your languid senses and grant you something near an open mind so Kix’s pertinent apology wasn’t just a minute wasted as it wafted through your exhausted and cautious ears. By the time you returned from the living room, tucking the baby monitor under your arm and reaching for its charging cord on the table, Kix was stepping apprehensively into the kitchen, crinkled eyes scanning the surroundings that he hadn’t seen in the better part of a year.

“Help yourself,” you muttered, gesturing sightlessly toward the gurgling caf machine.

“Thank you,” he answered politely, pulling a pair of mugs from the cabinet beside the window.

Resolute in reserving the offering of any niceties until after this allegedly imperative explanation, you ignored his every movement, plugging the baby monitor into charge as noisily as possible, clunking it down heavily onto the table in front of you and flinging the cord around while he poured two mugs of caf. You refused him even a glance as he crossed the kitchen and placed the first of the steaming cups on the table in front of you, the only offering of thanks was a quick compression of your lips.

Perhaps sensing the intentional disconnect, Kix perched himself against the counter in front of the sink across the room, bringing one ankle over the other and wreathing the green ceramic mug he’d chosen for himself in those gloved hands. He watched you silently as you snatched an ice pack from the freezer and limped back toward the table, repressing a wince as you lowered yourself onto the seat of a rickety old wooden chair, immediately wedging the icy addition into place and begging the stars that it provide you some semblance of relief.

“Why does it sound like you always had plans to come back here?” you asked him coldly, hoping the bite in your words would eradicate the worry in his eyes as he watched you struggle for comfort. “Would have been nice to be included in that secret.”

“I know,” he said, banishing his mug to the countertop so he could lean backwards on his hands. “You’re a smart woman, Mesh’la, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that I ran out of here more scared than I ever have been in my life. I… it’s been a long time since the idea of fatherhood crossed my mind. So much has happened… it— I didn’t think it would ever be on the table for me.”

Your petulant scoff captured his attention from his toes immediately, his crinkled eyes affixing on you again. “I know it means nothing now, but the second I left here, I wanted to come back. I felt sick the second I turned that bike on, and the entire drive back into the village I kept pulling over and… and telling myself to just turn around. But I’m a smart guy too, and it wasn’t lost on me what I’d just done to you. I couldn’t get the look on your face out of my head, and… and part of me knew I’d just completely broken what little trust you had left in me. So I kept going.

“Ithano could tell something was wrong, and he wouldn’t let up until I told him, but by the time I could bring myself to physically say the words, we were already at the other end of the galaxy. I’ve— I’ve seen him pissed off before, but never like that. He called me an “excuse of a man”; told me that no one in their right mind would pass up the chance for safety and a family; that you were a gift from the stars to make up for all the shit I’ve been through, and I was just throwing you away because I couldn’t see past my own volatility. And, maker, did that make me sick… because I knew it was true. By the time the suns came up the next day, I’d made my decision. I told him I needed some time to square up some old debts, and then I was done. He said he’d help me clean up every mess I’ve left on every planet, and get me ready to wash my hands of the nomad life. So… that’s what I’ve been doing. I’ve been from one end of the galaxy to the other making sure my name is clear so I could come back here and…”

His voice trailed away to silence, his ashamed gaze dropping back to his toes as you fought to ruminate his words.

The confession was profoundly altering, and while taking your weight from your feet had somewhat loosened the grip of that iron fist around your gut, a large portion of your already dwindling lucidity had been abruptly stolen from you by the stunning implications of his explanation. In the wake of his last, harrowing departure, you’d found solace in utterly villainizing him; pretending that he’d laughed maniacally as he drove away, convinced yourself that he’d find another woman somewhere in the village to use as a means to forget you and the hell he’d bestowed upon you. But despite wanting, with every cell in your body, to despise the olive skinned, peripatetic man that had stolen your heart, there wasn’t even the ghost of a villain hiding behind those features.

And then there was the excuse itself… no, the explanation. Despite having never met you, Ithano had always been in your corner; Kix had expressed on countless occasions that the leader of his crew would like nothing more than for the bereft man from the lost-and-found to plant roots somewhere and leave the hand-to-mouth life behind him. Claiming that he was simply too disoriented by his past and the ghosts that haunted his every step, Kix had adamantly refused the sedentary life, yet had never quite been able or willing to let you go. If this story had validity, and there was something about the way his eyes pleaded for your understanding, was it enough to diminish the hurt he’d left you with?

“The bruises?” you asked him solemnly, gesturing with a small lift of the finger to the discolouration peeking out from the wild expanse of his beard.

“Just a… parting transaction… that didn’t go as smoothly as intended,” he admitted, reaching for his caf again and bringing it slowly to his lips. “Took a little extra effort, but it’s done.”

Your molars clicked as they ground together, fingers drumming thoughtlessly atop the knot in that old wood table as you absently rubbed the pad of your thumb along the spot where the varnish had worn away. “You could have told me, Kix,” you exhorted.

“I should have,” he corrected. “And it would have been lightyears better than radio silence, especially after how I left you, but I knew how upset you were… and I didn’t want to add any worry on top of everything else. And I did have every intention of being back here by the end of the year so I could be with you when the baby was born but… little guy beat me here, I guess.”

You could feel his surveying gaze from across the kitchen, seemingly uncertain if the correct thing to do would be to let you process the information, or to continue his reasoning lest you suddenly get up and extract your pistol from the nightstand. Periodic slurps were the only interruption to that suffocating silence as you aimlessly took sip after sip of caf, sighing periodically as you blindly watched the newborn sleep happily in his cozy bassinet.

“An apology will never be enough,” he continued quietly after clearing his throat. “I know that. And I could spend every second for the rest of my life uttering those words, but they’ll never mean as much as I need them to mean.”

It wasn’t until he pushed himself away from the counter and approached your seat that you offered him a glance, and when he was near enough to reach you, he pulled your hand from your mouth and swaddled it with his own, dropping to a knee in front of your chair and looking directly into your eyes.

“I am so sorry,” he repented. “I’m sorry for every time I’ve walked out on you. I’m sorry for not instantly giving you every bit of love and commitment that you’ve always deserved. You’ve been nothing but supportive, and I’ve been nothing but dismissive. I’ll tell you everything… all about my past, my family, where I’m from, what I’ve done, who I am. I promise I won’t waste another second of your time making you feel unworthy or unwanted, because Mesh’la— you are neither.”

A sob escaped your lips as your eyes clamped closed, forcing a tear to cascade down your cheek. He dropped your hand immediately and moved to delicately cup your jaw, brushing the wetness from your skin with a soft swipe from the pad of his calloused thumb. “You’ll never be able to hate me as much as I hate myself for what I’ve done to you,” he whispered. “But I’m going to work on regaining your tr—”

“I don’t hate you,” you choked thickly as another tear slipped from your overflowing lids. “But I wish I did. I’ve wanted to hate you for years but I just can’t, Kix.”

“Good,” he nearly laughed, chasing away the stray tear. “Then love me. Keep loving me like you always have because it’s making me the man I should be and I’m done fighting it. I’m ready. It’s unexpected and unbelievable and I know that, but just trust me one last time and I’ll prov—”

A shrill, choked cry echoed around the kitchen, the indicator light on the monitor flashing a series of red and orange to alert you that some sort of commotion was issuing loudly from two rooms over. You hastily swallowed the sob still perched in your throat and snatched the device off the table, watching your baby boy’s mouth spread wide in a wail that could only mean his butt was wet and his belly was empty.

“I have to get him,” you choked, pulling your face from his clutches and wiping your nose quickly on your sleeve. “I’ll be back. Just… I don’t know… take your armour off or something.”

He nodded faintly, eyes affixed on the monitor as you placed it back down on the table and stood. He took the ice pack from you blindly, placing it on the table as you strode around him and left the room.

In the dozen or so minutes required to collect the baby, change his diaper, and redress him in a warmer onesie, Kix had take your sage advice and shed his rigid exterior, the kit now stacked neatly on the chair in the living room, while his broad frame paced anxiously around the kitchen. His apprehension was immediately apparent by his incessant fidgeting; his arms swinging madly by his side, each pendulous swing of his hands triggering a snap of his fingers while his feet carried him thoughtlessly from fridge to stove, and back again.

You paused in the hallway and watched him take several deep controlled breaths, pausing in his cadence for a quiet moment before shaking his head and resuming his fervent soothing, but at the first sign of your return, his ministrations ceased entirely, fingers frozen and poised mid snap while his shoulders squared in anticipation.

“That’s— that’s him?” he asked foolishly as you entered through the open doorway, gently rocking the cooing baby swaddled loosely in your arms. “That’s my son?” The sudden surge of potent reality fractured his voice, and he hastened to cover his trembling lip with a bare hand.

“Mhmm,” you answered with a small nod. “Do— do you want to feed him?”

He held his hand in place over his mouth, wide eyes darting upwards to yours with a look of unadulterated trepidation. Your lips had barely parted to retract the offer, poised to reassure him that he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to, when Kix’s pallid face nodded.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, taking the remaining few steps across the kitchen until you were nearly chest to chest. “Turns out the whole ‘parent’ thing comes pretty naturally. Just be very, very gentle, and make sure you cradle his hea—”

“Cradle his head,” Kix breathed, extending his arms towards you. “I know. I mean— I remember. I learned it so long ago, but…”

His sentiments waned to silence as you placed the baby in his arms and stepped away, hesitating for only a moment to see if the unnatural hold or foreign aroma might trigger a tantrum, but the boy remained placid and observant in his father’s arms, so you turned to pull a prepared bottle from the fridge.

As if instinctively, Kix’s broad shoulders began to sway gently from side to side, guided by the gentle shifts of his hips while soft shushes issued from his lips. It wasn’t until a sniffle met your ears did you realize that the gruff pirate had been utterly robbed of his composure by the innocent boy in his arms. You lingered as long as you could manage in the fridge, hands needlessly shifting items around the shelves in an effort to offer the pair a moment of privacy. Several softly spoken “Hi little man” ’s pulled a smile to your face as you finally closed the fridge and reached to retrieve the kettle from the stove, filling it with enough water to boil.

By the time you’d filled an oversized mug with hot water and placed the bottle inside to heat, he’d begun softly humming the tune of an unfamiliar song, gazing glassy-eyed into his arms.

“Never heard that one,” you mumbled through a smirk.

He turned as if surprised to see you, as if the rest of the world had simply vanished into nothingness once his baby had entered his embrace, and you were quick to raise your eyebrows at the unintentional fracture of his stupor. And then… he smiled. The first smile you’d seen adorn that handsome face in months, and you were instantly sure that way it robbed you of breath had cast a bashful look across your face nearly identical to his.

“It’s an old Mando’a tune,” he admitted, as the lingering embarrassment of being caught mid-vulnerability flushed what was available of his bruised cheeks. “I’m surprised I remember it, honestly.”

You nodded gently and reached for the bottle, upturning it and placing a small droplet of the liquid on your wrist to gauge the temperature. “So… what exactly was your plan then?” you asked as you wiped the milk from your skin.

Kix stopped humming and glanced back at you, the first signs of anxiety reemerging behind his eyes and robbing his features of the bliss they’d welcomed upon cradling the baby. “Well…” he started after a heavy swallow. “I was hoping I could come home and… and stay. If you’ll still have me?”

You sighed and placed the bottle back in the water, immediately dropping your gaze to your thumbnail so you could continue its absentminded destruction. You, truthfully, weren’t entirely convinced of his intentions. While you deemed large parts of his story to be genuine, and while you could not deny the plea in his eyes as he cradled your face with his hands and confessed his devotion, the sting of his past mistakes, regardless of his planned atonement, was an injury that you were confident may never fully heal. You loved him with your entire heart, this had never been in question, but how much could you trust him going forward, and how patient was he willing to be while you two rebuilt the previously precarious relationship?

“Well… we’d definitely have to start things slow because I already feel like I’m pouring from an empty cup,” you admitted shamefully. “But, pending you can communicate as well as you say you’re going to, I think I’d be okay with trying.”

“I’m good with slow,” he answered instantly, dark eyes alight with that familiar, ravishing twinkle. “I’ll sleep on the couch… and— and give you whatever space you need.”

You nodded, nibbling on your bottom lip in an effort to withhold the smile attempting to dome your cheeks. “But unfortunately,” you admonished, feigning seriousness, “I no longer run this kriffing house, so… you’ll have to get Jesse’s permission too.”

You pursed your lips together as tightly as you could, funnelling every effort into suppressing the coy and exposing grin attempting to peel across your face as you waited for understanding to dawn on the love-struck pirate still swaying happily in the center of the room, yet he met your smile with nothing but a cocked brow and a grimace of confusion. “Ask Jesse,” you repeated, pointing toward the gurgling bundle in his arms.

You watched with glee as realization widened his eyes and parted his lips.

“Jesse.”

It was little more than a whisper, an exalted comprehension having nearly robbed him of his voice. Something near a strangled sob escaped his lips as he tipped his head backward and gazed listlessly at the ceiling, a pair of tears trailing from the corners of his eyes and leaking downward into that dark beard.

“Well,” you pressed, dabbing at your eyes with your sleeve. “Go on. Ask him.”

“What do you think, little man?” Kix choked to the infant, gently prodding at the wide nose that almost perfectly mirrored his own. “Want to hang out with me for life?”

A single, pudgy hand emerged from the depths of that soft knitted blanket, wrapping itself around the tip of Kix’s battle worn finger and clamping it tightly.

***

You woke with a gasp, the true horror of the situation immediately apparent through your narrowed and crusted eyelids. It was much too bright; there was simply too much sunlight pouring in from the window beside the bed for only a few hours to have passed since you put the baby in his crib and stumbled wearily across the hall into bed.

Wrenching the blankets off, you threw yourself to a standing position and dashed from the room, panic erupting in your chest as your bare feet trod frantically toward the nursery. Why was Jesse not screaming? He was surely starving, surely had a wet diaper, surely needed someone to hold him and gently pat the air that had accumulated in that tiny tummy?

But the crib was empty, the blanket you’d wrapped him in the previous night tossed haphazardly across the changing pad on the adjacent table. You sprinted from the room again and hurried down the hallway toward the living room, eyes narrowed against the near-painful onslaught of daylight beaming in through the open curtains. The couch was just as barren as the crib, Kix’s donated pillow and blanket folded neatly and perched on the sofa’s arm, the soldier nowhere to be found.

The unmistakable smell of freshly brewed caf met your nose as you stumbled into the kitchen, but the typically heavenly gurgling sound of the machine brewing a whole pot of that glorious dark liquid was smothered by the panic pounding in your ears.

“…he was that kinda guy, you know?…”

You froze in the threshold of the dining room.

“…he always knew what we needed to hear when things got really rough. He was a man of few words, but everything he said we took right to heart.”

Kix’s voice wafted in through the patio door; the shockingly warm fall breeze surging fresh air through your home and sending those white linen curtains dancing in the sunlight. You crossed the room and pressed your ear to the crack in the doorway, letting the breeze brush the hair from your shoulders.

“I know I’m biased, but I really think he was the best Captain in the whole GAR. I would have died for him. I would have died for any of th—”

The patio door squeaked in its track as you slid it open and stepped out onto the back deck, the interruption halting him mid sentence and stealing his attention immediately. But his surprise was nothing near yours. You stopped in your tracks, mouth falling open at the unexpected sight in front of you.

That surging panic and dread evaporated from your mind as Kix looked innocently at you, the lagging sweep of dark lashes over his eyes appeared in slow motion as you fought and failed to process his appearance. The beard was… gone, his smile exponentially more apparent now that it wasn’t utterly shrouded by an expanse of wiry black hair. His hair had been neatly cropped and pushed backward off his face, the clean cut of his hairline clear evidence that years without holding a trimmer had dulled none of his hidden barbering abilities.

“There’s mama,” he gasped quietly through a dazzling grin, shifting the baby in his arms to face you. “Give her one of those big gummy smiles so she isn’t mad that we let her sleep in.”

“Kix,” you whispered, still momentarily dumbfounded by the unexpected youthfulness imbued in all his features. “You— I’m not mad, but… but Jesse needs to eat every couple hours. You can’t just let me sleep through feeding—”

“I did it,” Kix answered with a shrug, thoughtlessly running a palm along his shaven chin.

“You did it?” you repeated, mouth falling open.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “He started doing the hungry tongue thing just after you went to bed, so I heated up a bottle. Then again a few hours later. Maker, can this guy ever burp.”

“You… you did both feedings?” you whispered.

“Yup,” Kix chuckled, patting the seat of the identical chair next to his. “And he went right to sleep after both. Falls into food coma’s like his dad. Though, I’ve been lucky enough to never shit myself after.”

You exhaled the panic from your lungs and took a seat next to him, tipping your head back against the headrest and letting the impossibly warm autumn sun wash the tension from your features. It wasn’t until a calloused hand came to rest gently on your knee did you reaffix him with your attention.

“I’m sorry, Mesh’la…” he lamented, squeezing your leg. “I hope I didn’t scare you. I just wanted to let you get some sleep. I imagine you probably haven’t gotten much lately.”

“You can say that again,” you answered with a forced chuckle, lifting your hands to pull the dried bits of sleep from the corners of your eyes.

“You’ve done so much on your own…” Kix continued sadly, retrieving his hand from your leg to tenderly shift the blanket away from Jesse’s chin. “Well… you’ve done everything on your own. But that’s done now.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek and looked over at him, trying to keep the skepticism from your eyes.

“Go get yourself a caf, and then tell me if you’re ready,” he spoke, gesturing with a flick of the head back toward the kitchen while gently and rhythmically patting the baby’s bum and beginning to slowly rock his chair.

“If I’m ready?” you repeated, cocking an eyebrow and shifting your weight onto the armrest closest to him so you could watch Jesse fall back asleep. “For what?”

“To know everything.”

And the way his gaze bore into yours so deeply, had any ounce of skepticism pushed to the perimeter of your mind; the way his eyes glimmered with light as they wordlessly promised you the truth, promised that nothing would change in those fleeting seconds it would take you to pour yourself a caf.

“And if you change your mind?” you mumbled, refusing to avert your eyes from his.

“I won’t, Cyare. Those days are done. My mind isn’t changing. Go… and then I’ll tell you all about CT-6116. About Kamino… the clones… the war… my brothers… Jesse… Rex… Fives. All of them. Everything."

***

“Dadddd! Where’s Jesse?”

Kix snorted as he flicked the last of the soap suds off the tips of his fingers and dried them on the dish towel. “He’s in the orchard, picking apples with your mom,” he chuckled, placing the now cleaned and dried mug carefully on the mug tree. “Remember the fit you threw when you realized they left without you?”

“Ughhhh, no!” Rex grumbled at his fathers seemingly deliberate stupidity. “I meant uncle Jesse. Where is he?”

Kix hesitated, the smile slipping from his lips as his eyes unfocused into the depths of the sink. “You know where he is, buddy,” he answered, looking over his shoulder at his youngest. “He’s in the stars with Uncle Rex… with all of my brothers.”

“But why did they go up there?”

“Well…” Kix started slowly. “They had to go. The stars needed their help brightening the galaxy.”

“So then they was super smart?” his son asked, mouth gaping in awe.

“Definitely super smart,” Kix repeated with a grin. “And super brave, super loyal, super funny…”

“Do you ever miss ‘em?”

Kix paused again and sighed heavily, attempting to conceal the pain that furrowed his brow whenever his brothers were unexpectedly mentioned. “Everyday,” he nodded. “But I can see them at night when I look at the sky. The brightest stars are the ones powered by people we love.”

“So I could see ‘em too?!”

“Sure you can. You and I can climb up on the roof later and we’ll say hello. Jesse and ‘Soka can come too if they wan—.”

“No!” the little blonde boy argued instantly. “No, dad. Just you and me…”

“Okay,” Kix nodded with a smile. “Just you and me. But, Rex… you have to wear your coat this time or your mom will give us both timeouts. Deal?”

“Deal!” The little boy sprinted from the kitchen without another word, dashing out into the backyard where Soka was hanging by her legs from a tree. You appeared through the tree line just to the right, Jesse standing nearly as tall you were, shoulders carrying overflowing baskets of apples while you buffed one on your apron and laughed about something.

And another sigh stole from that aging pirates lips as he leaned forward onto the counter and watched you, wondering what he’d ever done to deserve such happiness.

tag list: @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @starrylothcat @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @dystopicjumpsuit @freesia-writes @sev-on-kamino @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinedaydream @clonemedickix @drafthorsemath @jediknightjana @moonlightwarriorqueen @starstofillmydream @mooncommlink @multi-fan-dom-madness @wizardofrozz @trixie2023 @clonethirstingisreal @rabbitstu99 @lune-de-miel-au-paradis

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#starqueenswrittenworks #pirate!Kix x Fem!reader #post stassis!Kix x Fem!reader #x reader #reader insert #clone wars fanfic #tcw fanfic #clone wars fanfiction #TW: mentions of labour #TW: mentions of pregnancy

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howlingday · 1 year ago

Note

Ok so for a bit of backstory in this AU ruby manges to save pyrrha and beat cinder by using her silver eyes so she is recognised as a hero by all of vale, taking notice of that the counsil of vale decides tha she is the go-to huntress to deal with the grim.

At the beginning everything was great she a hero and loved by all but as time passed things changed when she came to help it was " thank you for comming you saved us" to "why did you not come before, if you were faster they would be alive" and now" i just lost my new car because of you, i missed a meating because you're useless"

So after 5 years of just being a tool for counsil they decided to send her on a last mission :kill salem or die trying

After all if she win she wil be the greatest hero ever if she died she will be a martyr who fought valiantly aganist the grim the council wins either way.

Ruby rose the unwilling puppet : the child prodigy turned icon has lost much of the childish wonder she once had after being used like a tool by vale council, she has become a no-nonse no mistakes kind of person in missions and in most civillian interaction with the exception of a few individuals

Yang xiao long the blind dragon : during the attack that pushed her sister into the spotlight she fought the leader of the now world wide searched terrorist group the white fang.

During this battle she lost the ability to see after her left eye was sliced rendering it useless and dealing a damage to her right eye that was so severe it would need at least 2 years of healing for it to see again.

Reports from that battle says that she was made into an example for the one who oposed the white fang and the disappearing of her parter yang xiao long was left in a severe depresion that was able to overcome with the help of her sister , father , uncle and [REDACTED] she is battle ready once more but the linhering trauma of thst fight limits her ability

Weiss schnee the gilded queen : the second born and former heir of the schnee minning company now the president of this one, she is now on the middle of a complete overhaul of the company she little to no time to deal with other things that not the company it self.

After being forced to come back to atlas by the now former president of the schnee company weiss spended two years of being a doll to her father concerts, parties ,dance recitals , you name it she was forced to do it this, changed after an encounter with ruby rose and [redacted] and a encounter with [redacted] ended violently into a fight she decided to overtake her father and took posetion of the schnee company

blake belladona the wandering shadow not much is know about her wereabouts apart from the fact that she formed a new organisation called golden fang that is hunting the white fang with many faunus that have been hurt by the white fang

[Redacted] has shown a great deal of distate towards belladona calling her a coward that abandoned her friends and parter to play hunter with the white fang

Sorry thats all i write now i will continue with team jnpr later

RWBY RWND AU: DARKEST TIMELINE

---------------------------------------------------

"Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

Ruby nodded before giving a salute. Her heart thundered in her chest as she held upright as best she could. Her previous mission beforehand ended only a few hours ago, and even before that, she didn't have a lot of time to rest.

Ever since the attack on Beacon Academy five years ago, Ruby had been at the Council of Vale's beck and call. Professor Goodwitch, now acting Headmistress of Beacon, did all in her power to protect Ruby during her time of attendance. Unfortunately, this was not to last, as her tasks as a huntress had piled to the sky, and had since yet lower to below the clouds.

Professor Ozpin was dead. Cinder Fall was dead. Pyrrha Nikos was still alive. All of this was thanks to Ruby's silver eyes, as those on the Council explained. Cinder organized the White Fang to attack Beacon, gaining some assistance from Roman Torchwick, whom Ruby saw get swallowed by a Griffon. Ruby fell hundreds of feet before landing near Beacon Tower, where Weiss aided in her ascension to it's peak, where Ruby's eyes destroyed both Cinder and the Grimm nearby that spawned even more Grimm.

"You are to leave immediately." The seated and portly Councilman gruffed. Ruby had doubted the man had ever seen a Grimm before his election. "Your bullhead will depart in no less than an hour."

"Yes, sir." Ruby nodded, turning away for the exit.

This would be her most dangerous mission yet. There was word of strange growths along the northern shores of Sanus. What started as unseeming black foam soon grew into oily patches of Grimm growing across the fields and grasslands to the north of the city. Huntsmen and huntresses were called on to investigate, and found that the sludge was relatively harmless at first.

But as the moss-like entities were burned, spores were unleashed, and while the land beneath was free of Grimm, the soil beneath had withered. Those brave huntresses and huntsmen dispatched had found themselves then weakened by the invasive spores. It was then that the kingdoms understood what this growth was; Grimm. A new species that developed into a microscopic assault on the populace of Remnant, identified by experts as "Carcinogen".

Ruby's mission would begin at the location of the first sighting; the beach north of Vale. The Council prepared everything for her, including a gas mask, filters, and a last will and testament. Ruby was to land on the beach, and track down to find Salem.

And kill her.

**********************************************

"Do you concur?"

"Yes, General."

Weiss tapped and slid her finger across the computer screen in front of her. Profits and sales have steadily increased since their plummet years ago. It took time, but she was finally seeing the progress she desperately needed.

Her internship at the Schnee Dust Company yielded great results. Her father, although reluctant to welcome her back upon her graduation from Beacon, soon trusted her enough to serve as his second in command. This would prove to be his downfall, as she made swift work of exposing him of his misdeeds and forcing him to step down.

"Atlas Academy should see their shipment as usual." Weiss said, pulling away from her company's shares. "And what is the recent development in our research department?"

"There has been a recent development." General Ironwood replied. "As you read in our messages-"

"I can read, General." Weiss interrupted. "I'm asking about what you saw."

"Very well."

General Ironwood was a reasonable man, if a bit hard-headed. That said, Weiss learned from her time in Beacon that only firm can beat hard. Hard would simply clash and soft would reinforce the opposition, both cases ultimately ending in failure. Thus, iron was best defeated by rubber, as Ruby put it.

Ruby came to her mind again. It had been years since they last spoke, the previous time being at a gala held by her father. Her former leader was working security with a rather mysterious gentleman she had never met, and yet spoke so casually to her. It was at this event when she learned just how much things had changed since graduation. In her heeding of the man's advice, she made her move against her father.

"Please keep in mind this information is confidential at the moment."

"I understand." Weiss opened the attached folder in the message recently sent by him. And yet, as she looked over the images, she found she didn't understand anything at all. "My god..."

**********************************************

"Is that clear?"

"Yes, High Leader- Er, I mean, Truer Head."

"You are dismissed." Blake said with a sigh. Many of the recent recruits were former White Fang members, and were used to an all too familiar to Blake method of addressing one another. Blake had grown tired of her attempts to correct them, seeing as their failure to assimilate as a key flaw in the Golden Fang's organizational indoctrination.

After her graduation, the White Fang faced a great schism. It resulted in civil war, forcing many of her friends, neighbors, and her family to flee to Mistral. The situation became much worse from there, as their attempt to flee was blood in the water for the Mistrali loan sharks. She remembered sobbing during her conversation when her father explained the situation better in a teleconference.

Since then, and since graduation, her father and Sienna Khan, both former High Leaders of the White Fang, decided to work together once more to create a new faunus rights group in Mistral. The same organization she herself now operates.

Ever since, each mission carried out fulfilled the same purpose. Defeat the White Fang, which was done through their recruitment, assistance to the less fortunate, and if, and only if the situation called for it, violent expulsion of warfare equivalence. Her father didn't like, and neither did she, but she still couldn't disagree with Sienna or the results.

"Greater Leader!" A voice called from behind. She turned, finding her childhood best friend, Ilia, panting. "It's happening again!"

Vague as the reason was, it was enough to make Blake's eyes grow and her heart sink.

**********************************************

"Oh god. Oh fuck. Oh shit."

"You're not getting away this time."

Yang limped across the floor as Adam Taurus stalked behind her. His voice felt distant and yet close at the same time. She turned to her right, immediately turning forward again when she saw his red hair, eyes, and sword shimmer in the dark.

"H-Help me." She choked out in a soft sob. "Somebody... please..."

"YANG!" She lurched forward in a scream, thrashing away from her attacker. Light blinded her and she found herself in her room once more. "Yang, are you alright?"

Her dad held a worried look. That's right. She's home. She's safe again.

"I'm... I'm fine, Dad." She sighed. "Just another bad dream."

To say her encounter with Adam was scarier in reality would have been one hell of an understatement. In an attempt to shield Blake, her partner, during the attack on Beacon, Yang lost her left eye. With her semblance activated, she attempted to strike in retaliation. He avoided her attack and shot her in the right side of her face, completely blinding her. Thankfully, some huntsmen responded in time to save her and Blake, though they failed to capture Adam. Blake then left her alone as well.

She was medically discharged from Beacon and spent the next two years in therapy. Her sight came back in her right eye, but her left was permanently scarred. In her blindness, she was completely helpless, and everything terrified her. Especially when she heard metal scraping.

Everyone came to visit, save Blake, who Ruby tried to defend. The excuses were endless from her. Blake's studying for an exam during their semester breaks. Blake's pet raccoon got sick, and oh yeah, she has a pet raccoon now. Blake's dad is having butt transplant surgery, which Yang actually almost believed. It was easier than the truth; Blake abandoned her.

"Is there food?" Yang asked.

"Yeah." Her dad stood up. "I was coming to get you for lunch. But maybe you'd be up for a spar first?"

"Thanks, but... no thanks, Dad." Yang climbed out of bed. "I don't think I'm in the mood."

"Well, you know we're all here for you." He said. "Me, your uncle-"

"Who was passed out on the couch, last I saw."

"Your sister-"

"Who hasn't talked to us in three months because she's a huntress now."

"And-"

"Dad, just... just stop." Yang sighed. "I know that you're trying to cheer me up, but I... I don't know if I can be."

"I know, sweetie." He sighed. "But it's the thought that counts, right? No need to be so sourdough about it."

She smirked. "I'm guessing that pun means lunch is bready."

He grinned. "Yup. Rye? You hungry?"

"If I had a pumpernickel for everytime..."

"I propose a toast..."

"No matter how you slice it..."

"Ugh! Just stop!" The comedy duo turned and found Qrow standing near the doorway, leaning against the wall behind their critic. "Honestly, I thought I heard enough puns the last time I came to visit."

Yang's eyes widened at the old friend of hers. "It's you..."

#rwby #rwnd au #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #rwby au #james ironwood #taiyang xiao long #adam taurus #qrow branwen

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animereaderinsertwriter · 2 years ago

Text

Previous - Chapter 3- Series Masterlist - ao3

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags/Warnings: romance, smut, light angst, strangers to lovers to disgustingly in love, medic!reader

Word Count: 25k

tag list: @kurxxmi , @jorbinx

After retaking Wall Maria

After the battle to retake Wall Maria, (Y/N) wasn't sure which was worse: the insidious whisperings of the masses, always somewhere between fact and falsehood, or the pure and unadulterated truth.

"They say those soldiers came back wrong," came the whispers, the hiss of them overtaking the usual buzz of the marketplace as (Y/N) passed. "They say they sent their comrades to slaughter to retake the wall, and now they're as good as monsters themselves, good only for bloodshed."

Of course, there were other whispers— "How brave and valiant!", "So few returned, but those who died did so in victory!", "Humanity has hope!"— but (Y/N) knew the truth. The truth was all those whisperings and more; it was a new era, with the deaths of hundreds as its harbinger. The weight of that fact settled heavily on her shoulders even as her daily duties remained the same, making the days in the infirmary feel hours longer than they were. Day after day, her mind wandered to what was to come, and she found herself more tired, more burdened than ever.

Levi's continued absence only served to further exacerbate the effects of (Y/N)'s heavy heart, such that it was.

Following the battle, Levi wasn't in touch for several days. (Y/N) wasn't worried, since word had reached her that he had escaped unscathed— he would come to her when he was ready, not before— but she didn't know what to expect from him once he did get in touch. Levi had lost so much in such a short period of time… Would he be despondent, so sad and heavy-laden with care that he could hardly speak? Or would he be angry at the unfairness of it all, lashing out just to feel something? It was even possible that he might try to go on as if nothing had happened, despite the undercurrent of overwhelming sorrow he must surely feel…

(Y/N) didn't know which it would be, and had no way to tell. Perhaps that— the not-knowing— was the worst of all her troubles.

When correspondence from Levi did finally arrive, (Y/N) had thought she would feel a bit of relief, if not sheer happiness; alas, as she opened the letter he had penned, she felt only reluctance and anxiety which was only exacerbated by the clipped, vague contents enclosed. The letter read,

'Bright-eyes,

Saturday, 4:00 p.m. Be dressed and waiting for me, I'll be by to pick you up. The dress for the ceremony is formal.

All my love,

Levi.'

The note didn't settle well with her in the least.

Vague and clipped— and presumptuous, if she did say so herself— it was indeed.

'Who does he think he is,' she thought to herself as she read and reread the note, fighting the urge to wad it up into a tiny little ball, 'Commanding me to make myself ready for him without so much as a "by your leave" or a "how do you fare"? Not a word of explanation, not a single note since the battle besides this one, and he expects me to jump when he says jump? Ridiculous!'

No matter her feelings on the subject, however, (Y/N) knew that her hurt was talking over her head; which was why, seeing as how it was Wednesday, she at once began frantically searching her closet for something that might render her presentable for a formal event.

"Formal," she muttered to herself, digging through drawer after drawer. "What do I have that's formal?"

After much digging, cursing, and near-rending of cloth, (Y/N) finally found the one acceptable dress she owned— one that her father had bought her after she graduated from the Academy of Medicine— and tried it on to see if it would still fit. Fortunately, it still fit well enough despite being tight in places that it hadn't been before and loose yet in others, and as she studied it, she was reminded of how fine a dress it truly was.

Made of silk and tulle, the gown was a study in champagne-gold; the neckline dipped into a flattering sweetheart shape, and sheer netting allowed (Y/N) the comfort of coverage from her neck all the way down to the sleeves that stopped at her forearm, and added the pleasing aesthetic of intricate beading over her exposed skin. It was truly a flattering garment, and (Y/N) couldn't help but feel like a child playing dress-up.

"It'll have to do," she said, smiling at her reflection and then wincing at the pinch of the underwire in her strapless bra. "After all, it's such short notice, and I haven't got anything else so nice."

But what if it was too nice?

Levi had given no indication of how formal was formal , so (Y/N) had no way to know if she would look like an equal, a peer to the other guests, or a gaudy, two-bit tramp in her nicest dress. Once again, it was endlessly frustrating, the not-knowing; if Levi had been standing before her, she might have taken him by the shoulders and shook him until his teeth rattled.

Unfortunately, however, Levi was nowhere to be found, and time waited for no one. Before (YN) knew it, Saturday was upon her, and it was with a vague sense of trepidation that she shrugged, twisted, and pulled her way into the gown, still unsure as to whether or not her attire— or her presence at the ceremony at all— was appropriate.

"Shit, fire, and damnation," she swore as she twisted and contorted herself painfully to try and wiggle the zipper into the correct position at her nape. "I'll never wear this stupid thing again if I can get it on this one last time!"

When (Y/N) did finally get the dress on, she might have crowed for joy, if only that hadn't been the exact moment that she realized she had forgotten to do her makeup before getting dressed in order to keep the dress safe from makeup-related mishaps.

"I'll just be careful," she told herself as she looked at her box labeled 'war paint.' "Very, very careful."

And she was.

With great caution, she applied soft shades of browns and golds, lining here, shadowing there; as gently as she could, she glossed her lips, tinting them ever-so-slightly so that they looked freshly-kissed, but no more. To finish the look, (Y/N) clasped the locket Levi had given her around her neck and fastened the emerald earrings that matched it in her ears, allowing the weight of them to settle easily on her skin.

"Perfect," she muttered, smoothing her gown as well as she could. "Let's have a look, then…"

As (Y/N) stepped back to get a full view of herself in the mirror, she half-expected to see a reflection of the anticipation and anxiety that had burrowed itself in her gut; what she found there, however, was the farthest thing possible from the meek, miserable critter that she felt she was.

"I'm beautiful," she said to herself, touching her cheek as though to make sure her reflection would follow the movement. To her surprise, it did. "I really am beautiful."

And she was.

Once she slipped her feet into a pair of soft, probably once-white slippers (they were a sort of cream now, after years of use, but they were comfortable and who was looking at her feet anyways?), there was nothing to do but wait for Levi to arrive and hope she didn't wrinkle the hell out of her pretty outfit when she eventually gave in and sat on her couch.

The things we do for love, she thought to herself as her the underwire in her strapless bra began to seek blood. He'd better hurry, or I'm going to take all this garb off and take a nap.

***

After what had happened on the battlefield that Shiganshina had become, Levi hadn't thought anything could surprise him. Erwin's death, the uninhibited slaughter of over half of the corps, the secrets found in Grisha's journal— it had taken away his capacity for shock. All that was left was bland, dispassionate acceptance of facts as they were presented, and a world of faded grays.

At least, that's what Levi thought up until the very minute (Y/N) opened her door, and it was like he was seeing in color again for the first time.

"Hi," she said, blinking at him with wide eyes peeking through thick, lengthened lashes, and his voice died in his throat.

(Y/N) was truly resplendent. Her eyes— so bright that he felt blinded by them— were enhanced by subtle shadows and shimmers from makeup, and her lips glistened sweetly with color as though they'd just been kissed. Her breasts, though mostly covered by the neckline of her dress, rose and fell as she breathed, belying her composed exterior, and it was all he could do to keep himself from pushing her back inside and undoing all her hard work.

"Levi?"

Worry bled through her tone then, and Levi could have punched himself for being struck dumb in a moment where she would need the most reassurance.

"Uh… sorry, bright-eyes," he said, reaching forward to place a hand on her cheek, and he was concerned to note the undercurrent of sadness in her expression. "I was just— things are—"

Levi sighed, then started again.

"You're beautiful," he said, and he knew he'd finally gotten it right as a hint of a smile played at the corners of her mouth. "You're beautiful, and I was speechless. You look like a queen."

"You're not so bad yourself," she replied softly, running a hand over the starched fabric of his formal wear. "Handsome as ever, not a hair out of place— and I like that color on you."

Levi wanted to want to laugh, but it felt just out of his reach.

"Thank you," he said, his hand lazily falling from her cheek to trace the curl of beading just above her breast. His hand— and his eyes— lingered there for quite a while before he remembered himself and drew away. "We should probably get going. Don't want to be late for the award ceremony."

"You never did explain exactly what all this was about." (Y/N)'s voice was deceptively light as she took the arm he offered her, and Levi knew she expected some answers.

"They're giving the survivors an award… there will be a dedication for the deceased, and a dinner to follow."

(Y/N) nodded, seemingly satisfied, and they continued to where Levi had a carriage waiting for them. He opened the door for her, and after the slightly amusing affair of gathering her dress and stuffing it in the carriage alongside her, they both managed to find their seats and signal for the driver to take them on to where the ceremony would take place.

"I didn't really think about the logistics of travel in this thing," (Y/N) commented, gracing Levi with one of her adorably embarrassed smiles. "Half of it is in your lap."

Indeed, Levi had a face full of tulle, casting a golden haze over anything he had hoped to see, but it was entirely worth it.

"You can blame my lack of foresight," he said, as close to teasing as he could manage. "I should have thought to fetch two carriages, one for us and the other for your dress."

(Y/N) laughed at that, really laughed. It was the most wonderful sound Levi had ever heard, and he found himself overcome with emotion at the happiness the sound of her joy granted him.

He had never done anything to deserve this woman, not one thing in his whole miserable life; and yet he had lived, he had survived to come back to her, to have her and to hold her and to love her. Those men that had made their final stand with Erwin… they had sweethearts. They had families. They had lives… but none of them got to make it home.

Levi grit his teeth against the burning in his nose and the prickling of his eyes.

"Oh, my love," (Y/N) sighed, her laughter still coloring her voice. "Why are you upset?"

Levi froze. He knew his face hadn't betrayed his feelings, and he was certain he hadn't made even the slightest sound so as to give her any ideas…

"Levi, I can tell when you're in the mood for a fuck from a mile away when the wind's fair… you think I can't practically hear your teeth grinding from the other side of the carriage?"

"My little enchantress has learned telepathy now, has she?" he asked, trying and failing to keep the thickness out of his voice. "How wicked of you."

She sighed, though it sounded fond. "Not telepathy. Empathy, Levi."

Empathy. Could she really empathize with him when he hardly knew his own feelings?

"Let's make it through this damned pomp and circumstance, and I swear I'll tell you everything," he said, hoping the desperation he felt didn't bleed through his voice. "I just need to hold everything together until then. After that, I'm all yours."

"Of course," (Y/N) replied, her voice soothing as her delicate slipper brushed his ankle. "Anything you need, I'll be here for."

The rest of their ride was silent, but Levi was comforted by (Y/N)'s words of assurance more than he would have been by further conversation. 'Of course,' she'd said, as though it were never a question, as though she was nearly hurt that he'd considered it might be one; 'Anything,' she'd said, as though she really, truly meant anything at all. Not for the first time that day, he found himself longing for the moment he and (Y/N) were alone, shut away from the world… even if that moment would present its own challenges.

When the carriage finally stopped, it was another mildly amusing affair to extract (Y/N) and her dress without wrinkling it or letting it snag on anything. It took a bit of work, but eventually she made it out, laughing all the way. Her joy was infectious, and the moment she turned a smile as bright as summer sunshine on him, Levi knew it had been worth the cramped ride to see her looking and feeling so lovely.

"Shall we?" he asked, his spirit renewed, and (Y/N) linked her arm with his and allowed him to escort her onwards.

More than ever, Levi was glad to have (Y/N) at his side in the interlude of socialization between their arrival and the beginning of the ceremony; her presence grounded him, gave him strength, and as others began to arrive, her talent for holding a polite and intriguing conversation about nothing at all was a true blessing. Levi wasn't required to do much more than nod and speak an occasional greeting the entire time, and once more he found himself entirely grateful to (Y/N) for being nothing less than perfect.

Thank you, bright-eyes, he thought as he watched her charm everyone around them with both her beauty and her wit. You might not be wearing the crown today, but you really are a queen among women.

Even when Levi was expected to present himself to the queen— to Historia— for the ceremony, (Y/N) was his anchor in treacherous waters, despite not being directly at his side. When it was time for him to leave her, she pressed a kiss to his cheek as he went. To anyone else, it would seem to be just that— a kiss, nothing more— but before she pulled away, (Y/N) whispered the tiniest of encouragements against his skin, a flame to warm him against the freezing cold of the world around him:

"For the fallen," she said, echoing the same words she'd proclaimed to a crowd the night that they first met, and he understood what the words meant from the moment of their utterance.

They would do this— he would do this— suffer the indignity of honor and recognition for blind fucking chance, accept an award that he hadn't earned with any true merit. He would do it because the fallen could not. In their stead, he would accept the honor and the fame and the glory, and he would dedicate it to each and every one of them in his heart.

I'm going to marry her, he thought not for the first time as he took his place, kneeling before his monarch. If we survive the hell that is coming down the pipeline, and if she'll have me, I'll marry her and build that little cottage just for us, and if anything comes to disturb us…

Well, we'll make do.

***

The evening passed more quickly than it had a right to. There was a meal, some dancing, and more wine than (Y/N) thought strictly appropriate, but overall, it was exactly as one would expect— stiff, formal, and mournfully pensive. (Y/N) navigated the environment well enough for one who had little experience with such, and had Levi not felt so strange and distant while standing next to her, she might have even been able to relax. As it was, though, Levi seemed to her a fraction of a second away from a meltdown in the middle of the dining hall, and as soon as (Y/N) thought it appropriate, she leaned over to whisper her thoughts in Levi’s ear.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” she asked, her fingers trailing over his arm as she spoke. “I’m feeling a bit tired.”

(Y/N) couldn’t have slept if someone had whacked her unconscious with a crowbar, but what Levi didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“Sure,” he replied, and his hand settled over hers, rough, warm, and reassuring. “Just let me say some goodbyes.”

With that, he stood from his seat. (Y/N) made to follow him, but as she walked past a group of chatting officials, a hand reached out and grabbed her arm. When (Y/N) turned to see who had touched her, she found herself face-to-face with a young woman with brown hair, glasses, and an eyepatch.

“Hange-san,” (Y/N) greeted her, dipping her head in recognition. “You have my congratulations and condolences on your promotion. I understand that Erwin was a dear friend to both you and Levi, and I’m sorry for his passing.”

“Ah, so you know me,” Hange said in reply, her expression a strange mix of happiness and the deepest sorrow. “By the company you’ve kept tonight and what I’ve heard from Levi, you must be the precious (Y/N) that our favorite pesky captain has managed to keep locked away in some ivory tower— one far away from the carnivorous Scouting Legion, anyways.”

(Y/N) smiled. “I don’t know about that, but yes, I’m (Y/N). I’ve been begging Levi to introduce me to you for ages, but for some reason, he keeps putting it off.”

“I’m not surprised at all,” Hange chuckled, but her eyes remained just the smallest bit sad. “He’s secretive like that about things that are precious to him.”

(Y/N)’s heart thumped painfully in her chest, but Hange wasn’t finished.

“I wanted to thank you for being there for him,” she continued, watching on as Levi spoke to a few others, presumably saying farewells. “He’s not easy when he’s like this, but having someone that understands him takes a bit of the burden from his shoulders. I saw how you guided conversations, taking control of what was said and speaking in his stead when things got uncomfortable— you can’t possibly know how much that meant to him. He hates useless small talk and face-saving, and for you to offer him a reprieve from that is huge.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help it; she blushed.

“No need to thank me, really,” she said. “I just did what I thought was appropriate.”

Hange grinned. “If you say so.”

Across the way, Levi looked back at (Y/N) and motioned for her to come to him. (Y/N) turned back to Hange, ready to make her excuses and join her lover, but Hange spoke first, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Take care of him,” she said, her expression unreadable. “He has a heavy load. I know it’s a lot to ask, but if you will shoulder some of it yourself, I will be forever indebted to you.”

(Y/N) nodded. “I’ll do everything I can,” she promised, looking over to an impatient Levi. “You don’t have to worry; he’ll be just fine.”

"Go to him," Hange replied, her hand falling away from (Y/N)'s shoulder. "Whatever he needs, make sure he has it."

"Of course. Goodbye, Hange-san," (Y/N) said, smiling lightly as she went. "It was nice to meet you."

"Likewise," was Hange's farewell, and then (Y/N) was arm-in-arm with Levi, who curled his hand possessively around her bicep.

"You always get into so much trouble when I'm not around," he said as they stepped out into the street.

"Trouble?" (Y/N) laughed, moving her hip to bump his. "I was only getting acquainted with Hange-san, whom you have refused to let me meet until tonight."

Levi grunted. "So I saw. What did she say?"

(Y/N)'s mind raced to come up with a plausible lie.

"Ah, she just wanted to say hi."

Levi turned a look on her that could have drained the ocean, but there was humor in his eyes.

"If you didn't want to tell me, you could have just said."

"Oh, alright, she stopped me to tell me about her plan for world domination,” (Y/N) teased, and Levi graced her with a sad little smile that she wanted to capture in a bottle and keep to herself forever. “I didn’t tell you because she plans to off you soon, since you pose a threat to her reign as Supreme Leader.”

“You’re outrageous,” he said, guiding her to where they would wait for their carriage. “What am I to do with you?”

(Y/N) raised her eyebrows. “Hug me, love me, squeeze me, and spank me when I’m bad?”

“Don’t make suggestions you don’t intend to be taken seriously, bright-eyes— I may spank you yet for that mouth of yours.”

Before the conversation could go any further, the carriage was pulled around, stopping directly in front of them, and Levi stepped forward to open the door for (Y/N) to enter. Thankfully, prior experience proved a great teacher for the matter of (Y/N)’s dress; they were able to stuff (Y/N), her dress, and her captain all in the same carriage once more with relative ease, and before long, they were on their way back to (Y/N)’s apartment, where she knew Levi would want to pass the night.

Between the two of them, she thought, they would probably polish off the last of her whiskey, staying up and talking things through, and then once all had been said, they would let their bodies speak for them. Perhaps it was wrong that she longed for that portion of the evening— where they were laid bare, body and soul— more than the talking, more than starting the path to processing the massive grief that followed humanity like a thunderhead, but in the time that Levi had been gone, she had missed him terribly, and she couldn’t help but want the reassurance of his hands and mouth on her body.

“You’re thinking very loudly tonight, bright-eyes,” he told her as the carriage began to roll to a halt.

“Sorry,” she replied sheepishly, mashing down her dress so that Levi could reach the door handle of the carriage. “I can’t help it. After all, there is a lot to think about these days.”

“No need for an apology,” he murmured as he helped her down, pulling her close as the carriage took its leave. “In fact, I’d love to hear what thoughts you’d like to share aloud.”

There was a familiar heat in those fathomless gray eyes, and (Y/N) knew he was thinking the same thing she was.

“Why don’t we skip to dessert?” she asked, tugging lightly at his uniform jacket. “I’ve missed you, my captain.”

“And I’ve missed you,” he said, and then the time for talking had passed, their mouths occupied with other, more important work.

Never had they shown such affection publicly, but it seemed that Levi had found cause to cast caution into the wind and kiss her breathless in the middle of the street. It was no gentleman’s kiss either— rather, it was one of filthy promise and wandering hands— but (Y/N) didn’t have it within her to be embarrassed of it, or care one way or the other whether or not anyone was watching. All she wanted was to touch and to be touched, and if they could make it to her apartment door without breaking their necks, she knew that they wouldn’t make it to the bedroom.

“Where is your key?” Levi asked, resting his forehead against hers as her back finally hit the cold metal of her door. “Please don’t tell me you've lost it again.”

(Y/N) certainly had not lost her key again. She had very much learned her lesson a few weeks prior when she’d lost it the first time; she and Levi had waited outside for an hour before her landlord showed up, and then Levi had made sure to give her some appreciation for the act of waiting as he’d edged her for what felt like an eternity until she could give a satisfactory answer for where the damn thing probably was.

“I’ll give you one guess,” she said, pressing one of his hands to her breast, and he grinned as he felt the imprint of it through her clothes.

“And how am I supposed to get to it through all that netting?” he asked, pressing slightly harder against her breast— right against her nipple— sending electricity down her spine.

“I suppose you’ll have to unzip me,” she replied, turning so that he could reach. “Gently, though, the fabric tears easily.”

(Y/N) needn’t have worried. Levi’s hands were warm and tender against the skin of her back as he worked the zipper, and once it was down, his pleasantly calloused hands circled her to grip each breast.

“Perfect,” he said, pressing kisses to her neck as his right hand found the key. “Absolutely perfect.”

As (Y/N) predicted, they didn’t make it anywhere near the bedroom before their clothes came off. As soon as they door was shut behind them, Levi was unzipping her dress further and helping her step out of it. Shortly after, Levi’s jacket went missing, followed by his shirt, his belt, and his pants. Eventually, they were both entirely naked and writhing against each other on (Y/N)’s plush carpet, and when Levi entered her— holding her hips up to have her opening meet his cock as he knelt— she hardly knew which way was up.

“The picture you make right now,” he said, his thumb stroking her hip almost lazily as he rocked into her. “You’re a vision.”

He was one to talk. Naked above her, he made quite a picture. If it weren’t for the heat of his touch, the flush on his cheeks and chest, and the wet redness of his lips where she had sucked and bit at them, (Y/N) might have wondered if he weren’t hewn from marble. His hair was falling into his eyes as he watched her watching him, and when he supported her hips using only one hand to brush those inky black strands from his face, she nearly came on the spot.

“Levi,” she panted, her breasts jiggling with the force of his thrusts, “I love you. I love you so much, I— oh. ”

“I love you too, my bright-eyes,” he said, and his thrusts quickened as he chased their pleasure. “More than anything.”

However much (Y/N) might have wanted to stay there forever, drunk on the feeling of the magnificent cock and the man attached to it making love to her, all good things must come to an end— in this case, literally. Levi gave her warning only in the way he threw his head back, immersed in the sensations she pulled form him, and he spilled inside her, grinding his cock in and in and in even as his orgasm ended, relishing in the feel of her around him. Ever the considerate lover, when using his poor, spent cock became too much, Levi replaced it with four fingers and his mouth on her clit, and it wasn’t long before she was clenching around him and crying out his name like it was a supplication.

“I’m going to have carpet burn on my knees,” he sighed, stroking idly at her inner thigh, his head and shoulders framed by her knees as they came down from the high of their first round of the evening.

“But not on your cock, so be thankful for the little things.”

“Oi, my cock is plenty big.”

(Y/N) giggled. “That’s so not what I meant. It’s not like you heard me complaining earlier.”

“You wouldn’t, you wicked thing. You wouldn’t say a word, you’d only lie there and laugh at me internally.”

(Y/N) vehemently denied it— no one would dare laugh at the esteemed Levi-heichou— but her laughter might have made her response seem less credible. As it was, Levi rolled his eyes and kissed her knee before moving to stretch out beside her, choosing to reach out and play with a strand of her hair rather than tease her further. They lay like that for a while, basking in the afterglow and each other's company, but the moment was soon to fade as Levi's expression changed from warm happiness to a distant sort of pensive.

"I have something to ask of you, bright-eyes," he told her, rolling to his side to see her more clearly. "It's something that I have no right to ask, but I have always been a selfish man when it comes to you."

(Y/N) reached hand out to his chest, and laid it flat to feel his beating heart. His skin was soft and warm beneath her touch, and he looked as soothed by the action as she felt.

"Just ask," she said, her stomach fluttering in anticipation. "If I can give it, it's yours."

Levi looked away. "Don't be so quick to agree before you know what I'm going to say."

(Y/N) frowned.

"Levi, what is it?"

"I want you to go back to the farm with your father for a while."

The words landed like a slap to the face. (Y/N) sat bolt upright, indignation in her heart and probably on her face, but Levi's hand shot out to catch her wrist, keeping her from moving away entirely.

"That came out a little wrong," he said, his eyes pleading. "It's just… there are things I can't tell you, and it's not safe here— not for you or anyone else. Change is coming, and danger nips at its heels."

"So you want me to run away?" she demanded, her hurt and fear threatening to choke her. "You want to send me away and lock me up in an ivory tower like some sort of princess who can't get her hands dirty—"

Levi cut her off, his expression shuttering closed. "I want you to live."

(Y/N) thought back to the world she had come from, mucking the stables and feeding the horses, arranged marriages and no say in what she wore or how she lived, and she knew she couldn't do it.

"I am living," she said, drawing her legs to her chest. "To go back would be like dying."

"Eren Jaeger is dangerous and completely unpredictable. I won't have the woman I love waiting here like a sitting duck for him to fly off the handle and bright the fight here—"

"What fight?" (Y/N) demanded. "We're literally behind three walls and we have the hole in Wall Maria plugged up! What more can titans do to us now that we've finally begun to win?"

Levi's expression darkened. He looked as though he was considering something that he knew better than to say but would say anyways, and when he opened his mouth for a rebuttal, (Y/N) knew that her estimation had been correct.

"The fight isn't against titans anymore," he said, his eyes boring into hers. "It's with the nations— the many and powerful nations— that exist outside of this island. They hate us, these nations, though one more hates us more than all the others. Titans— or rather using titan spinal fluid to change those of our bloodline into titans— were that nation's attempt at wiping us all from the face of the earth."

(Y/N) felt the color drain from her face. "Genocide? Who would do such a thing?"

"The nation known as Marley," Levi replied. "We know nothing about them except that they apparently hate us. It's the same situation all over again for the Survey Corps, this time with Hange and myself at the head— we'll no doubt be venturing into unknown lands if we can reach them, infiltrating Marley to try and understand them the same way we did the titans."

(Y/N) was reeling. "My God. This is unbelievable."

Levi shook his head. "That doesn't make it less true, or the threat of Eren's desire for vengeance less real. If he decides to make a move before Paradis is ready, it could mean our downfall. At this point, I'm not sure if I could even stop him."

"No, not that. It's unbelievable that you want to rush headlong into danger, into a nation that would rather have you and everyone else squashed into a giant bloodstain while you're asking me to go hide myself away instead of staying at my job and my home— where I'm needed, where I can make a difference."

At that, Levi looked pained. "I know. I told you, I'm a selfish man. It's in my nature to want to protect you at any cost… but I understand if you can't, or won't. Realistically, we could all be dead by tomorrow and no one would be the wiser, but I—"

He paused, looking away.

"I want to keep you safe until I can buy us that plot of land in the middle of nowhere, build that cottage for us to live in, and put a ring on your finger for everyone to see, if you'd have it."

(Y/N) was speechless.

"You… you would want to marry me?" she choked out, finding her voice again.

At that, Levi gave her a reluctant little smile. "Who else?"

An idea dawned on (Y/N).

"Levi— this is a lot to process right now, and I—"

He held a hand up. "Take all the time you need to think, there's no rush on this— on any of it— right now."

"No, you don't understand," she said, a smile growing on her face. "There is a way that this can work. All it will take is a little compromise."

The concept, as she explained to Levi, was simple. (Y/N)'s father was a man of tradition whose only goal was to see his daughter situated in a fine marital match so that she could live out her days in peace and comfort, and therein lay the solution. Were (Y/N) to find a suitable match on her own and enter into an engagement, she would then become the tentative property of her fiance— in this case, Levi— in her father's eyes, and that was over half the battle with returning home. The rest (Y/N) could fight for herself.

"But, naturally we don't have to do anything rash," she said, uncertainty creeping into her tone. "And I won't leave while you're still here. If you aren't comfortable with that, we can fake the engagement, or just forgo the plan altogether, I guess, I don't really—"

Levi stopped her with a hand to her cheek and a soft smile.

"Why would I ever want to fake such a thing?" he asked, and (Y/N) flushed. "I love you. I think I loved you from the moment I saw you. There is no disadvantage to this, not for me."

"Then I suppose that's what we'll do," (Y/N) said, and Levi pulled her close to rest her head on his shoulder. "Things will be the same until you leave for Marley, and then you'll go and I'll head out to my father's. And from there… well, I guess we'll make do."

"We will," Levi replied, his voice rumbling deeply in his chest. "I'll come back to you, bright-eyes— you can count on that."

And so it was.

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