#i have barely done any steel path stuff | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gyuluster · 4 years ago

Text

the prince and the jackal | {f}

collab oneshot | fantasy! au | 11.8k words

“Because the prince of the earth can make you fall not only for nature, but the boy who rules over it.”

s u m m a r y : in the Kingdom of Terrae, you, a metalbender, believe in the deforestation to modernise the land. As a member of the Lumberjackals, you thrive on cutting down trees and stealing resources until you get caught by the Crown Prince, Choi Beomgyu, a lover and embodiment of the nature you wish to destroy. However, instead of imprisoning you for your crimes, Beomgyu decides to show you the beauty and wonders of nature, leaving you to doubt your beliefs, your identity, and your very feelings for the certain boy determined to change you for the better.

w a r n i n g s : prince! beomgyu, woodcutter! metalbender! reader, reader hates wildlife and all things nature, beomgyu is sunshine and flowers and everything good, shit ton of wildlife and fantasy stuff, bts kim line are part of the lumberjackals so are evil in this story i am so sorry y’all, beomgyu has a pet squirrel called jisung yes han jisung, kind of enemies to lovers not really but im pretending it is

p l a y l i s t : fairy of shampoo by txt | colours of the wind by judy kuhn | willow by taylor swift

a u t h o r ‘ s n o t e : yes i am back from the dead to bring this fic hello!! this is a collab with @soobmint @juunnies @bffsoobin @honeyju pls do read their parts too they’re so sexc <3 do lemme know what you all think and thank you for reading!!

back to collab masterlist

back to my masterlist

“And this prayer I make, Knowing that Nature never did betray The heart that loved her.” — William Wordsworth, Tintern Abbey, 1798.

“ONE MORE BLOODY TREE, AND I’LL SCREAM THIS FOREST DOWN!”

You ignored the complaints of your comrades, trekking deeper into the forest.

The sun was nearly drowned out by the towering shade of the surrounding trees, and there remained a constant buzz of the animals, either scurrying away or chirping in the skies. The cut up logs strapped on your back was a huge burden, and slowed your steps as you trudged onto the muddied pathways, staining your boots.

“_____, how much longer until we go to the markets?” one of the men asked, exhaustion clear in his voice.

“Just a few more logs, Tae,” one of the woodcutters, Seokjin, answered, casting a side-ways glance at you.

“But we’ve already got so many!” the former whined, pointing to the goods over their shoulders. “We can make decent money today!”

Unsheathing your sword, you cut away at the vines in your path, masking your sight ahead. It must be here somewhere, you thought, eyes darting sharply to every flower and bush. It has to be.

“Haven’t you fools understood already?” a snarl resonated from the group. Your horse trotted past you as Namjoon, sat on top, brought out his machete, brutally slicing the branches of the towering trees. “The wood we’ve got won’t last us all year!”

His eyes blazed with a certain greed as he looked over you all. “We must find the Tree of Life,” he declared, strolling past you, cutting down the path. “One strip of its bark could bring us a fortune.”

You listened to his statements with raised brows, following in his steps. In truth, none of you had ever seen the Tree of Life. No one in the kingdom had for centuries — it had become something of a myth, a legend passed down from every earthbender to child of its origins, and its significance. You didn’t know the great specifics, but the whole group knew that if they were to obtain even a twig from the great tree, it could grant them millions worth of gold.

And that was something the Lumberjackals desired more than the wellbeing of an omnipotent tree.

Soon, the search progressed, your group cutting down a few Ebonies for its useful properties, but there was no heavenly legend welcoming you in all its finery. The sun was descending on the horizon, and although Spring was present, you were situated in the part of the forest where the gusts of the Ice Kingdom blew consistently in your direction. The cold was about to descend, and you were far from your home in the Metallum villages.

Taehyung, the youngest of the Kim brothers, held onto a nearby oak, all strength leaving him. “I don’t know about you, but I am not travelling any further.” He glared daggers at Namjoon, who showed no signs of stopping. “I’m setting camp here, and you can do nothing to stop me.”

Seokjin joined his youngest sibling, collapsing on the patch of grass beside the gathering of flowers as he shrugged off his work of the logs. “I vote a little rest, even if Joon does not understand its meaning.”

The said-man let out a scoff at those words. “You both are just bloody lazy!” He turned to you, eyes pinning you where you stood. “You’ll keep searching with me, right?”

You agreed, but when you saw the fatigue in your leader’s gaze you grabbed the reins from his horse, stepping beside him. “You need sleep, Joon,” you said, concern in your eyes. “I’ll do another search. You three stay here.”

Namjoon held your stare for a moment before swiping his leg over the back of the horse, jumping off. He handed you the reins fully. “Come back after dawn. Us three will take over from you.”

You had a right mind to challenge the amount of time he was making you explore, but you kept your mouth shut, heaving onto the animal. Dumping your logs of wood upon the ground, you dipped your head in farewell to the Kim brothers. “I will see you in the morning, boys.”

Taehyung waving excitedly as he set up camp, Seokjin going straight to bed upon his blankets, and Namjoon’s stare cold yet understanding, you cracked the reins as the horse began to gallop away from the oaklands, and deeper into the forest.

The moon barely lit the way as you delved deeper into the trees, the sounds of nature turning sinister as the owls began to hauntingly hoot, and the wildcats began to purr. You kept your sword close, in your hand as the other steadied your horse.

You let out a hard sigh as you commenced your searching. Sometimes, only when you were alone, you wished that Namjoon would snap out of his delusions. There was no Tree of Life, no invaluable source of fortune which would challenge the earthbenders and start their industrialisation. In truth, you only wished for a life more than just cutting down wood, but your leader’s promises could be much too enticing.

Perhaps he was right. Maybe with the metalisation of Regna Terrae the metalbenders would be able to progress. It was not like the Kingdom cared for the likes of you, nor the nature which brought you to existence.

Stupid, damned forest. What good had it ever done you?

Suddenly, you heard the harsh snapping of the twigs which wasn’t from your horse. In an instant you halted, pulling the reins as your eyes darted to every corner of the dark forest.

Silence.

You furrowed your brows.

The forest cannot be trusted. Even its silences were sinister and misleading.

Slowly, you got off your horse, tying the reins to a nearby tree. “Keep still, Aurum,” you whispered. “I’ll be right back.”

Patting the mane, you turned and followed in the direction of where the sound was heard, every step quiet and cautious. There was little light, you having to rely on your ears alone, and the hands which touched trunk from trunk. In moments like these, you wished you possessed a more useful power than mere metal manipulation — firebending would have been nice, but you supposed that luck had never been in your favour.

Seething, you held onto your sword tighter, sending a little rush of power from your fingers as it sharpened the steel. No one tailing you would survive in your hands.

You then heard a little sigh, and whipped your head to the direction. Gritting your teeth, you rushed to the place of the origins, anger rising. Swiping away the branches in your path, your boots were the only sound among the quiet hush of the forest, along with the slicing of your weapon. Whoever was toying with you will not leave your wrath.

Swiping away the plants, you finally found an opening of grass among the trees. Squinting, your anger surged to find a distant figure standing before you, all masked in shadows from the lack of light within your surroundings. It stood statue-still, matching your deathly quietness.

But the figure did not seem like it offered death. Nor anything so dangerous as you promised.

“Come out!” you shouted, taking a step forward. “I know you were following me!”

No response.

“Scared, are you?!” Another hesitant step. “As you should be!”

Still, only silence answered, and the soft crunch of the leaves underneath your boots. You took a deep breath, shining your sword from the moonlight. A scoff emitted from you, nerves disappearing. This should be easy.

With an aggravated roar, swinging your weapon, you thundered towards the figure.

You rushed into the moonlight pooling onto the grass, eyes intent with damage as you willed iron-like power from your veins, and into your hands, swirling around the fuller of your sword until it reached its tip, ready to burst onto the figure.

It was then the shadows moved.

A flick of his hand. A soft glow within the darkness.

And all of nature followed suit.

You were taken aback as the thousands of vines circulating the surrounding trees unwrapped themselves from their trunks, and snapped towards you in thundering speed. You had no time to take in their stems swirling around your feet, cutting off your run towards this certain figure. A gasp escaping, you were pulled back by the impact, and let out a further scream as you began to fall flat on your face. Then, even more shock reverberated through you as your feet were pulled upwards, shooting your body up until you were suspended from a tree branch, your one foot wrapped tightly in the vines.

Your world all upside down, you shook your head vigorously, feeling the strain of your one leg under complete control of the tree. The thrum of powerful magic of nature resonated through your body, ceasing you from moving your free leg and kicking any potential passerbys.

Craning your head backwards, you saw with horror that your sword was clattered upon the ground, too far away to reach from the air. Straining your hand towards the grass, you willed your magnetic force, trying to lure your weapon into your hand.

The sword would have ended up in your grasp if another surge of the same natural magic did not break its path, sending it back on the earth.

Enraged, you looked out to the dark, sight distorted. “Gods, just come out already!” you screamed, swinging slightly by your sheer force. “Stop hiding in the damned shadows!”

There was a flutter of little animals coming out from the shadows. “Ha!” you spat, reaching for the dark. “Only sending a few creatures to scare me? You’re going to have to work harder than that!”

When there was another round of silence, you laughed harshly to yourself. “That’s what I thought.”

This time, however, you were not greeted by their usual, quiet answer.

More vines slithered down your frame, pushing your hands together. You gritted your teeth as the gnarly weeds tightened around your wrists, stopping yourself from using your hands.

Glaring daggers at the darkness ahead, you spat at the ground. “Show yourself!” you roared.

Your threats were answered.

Responded in an unimaginable way as the figure stepped into the moonlight.

You could not suppress your reaction.

The most enchanting boy you had ever seen revealed himself from the shadows. You could clearly see him from the light, the soft, child-like features amplified by his undoubted beauty — his mahogany locks curled around his face, cascading over his forehead. His gentle eyes promised great amusement, more so when they landed upon you, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips. He was adorned in a fine green gown, few assortments strapped on his belt as leather boots, etched in ink, covered his feet. A crown of flowers and leaves settled in his curls, emitting its own, fantastical glow among the darkness.

The smile curved wider at your widened eyes. “Why so speechless now, my lady?”

By all the gods. Even his voice sounded like the sweetest honey in all the hives.

“I have come before you, now,” he continued, deeply amused by your bewilderment. “I have stopped hiding in those damned shadows, as you said.

“Where is your anger?”

Well, that seemed to bring your rage all back.

“It’s still here, you bastard!” you hissed, struggling in the rope-like vines as you tried to swipe your hand across his face. He merely took a step back, completely out of your range.

“Even without a weapon you are a force to be reckoned with,” the mysterious boy voiced out, raising his fingers as magic sparked from the tips. Instantly the vines encircled your arms, pinning them to your sides as the weeds wrapped around you completely. You were like a human-sized caterpillar, cocooned in vines except you would not turn into a butterfly and rush away into the forest.

This nuisance before you would make sure of that.

A satisfied hum escaped him. “There we go,” he said. “Now you won’t be of any danger.”

“Who even are you?” you demanded, glaring daggers at the sight before you. Terrible shame that the sight was something you wouldn’t mind witnessing for the rest of your life. Even if it was upside down.

A hint of surprise exposed upon his features. “Oh, this is amusing, indeed.”

He took a step towards you, you catching the faint scent of...flowers and trees and fruit and honey. You couldn’t really figure out a perfect essence — if nature had a scent, then this boy embodied it. “I am surprised you know not of me when you wish to destroy what I own.”

You raised a brow, at eye level with him, despite the loopy image.

Then, the gears in your head turned, and you were struck hard with the realisation.

When you wish to destroy what I own.

“Oh gods,” you slipped out.

The boy smiled.

No, not just the boy.

The Prince of Regna Terrae — the heir to the Earth Kingdom.

Choi Beomgyu.

Maybe this explained his otherworldly beauty. Crown princes of the earth kingdoms were known to be blessed by nature, so adorned the finest features known to man. Standing before you now, you cursed yourself for not seeing it before.

And cursed yourself again for cursing at him. Multiple times.

Beomgyu saw your eyes moving a mile a second and spluttered out a soft laugh, raising a finger so you focused on him. “I am glad you have figured out my identity. Now we both know what we are.”

His next words did not possess much hilarity. “I, a prince, and you, a Lumberjackal.”

The declaration had you gulping. There’s no escaping this.

He was not wrong in the slightest — you were a part of the Lumberjackals — a group dedicated to industrialising the Earth Kingdom, and giving it a head start from the other kingdoms who did not possess the natural resources that this land contained. You prided on deforestation, the cutting of wood and, even to a certain extent, the consumption of animals. Although you never participated in the last activity out of pure shame, you knew the Kim brothers certainly did, and enjoyed it to great extent.

“Do you deny it?”

You tried to look away, but his gaze was a little too intense. Even if it was reversed. “I do not.”

“And what do you have to say for yourself?” he got out, and you could hear the pain in his voice. Could you even blame him? You destroyed what he held so dear.

Still. You were a metalbender. The desire for modernisation is in your very blood.

“I do what I must do, your Highness,” you grit out, struggling in your weedy cocoon. “It is the only way we survive.

“And I will not stop.”

The boy’s eyes widened a fraction, in pure disbelief. He could not comprehend this — how could one be so against the idea of nature? How could anyone be so resolute in the decimation of what they survived on?

Prince Beomgyu cocked his head, pursing his lips.

How could one hate a deity he considered so beautiful?

He said so himself.

“How?”

You blinked.

The boy continued. “How can you hate nature?”

His question took you by surprise — you did not really know the answer yourself.

It was not like you despised the earth in all its natural form. Sure, it brought you the air you breathed, the food you ate, and the water you drank. But what else had nature given you?

You soured upon seeing the Prince’s face. You did not possess the powers other Terrae citizens were gifted with. Your branch of magic was hard, unforgiving. Simply a practicality, only useful for finding resources and making weapons.

Where were your subservient vines? Where was your natural greatness?

With this in mind, you mustered up the most brutal expression you could offer to the boy before you.

“Because nature was not kind to the likes of me. So I shall not be kind to it either.”

This time, the Prince’s eyes widened even further, afraid they would pop right out of their sockets.

Once again, his mind was in a twist — how had his dearest accomplice, his most cherished friend, been unforgiving to his subjects? He would never consider himself sheltered, but this was something quite unheard of in his kingdom.

“I know you do not believe me, but this is the only explanation I can offer.” You paused, accepting your fate. “Untie me already so you can send me to prison.”

You felt something swirl beneath the boy’s brown eyes, irises sparkling with wonderment. His voice was soft, if not lost within his own thoughts.

“I believe you, jackal,” he said. With a final step towards you, he left little distance between the two of you, eyes at level with yours as you hung from the tree. “But I cannot be satisfied with it.”

Another blink, taken aback by his declaration. “Well...well, what am I supposed to do about it?”

Shocking you further, he curled a little smile upon his lips. “Well,” he started, and as the smile began to widen further, he knew just what to do.

No, he was certainly not satisfied with her accepted hatred.

“We can start by changing that.”

It was your turn for your pupils to dilate. Gods above. This boy seems one chop away from a stump.

“What do you mean?” you demanded, but the boy was already turning on his heel, looking to the surroundings. He fell to his knees, feeling the ground beneath him with his hands. “Your Highness, what are you doing?!”

He did not deem to answer your question, only counter it with his own. “Do you have a horse nearby?”

You looked at him, surprised he figured it out by merely touching the grass. “Yes, but…”

It seemed that he did not need to hear any more, as he brought a hand out, fingers stretching. A tendril of green power burst from his palm, snaking through the dark air beyond your peripheral vision. The Prince was focused on his conjury, and you wondered what in Terrae he was trying to do.

Then, you heard a distant neighing, and found Aurum following the green trail of his magic, eyes glowing slightly.

You tried to escape the tight cage of the vines. “Gods, what are you doing with my horse?!” you exclaimed. “She hates strangers!”

The magic disappeared, along with the glow in her eyes. You could tell she was confused at her surroundings, about to raise her hind legs at the boy who spelled her. “She’ll kill you!” you warned, bracing yourself to witness the death of a prince.

It was then Beomgyu stepped towards the horse, gaze sparkling with kindness.

His hand touched Aurum’s face.

With no small amount of shock, you watched as the boy whispered to your horse, stroking her muzzle. You had never seen her be so friendly to any human she’s made contact with — by Terrae, she even deigned to show attitude to you, who had fed and groomed her since she was a mere pony. How was she sweetening up to someone she had just seen?

Maybe she’s still under a spell, you thought with malice, but then a more honest thought came to mind, and it only made you angrier.

Or perhaps animals can be just as enchanted with him as humans can.

“What are you talking to her for?” you interrupted them, letting out an aggravated groan as the cocoon engulfed you tighter. “You’re sharing words with her as if she’d spread them!”

Beomgyu slid his eyes upward to you. “I was just asking Aurum if she’d like to have an apple.”

“No, I’ll give her one myself—” you tried to say, but then stopped short. “Wait. How do you know her name?”

He looked at you as if you had asked the most ridiculous question. “Because she just told me.”

You stopped struggling in the cocoon. “What did you just say? Aurum told you?”

Hands never ceasing his comforting upon the horse, he raised a quizzical brow. “Pardon me, jackal, but do you mean to tell me that you...you cannot talk to animals?”

Maybe you were not wrong to think the heir of the Earth Kingdom absolutely crazy.

He gestured to the world around you both. “Can you not sense each and every creature nearby? Can you not hear their heartbeats, in sync to their purrs and murmurs?

“Can you not hear the very trees breathe around you?”

You did not know what to say. Perhaps you did not understand his words, what he really meant by a tree breathing. Was that even possible? You thought it unimaginable.

So you offered him the only thing that remained in your mind.

“I have never felt these things.”

The hand upon Aurum’s nuzzle paused, unable to accept the statement which you offered him.

His suspicions were confirmed. Your hatred of nature and all the beings which it birthed had rid you of your powers.

He had seen this before — lost souls who had done grave wrongdoings to the earth, and as a consequence, their very instincts were snatched, right down to the basics. There was no shortage of Lumberjackals in the palace dungeons, and upon closer inspection, he saw that these woodcutters felt no connection to their surroundings. It broke his heart seeing the lack of attachment, the lack of desire for exploration and yearning for their powers, but he knew it could not be helped.

Whoever crosses nature would not be forgiven.

Still, when he inspected the confused, tired gaze of yours, searching him for any suspected lunacy, he just knew that he could not toss you in another old cell. This plan he had in mind could not occur through rotting in one place for the rest of your life.

“Worry not then, jackal.” He raised his hand, magic blooming from his palm. “I am going to change that.”

Whispering to your horse, he listened for a soft neigh before heaving atop her back, hissing at the reins and other controls tying her down. You watched with slight fear. “W-wait a minute,” you started, trying to squeeze out of the vines, but with no luck. “You’re not going to just leave me here, are you?”

Patting Aurum’s mane, he voiced out calmly, “I wish with my whole heart, but then my plan will not work.”

You pursed your lips, watching his eyes sparkle with mischief. “If you were not a prince, I would have cursed you.”

With a flick of his hand, a rush of magic travelled to your cocoon; you felt yourself turning on your front, hovering you upright as the power gravitated you back on the ground, loosening the vines.

“Not like that has stopped you before,” he merely countered as he observed you shrug off weeds in slight humiliation. “Now get on. We have somewhere to be.”

He waited a moment, sighing when you would not oblige. “Is something the matter?”

You wanted to say yes — gods, you wanted to scream at him to get off Aurum, leave you alone and let you cut trees in peace, but of course, that would be an impossible route to take. You still had no inkling of why the Prince of your kingdom was having mercy on you, and you would be quite the fool to exploit it foolishly.

With gritted teeth, you kept your complaints behind your tongue as you brought your foot on the stirrup, heaving upwards as you brought your leg to the other side, settling upon the horse. “Now,” Beomgyu began, looking over his shoulder. “There is no need to be shy. You may put your hands around me as the horse goes fast—”

“I shall be completely fine, thank you,” you interrupted him, brows furrowed. What was this prince even doing? You wondered whether he was a fraud. With that power you witnessed, though, you highly doubted it.

And his features. There is no way a commoner could possess such enchanting beauty.

Flustered, you soured even further.

“Are you ready, jackal?”

You grunted out a yes, which was enough for the boy to command Aurum to start.

The horse, against your expectation, began galloping much faster, and with a yelp you were nearly sent flying out of the seat. Your hands, on instinct, wrapped around Beomgyu’s waist, and when you realised what you had done you cursed yourself for obliging him.

You could almost hear his grin. “I told you!” he exclaimed over the noise of hooves clattering against the rocky mud.

If only you could slap the heirs of kingdoms. “Just take me where you have in mind!” you barked back. “I need to be back to Metallum at dawn.”

“That will be just enough!”

The horse swept past more trees, animals scurrying from your path as the moon lit the dim forest path. You held onto the prince for dear life, refusing to acknowledge the hard surface beneath his silk, his ethereal warmth radiating onto you.

“Hey, jackal?”

A sigh. “Yes?”

“Your horse’s name.” A pause. “Aurum.”

You looked to the trees whooshing past your vision. “What of it?”

Beomgyu whispered for the animal to slow down, scanning his surroundings for his destination. “’Gold’. A very ingenious name.”

He glanced at your irritated face, and smiled. “My mare is called Argenti.”

Your mouth parted at the little revelation.

Argenti. Silver.

Before you could say more on the matter, the boy stopped the horse, cooing at her and praising her for helping him. Swinging his leg over, he jumped off the horse gracefully. He fixed his flower crown before turning to face you, falling rather awkwardly on the grass.

A small laugh escaping him, you daggered him with your gaze as you stepped beside him, a hand on Aurum. Your stare lingered as he took a circle turn of the surroundings, moon almost winking at him as it journeyed in the blanket of night. After a while, Beomgyu pointed to the tree nearby you, stepping past you to palm its trunk. “Here we go.”

Fingers stretching, magic spluttered as it swirled into the thick expanse of the leaves, nearly covering the sky with their excess. The matter squeezed through, and brought out the hidden vines, tumbling down till they reached the roots. Grabbing onto the plants, the prince turned his head towards you, an offer in his eyes.

You hated how you understood exactly what he meant. “I am not going up with you,” you retorted.

“It’s my arms or the dungeon.”

Gulping, you swallowed down your irritation for him. Taking a step towards him, you maintained a safe distance as you made sure he was aware of your distaste. “Just get us up already.” Damn the gods for making him so aggravatingly beautiful, you thought shamelessly as you looked at him. “Your Highness.”

Perhaps he knew, for the little smile was back, wrapping his arm around your waist, and pulling you close. “That’s more like it,” he murmured out before willing his magic into motion.

Your breathing hitched as you were pulled rapidly upward by the vines, breaking through the surface of the leaves. You closed your eyes, feeling the scraping of the branches against your clothes until you felt yourself still, listening only to the deep breaths of the prince beside you. His hand was still snaked at your side.

“Open your eyes, jackal.”

Somehow, on instinct, you obliged.

And widened them further.

You were in another world entirely — the branches expanded beyond your vision, intertwining with the others from different trees, so intricately interlinked beneath your feet that they created a floor. Upon this branching surface there was a little room, decorated with every unusual object that one could identify. Beside the bed, interwoven by these branches, you saw an abundance of flowers and leaves, an lamp of glowing fireflies resting in the corner, and a thousand other items which needed further explanation.

Judging by the awe on your face, the boy answered you, heading to the small cabinet where everything was placed. “A collection of gadgets,” he began, using his magic to separate every object. “That I’ve bought or been gifted since my princedom.” He took out a few unrecognisable things and strolled to the wardrobe, made from the same intertwining branches, and opened the doors, rummaging through.

“What are you even looking for?” you asked, but were dutifully ignored as he kept searching. You admired the intricate scenery, the plush excess of leaves beneath your shoes, shielding you and the prince nearby.

You heard him let out a satisfied ah! as he closed the doors shut. He walked over to you, showing you the rather odd object — it was an unusually large ice cube, miniscule snowflakes etched onto its every side as it orbited slowly in Beomgyu’s hand.

Your curious gaze upon the gadget had him into explanation. “A present from the Ice Prince,” he said, admiring the cold gift in his palms. “It provides an infinite water supply, so is incredibly useful for long journeys.”

“Taehyun, is he not called?” You shivered at the thought. “I am shocked to think he is capable of such small kindnesses.”

Beomgyu slid his eyes to yours. “Taehyun is not the man that his subjects have painted him to be.” His irises swirled in an indecipherable emotion. “Sometimes, one cannot judge the character of another simply based on rumour alone. Only with having conversation can one truly have an honest opinion.”

A small part of you wondered if he truly meant that for Taehyun, or to you, another villain in the Earth Kingdom’s millennia-old tale. Whatever it may be, you looked away, wondering when you’d be able to leave the prince’s presence.

“Right,” you heard him say, pocketing the other unknown object in his breast pocket of his gown. “Let us go on ground once more.”

The boy was about to tug on the vines again when he was interrupted by a most unusual sound.

Well, not unusual, considering you were situated in a tree house, but the noise was so shrill you instantly looked down to its origin.

Before you was a little squirrel, cheeks puffed as its little hands perched on its sides. Its soft tail moved rapidly behind its body, indicating irritation.

Its small, black eyes were fixated upon the boy beside you. Letting out yet another squeak, you saw Beomgyu sigh out in exasperation, as if he had just remembered an important matter.

“Oh gods, I do apologise!” He exclaimed, falling to his knees as he held his free hand out, the other holding the hovering ice cube still. “I’m afraid I cannot feed you now, but would you be able to wait?”

The squirrel let out another squeak, and this time the prince flinched. You gawked at the scene — so not only can he command the trees, but he could talk to animals?

What can this boy not do?

“Ji, I am sorry!” Fishing out an acorn from his breast pocket, he offered it before him. “I have one, if it helps! I promise to feed you properly after I am done with a certain task.”

Even so, the animal seemed much unimpressed. It then turned its little head to you, and you could have sworn that its eyes judged your very soul.

It squeaked some more, and this time Beomgyu widened his eyes, cheeks flushing. “By Mother Nature, no!” He bellowed out, panicked eyes fleeting towards you. “No, I just met her today.”

“Are you talking about me?” You asked, raising a brow. The squirrel then made another sound, one you could not decipher but, judging from the boy’s reaction, could definitely take a wild guess. “By gods, is this creature mocking me?”

You were rewarded with further squeaking, but was instantly silenced by Beomgyu. “Ji, no! I cannot have you being sarcastic tonight. Save your grievances for tomorrow morning!”

And as the prince scooped the squirrel in his hand, he walked over to the bed, settling it on the sheets. “Stay here. I will be back.”

There was sure to be complaints, but the boy kept sending looks of apology as he stepped back to the edge of the exit, tugging on the vines. “Deeply sorry for Jisung’s behaviour,” he said, swirling the cube slowly. “He is grumpier tonight as I have not fed him this evening.”

“A pet squirrel, huh?” You interrogated, looking down to the grass below. “And one you can talk to? Is that how you could communicate with Aurum?”

Nodding, the prince held his arm out. “Are we ready?”

You hurrying my shook your head. “Not again!” You crossed your arms. “I’ll slide down myself. Without your help.”

Shrugging, the boy held on tighter to the vine. “Your wish, jackal,” he said, and jumped down. Perking up, you squatted down to see him descend smoothly down the tree, landing perfectly on the grass.

Grabbing onto the plant, you looked back to the grumpy pet, stuffing the acorn in his mouth.

He then stuck his tongue out, and you gasped at the audacity. “Rude!” You shouted, but we’re only answered with shrill squeaking. Ignoring the creature, you took the vine by both hands, and followed suit.

Your descent was much less graceful, landing instead on your backside. You were met with the huffed laughter of the prince, and you forced down the urge to beat him with his stupid flower crown. Or perhaps tie these vines around his neck and strangle him.

No, that would only result in him using his silly magic. Awful, attractive bastard.

“What are we doing now, Highness?” You wondered out loud, rubbing your sore backside. “Do tell me there is some use of your rather odd ice cube.”

Beomgyu, after strolling further into the woods, slowed himself for you to catch up. “There is some use, unfortunately for you.” He waved you over, stepping past the wild bushes in his path. “Follow me, jackal!” he called out to you.

Grudgingly, you did as he asked, hugging yourself from the cold breeze of the midnight, wondering where in Terrae he was trying to take you. The trees towered over you like intimidating strangers — if the prince spoke true, then you wouldtuly be unwelcome.

You were surrounded by this coercion until the forest opened up to an open grassland, encircled by the nature which looked down at you. Beomgyu turned to you, bringing out a few seeds from his trouser pockets and standing right in the middle of the circle.

“There you are,” he said as you stepped beside him. He glanced at the moon, measuring the amount of time he had left.

“What are you going to do?” you asked him, still clueless regarding the whole situation. Why has he not sent you to the dungeons already?

His eyes travelled to your face. With a half-soft scoff, he held out his hand, the seeds now in perfect view. “It is not what I’m going to do,” he began. “It is what you are going to do.”

The confusion grew within you. “What do you mean?” you tried to clarify. “What am I to do with these seeds?”

Beomgyu’s eyes promised answers. “Bring out your hand, jackal.”

You did as you were told, holding out your hand as he put the seeds in your palm, fingers barely brushing against your skin. He then descended, knees upon the grass as he patted to the space beside you. “Come, sit.”

Pursing your lips in thought, you knelt before the grass, seeds in your enclosed fist as your gaze never strayed from the boy. “Your Highness—”

Magic oozing from his fingers interrupted your demand, slipping into the earth. Slowly, but surely, a small hole was separated by the green matter, dirt being shovelled to create a dip in the grassland.

Once he ceased his conjuring, he jerked his head towards the new opening. “Place the seeds in the hole,” he instructed. “Gently now! Treat them with the utmost care.”

Grumbling in response, you leaned forward as you gingerly put each seed at the corners of the muddy dip, noticing a small spark with each placement of the grain. It was a bizarre feeling, but assumed it normal in the ways of gardening as you inserted the dirt over them, covering them fully.

You peered at the prince then, who brought out the large ice cube. Turning it rapidly, treacle of water dripped down to the ground, moistening the earth and feeding the seeds of its necessities. Putting the gadget back in his storage belt, he then returned his hand upon the damp mound, closing his eyes in a fixated peace. More magic swirled from his hands, but this time it encircled not only the place where you had placed the seeds, but you, all of you, engulfing you in its otherworldly warmth.

“Your Highness?” You whispered out, but he was murmuring, murmuring words you could not comprehend, words which felt like you were not meant to hear. His curls were being lifted slightly with the tendrils of his power, but he stayed rooted to his spot, carrying on with what you feared was a grotesque ritual.

You, too, became still when you felt fingers curl around your hand.

On instinct you looked at him, eyes widening — you should have expected his hand to radiate some form of heat, considering this boy had such an unusual glow about him, but this…

Despite the soft chaos around the two of you, the touch was oddly comforting.

His hand, dragging you out of your thoughts, led yours to the place you sowed the little grains of life, and spread apart your fingers till they covered nearly the entire, dug up earth. More matter escaped from his fingers, shooting further warmth upon the back of your hand, and travelling up to your heart.

“Close your eyes, jackal,” you heard him chant from his cocoon of magic. “I need you to see from within.”

“See what?!” You beseeched, but his fingers held onto you a little tighter, and, as if he commanded your very body, had your eyelids descend shut, cornering you into the chambers of your mind.

See from within.

What could you see?

Darkness. Eternal darkness, and rusted iron, spilled mercury, and all the grim faces of the people who wanted to decimate the very place you knelt in.

I cannot see! You screamed in your mind, because in the whirlwind of his power you felt alone, trapped in your own mind, trying to join in on a ritual which would cursed the likes of you.

But in reality, you were not alone.

No, not when you felt something foreign in your body.

You swore you stopped breathing.

Your fingers felt squeezed by another, but was ignored because you could see a whole other heartbeat which was not your own.

A familiar voice entered your mind.

“Do you see it?”

The prince’s voice; the soft, almost desperate inquiry, which you could not help but answer.

“Yes...yes, by Terrae, I do see it.”

And perhaps he said some more, but you were not listening to his words. His speech seemed a little insignificant to the little heartbeat — it was as faint as the scent of departure, delicate as a snowflake, and as real as yourself, the prince, and the neverending forest.

When you tried to lift your hand, Beomgyu’s fingers halted you still. You could not believe that you did not mind it. “Whose...whose is it, your Highness?”

You were positive that he did not hear you with the lack of volume you let slide from your tongue. However, he answered your question, almost feeling the joy radiating from his response.

“The seeds.”

Shocked, you opened your eyes, and found the Prince of Earth staring at you with an elevated joy. He gestured to observe your creation, and when your eyes fell upon the sliver of a stem which broke through the earth, between the spaces of your fingers, you wondered whether this was all a dream.

You could not help the curse which escaped you. The boy beside you spluttered into laughter, and you turned to see his face radiating with elation. The heartbeat, the one which you thought was under your control, proved you wrong as it skipped its beat along to his laughs.

“Wh-what are you laughing at?” You demanded, but you were unable to execute it with the anger you wish you held for him. He offered you a honeypot of smiles.

“You’ve brought life to the forest, sweet jackal.”

The little plant shivered in response, along with your own hairs at the back of your neck, which stood at his announcement. Its faint heartbeat grew louder, as well as your own in your ears.

“Do you feel it now?” he whispered, leaning ever so close as he looked to the forest around you. “Do you feel the trees breathing in your presence?”

Unfortunately, although you could sense your plant’s essence, the heartbeats of every tree in the forest were still unheard. You shook your head no, but that did not wipe the grin off his face.

“We have time,” he reassured you. “Just know that Mother Nature has hope for you still.”

He took your hand, putting another upon the back as he brought you a different kind of warmth. “I have hope for you.”

You parted your mouth, unaccustomed to the contact, the kindness...to all that he represented.

His eyes locked with yours, and although he had spared you the wrath of his palace dungeons, you feared whether you could escape the imprisonment of his gaze.

There was no doubt in your mind as you let yourself be arrested into his stare — the Prince of the Earth was not going to haunt just a single night.

FRATERNISING WITH THE HEIR OF REGNA TERRAE WOULD BE THE DEATH OF YOU.

Of course, that was not the last time you saw him — you had become something of a personal project to him, a sin which must be reversed. Almost every night after the fateful encounter, you snuck out from the fences of the Metallum villages, barely evading the suspicious eyes of the Kim brothers, and met with him under his treehouse.

You did not know why you endeavoured so ardently in seeing him. It was not like he had become any less irritable with his amused grins and unmatched power, but there was something about him which you could not fend off.

In a way, he made you believe you were worth more than simple woodcutting, selling oaks in the market, the empty promises of revenge against the Natural Kingdom.

Somehow, he made you realise that, maybe, you truly were deserving of a more memorable path.

These very thoughts accompanied you as the sun began to set, pulling your hood over your head as you swept past the familiar trees, reining in the urge to greet every woodland creature which scurried past you. The past few weeks, after many misunderstood arguments with the Prince’s pet squirrel, you learned the slight quirks which the animal possessed, his every movement and what it would signify. You had Beomgyu to thank once again, but each time you wished to do so, he would say the same, hair-rising reassurance.

“Fret not, sweet jackal. It is a pleasure to show you the wonders of nature.”

Sweet jackal. The endearment made you so flustered, and that aggravated you to the greatest extent. You had already shared your name with the boy, but he insisted on calling you this name, as if the two of you had already established an intimacy from decades before.

The very thought had your actual heartbeat racing.

You made sure to completely dismiss this foolery as you found the special opening of the grassland in sight, the glowing figure waving you over. A small smile involuntarily curled at your lips, hurrying closer till you fully saw Prince Beomgyu’s face clearly in the setting sun.

“You have arrived much earlier this evening,” he said in a way of greeting, fixing his flower crown as his squirrel played with the petals. “I would not say I’m displeased.”

On your part, you certainly were not either — he bore more finery than usual, his normal green gown threaded with gold swirls at the hems, small vines tied around his ears as natural jewellery. His hair was sprinkled with petals, a trait Jisung adored as he settled in the nest of his locks. His hands, too, were intertwined with dark vines, swirls wrapped around his fingers like extended rings.

By the gods, he truly was an exquisite being.

He noticed your silence, raising a groomed brow. “Is something the matter?” he asked, but when he saw your eyes dart to anywhere but his own, he immediately understood. You just managed to catch a satisfied quirk of his lips before he turned his attention to your plant.

Following his trail, you brightened up to see your creation in full bloom — bright red poppies, stark against the pool of grass, stood as they swayed to the evening breeze. You knelt down to observe them closer, and felt a peculiar sense of pride at sensing their clear heartbeat harmonising with yours.

“They’re my favourite flower,” the boy said behind you. “I have always adored how they stand out amongst all the others.”

Watching the poppies almost dance in the cool air, you stood upwards once again. “Then why do you not wear them?” you asked out of curiosity.

“Because my parents do not like me wearing them.” He gestured to the flower crown, at risk of being torn up by Jisung. “They say the colour is too harsh.”

He clicked his tongue in irritation. “At least they could have spared me on my birthday.”

You were about to comment on his parents when those words escaped his mouth. Your own mouth parted in surprise. “Your birthday is today?”

The prince mocked being stabbed in the chest, nearly sending the squirrel to the trees. Taking Jisung from his hair, he propped him on his shoulder. “You have truly wounded me, ____!” he whined. “All this time together, and you had no inkling?”

Although he was only jesting, it only embarrassed you further. “I truly am sorry, your Highness!” you apologised, clasping your hands together. “If I had known, I would have made you a present.”

“Oh?” He took a step towards you. His eyes danced in mirth. “And what would you have made me?”

That seemed to rob you of your speech. “Well, um…” you trailed off, searching your now useless mind of any decent idea for a gift, but he waved off your fluster, chuckling.

“It is no problem, dear jackal,” he said, looking at the red flowers once more. “Seeing your poppies in full growth is a gift to me anyway.”

You wished he had not said that; glancing at them now, you could only hear his fascination within the petals.

There he was again — staining your every entity of his remnants. How much more till he stains your very soul?

Jisung’s irritated squeak brought you back to the forest. You tried not to murder the damned creature as you muttered out, “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Beomgyu groaned out. “I shan’t have you calling me that hideous title all the time.” He put a hand to his chest. “Have we not reached first name basis?”

Despite your surprise, you offered him a scoff. “Jackal is not my first name,” you jeered. “And please. You’re the prince of our land. Anyone who catches me being informal with you will surely have my head.”

“I would never let them,” he merely said. “Not before I show you one last part of the forest.”

You quirked a quizzical brow. “I think you’ve shown me half your kingdom by now.”

“But this is...quite different.”

The boy stepped closer to you, reaching out his hand. You found yourself warming up as he enveloped it with yours, a gesture so small yet so triggering to your nerves.

“Follow me, ____.”

With the tug of his fingers, you were led out of the grasslands and back into the jungles of Regna Terrae, catching familiar sights of ancient mahoganies and birches, different variations of trees all grouped together.

As the moon began to ascend, your anxiety increased. His hand worked wonders for your skin, but at the back of your mind, you could not shake off the image of the Kim brothers wondering where you had gone so long.

Especially Namjoon. Seokjin and Taehyung may have been much simpler in the brain, but the leader of the trio bore his suspicions of your whereabouts. He always knew you were never enthusiastic of your occupation as a Lumberjackal, so your sudden interest to roam the woodlands for hours into the night certainly had his ears perking. Of course, you always made sure to know that you were going without being followed, but in the end, the three brothers were quite unpredictable.

You just hoped that whatever the prince had to show you, it would be seen quick enough to leave.

The density of the forest began to increase, and you soon began to doubt whether you had been to this part of the Kingdom before. It was then Beomgyu’s hands flowed with magic, and completely changed the scenery. The ancient trees, trunks as wide and thick as horses began to move apart to make way for him and you, the squirrel holding onto his shoulder tightly as it too squeaked in surprise. Your own eyes widened as each element of nature bent to his will, creating an easier path for his boots to step onto.

It was clearly a sight for admiration. These few weeks you had begun to realise the power of the earth, and how rich and true its roots lay. You felt the faint hum of their essences as you rushed past them, hand still clasped with his, and you dipped your head in thanks to the trees, hoping that one day you would hear them sing welcomes to you.

Slowing down, the group was barred by the curtain of thick vines, hiding you from the world behind. “I have never seen this before,” you wondered out loud, but when Beomgyu let go of your hand, and stepped forward, hands stretched out, your curiosity reigned further.

Jisung quickly scurried from his shoulder, ending up on the muddied path as he watched with black eyes of the phenomenon about to occur. You made to make fun of the squirrel when the prince let out an aggravated moan, hurling your head to his direction.

His heavenly voice chanted in a millennia old language, huge power emitting from his finger tips and swirling to the tumbling vines of the entrance. You could see the sweat beading down his forehead at the sheer effort it took, but he stayed rooted, sending surges of green matter to the cold nature.

Slowly, the curtain began to withdraw. Blinding light cut through, and when the boy let out a roar, pushing the whole family of vines apart you hid your head from the white bursting through.

There was a deathly silence for a singular moment.

You heard his ragged breathing, lasting for ten seconds before it turned into relieved, panted chuckling.

Bringing your hand away from your face, you looked to see beyond the curtain.

Your very breath was snatched from your lungs.

Before you was the most enchanting deity of nature you had ever seen in your existence — it was a glowing white tree, trunk as wide as the two of you twice over, etched with milky-coloured wrinkles that contained sparkles of ancient magic. The leaves, much like finely cut diamonds, protruded from every branch which stretched towards every corner the eye could see. The diamonds were infinite, shining from the gentle light of the moon.

Even though you had never seen it before, you knew exactly what it was.

“The Tree of Life.”

Your gaze dared to break away to see the prince for a second, whose own breathing seemed to have halted. Sensing your stare, he looked back at you, his face half glowing from the deity’s light.

“I...I thought it did not—” you tried to say, but of course you could not when it was right there before you, as if it had been waiting to be found all its life.

“Exist?” He took a step forward. “Every myth is borne from truth after all.”

Indeed it was — you had learned of the Tree of Life when you were a mere girl, listening to fairy tales before being told to sleep. This Tree could not be seen by the common man, and legend foretold that there lived an otherworldly creature inside its trunk. Evidently, no one could prove this theory, but its mystery had what inspired so many people, metal and earthbenders alike, to find it, for opposing reasons.

You knew why Namjoon wanted to find it — for the amount of gold a singular leaf could bring him. Now, having accused him of believing in fantasies, you almost felt ashamed for having ridiculed his searches.

“Come.”

You perked up at the Prince’s voice.

“You must get a closer look.”

Picking up the pace of your feet, you fell into step beside him as the two of you started towards the legend come to life. The closer you approached the more enchanting it looked — the leaves glistened further, as if greeting you with their shine.

Jisung scurried between you both, his little head never straying from the Tree. It let out an awed squeak, and Beomgyu hummed in agreement.

“Have you ever seen anything like it?”

You shook your head, transfixed. “Never,” you responded, feeling the very earth shift beneath your feet.

If nothing else convinced you of the power of nature, then the existence of this deity certainly did.

You stepped past the boy, the grass hushed beneath your feet as you stretched out your hand. When your fingers touched the milky bark your breath shuddered out of you. It was simply unreal. The touch was surprisingly soft, so unlike the normal trees, and with each crack of the bark there was ancient writing inscripted within. With further shock you felt a very distant heartbeat as the fingers ran along the words, faint yet powerful.

By the gods.

“Where have you been hiding all this time?” you whispered to the Tree, tracing the aged trunk. “Your Highness, is everything about the legend true?”

There was no response — you figured he was still star-struck, and you continued to admire the most beautiful force you had ever seen.

It was not until you heard Jisung’s shrill squeak that you turned around.

You felt your soul leave your body.

Because there he was, the one man you dreaded to see. The one man who held Beomgyu’s unconscious body in his hands as he dropped him upon the grass. You noticed the little dart on the side of his neck, and all the blood in your body was drained.

Kim Namjoon.

His answering smirk was more a flash of teeth. “Do you believe me now, ____?”

You backed up against the Tree, eyes darting to the prince. “What did you do to him?” you asked instead, voice void of any emotion.

“That does not matter,” he dismissed. “But of course, it would matter to you now that you’ve attached yourself to him.”

He took a step forward, his ebony machete glinting in the light of the phenomenon behind you. “Stand aside, girl. It is time to make our fortunes.”

On instinct, you stretched a hand out. “I cannot.”

The man was taken aback by your hesitance. “Whatever the gods do you mean?”

Gulping, you tried to steel your will, inhaling slowly. “I cannot let you do it, Namjoon.” Your eyes glanced at the still prince before glaring at the perpetrator. “You won’t get a single branch of the Tree.”

A harsh laugh escaped him, taking a step forward. “Oh, and you’re going to stop me?”

You brought out your own sword — the one which you promised to use on Beomgyu — and raised it toward him. “Do not come any further,” you warned.

It seemed the man was not not going to compromise.

Not when he swung his machete, well on his way to hack you to pieces.

You quickly brought your weapon upon you to deflect his aim, sending him forward, and away from the Tree.

He can try and hurt the Tree of Life.

Easily gaining step, Namjoon mustered his power, ebony sharpening from his fingers as he clashed against you, lightening-fast strikes of his machete having you strained. You never doubted the bastard’s swordsmanship — he was skilled enough to be a general in the King’s royal army.

A shame he chose his fighting for a darker purpose.

You tried to slice the free space of his abdomen, but the man was sharp, quickly dodging as he swerved to the side, another clash of weapons ringing around the forest.

“You cannot beat me, ____!” He roared, one hit after the other, sending you further back.

Taking every hit, you stumbled, gaining your step yet staggering once again with his sword. After all, you could not outsmart the master; he was the man who taught you to fight.

Even so, you refused to give up. “I can die trying!” You seethed as he brought his strength down. His weapon, screeching against your own, slowly descended, closer and closer to your neck.

A harsh groan escaping, you mustered all your strength into sending his machete aside, barely a spare second in your name before you whirled to your left, missing the power blow.

“All this for a bloody tree!” He screeched, thundering towards you. “We would have been rich, you fool!”

Another mighty hit, and you were sent back, averting his strikes with your sword. Because you were so exhausted, your magic would not burst from your hands, adding more power to your weapon. It was your melee strength, nearly all gone, and your nimble feet.

“What is all this for?!” He demanded, slicing at your cloak, cutting through the fabric of your trousers. The clash of weapons continued, faster and faster. “What is worth more than all the riches of the Kingdom?!”

Amidst the brawl, your eyes slipped to the figure before you. Distant, yet instantly recognisable with his eyes closed, and mouth parted, flower crown scattered around his head. Jisung, too, laid injured beside him, watching your fight with fear in his little eyes.

What is all this for?

You only had one person in mind.

But that was not enough.

No, not when that sliver of a second gave Namjoon enough time to strike you, sending his machete straight into your stomach.

A shuddered gasp escaped you as the machete entered through — a burst of pain shot through your entire body, echoing the fatality of your situation. Tears stung your eyes as you dropped your sword, looking at your opponent in the eyes.

The Leader of the Lumberjackals showed no mercy as he yanked out his weapon.

A moan rushed past your lips as you fell to your knees, gripping your blood-gushing stomach. Namjoon gazed down at you with no remorse at all. “Perhaps he was not enough,” he said, cold as metal.

He stepped past you, focusing on the glistening Tree of Life, its white treasures still exalted in the moonlight. Your body, completely spent, could not hold you upright, falling straight into the grass. Straining, you cried out as you stretched your hand out in vain efforts to stop him, but it was simply no use.

You had been defeated.

And now, after witnessing the most perfect element of nature you had ever seen, you were to watch it be decimated.

This is how it ended. You, fumbling for your last breath, your prince nearby and probably dead.

Namjoon raked his eyes over the Tree, grinning wildly. “Oh, you are going to make me the richest man in the Kingdom,” he declared, raising his machete till it hovered just before the bottom of the trunk.

He elevated his voice so you could hear. “Enjoy watching me destroy what you sacrificed yourself for!”

Closing your eyes, you were about to let oblivion take over.

You awaited the sound of his weapon against the bark.

What you heard was something completely different.

An explosion filled your ears as white light, even more blinding than the one before, had you squeezing your eyes further shut. You made out the screams of your once leader as it was drowned out by the eruption, and you tried to see what had so suddenly occurred, only to be greeted with more brazen lights.

What...what was going on?

When the deafening noise quietened, you picked up on the soft crunch of grass, edging closer and closer to you. A compelling force was felt against your dying soul, and you wondered if the Reaper had finally come to take you.

When you felt air-light hands on your abdomen, you did not expect death to be so warm.

Slowly, dragging open your eyes, you prepared yourself to be taken to the afterlife.

What you saw instead was something else entirely.

Something which made even the Tree of Life as a mediocre enchantment.

Looking over you was not human — not with the glowing, shimmering skin, sparkles and shine radiating off its golden, liquid body. Her eyes were white with the same light you had seen twice this evening, fluid locks of hair flowing all around her. Her lips offered a radiant smile, already bringing some life back into you, and her whole body, although similar to yours, was free of attire, exuding the light of a star.

Perhaps you truly were dead.

The being, however, proved you wrong with her words.

“Brave human,” she began, and her velvet voice had you clutching your stomach. “I saw what you did to defend me.”

You tried to open your mouth to tell her that you defended the Tree, but then your eyes dilated at the revelation.

The legend foretold that there lived an otherworldly creature inside its trunk.

But this...this god-like creature was not just a mere girl.

“You sacrificed yourself for my Tree,” she stated, voice echoing across the woodlands. “For my forest, my every creation, despite being an enemy of mine in the past.

“You deserve a token of my gratitude.”

Her voice nearly put you to sleep with the way it lulled in the midnight air. You wondered in your tired mind what she could offer you now that you were breathing your last breath.

Then, you felt her hands upon your stomach.

A loud groan escaped your lips as the torn flesh began to stitch on its own accord, courtesy of the magic which poured from the sublime being. Your whole body worked to heal you, reversing the damage done by your once leader, whose whereabouts you had no inkling of.

The pain, which once tore at every nerve within you, began to fade away, and you opened your eyes further after gaining the strength, fully taking in the earthly spirit which had restored you.

You parted your mouth, voice parched as you rasped out, “I...Beomgyu…”

A heavenly smile curled at her lips. “The prince is fine, soldier. It would take more than a dart to eliminate the heir of the Earth.”

A relieved breath left your lips. You then looked to the being, putting your hands above hers. “I am not who I was,” you whispered.

Mother Nature smiled down at you, and you knew then and there that perhaps the world is not so cruel after all.

“I know, brave human.”

The luminous creature ascended to her feet, letting go of your hands. She dipped her head in acknowledgment, and turned on her heel. Struggling to your side, you watched as the otherworldly figure stepped up to the Tree of Life, looking at you one last time.

Raising a hand to her chin, she blew some magic towards your way, bathing you in sparkles. With a final beam, she slipped into the tree, enlivening the whole structure till it stood straight once again.

You truly could not believe what you saw.

Feeling the glimmer dancing on your skin, however, you knew this was not a figment of your imagination.

Mother Nature saved you from death.

Truly, utterly, ethereal.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard soft coughing nearby, and you heaved upward at the sound, your strength all present.

Beomgyu.

Upon your feet, you rushed to where he lay, stumbling from the hurrying as you fell to your knees, hands clinging onto his face. Jisung, his injuries healed from the celestial visit, scurried upon his owner’s chest, waiting for him to awaken.

“Beomgyu?” You murmured out, fingers stroking the soft planes of his cheeks. “Beomgyu, damn you, open your eyes!”

Tilting his face till it faced you, you watched as the prince’s eyes fluttered open, tired and wide and absolutely beautiful.

A trembling breath gasped out of you. “What…” he grated out, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. “What just...happened?”

You willed the tears in as you caressed his face. “The legend was true.”

His confused gaze had you continuing. “Beomgyu, I saw the celestial creature when I was dying, and she saved me. It was true, Beomgyu, she healed me with her hands and—”

Your rambling ceased when the boy brought his fingers to your face. Warmth flooded your cheeks, and not because of how hot his hands were.

His smile could have easily beaten Mother Nature’s.

“You called me Beomgyu.”

He did not let you respond as he brought your face down to his, tilting it slightly as he pressed his lips against yours, enveloping you in a sweet kiss.

His mouth was warm, just like him, soft and plush, rendering you helpless over him. Your shock was quite prevalent, but you let the affection take over as you kissed him back, hands carding in his curls. He moved against your lips as his fingers stroked down to your jaw, savouring every feathered touch.

When he broke away, his breathing was ragged, cheeks flushed. He saw your own dishevelled gaze and chuckled to himself.

“I think this might be the best birthday present I have ever received.”

The Prince of Regna Terrae laughed some more when you refused to meet his eyes.

You were about to counter him when you heard another, completely new voice.

“You both could have done that without me being here.”

Your stare dove to his chest, to the direction of the sound.

Jisung the squirrel glared at you with the entire irritation of the Kingdom. “Oh what? So now you can hear me?!”

A yelp resounded from you. “How are you talking?!” You screeched. “You’re a bloody animal!”

“Oh, thank you so very much for stating the blatantly obvious!” He drawled, and you could not comprehend the sarcasm that just came from a bloody woodland creature.

You peered at Beomgyu, who was just as surprised as you were, despite his entertained features. “____,” he started, sitting up straighter. “Does this mean—”

Getting to your feet, you looked around the forest, the Tree of Life standing proudly.

It was then you sensed the heartbeat.

Not just your own, or the poppies — but of the entirety of the Kingdom.

Faraway, yet still present, it thumped against your chest like an echo of your own heart, a harmonisation of all the trees, bushes, flowers and animals. It was almost enchanting how it slowly thudded within you, and with such welcome.

Like greeting a friend you had not seen for a long time.

When you caught the Prince’s gaze, his entire face lit up.

Before you could say anymore, you were swept into the boy’s arms, engulfing you with a hug of eternal warmth. His voice rang along your soul as he declared to the whole word.

“Nature has accepted you, ____!”

You heard the clicked tongue of Jisung beneath you, and Beomgyu brought you at arm’s length before sticking out his tongue at his pet.

He looked to you once more, and saw the very emotions you dared not let yourself believe in.

“I knew you were capable of change, sweet jackal.”

The tears, this time, refused to be held back any longer.

The boy melted as he swept away each tumbling drop with his fingers, clutching your face.

As you leaned in this time, kissing him breathlessly, you tasted the smile which flourished upon his lips, drinking in your every essence.

You wondered, thinking away as your heart beat faster, whether this was still a dream, a vision which would end the moment you woke up, back in the cold village you once called your home.

When you felt the presence of the celestial being again, looking down from the branches of the Tree of Life, you knew that this was no delusion.

Pulling away, you turned Beomgyu to the glistening, living structure, both of you catching sight of her.

Mother Nature smiled at her heirs.

The both of you knew it in your hearts, simultaneously beating.

The heirs of Regna Terrae would not let her down.

#txt imagines #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu fluff #txt fluff #choi beomgyu imagines #choi beomgyu fluff #choi beomgyu #beomgyu oneshots #txt oneshots #choi beomgyu oneshots #beomgyu soft #choi beomgyu soft #beomgyu scenarios #choi beomgyu x reader #choi beomgyu x you #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x you

665 notes · View notes

spencersawkward · 4 years ago

Note

I love your ff first of all, I'm obsessed and second of all I would ask you a suggestion, idk if maybe is that too much and you're totally free to not do that but you ever thought to do something in the line of the knive kink? I think it will be awesome

i'm so sorry this took so long! big thanks to my guardian angel @voidsfilm for giving me inspiration bc i literally struggled with this one more than i should have. never written a knife kink but i’m glad i tried lol.

summary: reader finds an antique knife that Matthew's kept in a drawer.

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, fingering, oral (male receiving), knife play (no blood drawn), Soft!Dom MGG, degradation and praise.

word count: 3.6k

masterlist

if there is one thing I absolutely despise, it's working out. getting sweaty, running until my legs hurt and my lungs are burning for air... not really my thing.

but when Matthew brought up the idea a couple months into our relationship, I couldn't say no to him: he had a goofy smile on his face and the kind of look in his eyes that made me relent and ask what kind of stuff he wanted to do.

I think that I've found the one thing that Matthew can't make fun.

"I'm gonna pass out." I bend over and set my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. Matthew slows to a stop a few feet ahead, turning around and making a strained expression.

"oh, come on." but his voice is pretty breathless, too. he gently guides me off the path so that we don't get in the way of the other people out enjoying the day. a couple walks by us with their dog, strolling calmly, and I feel a rush of envy. if our workout routine had consisted of a few pleasant ambles around the city, I would have been totally willing.

"Matthew, I wanna go home." I whine impatiently. the only nice thing about this is that he's got one of those stupid sweatbands on his head to keep his hair out of his face, and it makes him look like a 1980's housewife.

"we can go home in fifteen minutes." he smiles, puts his hands on his hips, stretching in an exaggerated way.

"do you promise?" I brush a piece of hair out of my face.

"promise," he's lucky he looks so cute in his workout outfit. "we can even get one of those fancy juices for you on the way back."

"seriously?" I light up. this might actually be worth it; they have this amazing mango and lime combination that I can't ever manage to recreate with our own blender.

"if you beat me to the rock, then sure." he references the enormous boulder in Central Park that we both gawked at on our first date-- ever since then, it's been the end point for our runs. my lips curl into a grin.

"you're on." I take off, making sure to push him out of the way in order to gain a head start. he lets out something of a protestation but is quick to follow. I can feel his feet pounding behind me, trying to catch up.

I may not be good at running long distances, but I'm sure as hell faster than he is.

...

it's quiet when I step out of the bedroom, drying my hair with the towel and wandering into the living room. Matthew is sitting at the table with his sketchbook, drawing god knows what while he waits for me to finish up.

"what are you up to?" I ask softly as I plop down across from him. my head is slightly tilted while the towel rubs my scalp.

"I'm not really sure." he shrugs, frowning and holding up the notebook from a distance as if that'll help him figure out what to do.

"can I see when you're done?"

"of course," he sets it on the table again, then runs a fingertip across his chin. "actually, can you do me a favor?"

"sure."

"I have a set of colored pencils in the desk over there," he points to an old piece of furniture under the window. "would you mind getting them for me?"

"yep," I reply, getting up and leaving the towel on the table. "least I can do after kicking your ass."

on the walk past him, Matthew grabs my waist and pulls me into him, attacks me with tickles. I squeal and hit his shoulder.

"stop!" I laugh.

"you barely beat me!" he gives a dazzling smile and finally lets me go. I lightly smack him upside the head and head over to the desk, rifling through the drawers for the colored pencils he wanted.

as I push around various art supplies, glue sticks and random paintbrushes that look to be on the brink of falling apart, my fingers pass something cool and metallic. I grab the thing and pull it out.

it's a knife; like, a fancy one with an intricately decorated handle and what seems to be a pretty dulled edge. before he can notice what I've found, I start to move the thing between my hands curiously. there's a nice weight to it, but it's definitely old.

"hey, Matthew?" I ask warily.

"yeah?" so unassuming and sweet.

"why do you have a knife?"

there's a scratching as he gets up from the table to walk over to me. I lean against the desk. Matthew doesn't seem too bothered by what I'm saying at all, only gently taking the weapon out of my hands and examining it himself.

"oh, yeah!" he lets out something like a laugh. I raise an eyebrow and wait for him to continue. "do you remember when we went antiquing in Cape Cod, like, a month ago?"

"yeah." I nod at the memory. he'd been lucky enough to get some vacation days and we'd spent them sitting by the water with glasses of wine and nothing but time to talk. it really was a great trip, now that I think about it.

"I found it there." he still hasn't looked up and I realize that there's something he's not telling me. I don't know what I'm missing, but I start to get nervous.

"...why?"

"I was gonna ask then, but I guess I just forgot." his tongue darts out across his bottom lip as he lifts his face to meet my gaze. my heart thuds when he opens his mouth again. "I kinda wanted to try something."

"like?"

"I've been thinking about maybe using knives... in a sexual way."

"what?" I frown, confused by his wording. Matthew seems to realize that he's phrased it awkwardly and shifts his stance. he keeps glancing between the object and my face like he's worried about scaring me away.

"I don't mean I'm gonna stab you or anything," he laughs. "I just mean I think it sounds fun."

my hand finds his, brushing my palm over the steel to touch it myself again. there's a curiosity that burns through me now, something I'm a little unsure about but not enough so to deny the possibility of trying it.

"what do you wanna do with it?" I peek up at him. he bites his lip. we're speaking in gentle tones and I notice that our bodies have gotten closer within the last few moments. a warmth, a tension.

"like, pressing the blade flat against your skin while I fuck you." he takes the thing and demonstrates. the cool silver rests on my neck, too dull to really threaten a serious cut if he were to move too quickly. a shiver runs down my spine at the sensation of the metal.

I gulp, feel the curve of my throat push against it when I swallow. it's nice.

"oh." is all I say. Matthew is watching me intently, but he doesn't make any motion away from it. like he's entranced by the sight of me with a knife to my throat.

"are you interested?" he asks.

I mull it over. on the one hand, weapon play is something I've never considered in my sex life before. Matthew and I aren't vanilla, but this hasn't crossed my mind. that said, now that I can really feel it, there is a desire forming in my stomach. it would be a strange, new sensation.

"yes." the confirmation makes him smile a little. he lowers the thing and instead wraps me in his arms, kisses me passionately until our tongues are dancing over each other. I love how he holds me, our torsos against each other while my body leans slightly back to accept the weight of his touch.

he goes to my head like alcohol. and it's even more surreal when I feel the blade move under the hem of my shirt to rest against my back. I smile into his mouth. he doesn't do anything with it, just leaves it to remind me.

he starts to rut his hips against my lower stomach, getting aroused at the proximity of our bodies and the heated nature of our kiss. there's an urgency to all of it, like he's holding back. I don't want him to hold back; I want him to give me everything he has, everything beneath the surface.

my fingers twine in his hair and tug on the ends, causing him to groan into our embrace. there's no way we're going to make it all the way to the bedroom with the way he's grabbing at my body, so I stumble backwards towards the couch until the backs of my thighs hit the arm of it.

"you're horny." I giggle slightly when he pushes the hem of my shirt up my body, his nails dragging over my ribcage and trailing the object along with it. I feel the excitement growing.

"I'm just glad you're willing to try this." he murmurs the words, holds our foreheads together before his lips eagerly seek mine out, again. somehow, even with a weapon leveled against me, I can sense the love in every single action. I wouldn't have said yes if I didn't trust him to treat me with the utmost care.

I work at the buttons of his shirt, pushing it over his lovely shoulders and arms as he unclasps my bra. we're fervent, greedy in our movements, trying to kiss despite the attention needed to remove our clothes. mostly we just tangle up in each other until there's nothing left but my shorts for him to shove down my legs. he keeps his pants on.

"c'mon, beautiful." he mutters, pushing my legs open so that I'm sitting on the arm of the couch. he tilts my head and leans closer to suck on my bottom lip, and then starts to massage my tits. I can feel the handle of the weapon against my nipple.

when he reaches to slide his finger between my folds, I hiss out a breath at the cold sensation of his skin.

"is this because of me or the knife, baby?" he asks, corners of his mouth twitching up while I moan into his mouth. he starts to rub my clit with the collected wetness, teasing me too much. I want to fall back, but I can't. I won't let myself.

"both." I find myself turned on by the way the blade sits against my ribs again. the edge is just sharp enough to elicit a reaction from my body.

"feel that?" he angles the thing the slightest bit. I exhale and nod.

that isn't the response he's looking for, however, because he moves it so that it's under my chin. goosebumps on my skin while I pant uselessly against the weapon. I can feel it press harder with every breath out of my lungs, and I love it. I love the risk it brings out of me.

while Matthew dips his index inside my pussy, I writhe against it and tilt my head even more so he has better access.

"look at you," he lets out a dark chuckle, thrusts into me to the last digit. "you want more of this, don't you?"

"yes, sir." I breathe. my neck is actively moving against the metal. I glance down at his body and see his erection straining against his pants, craving release but finding none as he plunges his fingers in and out of me. I can hardly breathe from sheer focus on the sensations he's giving me right now.

"what are you looking at, sweetheart?" he quickens the pace of his movements and uses the object to make me focus on his face.

"you're hard." the words nearly die on my lips. he stares darkly at me, lifting his brows just enough to make me question whether I should have spoken at all. I bite my lip in anticipation.

"and what are you gonna do about it?" his voice is raspy as he stands back, removes his fingers from my pussy, and lets me drop to my knees. I'm weak both from the stimulation and from the loss of it, but I make quick work of undoing his belt, pulling the pants down his legs until I'm face-to-face with his cock. it sits against his stomach, throbbing impatiently while he watches. he uses the metallic point under my jaw to angle my face up to his.

"are you gonna suck me off, baby?" he smirks. I nod rigorously with wide eyes and an open mouth, dragging my tongue along the underside. Matthew's nose scrunches up for a moment at the shock of contact when I tease the head. all his concentration is on watching me wrap my hand around the shaft and pumping him gently. "spit on it."

I obey and spit right onto the tip before rubbing my thumb over the top to gather the precum. as I start to swirl my tongue and move my lips onto him, he throws his head back, lets out a wanton noise. it urges me on. I take every moment with a deliberate attention to the veins and sensitive spot he has.

"that's it, that's it." he rasps while knotting his hand in my hair. the other keeps the knife pressed to my throat. he lets me move on my own for a bit, gauging my desires from the way my eyes attempt to memorize the sight of his face above me, that jaw dropped in licentious craving. I can tell that he wants to fuck my face, but I go slow just to draw it out a little. it makes the soreness of my jaw worth it when he gets all impatient and flustered.

I hollow my cheeks and bob on his dick, bat my lashes, pull myself off him for a second just to kiss the tip.

"can I use your mouth?" he asks through a restrained groan. I open it and nod, sighing at the feeling of his fingers twining through my hair again before he pushes back into the opening. now that he's got full control, he starts to develop his own movements, sometimes meeting his thrusts by pressing my face against him.

he gets deep in it, never losing his grip on the knife, until my nose is pressed to his stomach. my throat closes instinctively around him even more tightly, and he lets out a guttural moan.

"such a cute mouth when I'm using it." he thrusts until I gag and then he's smiling. "get up."

he removes himself so fast, my eyes water at the sudden lack of blockage in my throat. I gulp air while he hooks his hands under my arms and hoists me up. I'm about to turn around so I can lift my leg and give him better access, but he sits me on the arm of the couch and parts my thighs.

"I wanna see your pretty face." he leans down and pecks my cheek. I smile at the surprising tenderness-- although it doesn't last long. steel sits against the space between my neck and collarbone. it's only a moment before he positions himself between my legs and slides his cock into me.

my back arches and I look him in the eyes, gasping.

"fuck, baby." he drags out the first word as he inches inside. I mewl helplessly at the way he stretches me out, my pussy clenching every few seconds. he keeps one hand on my lower back to support me and bring me closer to his pelvis, and then we're staring into each other's eyes as he finally settles in it.

his hips start to thrust into me, hopeful for any kind of contact while I accustom myself to the shape of him. it happens every time, despite the amount of times we've done this. and I'm bad at patience, but he's worse. his body stutters against mine.

"is it good enough, sir?" I ask quietly. he tightens his grip on my back and on the blade, the edge threatening my skin the perfect amount. I suck in a breath at the way it stings a little.

"you're doing perfectly." he recognizes what I want to hear as he finds my sweet spot and begins to hit it repeatedly, smoothly works my body. I swear there are planets in my eyes when I stare at the expressions on his face, both of us so wrapped up in each other that every other thought becomes obsolete.

he moves the knife to under my chin to rest on my throat.

"feel that?"

I nod so the edge bites more. he smirks.

"just to show you who you belong to."

my hips push up to meet his thrusts, needing more stimulation, more friction. what I want is for him to be relentless, to slam into my body with the kind of hunger I know he has. there are sounds, movements, that he's made before that make me want him to use them. but he's withholding, probably hesitant about the dangerous object on my pulse point.

"I belong to you, sir." I egg him on. he likes the sound of that, grunting and starting to pound into me.

"yeah? you're my dirty little whore." he speaks through gritted teeth. I shiver.

"mhmm."

"I use you how I want, when I want." his fingertips dig into my skin and he yanks me closer so that he can hit a new angle. I let out a surprised noise when he brushes my g-spot. it's otherworldly and I expose more of my neck to him.

"my little slut likes pain, huh?" he nudges the weapon harder into my skin. it doesn't draw blood, but I can sense the mark it'll leave. I love it.

"yes, sir." we're both getting needy, but we can't hold each other the way that we want to in our given positions. my palms are occupied on the arm of the couch to hold myself up and one of his hands is too busy holding the object for us to fuck as deeply as we need.

"are you gonna take it like a good girl when I cum in it?" he mutters. he runs his tongue over my jawline and the weapon nicks my skin. I moan at the mingling of sensations that's building all across my body.

"yes, sir." I plead. it's nearly unbearable, how much I want him. we're chasing our orgasms and I know what will finish me off. he knows, too.

Matthew drops the knife. it clatters to the ground, but there's no time for me to register it with the way he grabs my hips and lifts me into the air, my legs wrapping around his waist while he keeps fucking into me. he maneuvers us with shocking ease, laying me on the couch and positioning himself at the right moment so that I can drag my nails over his back and keep my thighs locked around him.

"mmm... baby, I'm gonna cum." he drives into me recklessly, both of us finally able to cling to each other. the angle is just enough to stimulate my clit and I nod, using the leverage of my legs to pull myself to him and roll my hips for friction.

Matthew slams my body into the couch, grunting in my ear as he finds his climax inside me. it's so deep, I have to work to keep the yell inside, but he's not done. he rides it out and plows into me while I reach the edge.

"tell me how it feels." he orders in my ear. I sigh.

"so-- so good, sir." my voice is thin. "I'm close."

"show me." he leaves bruises on my hips with his hands. I feel the knot finally snap, every muscle in my stomach spasming chaotically. I finish with a loud moan, begging him to drag it out further. my vision nearly goes black at the tide that threatens to overtake my body.

"Matthew--" I gasp. he moans quietly at the way I say his name, still rocking his body into mine while I come down from the shocks of orgasm. it's nearly overwhelming, the pleasure running through my body.

slowly, we come to a stillness and he drops his head into my shoulder, panting. he doesn't let go at first, but then he withdraws from my pussy and lets me take a rest. I lay there on the couch while he kneels between my legs, pressing gentle kisses to my neck.

"I love you." he repeats it over and over.

"I love you, too," I hope he can feel the meaning, despite the sheer exhaustion in my tone. he runs his fingertips across the red marks where the thing went a little too deeply, but I'm not worried about it. "we should try that again, sometime."

"you liked it?" he smiles brightly. I love the lines by his eyes.

"definitely."

he lets out a cheerful noise and buries his face back into my throat because he knows how much it tickles. I screech and giggle, my legs kicking wildly around me. more contented than ever before.

#mgg #matthew gray gubler #mgg oneshot #mgg smut #mgg x reader #knife kink #knifeplay

291 notes · View notes

slowpoke-fics · 3 years ago

Text

The Run | The Good Doctor pt 3

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Pairing: Negan x Reader slow burn

Summary: You had a bit more responsibility than you'd expected, not to say you didn't know what you were doing

Warnings: none really, cussing, ooc Negan, slow burn, it's cute, I miss some and am not perfect, read at your own risk

A/N: This is part three to the Good Doctor Part 3! Thank you for being patient and I hope to have part four up much quicker. I liked this even though it's just some logistical stuff and insight, here is part two!

Maybe he thinks he can fix me, sucks for him, I'm broken beyond repair.

When you woke up, Negan had his hand on your shoulder, you immediately grabbed the gun under your pillow, holding it under his chin. He immediately grabbed the gun and twisted it out of your hands, your eyes now fully open and awake. You didn't realize he was eye level with you, how hot it was for him to control your gun like that, how hot he was staring into your eyes, waiting for your next move. You were frozen, you're not sure he equated it with anything but sleep, but he was captivating.

He laughed, hands up, "Damn, doll, just trying to fuckin' wake you up without fuckin' scaring you, see that was fuckin' pointless," his eyebrows raised as he shook the gun by the barrel at you, "you want it back or not?" You shook your head in disbelief as you took your gun and put it down, shocked that you held a gun to someone for just trying to wake you up. "I-I'm sorry, I guess it was just-" Negan laughed, "No worries, doll, at least I know you can take care of yourself."

You smiled, throwing the blanket off of you and swinging your legs over the couch, “So,” you stood up and began folding the blanket, “what’s the plan?” He watched you fold the blanket, not trying to hide the fact that his eyes roamed your body. Taking in the battered bluejeans that hugged your body, the scratched and slightly torn tank top, your hair shining against the sun, really popping the color out. “We’re going to drive a little longer than I’d hoped but,” he huffed, “the towns supposed to have some more supplies left than we’d originally thought, we should be back by dark.” You shrugged, “Should be fun, are we ready to leave now?”

Negan leaned against the desk, you took all of him in. He was wearing his classic leather jacket over the tattered t-shirt and blue jeans that laid over his steel toe boots. He watched as you put your hair into a pony tail, shirt playing peekaboo with the skin on your torso, “Right after breakfast doll. You ready?” You nodded at him, heading to the door with him following close behind.

Once you had sat down for breakfast Negan started shoveling food down, a full plate compared to your half rations. You didn’t really have much of an appetite, worried about everything that could happen with Negan today. He didn’t seem to notice, and by the time you’d finished your small plate, he was already done eating too. He grabbed your plate so he could return it with his own. You picked up the bags and followed suit, following him out the door and to his truck.

The truck was huge. Had to have been able to fit half of Alexanndria's storage. You’d wondered how much he was planning to come back with. It started to make a little more sense when a small portion of his crew jumped into the back, probably for protection. You climbed into the truck after Negan opened the door for you, closing it once he’d known your feet were out of the way. Then proceeding to climb in his own side.

Negan started the truck, taking you in before he started rolling. Your legs crossed, fingers interlocked at the top of your thighs, thumbs picking at each other, ankle continuously moving. You watched the trucks behind you, following close, at least three others. Did all of them have people in the back? How big was this run?

You were clearly nervous and he hated that, he wanted to make you as comfortable as possible. He tried to ignore it, but after fifteen minutes of non stop thought through his head, he had to say something. "God damn doll," Negan bellowed, "you're gonna roll the damn truck if you don't stop shaking so much," Negan lightly rubbed your forearm, a foreign thing to you, "what're ya so fuckin' nervous about anyway princess?"

You shrugged, a look of uneasiness resting on your face at his nickname for you that didn't go unnoticed, "Just don't know how to act with your group, what're your run rules? Where do I not be in the way? Will I distract you and your men? I'm used to going solo, or with one or two people. There's so-" Negan had to stop your monologue, knowing you've asked these questions twenty times since yesterday. "Don't fuckin' worry about it," Negan smiled, "I made sure this was gonna be fun for you." Your eyebrows curled, needing him to explain.

Negan blushed? No way, you thought and left it alone. "What do you mean?" He shrugged, "You'll see, won't you doll?" You huffed, "Well that just makes me more nervous." Negan let out a hearty laugh, "Damn girl, pull at this old assholes strings huh?" He shook his head, "I'm your personal companion today," he giggled at your slap to his arm. "I don't need a baby sitter!" He raised he hands very quickly to show defense, "No! But, wherever you go, I do. Whatever you fuckin' say, that's law. Everyone else goes at your direction too," he paused, looking at you, "but you don't leave my fuckin' sight," his eyes bore into you, demanding confirmation. "Yeah, okay," you smiled lightly.

"So," Negan's fingers drilled the steering wheel as he hummed at you to continue, "what's in this place?" Negan shifted, "It's a little town, the rest is a surprise." He looked genuinely excited, and you wondered how this apocalypse had changed him as a man. He couldn't have always been this heartless. "Do I get any hints?" Negan hummed again, this time searching for something to give you, "You'll fuckin' like it." You shrugged, "Maybe." He glanced to your bag where you keep your notebook, a gentle reminder of his broken trust. "Oh," you cleared your throat, "hopefully." He beamed at you, "Come on lil' fuckin' firecracker," he pressed the gas a couple more times, gently swerving the car to play with you, "be more fuckin' excited! I'm fuckin' kidding!"

The rest of the way you could believe how different Negan was being. He was intently talking to you about the grid of the town, what his crew already know about, how his crew has already been briefed that you're running it, explained the teams to you and that you're header, leading the team leaders, and he's told you that he's confident you have this ability. You were shocked about him being completely different man that with other people. You were sure that you could be with the man sitting in the truck with you, and you were sure that you couldn't be with the man who murdered someone you considered to be your brother. You were torn between seeing his good and never forgiving him for killing Glenn, how could he do something so vile? You shook your head, drawing attention back to the road and off of your thoughts.

When you arrived, Negan placed his hand on your thigh, just barely touching you. "There is one rule," he smiled, "stay here." Negan was gone for no more than two minutes. He finally came to your door, opening it and revealing his many men standing behind him, "Make sure you're safe." He reached for your hand, dropping you down to the same man who stole from you in your clinic, you glared him hiding behind Negan.

Negan stepped out of the way, the man looking guilty, "Hello, Doctor Y/n," he cleared his throat, "I'm sorry for stealing from an honorable woman." He handed you a gum pack, missing a few pieces, and a small pack of skittles, "I couldn't find gum to replace what I'd stolen, so I hoped that the skittles would excuse my poor manners." You smiled hatefully at him, taking what was in his hand, "Apology accepted..." you waited for him to say his name, but Negan chimed in. "Brady," and he slapped the other man on the shoulder eliciting a smile, "and Simon." You smiled, reaching your hand out to shake Simon's hand, "I've heard." Negan smiled at you, "Good we're all fuckin' aquatinted," he roughly slapped Brady's shoulder, you didn't miss the wince he tried to hide, "these two travel with us period. So, Y/n," a bright smile, "what's the fucking plan?"

With that you noticed the other men had cleared a path for you, letting you view the town. At this point you took in the town, looking at the tiny shops and small streets. Negan wasn't kidding, it's a small town, surely the four trucks you bought could fit everything. You thought for a second, and it hit you, how much work he had put into this. You smiled to yourself, knowing that he wanted to make this go smoothly for you, hence the perfect amount of trucks, a grid, briefed men.

You walked a little behind you, looking at the different streets, looking at Negan, he smiled, giving you some confidence. "You said that you'd already separated these men by trucks? With their usual teams?" You whispered to Negan, "Yes ma'am, they're with their usual team leaders and already armored, just need you to tell them where to go n what to do."

"Okay, so here's my plan-" Negan put his hand up, gesturing to the men when you realized you should be talking to them. You cleared your throat, "Okay, so here's the plan," Negan's body was just barely pressing against you, standing behind you on your left side, his hands in his pockets, watching his men intently listen to you. How hard did he work on this for you?

"If you came in Negan's truck, you're with us on main," you motioned with your hand to have them move to the side, "Truck two-or rather-team two, you're going to our left, Combs Street, when you get to the library, we're looking for education books, if we have time and space after you've gotten everything else essential on the street, comb the library taking the fun books, that's a good part of life now." Negan nodded, liking your plan for education first, noting that the houses on the street might hold value, but acknowledging that we still need distractions like 'fun books' if circumstances allowed.

"Truck three, hit the residential area, on Langley Street," you continued when the men nodded their heads, "Truck four, hit the shops to our right on second street," everyone started moving and you shouted, "wait!" You cleared your throat once again, "Team leaders, I need you and your right hand man, everyone else stay put."

You pulled out the grid as the men surrounded you, "So you've got the left and right sides on your street, split in half, half on Side A, the left, half on side B, the right, this will increase the time we can spend in the houses and avoid stepping on each others feet. Every time you clear a house you call it in, for example, team four A, you would say 'Team Four, A1 clear, moving to A2,' or 'Team Four A Trapped, requesting Four B at A3.' I need you to do this so I can designate resources and men, keep up with the lives and walkers. No need for needless death, check in." Everyone nodded, you smiled, "Anybody have questions, comments or concerns?" The men shook their heads and you turned back towards the crowd, "Alright, everyone knows what you're doing, no-one goes anywhere alone or unarmed. Take everything useful. Do not let your guard down and watch your backs. Dismissed." At that the men dissipated, going on their own assignments.

"Was that okay?" You looked to Negan, the need for approval swimming through your eyes, Negan nodded, "I think it was great, Simon what about you?" Simon chirped up, "Oh yeah, couldn't have done it better myself, I don't make them check in that much but that's okay." You smiled at Simon, wondering how he could not worry about his men that much. You watched as Team One had already started moving toward the first building, them the first check-ins started.

"Team One, heading to A1," a pause, "Team One, heading to B1," another pause, "Team Two, heading to A1." You listened to the team list off their locations, smiling as everyone checked in. "Alright, doll," Negan leaned against the truck, "Where to first?"

#twd negan #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #negan x y/n #negan angst #negan fluff #negan x you #negan imagine #negan fic #negan fanfiction #negan x reader #the walking dead fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #Jdm fanfic

63 notes · View notes

asweetprologue · 3 years ago

Text

me lámh le do lámh - Part VII

First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

The name Triss had given him was a town near Brokilon Forest—perhaps a little too close for comfort, in fact. They arrived early, the sun’s rays just pushing over the rooftops of the sleepy little village. Jaskier was yawning behind him, his steps dragging. His ankle had finally healed up enough that he was able to walk without needing to take breaks on Roach every few hours, and seeing him healthy alleviated a weight that Geralt hadn’t known he’d been carrying.

Once in the village, Geralt headed off immediately to look around for a tailor or dressmaker, letting Jaskier take care of finding them accommodations for later that night and, hopefully, breakfast. It didn’t take long for Geralt to confirm what he’d already expected, looking around the tiny cluster of homes: there was no clothmaker in town. Frustrated, Geralt made his way to the one story inn and tavern that sat at the main crossroad in the center of town. Jaskier was already there, sitting at the bar with several plates of food and conversing with the barkeep. When he stepped into the room Jaskier raised his hand in greeting, as if Geralt wasn’t instantly aware of his presence in any space.

In the time it had taken Geralt to investigate the pitiful number of shops in the village, Jaskier had apparently already made friends with the innkeep, a burly man called Sulej with arms like a blacksmith. “There’s a fellow, elvish, lives out southwest of the village,” he said, leaning heavily on the bar while they ate the food Jaskier had purchased. “Closer to the, ah, forest. He comes around once every few months to trade, and two or three times from summer to winter he passes through on his way to the city to sell his cloth. Beautiful stuff, fine as woven silver. Bought me a piece years ago for a girl I fancied, could only afford a square.”

Geralt hummed to himself. It sounded right; if there was a field of moonflax nearby it was likely guarded well by the free elves left in the area. It would have perhaps been allowed to persist undisturbed so close to the Brokilon. “Anyone from the village ever visit?”

Sulej shook his head. “Not that I know of. We tend to give ‘em a wide berth. Doesn’t talk much when he comes into town, seems a bit of a loner.”

Geralt nodded. “Thanks for the information.”

They left the town with their gear stored in their room at the inn, aside from Geralt’s swords and Jaskier’s lute. The path to the weaver’s hut was well worn, though it grew less so as they walked closer to the forest. Storm clouds were gathering over the horizon to the west, and casting long shadows across the fields as they traveled. It was densely humid, the air heavy with the promise of a spring rain. Jaskier had left his fine doublets behind as he so often did on days like this, and his undershirt was quickly plastered to his back with sweat, exposing the flat planes of his shoulders and back. With his shirt sleeves rolled up and his collar unbuttoned down the center of his chest, Jaskier looked far removed from the whimsical performer or the refined professor. Like this he was exposed, all masks pulled away, just Jaskier wiping sweat from his brow and grinning as he pointed out a feature of the landscape or a butterfly landing on a flower. Only Geralt got to see this.

They made their way southwest, a breeze picking up that smelled like ozone and petrichor. Finally, just as Geralt was beginning to worry there was no way they’d find it before the rain arrived, he spotted it; a little hut, just on the edge of a copse of trees. It was a tiny thing, no more than two rooms at best, with a large fenced in yard with a shed attached. In the yard bundles of what looked like long silver grass—flax, Geralt realized—were spread out, likely to dry in the sun, though there was little enough of that to be found now.

Geralt slowed, but Jaskier seemed to have no hesitation. While Geralt lingered, he jogged up to the small home and knocked loudly on the door, and then stood back with his hands on his hips. Geralt sighed and approached as well. No time to look around for clues to see what kind of person Triss had sent them to then. Jaskier was going to walk them right into a trap someday.

After several moments with no answer, Jaskier knocked again, this time a bit more firmly. Still there was no answer, and he turned a frown towards Geralt. “No one home?”

Geralt paused instead of responding, listening intently. The wind rustled through the trees nearby, birds and creatures rustling in the underbrush. The wind whistled over the roof of the hut, the thatched roof protesting the oncoming storm. Jaskier’s heart beat steadily beside him, slightly elevated from the walk, breath rushing in and out of his lungs. He smelled like salt and grass, and just barely of lavender soap.

Focus.

Beyond the hut and its little yard, someone was humming.

Geralt turned without speaking, moving around the border of the fence and following the faint melody. He could tell when Jaskier heard it by the faint catch in his breath; perhaps he recognized the song. It was sweet, a little sorrowful, and despite the lack of true vocalization the notes rang true.

When they finally came alongside the back of the house, they found the source of the humming to be a man, sitting cross-legged against the wooden boards. At first glance he looked young, but when he looked up to greet them Geralt could see the faint translucency to his skin and the delicate spider web of lines around his eyes. Elves, even with their now diluted blood, aged differently from humans, but they did age. The elf they faced now was very old indeed, if his pale, sightless eyes were anything to go off of. To his side there sat a large wicker basket, filled with what looked like loose clumps of string. In his hands he held another bundle of string, and was threading it swiftly through a wooden brick with nails sticking up from it, leaving tangled clumps behind each time.

The humming faded as they approached, and the motion of the elf’s hands stilled. “I’m not available for trade until midsummer,” he said, and his voice carried none of the cracking that age would have brought to a mortal.

“Hail and well met, my good sir,” Jaskier replied, sweeping into a light bow despite the fact that the elf clearly couldn’t see the motion. “I’m afraid we require your services a bit more immediately, if you are indeed the one we’ve sought.”

A slender brow rose above the unfocused eyes. “What could be so pressing that you would require of a poor old weaver? My services are not unique, young man.”

Jaskier seemed taken aback by the address—after all, the entire reason they were on their quest was because he was indeed well past a young man. Geralt felt a moment of kinship with the elf; mortals sometimes all seemed so young, even when at the height of old age. “I was sent by a sorceress, Triss Merigold. She told me you would be able to help,” he interjected.

The elf paused, an odd, almost wistful look overtaking his face. “Ah. Merigold. And what did she tell you I would be able to help you with?”

Geralt hesitated. This elf, whoever he was, might know the nature of the ritual he was trying to perform. What if he said something? What if he assumed he and Jaskier were… together, and wanted to be married so that Jaskier could remain by Geralt’s side? His chest ached with desire, even as his stomach churned with nerves. If Jaskier knew what the ritual was for, he would never allow it, not after Geralt had spent all this time lying about it. He would be furious, and Geralt might lose him now even before death took him more permanently.

Gods, this was a stupid fucking idea.

Finally he took a deep breath and said, “We are seeking moonflax. Ribbons of it. Triss said that you could make such things.”

At this the old elf smiled, and the lines around his eyes deepened enough to make him truly look his age. “Ah. I am indeed the last of the moonspinners, at least that I am aware of. I can provide you with what you seek, in exchange for something in return.”

Geralt steeled himself, but Jaskier spoke first. “What would you have of us?” he asked, tone wary. Geralt felt a surge of pride; there was a time when Jaskier might have spoken before his better mind caught up with him, and more than once his quick tongue had landed himself and Geralt in trouble. He spoke now with the skill of a negotiator and a scholar, slow to trust an under negotiated deal.

The old elf tilted his head to the side, thoughtfully. “Help me with my work for the day. I am old, and the motions tire me. Do this, and you will have your payment.”

Geralt blinked. “That’s it?”

The elf smiled again, his sightless eyes finding Geralt’s face with unsettling accuracy. “It is not of our people to deny a worthy cause. Many have forgotten, but I have not.”

Jaskier made a questioning noise beside him, but Geralt spoke over him. “Thank you,” he said quickly. “What can we call you?”

“I am Silvandrel. Once I would have been called a guardian, but I’m afraid both I and my charge are too old for all that now. Follow me; I will show you how it’s done.”

Setting aside the flax and comb, Silvandrel stood, picking up a long staff that had been resting against the side of the house. Geralt and Jaskier set their own tools of the trade down alongside the elf’s, Jaskier’s lute case resting beside Geralt’s sheathed swords. Once relieved of their belongings, Silvandrel waved for them to follow after him, and they started off away from the house. Behind the hut, a grassy hill swooped down to meet the small group of trees beyond, an offshoot of the Brokilion that lacked its foreboding energy. Silvandrel walked with confidence despite his blindness, the staff in his hand picking out the way in front of him with the ease of long, long practice. Quickly they were led into the shade of the trees, along a well worn path marked by moss covered stones. After a few feet the trees thinned back and they emerged on the other side of the small wood, stepping into a sea of silver.

Jaskier let out a small gasp of wonder at his side, and Geralt couldn’t help but silently agree with the sentiment. A small field spread out before them, the gentle breeze from the oncoming storm sending ripples along the tops of the stalks. The flax that Geralt had seen in the past had been gold, like the color of ripe wheat, with delicate blue flowers in the early spring. These instead were a pale grey-white all the way down to the roots, and the seed pods at the top were almost blue, a dark, rich silver color. In the dull afternoon, the field seemed to shine almost with its own light.

Silvandrel made an amused sound as he halted beside them. “Best get to work. Pulling the harvest is no easy work, and we’ve much to do before the rain comes.”

He quickly walked them through the process of harvesting the plants, and set them to their task. The elf hadn’t lied; it was difficult work, though Geralt suspected much more so to Jaskier than himself. The plants had to be torn up from the root, to gather as much usable material as possible, but without tearing into the stalks. Silvandrel was not lax in his own work, and wrapped the bushels that the two men brought over in thick twine to hold them together for drying.

Geralt would have expected Jaskier to complain about the physical labor, but instead the bard was quiet, focused intently on the plot before him. Gardening had never been a favored pastime of his, Geralt knew, though he was competent enough with herbs to help collect those that Geralt needed for his potions. Still, over the next few hours Jaskier seemed to throw himself into the work, carefully pulling stalk after stalk of the flax from the ground and passing it into Silvandrel’s waiting arms. If they’d been sweating before on the walk over, now they were both of them soaked, and first Geralt and then Jaskier quickly abandoned their shirts in favor of letting the breeze touch their skin. It was nothing either of them hadn’t seen before, but there was something mesmerizing about watching the slow flush of exertion work its way down Jaskier’s chest, watching the strength of his back and shoulders as he worked the roots free of a particularly stubborn plant. Geralt found himself moving slower than he might, distracted by the flash of golden skin amongst the pale leaves. At one point, Geralt caught Jaskier’s eye, and he could have sworn he watched the bard’s gaze drift down over his own bare chest before falling back to his work.

Probably just his imagination.

The field was still relatively small, and it took them only a few hours to clear out the patch that Silvandrel pointed them towards. The rest of the group he judged to be not yet ready for harvest, and he had only so much room for drying. They followed him back to the hut, wiping their faces with their shirts and loading up with the bundles of freshly pulled stalks. Silvandrel ordered them to place the bundles against the back of the house, and then they spent the next half an hour bringing that which had been laid out in the yard inside the little shed, where it would be safe from the rain.

They were standing in the yard when the storm finally broke. Geralt heard Jaskier release a little gasp at the first drops hit, and then the skies opened and the rain was falling in sheets around them. Geralt was standing by the little shed, partially shielded from the rain, and he turned to say something—to suggest that they make their way inside, maybe, but the words were lost when his eyes fell on Jaskier, standing in the middle of the little yard.

His face was turned up towards the sky, rain plastering his hair to his forehead. Heavy drops of water followed the long line of his neck, tiny rivers forming in the hills and valleys of his body. But it was his face that Geralt found himself entranced by, facing the heavens without a care, eyes closed in bliss. His mouth was spread in a smile, and after a moment his eyes opened and he turned to look at Geralt, and if anything his grin widened. Geralt felt his breath catch in his throat as their eyes met, suddenly overwhelmed by the look of joy and affection being directed his way. He found himself smiling back, and without thinking he took a step forward, instantly feeling the rain drenching his hair.

He couldn’t have said exactly what he was planning to do next, but he was stupidly grateful when Silvandrel’s voice called out across the yard from the little house. He and Jaskier turned towards where he was leaning out from the open back door. “Well, you may as well come inside,” the elf said, gesturing for them to come in. “We won’t be getting any more done out here today.”

Thankful for the cool rain against his overheated skin, Geralt followed Jaskier back towards the little cottage. They pulled their shirts, which they had left under the cover of the hut’s thatched roof, back over their damp skin, and Geralt felt a pang of loss as Jaskier tucked his back into his pants. Once dressed again, they stepped inside the warm interior of Silvandrel’s hut.

It was a cozy little place. The back room that they entered from the yard was something of a cross between a kitchen and a workshop, it seemed. A small floor loom was set up against one wall, the table beside it ladened with hanks of woven yarn and a simple inkle loom. A small round hearth sat in the center of the room, a simple hook hanging from the ceiling above it. The interior was already hazy with smoke from the little fire, banked though it was, and Jaskier’s hair was already curling as it dried. Through the open doorway on the far side of the room, Geralt could just make out a tiny bedchamber.

Silvandrel brushed his hands against his tunic, nodding to himself. “You may stay here for the evening and share a meal with me, and bed down here for the night if you so choose. The walk back to the village is long, and unpleasant in such conditions. I’m afraid I do not have much to offer you by way of comfort, but it is at least dry.”

“We thank you for your hospitality,” Jaskier said warmly. “And we would gladly share your fire.”

Geralt felt a slight nudge to his ribs as Jaskier elbowed him, and turned to meet his imploring look with a glare. Jaskier only raised an eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed. A drop of water fell from a lock of his dark hair to land on his cheek, and Geralt was too distracted overcoming the urge to wipe it away to come up with a good response. Instead he turned back to Silvandrel and grunted, “Much appreciated.”

Jaskier sighed lightly beside him, but Silvandrel only looked mildly amused. “If you plan to stay, you can help me prepare our supper. Let’s see if you can put your skills with a blade to use against these onions.”

Jaskier laughed merrily at that, and Geralt was effectively bullied into chopping onions and cabbage for the next half an hour. Jaskier was set to making trenchers, and Geralt found himself distracted once again by the smooth movements of his hands and shoulders as he worked on the dough. Get a grip, he thought to himself sternly, focusing back on the knife in his hand as he carefully peeled turnips.

Between the three of them they quickly had a hearty stew boiling away, and the smell of baking bread filled the little cottage. The food, when it was finished, was filling and savory, flavored with herbs from the elf’s little garden. Once they had finished eating, Jaskier pulled his lute from its case and began tuning it. He’d brought it in to protect it from the weather when they’d returned to the hut a few hours earlier, but the humidity often wreaked havoc on the instrument in the spring. Though Geralt had long suspected that the elven craftsmanship made it more resistant to damage than most of its kind, it still required careful maintenance. Where once Geralt had found the noise grating, it now lulled him into a sense of quiet calm.

Silvandrel sat himself on one of the stools that surrounded the worktable and nodded to the hanks of yarn. “You have been patient, and most helpful in fulfilling your side of our bargain. Once we eat, I will fulfill my debt. I will need two hanks of yarn, one selected by each, and a strand of hair from both parties to be bound.”

“I’m sorry, did you say our hair?” Jaskier asked, a sour note ringing out in his distraction.

The edge of Silvandrel’s mouth quirked up slightly at the sound, his pale eyes turning vaguely in Jaskier’s direction. “The moonflax is merely the agent of the joining. You must be present in the weave for the magic to take hold.”

Jaskier looked over at Geralt with a questioning expression. He shrugged.

With a shake of his head, Jaskier set his lute aside and stood up to select a hank of yarn from the table. Geralt leaned over on his own stool and grabbed one as well. They were soft, softer than typical linen, and a brilliant silvery white. They placed the yarn in Silvandrel’s waiting palms, and he set them aside, carefully keeping them in the same relative positions. His hands returned to their waiting position, and Geralt and Jaskier both sheepishly pulled out a hair to offer him, Geralt smirking at Jaskier’s wince of discomfort. One long silver strand fell into the wrinkled hand of the elf, a dark one falling into the other. With a nod, he placed them each on top of their respective yarn.

“It will be finished by nightfall,” he said, and turned to begin setting up the small loom that sat on the table, moved aside earlier to make space for the cooking. Jaskier gave Geralt another look, eyebrows raised, to which he could only shake his head. With one last glance at their host, Jaskier turned back to his lute.

And so the evening hours passed, the elven master working his craft while Jaskier’s soft music filled the hut, the drone of the rain serving as a backdrop. Geralt alternated between watching Silvandrel’s deft fingers moving over the loom, sure even without the use of his sight, and watching Jaskier, as always. His brown hair was gold in the light of the fire, atypically ruffled after their stint in the rain. The hut was warm and comfortable, and Jaskier’s gentle strumming was so familiar and safe that Geralt found himself almost drifting off, slipping easily into meditation. He startled when a hand came to nudge his arm some indeterminable time later, lifting his head to find Jaskier inches away, looking at him fondly.

“He’s done,” Jaskier said by way of explanation, almost a whisper. Geralt blinked and looked over, and was startled to see that while he’d been in meditation, the skeins of yarn had been transformed. Silvandrel stood, three long ribbons draped over his hands.

“You dyed them?” Geralt found himself asking, confused. The yarn that he’d seen the elf bind to the loom had been pale white, but only one of the ribbons remained so. The others were swatches of bright color, one a bright sky blue and the other a rich gold.

Silvandrel shook his head, wrapping the ribbons into a tight roll. “You did, in fact. The colored bands are those touched by your essence. I cannot see them myself, of course, but I could sense the magic take hold. They will serve you well.” He held them out in one hand, gold and white and blue creating a spiralled circle in his palm.

Jaskier reached out and picked them up, something like awe on his face. His other hand came up to gently trace the curl of the ribbons in the roll, following the line of the colors. “What is the white one for?” he asked, not looking up, “if it’s neither of us?”

“To bind you,” Silvandrel replied, “in strands of moonlight, so the stars may hear your oath.”

Jaskier’s head jerked up, his mouth falling open slightly as his brow furrowed. He said nothing, but Geralt could tell that something about what Silvandrel had said had confused him. Maybe it sounded too romantic, Geralt thought with a shock of panic, harsh after the softness of the last few hours. Being bound before the stars wasn’t exactly a platonic sentiment. He rushed to speak before the bard could ask further questions.

“Thank you,” he said, reaching out to take the ribbons from Jaskier in his moment of distraction. He shoved them in his pocket without a second glance. “I appreciate your help in this, though you had no obligation. We won’t ask any more of you.”

Silvandrel only nodded, a slight tilt of the head. “As I said, it is our way. You may feel free to rest here tonight, though I have nothing better to offer you than the floor near my fire. The storm should be cleared by the morning. I will bid you goodnight; the weaving leaves me fatigued, these days.” Within moments he was gone, passing through the doorway into the bedroom beyond, swallowed by the darkness. The fire was the only source of light within the hut, but a lack of light would hardly be a bother to the old man, Geralt thought.

Jaskier set his lute aside and flopped from his stool to the ground by the fire, stretching out nearly at Geralt’s feet. “Well, we’ve slept in worse places, hmm? Though I have to say, I hope this ritual of yours helps with how sore my back gets whenever we sleep on the ground like this.” There was something off about his tone, just this side of over cheerful, and he wasn’t looking at Geralt as he spoke. Anxiety bloomed in Geralt’s stomach like blood spilling on cloth.

“We can stay at the inn tomorrow,” was all he said, standing to make his way to the other side of the fire. There wasn’t enough room for them to sleep beside each other without being in danger of rolling into the hearth. He laid himself down on the cool dirt of the hut’s floor, watching the dim light of the fire play across the thatched roof.

“You are being nicer,” Jaskier said, but he didn’t sound teasing, or suspicious. Geralt didn’t know what that tone meant at all.

“Shut up,” he grunted, turning on his side to face away from the fire and the bard on the other side of it. “Go to sleep; we leave as soon as the rain lets up.”

Jaskier was quiet for long enough that Geralt thought he might have fallen asleep, and then he said, “Goodnight, Geralt.” It was so soft that even with his enhanced hearing, he wasn’t entirely sure Jaskier had said anything at all.

@whereismymonsterlover asked to be tagged in future updates! hope you all enjoyed <3

#geraskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #the witcher #witcher #fic #fanfic #writing #my work #multichapter #me lamh #big bang #geraskierbigbang

59 notes · View notes

the-slasher-files · 3 years ago

Text

MOONLIGHT

INCLUDES ANDREI KULOKOVA

People have been asking for more Andrei stuff and I am happy to write for him. This is basically if you are his ‘plaything’ that has gotten the privilege of having your own bedroom in his house and he is just teasing the shit of you because it’s Andrei... Hope you enjoy 🔪💕

MASTERLIST

"Myyyyshkaaa."

Your eyes snapped open the in the dark night trying to collect your surroundings. His voice is smooth and sharp like the blade you're sure he is holding in the shadows. You don't dare move in your bed, the wolf had a split personality and you never knew which one you would get; Andrei, the man who bared the teeth of dogs or The Wolf, the beast within the man, hungry for your soul.

The slightly ajar door was smoothly opened with a small metal whine from the old homes rusted hinges. Warm yellow light spills into the room from the hallway, a shape of the wolf marked dark and sharp within the soft light behind him, then suddenly your room has gone dark with just the moonlight once again.

It is a deadly silence. The calm before the storm. All you can hear is your heart pounding against your ribcage, surly he could hear it from wherever he stalked within the shadows. You try to control your breathing, the lamb doesn't dare spark the chase within the malignant wolf.

Squeezing your eyes shut you lay trying to listen. You hear the stalking steps of the leather, blood-stained combat boots on the aged and scratched hardwood, scratched from the ones before you. His footsteps match the rhythm your heartbeat like a perfect machine that you second guess yourself even if he is in the room. Maybe he had left you alone for the night, the wolf had a habit of playing games with your body and mind, that was until there was the unmistakable sound of the metal lighter. The fresh smell of the Siberian wind from the agape window was instantly replaced with the toxic addicting sweetness of his cheap Russian cigarettes. Your stomach twisted with the smell yet you caught yourself yearning for it, the wolf had trained you to learn that with the cigarette smell will come his other smells of earl grey, amber, cedarwood and his unique musk.

The man was addicting like his clear poison and tobacco, toxic and sick but sweet and sultry. You had turned into his servant, but most days he never made it feel that way. You had become happy to bring him his tea or be under his rough hands just for the intoxicating euphoria only he could bring you tangled within the bloody sheets.

Slowly opening your eyes, the warm glow of the burning ash behind your back somehow was comforting like a cozy fire on the winter nights until the wolf covered your body in the sinister smoke he blew on your naked shoulders that had slipped from the sheets. A shiver ran down your body just by his breath, you knew what he could do to you, it was just a waiting game, his game.

Not moving, you counted his slow breaths as he took a few drags of the cigarette. Every one he took you wished it would be his last until the wolf would leave or do whatever he wanted with you just to get it over with. Unbeknownst to you, he was also counting your breath and waiting for you to do something, to slip up in his game but you stayed put like a good little lamb.

Quietly the glow faded into the night and it was completely silent once more as the wolf took his time picking you apart, slowly and methodically, messing with your head to second guess yourself if it was a dream or a sick hallucination, but the oh familiar sensation of his icy blue predatory eyes were upon your body, like he was eating your senses alive and taking away any guard you had put up.

You do not know how long he waited but there was finally a gradual dip in the bed behind you, the small creaks of the mattress resisting against his large powerful frame as it settled. The wolf did not touch you as you laid quiet and unmoving, your breath was steady but fast as your skin prickled, aching and waiting for his venomous touch and the teeth behind his lips.

The optimistic part of your brain tried to convince you that all he wanted was just your body close to his but the realistic side screamed and kept you awake, tense and with nerves ready to break as he silently stayed put. A stubborn man he would wait for what he wanted.

The seconds turned to minutes as you heard them tick away from the dusty clock on the wall as it hung against cracked wallpaper. With the lack of movement and the sound of the winter winds your eyelids began to droop, fading back into sleep, maybe it was just a dream that he was behind you, the dark room had held you and pulled you into half consciousness.

Soothingly the wolf placed 2 skilled fingers upon the skin of your arm and it made you jolt awake, any sleep from your eyes was gone by one quick touch that left goosebumps behind his fingers. You were going to move until the hot, damp breath was on your neck making the hairs stand on end.

"Don't move." The wolf simply whispered as his rough lips grazed the tense muscles in your neck.

You didn't dare disobey him, laying still, waiting. There was a sudden glint of shinning steel in the low moonlight and it made you squirm in the sheets trying to stay calm despite the Russian blade that had now disappeared from your sight lingered in the shadows. Screwing your eyes shut again every breath seemed to be in vain, like he was stealing your oxygen.

Shattering the nerve-breaking silence was his knife tearing through the wrinkled sheets around your still body, it sounded as if he had broken your ear drums compared to the lull the room held for so long and it made you whimper, trying so hard to be good.

Biting your rosy bottom lip the tip of the cool blade trailed up your naked thigh, goosebumps superseded the path of the wolf's favorite weapon. The shimmering steel you were taught more so to be good, pleasurable and even enjoyable instead of the real intended purpose, the purpose only his enemies knew well. As your skin tingled at the feeling, wetness began to pool in your panties, it was pathetic that only small touches, hot breaths and the drag of a knife could put you in this state; trying not to whimper, your pussy clenching on nothing and your lower lips soaked.

The wolf’s breath was still hot and damp on the back of your neck as the cold knife made it’s way up your body, along the middle of your torso and up between the valley of your breasts, so fluid it looked like a glowing, dangerous serpent controlled skillfully by only one man. Closing your eyes as the Russian steel came closer to your neck, you didn’t know even if being departed of sight would work to settle your nerves but you tried, so needy to just lay still or be ravished, you had no clue.

His free hand, the one inked in the words “no gods” to hold him accountable for all he has done, ironic for all the pain he continued to cause without care, for selfish acts or needs of pure desire he couldn’t live without, no one would know for sure, it smoothed along the soft skin of your hip and trailing along the waist band of your soaked panties. Walking his thick and scarred fingers on the delicate fabric you shifted a little beside him and the wolf let out a growl in warning, his sharp inhuman teeth grazing on the soft skin of your shoulder.

Turning up his teasing, the wolf put the flat of the ice cold blade on your hardening nipple making you whimper as the fingers on your clothed heat began to rub in slow circles over your throbbing clit. Pathetically with only a few touches you were trembling and the warmth had spread from between your legs to throughout your core. Burning and aching for a release already.

“Such a needy thing” The wolf cooed in your ear, his teeth aching for blood but that wasn’t tonight’s game.

Pressing his erection firmly against the small of your back it instilled hope in you that tonight he wasn’t going to toy with you but fulfill your every need. The wolf pushed his two fingers against your dripping cunt, the wet fabric slightly meeting your quivering walls, pink and swollen, it was all for him.

Another growl left the wolf, deep and menacing, but this one was of appreciation, how needy and responsive your shivering body could for him. Whining and trying to stay as calm as possible it was becoming a fruitless task against the way he played you like an instrument.

Adding a third finger to apply delicious friction on your pussy and his inked palm rubbed beautifully against your clit, the warmth in your core was becoming unbearable as he worked. Scrapping your teeth along your bottom lip, hot tears stung in the corner of your eyes, begging the wolf silently but suddenly all the motions stopped and his hot hand and the cold blade left your body, the breath on your neck was still even and you desperately tried to not let a needy whine out.

“You are mine.” The wolf snared deeply and dark before he gave you a sweet kiss to the cheek, the duality of rough and soft he had perfected drove you mad.

All of a sudden, you felt the mattress conform back around your body as his left and the footsteps the wolf created as he was leaving the room almost made you beg him to come back and finish what he started but, you knew well that the wolf would be back in the night again.

The slightly ajar door was smoothly opened with a small metal whine from the old homes rusted hinges. Warm yellow light spills into the room from the hallway, a shape of the wolf marked dark and sharp within the soft light in front of him, then suddenly your room has gone dark with just the moonlight once again.

It was back to the eerie silence, the sheets torn around you, used and aching for more. He owned you. He always would.

#andrei kulokova #my writing #slasher #horror #oc #slashers #x you #x reader #the wolf

53 notes · View notes

pleasantwizardphilosopher · 3 years ago

Text

Just you and me

So, I finally gathered the courage to write something and went for a SuperCorp fanfic, because clearly I am supercorp trash. I haven’t decided whether to post it in AO3 or not but if I do I’ll let you know. English is not my first language so if you get any mistakes or some parts lack cohesion please let me know and I’ll try to fix it. This fic goes by the idea that Kara is a very good scientist, she deserves that much, Lena’s background is canon-like. There are no dialogs, only feelings and senses, hope you like it.

*********

Finding yourself stuck in time is hard, at least that’s what most people would feel like under such circumstances, but not for Lena, not right now, where every single piece of “normalcy” her life had is just beginning to crumble, like a piece of sun-dried bread, or the way eggshells crack after someone steps on them, painfully, noisily, in a million pieces, most of all and beyond everything, they shatter unrecognizably and irreparably. Maybe the cold that such pain leaves behind is what led her to run, maybe it was the sudden fear and tiredness that was left in her, like cold steel in her bones, maybe it was the emptiness that started consuming every truth she thought she knew. It did not matter, she fled, running as fast as she could in those 7-inch Louboutins. She never looked back, not even after her flight landed in National City, not even after setting foot for the first time in her new penthouse in the middle of the city. She never regretted it, at first it was rough, sure, like every bumpy road is, yet, after the first glance she ever took at that blonde hair that day in the park, all doubts were erased off her mind.

*********

It was the end of August, the chilly air that announced a cold winter ahead blew her hair, ruffling it in her face; filling the streets, waking scattered orange and brown-ish leaves that had fallen from nearby trees, whistling on its way through the now almost-bare branches. The wind left behind the soft aroma of wet dirt, freshly baked bread and upcoming rain, heartwarmingly, filling her lungs easily with every breath, puffing visible clouds when exhaling. It was certainly nostalgic, the kind that makes you feel warm and cozy and at the same time makes your eyes prickle with unshed tears. Kara felt that pull, as usual, for everything good her life has had, and everything it had taken from her. She stood on the sidewalk, towards National’s City Central Park, glancing around her, taking in her surroundings when her gaze landed on a particular someone, dragged to her as if her eyes were mere pieces of steel and that woman were a huge neodymium magnet; She found herself staring at a sight she’ll always remember, because at that moment, when she first saw her, she felt a different kind of pull at her heart, the kind that screamed “caution!”, but in the good way, hopefully.

Long before she knew her name, what made her laugh, what made fer fidget with her fingers nervously, but above all, long before she had met that woman with dark long silky hair, forest-green eyes and pearly skin. Long before that gorgeous human being, with such power emanating from her, yet such caring, hopeful eyes, crossed her path, long before she made her feel like flying without actually leaving the ground, mostly, who she would grow to love, maybe, maybe she was fantasizing too much, who could blame her, it surely was a sight to remember.

*********

When the double doors slide open, she’s expecting a no-nonsense, powerful, cold-blooded, cocky-demeanor CEO, what she’s definitely not expecting is for such CEO to be almost precisely all that shaped and carefully placed in a stunning, raven-haired woman, whose green eyes could pierce through your soul and would probably make you spill your darkest and deepest secrets, those that also hide so much fear, making her want to walk over there and pour all her support into a hug. Kara swallows. Nevertheless, there is also something else to this woman’s aura, her posture is perfect, clearly carved into her from a very young age, and her smile is polite but stiff, almost practiced, and still, Kara can feel kindness emanating from her, true deep kindness and care. Something brings her to the present again, her breath hitches, those beautiful eyes are staring intently into hers with curiosity and a hint of amusement. The woman in front of her has managed to steal her breath twice now, which is not something she, the founder and co-owner of a start-up company. Harvard graduate and Kryptonian, finds happening often, she has faced great threats, from grumpy bankers to out-of-space threats as Supergirl, yet, Lena Luthor has managed to make her heartbeat go erratic with a simple gaze.

The soft scent of an expensive perfume fills the office, something akin cinnamon, vanilla and a little scotch (?). It is dizzying and a little distracting. She somehow manages to go through her proposal for the CEO without stumbling too much and, fortunately, without rambling. Lena seems fascinated by the proposal and agrees to the terms without major modifications to the contract. After both signing, they shake hands, and maybe, just maybe, they linger a little more than needed, both enraptured by the softness of the other’s hand. Lena pulls away first, fingers tingling, feeling the tips of her fingers warm and a lingering scent of something floral, it is electrifying, like a low current cursing through her veins, making her get goosebumps all over her arms, but she doesn’t mind, as her attention is captured by those ocean blue eyes that seemingly hold the weight of the world. She certainly is nowhere close to getting tired of them.

*********

When they signed this partnership, they did not expect it to turn this way, at least Kara didn't, or so she muses while sitting on the ledge of her rooftop. She truly just meant to get funding and maybe get to work a little up-close with the brilliant, certified genius of a woman. Sure, she is gorgeous and incredibly sharp-minded, as proven by so many magazines’ articles having bothered to analyze both qualities deeply and thoroughly; but after that first sight of her, with such strength and determination to her pose, with each powerful step, with every sway of her hips, albeit hiding so much hurt, sadness, and a great burden, brought to her by her last name; a burden that Kara has somehow come know so well, such need to be understood, because, the truth was, that no one had ever lived through loss the way they did. One lost her world, her culture and way of life, but found love and compassion, whereas Lena was denied both from a very short age, living a life without love, compassion, and affection, in a household where the outside cold wouldn’t enter, as the inside was icier.

The cold nighty wind startles her, it brings to her mind memories of bight smiles, so hard that certain dimples showed, laughs so hard that some wine would be spat on a very white leader couch, sunny days filled with an assortment of foods and a wonderful voice, filling every corner of the room with its melody and a slight accent, becoming more evident when emotion takes a rightful place in her voice, one that comes from a very pale yet very compassionate woman. She has to tell her, it's been just over a year since they first met, but she knows it is time, with them growing closer, she has to tell her she is Supergirl. And yeah, she definitely did NOT expect things to turn this way. (Maybe she kinda did).

**********

When she asked Kara if she understood the quantum mechanics behind the surface plasmon resonance their platinum nanoparticles showed, she wanted to be shaken, mad even, because why wouldn't she, the to-be youngest member of the Science Guild on Krypton? Of course, they didn't have the same metals as they did on Earth, but they understood the physics behind the phenomena. Okay, Lena did do not know her identity, yet, hopefully, but she did have a Bachelor in Mechatronic Engineering and a Master Degree in Advanced Materials, she definitely may have crossed paths with the concept. But hell, how can she be mad when those bright, summer-trees green eyes look at her with such glint of excitement, with a twinkling sparkle or curiosity? Those eyes that were looking at her with a look you give someone you know gets you, beyond understanding your words, those who truly get a grasp of your language, of who you are, what makes you shake with the excitement of a new discovery, a greater challenge. It was then that Kara knew that she could read Lena the way no one had ever done for her, she could grasp what she needed in every moment, what she was thinking, but she also got her sciency stuff, the theoretical jargon, upcoming theories, the physics behind phenomena and she shared her love for technology that could make humans' lives better, longer, healthier. They shared, compassion, vision, passion and... Kara was now almost certain, love.

At least she thinks so, what else could those stolen glances be? She looks up, just to find those forest-green eyes glinting with determination and concentration while those agile slender fingers handle tools and twinkle their way around the solar panel’s circuitry. She is so enraptured by her skills that she mistakenly adds way too much platinum sulfide to the solution, turning it suddenly black and bringing her out of her stupor as the contents boil, violently spilling all over the place, filling the air with a slight scent of iron, evaporated water and burnt plastic. Green eyes break contact with the panel to look towards where strong hands work frantically to turn off the hot plate she was working on, dropping her tools she reaches a hand to help Kara, concerned green eyes looking for any kind of burn injury or spill that may need to be taken care of. After making sure everything is (mostly) okay and that it was just a failed reaction, Kara is suddenly aware of a soft hand pulling her away from the table, vanilla and cinnamon fill the air around her, like a soft embrace, that turns real when Lena pulls her into her arms, a soft bubble surrounding Kara, making her a little giddy and peaceful at the same time. Flowers, fresh-cut flowers is what Lena smells, while she hugs Kara tightly, it is normal to get worried for your best friend after a lab incident, no matter how small, she tells herself, and while it maybe is, it is definitely not normal the way her heart felt like stopping the moment she saw the hot contents of the Erlenmeyer flask spill all over the place, fearing for Kara, feeling it creep up her spine and settle like cold ice on her stomach and lungs, making it hard to breathe.

When strong arms surround her and pull her in tighter, she realizes she has started shaking and hyperventilating, embarrassed she hides her face in the crook of Kara’s neck, and everything fades outside this moment. It is just them, vanilla, and flowers, Kara murmuring sweet nothings into Lena’s ear, hearing her heartbeat even out, and her breathing become normal; and Lena trusting that this person, whose arms seem to be able to lift a bus, whose laugh makes her heart warm and fuzzy, whose smile lights her world and makes her feel safe, cared for and understood; will never let her fall. And perhaps she is right.

**********

Yup, it is definitely love. What else could it be? That snowy January, between hot cocoa and soft muffins, she knew. She is hovering outside her lab, on the outskirts of town, where it was less likely that someone caught her both personas; peeking through the windows, she sees her, Lena is coding the interface that would allow them to take the most efficiency and durability out of the technology they had designed, the mechanical and chemical part was almost done already. She is typing, eyes narrowed in concentration behind thick rimmed glasses, the tip of her tongue poking from a corner of her mouth. And Kara knows, she wants to caress those hands when they were trembling from the winter cold, but also kiss them after a long day working with her computer, she wants to rub her feet after a day filled with meetings and kiss her every time her brilliant mind comes up with a solution for an impossible problem. But above all that, she wants to hold her and whisper into her ear comforting and loving words when she has a nightmare regarding Lex, she knows it’s a common occurrence. She wants to see her crumble knowing that Kara would always hold her and support her, kissing her lovingly every time her insecurities get the best of her. She wants her to feel safe, protected and loved in a way she always deserved but never got.

She sighs, this is it and she knows it, there is not moving forward without coming clean about Supergirl, because, staring at Lena, she knows there is no going back either, looking the way her agile fingers dance around the keyboard as if she were writing a letter to a friend instead of a state-of-the-art software to power and control their recently developed solar panels. She thinks of how beautiful of a soul Lena is, she has such a big heart, she has a huge weight on her shoulders for being a Luthor, a burden which Kara would love to lift from her since it is not hers to carry, it shouldn’t be. Furthermore, she cares so much for the world and the people in it, even for the ones that are not human, unlike her family she is truly kind and compassionate.

Here goes nothing. Kara flies through the lab floor-to-ceiling windows towards the desk where Lena is working, placing beside her the paper bag containing hot cocoa and muffins for her. Due to the cold, the soft warm homey smell soon starts filling the room. Lena looks up smiling, expecting to find Kara behind the treats, but instead, bright green eyes lock with glassy baby blue eyes, trembling lips and fingers fidgeting. Lena stands. She is instantly shaking, whatever it is that could possibly turn the unyielding hero into a crying mess must be of great concern. She steadies herself by grabbing the edge of the table to keep her knees from buckling, knuckles turn white. Green never leaves blue. And just when she is about to ask the hero what brings her here, a strong hand comes to the small of her back to steady her and keep her upright. She has never been this close to Supergirl and at that moment when every sound seems to shut and the air stills, she knows.

She knows why those sky-blue eyes always inspired her such calm and confidence, why she always felt safe in those arms that could bend steel as butter. Because in that moment, when the warmth emanating from that hand starts filtering through her clothes, warming her, her senses are also filled with a smell of flowers, mixed with chocolate and bread, and a hint of mint; when a single tear escapes those ocean blue eyes, she crumbles. She crumbles under that gaze filled with pain and sorrow, filled with such regret that she could feel it creeping through herself, nestling in every corner of her body, making her feel slump and heavy. She also sees intelligence, compassion and strength, qualities she has come to be very familiar with under a blue setting. And so, she grabs the hero’s suit in her fist and buries her face in her chest, a single heart-wreaking cry filling the air. Kara shatters then, knowing how much pain this is causing to a soul that has been betrayed over and over again, who has been abused and pushed to her limits. She knows she is picking an open wound with a stick, and she hates herself for it, for using the same trust Lena gave her against her. They slide to the floor, never letting go of each other, tears falling freely through both their cheeks. Lena breaks into heartbreaking sobs and Kara holds her tighter, as if trying to keep her from falling into pieces, from breaking apart, rocking them both back and forth softly. Lena just cries, screaming from time to time, gripping the fabric so tightly that if it were regular fabric, it would be tearing down by now, but it isn’t, just as the woman holding her, the woman she most certainly is NOT in love with, is not a regular human. They stay there, holding onto each other, never breaking eye contact, the hot cocoa and muffins long forgotten.

**********

She really isn’t mad. She isn’t. So maybe she has been slightly avoiding Kara, but she isn’t mad. Despite her first-instance outburst of emotions, she realized she really isn’t angry at Kara from keeping the Supergirl thing a secret from her, yes, she was deeply hurt and upset but she understands the reasoning behind it, albeit she wishes Kara had told her earlier in their relationship it also makes perfect sense for her to hide it until making sure their relationship was well-founded and strong.

She is quite lost though, there is a small hint of emptiness inside her chest from that day which smelled like chocolate and bread, at first Lena thought she might actually and finally be broken, her heart having taken so many hits already. But the pain eventually faded, and that emptiness never left, on the contrary, it became more present, so much that she was now almost used to it. Like a lingering rock in the bottom of her stomach, or a ball of cotton in her throat, constant, bearable but persistent. And now, as the snow starts melting outside her office she wonders why. She knows why though; she just likes to pretend like she can fool herself.

The morning sun is hitting her office’s windows, warmer than it has been for the past few months and as the first drops of melted snow start to fall from the rooftop to her balcony, the pretense falls to pieces, and she falls along with it. She fumbles with her balcony door and stumbles outside, not even bothering to grab her coat, as soon as she steps outside, she is hit with cold, humid air and slippery floors. Taking huge gasps of cold air to fill lungs that seemingly do not want to be filled.

Maybe this is all she needed, standing on her balcony and glancing at the city, the morning sun casting a bright yellow light over her face, warming her skin softly, while her side in the shadows gets colder every passing second. It is enough, hot and cold, day and night, light and darkness, she always wondered to which side of the scale she tipped the most, she used to believe she was all shadows, a Luthor, and Kara was light, all goodness, she smiles at the irony, a Super. However, while she is taking in the city, calm and almost quiet since it is so early, bright light hitting the buildings and cold, contrasting shadows hiding smaller streets, cars, and people, she gets it. Kara was never all light, and will never be, she has on her shoulders an unbearable pain that will never go away and with her powers come hard choices that no one should ever have to make. And she, she is not darkness, she is both, and she can choose which side to feed, and she wants to choose light, just not any light, one that is personified by blonde hair and ocean-deep blue eyes that she could, and does, get lost into. Maybe, she can bring a certain light to Kara as well, maybe they both deserve it, they deserve each other. Letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding she turned on her heels towards her office and out of it, directly to a certain warehouse on the outskirts of town. The balcony door left open, melted snow glowing gold from the morning sun, dripping into Lena’s office.

**********

Disappointment is that what she feels, no, sadness, for sure, she knew things could go sideways with the whole reveal show and yet, the clench in her heart won’t go away easily, and she knows she absolutely has no right to feel that way, she made that choice, just as she has made every other choice before it. She is tempering with her suit, waiting for her cell culture to finish growing so she can properly test their absorption properties. Soft pop music plays in the background, filling the warehouse with soft notes with a cheesy vibe, the mid-morning sun streams from the windows, lighting the space with an orange-ish golden glow. She finishes her upgrades with a tired huff, never one to hate working on something she surprises herself with such reaction. Groaning with frustration that has nothing to do with her projects and a lot to do with a certain pale powerful, wonderful, CEO.

She walks towards the windows, letting herself bask in the mid-morning light, feeling her powers recharge and her body start buzzing with energy. She clenches her fists, as the warmth caress of the sun on her skin makes her heart ache, missing another entirely different kind of warmth. She leans against a wall and lets her body slide to the ground, bringing her knees to her chest, she closes her eyes, letting herself get lost in the feeling of the sun kissing her skin, softly, almost hesitantly, she can almost picture a certain brunette, softly stroking her cheek, a sweet lovingly caress. A single tear rolls down her cheek from her closed eyes, knowing that such caresses may never be from her, a faith written by her own hand, resulting from her choices, as hard as it is. Letting her straining superhearing and expanding its reach she hears the hustle and bustle from downtown a few kilometers away, she hears the honks of the cars and the heavy panting from people running late for their work, such mundane thing that she may never truly get to live and experience. As her hearing expands, she finds herself focusing in a very well-known heartbeat, one she can distinguish above the sea of heartbeats that flood the city; it is beating absurdly fast, and her first reaction is to focus on her surroundings to find out whether she is in danger or not.

She hears heavy puffs of air, heels clicking steadily and determinately on the pavement, closer with every step, and is she running? Her breath hitches when realization dawns on her, she IS running, towards her. While her mind screams for her to move, to do something, her body is frozen, unresponsive, breath caught in her throat, she absolutely does not understand what is happening and doesn’t know what to expect from the woman that is now reaching her. Before she can dwell on it further, a feminine soft hand with slender cold fingers is touching her knee softly. She is panting from the effort, her breath smells like back coffee and mint, hitting Kara’s face warmly, making her head spin; a slight scent of grounded coffee beams mixed with Lena’s favorite scotch emanates from her clothes, she smells strangely like home; her red lipstick matching her flushed cheeks from running, and Kara cannot help but let her jaw fall open in awe at the sight.

She grabs Lena’s wrists softly and stands up bringing her along. Kara finally gathers her courage and looks at her eyes. She feels like sinking under her gaze, not out of fear, it’s nothing but love and warmth what she sees in those jade-green eyes, feelings she doesn’t feel worthy of, specially not when coming from the Irish goddess. Just when she’s about to close her eyes again, uncapable of keeping her gaze, Lena hooks a finger under her chin and makes her raise her eyes up to hers again. Insecure, scared-like blue puppy eyes find soft-looking bright emerald eyes. It’s understanding what she sees now in those deep green eyes, the same ones that seem capable of reading her like an open book. She lets out a sob, and Lena lets go of her chin, going to grab her hand, bringing it to her lips and kissing her palm tenderly.

The breeze brings to Kara’s nose the scent of Lena’s shampoo, smells like rainy days and autumn leaves, and, as usual, no words are needed when Kara moves her hand from Lena’s lips to cup her cheeks, bringing her other hand up. And, what else can she do other than lean forward? So, she does, she leans forward and kisses her forehead, its soft, tender, like a butterflies’ kiss, just barely brushing her skin, trying to convey her love for her beautiful Genius™ mind, for her brilliance, stubbornness and compassionate selfless soul. She then brushes her lips softly on both her eyelids, trying to convey all the love and regret she feels regarding the way she did Supergirl secret-related things. She parts slowly and watches as Lena opens her eyes fluttering open slowly, bringing her hands up to grab the wrists of the Kara’s hands that are still cupping her face, thumbs softly stroking the inside of the kryptonian’s wrists, she lets out a shaky breath, blue eyes looking at her so lovingly tenderly, with such determination and strength, unyielding as sapphires, she feels no questioning in her heart, this is where she is meant to be, she turns into a mushy puddle and lets herself be drawn into the Girl of Steel.

Kara leans forward and kisses her nose, giggling quietly, Lena simply melts into it feeling a soft warm breath that smells like chocolate and honey, suddenly, the emptiness in her chest melts like ice cream on a hot summer day, leaving nothing but love and warmth, like the one from a fireplace on Christmas Eve. She lets out a shuddering breath, relieved. They lock eyes again, and finally all those unspoken questions find an answer. They lean forward at the same time, their lips meeting in the middle, fitting perfectly against each other. It is warm, tender, loving, and everything it should be, the way every cheesy romantic comedy says it’s like. They pour all their love into that moment, lips moving against each other, chocolate-honey and black coffee.

When they finally part, it’s like breathing for the first time, lungs grasping for oxygen, freshly cut grass, concrete and sun-provided warmth, and it is perfect. Like taking a breath after holding it underwater for a long time, except you never truly knew what breathing was like, until that life-altering breath. They breathe in sync, foreheads touching, Kara’s hands go down to wrap around Lena’s waist, pulling her closer, Lena rests her head softly on Kara’s chest, nuzzling into her neck and closing her eyes, letting herself fall into that fierce love, like an all-consuming fire, she’s been too afraid to open herself to, to be vulnerable. They stay there, enjoying each other’s embrace, the hustle and bustle of the city blind to a beautifully blooming love.

**********

Kara is very clumsy, it does help her keep up her façade, albeit it is also a personal trait of hers. And right now, as she trips on nothing, while standing nonetheless, she makes it extremely evident. Forest green eyes look at her amused from the other side of the door. How does Lena expect Kara not to fall face first to the ground when she is dressed looking like THAT. Wearing a deep red drees that falls softly just below her knees, strapless, leaving her back and cleavage on display, her hair up in a neat bun and her signature 7-inch black heels, Kara definitely stopped breathing, not that she needs to anyway. She stands up awkwardly, taking the dust off her khaki pants and dark blue blazer. Lena cannot hide a smirk after pulling such reaction from no other than Supergirl.

The CEO pulls Kara into her apartment, it smells like vanilla and apples, probably resulting from the many scented candles that Lena likes to light around her apartment. The only light comes from said candles and several Christmas-like light strings that are hanging from the ceiling, giving the place a warm cozy glow. Kara smiles lazily as she leans down to kiss Lena, catching a glimpse of bright emerald eyes melting glimmery before falling shut. She smiles into the kiss. She pulls apart slightly and kisses the tip of Lena’s nose, the raven-haired woman lets out a soft chuckle. Kara grabs her hand, intertwining their fingers, and leads her to the door. Today it’s dinner date day, they are celebrating the successful launch of their joint solar panels project, the best performance ever achieved thanks to a certain Kryptonian’s platinum oxide nanoparticles; and 10 months of full-on dating. As Kara closes the door of Lena’s apartment behind them, the warm smell of the candles fills the hallway and follows them into the elevator, a fluffy plush blanket, a protective mantle surrounding them.

**********

drip…drip… the constant crash of raindrops against the windows surrounding them, rain pouring heavily around them, drowning the usually loud noises of the city’s rush hour, washing away the strong smell of smog. They are tucked under a bus station stop, at least Lena is, Kara is already dripping, since she stubbornly stood outside the small protection the roof offers so Lena and other humas could take cover, she doesn’t get sick anyway. Lena is shivering, although it has been a remarkably hot summer, today was quite a cloudy day and it rained for the most part, resulting in a temperature drop of several degrees. The brunette leans into Kara seeking for her abnormally high body temperature to warm herself up, but the Girl of Steel has other plans, since she cannot fly Lena to their apartment, she might as well take the best out of the situation.

Just as Lena is dropping her full body weight into her, she slides away, pulling Lena’s hand with her, directly into the downpour. Lena gasps when the first heavy drops of the cold water hit her, feeling her clothes get soaked almost instantly, she feels the raindrops roll down her skin and further dampening her clothes, the smell of the rain fully hits her now and when she lifts her eyes from where they were looking at the floor not to trip, she sees Kara smiling her signature megawatt smile at her, completely soaked and intertwining their fingers playfully, so Lena smiles, smiles so hard her dimples show. She lets herself be dragged by Kara, running under the rain, feeling the cold sweeping into her bones, and feeling more whole and filled with happiness than she has in a very long time, if ever.

Kara jumps over a puddle with all the grace of a gazelle, letting go of the CEO’s hand, such displays of her true nature still wonder Lena, just when she is about to make the jump herself, Kara stops and abruptly turns towards her. The world stops. Or maybe she is the one that freezes, the only thing she can hear is the rain pouring heavily around them, and her heart beating erratically in her chest, ringing in her ears, the smell of rain mixes with Kara’s floral perfume, she is getting closer now. The brunette starts shaking, and it has nothing to do with the cold water still running down her body. Kara stands in front of her, soaking wet, dirt all over her jeans from playing in the rain, her hair falls in wet dirty blonde strands around her face, her eyes as baby blue as always are dim because of the raindrops that coat her glasses, and in her soaking hands she’s holding an astonishingly made silver ring, two intertwined silver strings hold one small bright emerald in the middle, the inside of one of the string, in almost unreadably tiny letters reads “You are my hero”. The simplicity of the stone in contrast with the intricate design of the ring.

Lena forgets how to breathe, but Kara understands, so she just waits there, with the most loving smile ever seen stamped on her face. When Lena’s out of body experience ends, she simply nods enthusiastically. And so, the world starts spinning again, the honks of the cars return, engines roaring and muffled conversations, all muted by the rain, washing over them as reality sinks in, they are choosing each other, even when the world has tried to pull them apart repeatedly, furthermore, against each other, for them, none of it matters, just them, here and now, kissing for the first time in hopefully many years to come. Lena lets her hands drape loosely around Kara’s neck, feeling the grounding weight of the ring on her left ring finger, hot against her cold skin, the same way Kara’s hands, which hold her together.

#supergirl #supercorp #fanfic #karlena #kryptonian #i wrote this on a whim #please give me feedback #this is my first fic #be kind

19 notes · View notes

pseudofaux · 4 years ago

Text

even an injured hand grasps at grace

A lonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng time ago I did a follower celebration with short fictions and promised a longer story to the winner. That (incredibly patient) winner was @fieryanmitsu, who asked for a story set after Mitsuhide’s Act II. Holidays, family stuff, a global pandemic, more family stuff, a crisis of creative drive, MORE holidays and MORE time later... Here, at last, it is. Anmitsu, thank you so much for participating in that follower celebration, for being so kind about the mortifying amount of time this has taken, and for being a fellow Cat Daddy fangirl. I am very, very grateful for your grace! M, 6000 words, SLBP Mitsuhide. CWs: obvious but unnamed depression, brief discussion of death by weapons. (But mostly it is happy-thinky-poetic wife worship and baby fever.)

Sometimes when she is exhausted she speaks in this silly way. His love for her makes him warm to his toes. Adorable, his wife is adorable. He will never again allow any other duty to shove her out of the place she deserves in the center of his heart.

He will never hold a sword again. The discovery that there is still any strength in the arm once so mighty, enough that he can use it to work: a cause for gratitude and relief. A gift. He can attend to the responsibilities of his new life. He has a new life. Master Tenkai knows better than most men what death looks like when it bears down in a flash of metal. Sword death is the smooth silver of steel, spear death is the sluggish brown of mud that will cradle a dying man, and death by bullet is the black of blood that comes out so thick it is purple before it is red. Weapon deaths are cold, as though to compensate for the heat of their forging. There is a depth of balance in this that he cannot yet name, a mystery of the heavens like the others he spends so much time thinking about and helping the mountain villagers understand.

This new life is mostly keeping up their modest home (half residence, half tiny temple), and sharing knowledge with the villagers and their children. Of course he still thinks of Sakamoto when he sees the children growing... but his entire life he has been too much in his own head, and since they came to the mountain he has gotten better at leaving memories alone. He does not forget, and he hopes this makes him a decent man. Like any decent monk, he allows the thoughts of Sakamoto their due, which is to rest and flow over him as water flows over every side of a fish. It is right that it surrounds him. He could not and cannot do anything for Sakamoto, or address the irreparable harm he caused. He can consider it, meditate on it, and live with what he has done. And he will. Because he can live.

Swordwork’s precision and steadiness are forever gone from him, he believes. But he still has his arm and still has his life, even after he made peace with losing much more before Hideyoshi’s sword came down. He can pet the cats that congregate around the little temple, and he can twirl bits of string and stalks of grass for them. He can still write, his characters more calligraphic than they were before. He has to work hard to make clear strokes when he teaches the village children, and he feels that is a just requirement. When the house needs repairs, he can make them, and he can draw air into his lungs and live with his failures and successes both, or at least live with his failures and the grace he has been given. He has the brush, and he has the strong walking stick that his wife has helped him cut to the right height. The staff is smooth in his hand after only a few months’ use, a little extra oil applied when they have it. He wonders if he is allowed this easy comfort, but will not allow a walking stick to be a thing that trips his thoughts. His watchword now is moderation, not abnegation. If a fallen tree limb comes to him he will be grateful, and if the wood breaks he will let it go. He is willing, now, to let so much go.

There is only one exception, and she sleeps easy these days, when the cold of night on the mountain curls them together as though they are rabbits in a burrow. They wake slowly to this dream life. The part of him that is a decent monk cannot help but wonder how different their lives might be if it had been this for them all along. He did not want to rule; he had only ever wanted to spare others the hardships of ruling, and allow all good people the comfort of safety, from most divine ruler to most helpless child. These thoughts are in his head. Here in their tiny room in the building that is their home and the village’s temple, she is in his arms. In his heart and his bones, he knows that fact is grander than any man’s attempt at divinity.

He never has to force smiles at the children who come to the temple to learn. They are rowdy, eager, and completely charming. He is comfortably grinning at a group of them when he catches sight of her at the bend in the path that leads to their home. She is smiling, too, and there are tall leafy greens sticking out of the pack behind her shoulders that remind him of the folded wings of a fine hawk, the kind favored by samurai and nature alike. What would they do, if not for her hawklike competence and gentle ferocity?

Likely starve, he tells himself, on both melancholy days and happy ones. It is only the truth. He has learned a few things, but cannot match her, and while he is always available to the villagers, he stays near the temple unless he is asked for in the town. She does their shopping, she is their face. No one of quality can resist being won over by the warmth of her smile.

The children are thrilled to see her, and it reminds him of a dream he has had several times now, something he has kept to himself because it is so precious and he still does not want to ask anything of her. He is not sure if the slips of dream come from the peace of their life or the torment they left behind them, whether the dream is reward or recompense. But the cheers of the children take hold of his heart and make a tapestry of the scraps of his happiest dreams, weaving them tightly with what he is truly seeing. His thoughts nearly take him to his knees-- or perhaps that is an insistent little person, tugging at the edge of his sleeve.

“Master Tenkai!” chirps the village child. “Hana is home, so it is time for our lesson!”

They teach the children together in the afternoon’s warm, clean light, and only send them home when it is time for her to prepare their evening meal and him to complete the evening sweeping of the temple floor. Later that night, she seems relaxed and sleepy next to him, full of food, full of love. She asks, “Do you remember when I asked you to bring me a stone, so I could make you pickles?”

That is a pleasant memory from their life before, a luminescent pearl floating through silt that suffocated so much happiness. But the memory itself is light. So his smile is easy and does not feel like punishment, and he nods and strokes the space between her shoulders.

“On this mountain I have all the stones I need,” she declares, pressing her cheek to his chest. The smoothness of her face is finer to him than any pearl, a marvel of sensation that settles him, instantly and completely. “And I will make you pickles every week, if you want them,” she adds.

“Only whenever you are inclined,” he says, drumming his fingertips to tickle her.

Her giggle is sleepy. “There’s not time to make them every day,” she quips, snuggling closer and sliding an ankle between his calves. He has only the one dream that is sweeter than his actual life, and he is keeping it close to his chest for now. But he will not keep anything closer to his chest than she is. They squeeze one another, and he expects they do not fully relax their arms until they fall asleep.

A winter has passed, and a spring. This is their first summer on the mountain, so they are learning the cycle of invigorating mornings, sweltering afternoons, and unpredictable nights. They have already learned from kind villagers how to best coax food from the pebbly soil of their garden, and their efforts in the summer are devoted to this every day until the air grows too hot and they retreat to the shade of the temple to fan themselves with their hands and drink water that (they hope) has managed to hold some of the chill of the night before.

Every morning he braids her hair, and in these summer days a few strands always escape and stick to the back of her neck, temptations that coax him to bare her shoulders and murmur along the skin he worships. She often swats him away, because even after tending the garden there is plenty of work to do. But sometimes she does not swat him away at all, and some days she draws closer with a magnificent, confident need. He cannot determine if it is need for him or need to show him something, but each time, their bodies become hotter still, sweat running like streams and stinging their eyes even as it makes moving together easier.

There is a day at midsummer when they cannot help themselves, resting on the step to their home. They are covered from the relentless sun by the good new roof of the temple. He is vulnerable to melancholy in the heavy air that precedes a storm. She knows this. By the time the thunder and rain seem to be on every side of them, heaven’s own veil around the little holy place where they live, their hands are in each other’s hair, she is straddling him, and he is kissing her so deeply he can taste their midmorning snack. The last time she went to town she came back with karashi seeds, and their food this week has been bright in their mouths, cleansing and flavorful. He is hungry for it.

“Mitsuhide,” she pants quietly. The rain around them is so dense no one would hear her, but that name is never spoken above the softest whisper. Her other sounds are louder, even louder than the roar of the rain, and he loosens his hold on himself to match her. He groans as he tilts his hips up toward hers, everything that he is straining for her. They are so warm that even though the air is cooling around them, the rain may as well be steam. One of her hands slides from his hair to his neck and then down his chest, between their bodies, until she palms his insistence and he gasps for her until she squeezes. They moan together, unbearably hot in the sweet agony before they join.

“Now? Here?” he asks. They’re alone, but he craves her comfort as much as her indulgence. There is always a point where he stops asking, but before that he needs permission. She gives it in a nod and shuffles off his lap onto the floor, still stroking him through his clothing. Her clothes are already loose from their embrace, and she puts her other hand inside her collar and tugs down until she is cupping her breast. His blood in his ears is louder than rain or crashing waves or the war chorus of a hundred desperate men. He lunges at her, one hand in her hair and another at the back of her neck to soften her landing. When he is over her, he snarls at her temple before kissing the space with the beastliness that is revealed by these stormy days. It is a wet kiss, and because his tongue cannot taste enough of her he ends up licking from her cheek to her hairline. He savors her, salt and spice and earth and somehow his, as he pushes into her hand. She does not let go of him. He never wants to let go of her.

His hand slips from her neck into the heaven of her opened collar, and his thumb finds her nipple between her fingers. She lets go, gives herself to him, and he pants adoration into her ear as he rolls the peak, beautifully strong, until she moans. He knows this is right, that nothing else in the world is anything next to the truth of how right it feels to cage her in, make her tremble, and soothe her, serve her.

So he doesn’t hold back. He tells her she is the most wonderful, beautiful, desirable, beloved. His mind makes poetry for her and he licks the words onto skin he pinches delicately between his teeth. You are rainfall to a dying man, you are here, you feel better than breezes, you are mine. After all he has done, he remains a man, and a man is an animal, as any man who has gone to war can say with certainty.

The thin clothes he wears for gardening are sticking to his body, and he swears he can feel the drag of each thread against his skin as he moves with her, friction enough to spark a fire through their sweat. Her hand on him is maddening kindling.

“You are flames,” he declares as he ruts down into her hand. “You are burning me.” A man is an animal, a gasping creature not sophisticated enough to express all she makes him feel.

She slows her hand and hums, pleased by they way he gives himself over. That is the way they play. “It is too wet for flames,” she murmurs, as though she is consoling him instead of throwing tinder on the fire she has made. “Drown in me instead of burning, my love.”

The affection in her words soothes his amorous madness and spreads the familiar, comfortable warmth to all the tips of his body as the power shifts between them again. He loves her so much. Could any man convey so much feeling? To be an animal is not bad, but it is base, and she is made of heaven and still chooses to be with him. He smiles at her in wonder of all her beauty and bravery. He will focus on giving her anything that he can.

“Gladly,” he whispers, smiling wider. He takes her wrist and pulls her away from her work. When she complies and settles her hand against the floor by her head, he unties the rope of faded jute braids that hold her kosode closed at her hips. She is worthy of finery but dressed in these threadbare rags with him instead, and still her eyes say she has what she desires. As he drops the thick cord beside their bodies, he thinks he will try to find her a pretty bead, or even a nice smooth stone from the stream, something to adorn her middle and give her pleasure when she sees it. She gives him so much pleasure.

Their clothes as temple keepers are very humble, but they are much easier to remove than their daily wear of only a year ago. Sacrilegious but sincere, he mutters his gratitude at the simplicity of baring her body to his eyes. Her slopes are gorgeous, winding like the gentlest river against the air. She reminds him of a war map he saw years ago, illustrated with hills and pools so lovely he mourned as war was planned against the unarmed ground.

He shakes away that memory to construct another of the way she looks right now, sensual and receptive, womanly in the way she came to be when they started their lives here. Back in control of herself, of both of them, she parts her lips and breathes his new name. He undoes the scrap of old kimono that serves for his sash, and peels away his own sweaty robe. When he comes back down to her, she has freed her arms from her sleeves and their hands find each other, fingers dancing warm and worn as they wrap together.

Now it is still raining, but the roar of it has quieted to a loving hiss. The light is gray and blue, so she looks like nighttime. She pulls him to her with the power of dusk closing flowers, and their kiss is moon-soft, full of promise instead of frenzy. Her lip is a marvel between his and he loves pressing it with his own lips and teeth and sucking gently to make it swell. He wants to touch it with his thumb while he’s inside her and then kiss her again, maybe kiss her while he touches her with his thumb.

The chill at his back cannot last when there is so much heat between them, no matter what she says of drowning instead of burning. A man can drown in the bubbles of a hot spring as well as he can in winter’s water. He sucks in a breath and breathes it out into her mouth, and when she does the same with more force he shudders. His hands slide to her hips, where her curves fit into his palms as though he were a farmer and she were a ripe stalk of rice. She is at least as crucial and nourishing.

He is so hard he doesn’t need to take himself in hand. The head of his cock slides (with a sureness he would never claim aloud) between her folds, against the spot that makes her thighs flex. The movement is easy, a slip if not for his control. They are always so eager for one another.

“How?” he asks, and kisses the chin she is offering as her head is thrown back. “Here? This? Just outside the reach of the rain?” A demon is in him, to tease her like this, but the demon wants her pleasure as surely as he does because this is what she wants, for everything to be drawn out until their tension snaps. “Do you want the air on all your skin?” he continues. “I will give you anything. Just tell me.”

She hums the thoughtful sound that means she’s thought of some way to drive him insane. Thunder cracks with an ominous sharpness in the distance, and when she tilts her head and looks at him there is lightning and mischief in her eyes. He squeezes her but still she wriggles out from beneath him... and she goes to one of the beams that holds up the roof, safe from the rain thanks to the overhang. She moves her feet back and bends at her waist and he can do nothing but feel blessed and aroused, so aroused he is stupid. The warmth she put in him turns to tingles, like she has displaced the lightning from her gaze and made his skin the sky and his bones the bare, vulnerable earth. Within himself he feels a frighteningly intense buzzing.

“This first,” she declares. “Just watch for now, darling. Stay where you are.” Her thighs and calves are so defined from the ways she has to toil in this new life that he feels a shadow of guilt for enjoying the sight of her so much. It vanishes when he sees her fingertips between her legs, right at his eye level. She is pulling his mind apart, but her method for that is giving him this gift, and in this life he takes what he is given.

“Yes,” he rasps, and swallows before the dryness in his though makes him cough. “Yes, of course.”

The movement of her arm slides her loosened braid along a shoulder like a brushstroke. Her touches are sure-- she told him months ago that she learned to do this when he made her sleep alone for nights on end. He curses his foolishness even as he is grateful for it. She is always turning the most miserable ingredients into feasts, his wife.

Her sure fingers make circles and dip into her folds to smear her arousal. She likes it a little messy sometimes, another thing she has revealed in the safety of their seclusion. He loves what she loves, and he wants to put his mouth on her, put his cock in her, so badly that he fears his voice will scar his throat in a mad escape if he has to stay apart from her much longer. But he will die of idiocy alone if he interrupts. So he watches, the cool air of isolation doing nothing to keep his belly from tightening when she coos. Her hips begin to drop forward to meet her hand and he bites the flesh of his palm to stave off insanity as long as he may. She is a cat, he realizes, playing with all his many frayed ends. When she glances back, whatever she sees on his face-- he must be flushed, he feels terribly hot-- makes her laugh, dark and sweet. She keeps going and keeps her eyes on him. There is that gentle command so uniquely her in the way she looks at him. It makes him feel like he is blooming frantically, too fast, a blossom pummeled by rain and completely out of control... and she keeps looking, keeps smiling, draws the moment into moments until he thinks he might sob.

And then she curls her fingers against herself to beckon him and says “Come here.” The way her voice puts the words somewhere between request and demand is flattering, but he has no time to be flattered. Rain-cooled air yields against his arms and legs as he rushes to her. Immediately, he is there behind her legs, positioning himself, and the heat of her backside would burn him were he not already so ruined. Against her at last, he can appreciate the way the weak light on her sweat-slicked back is more beautiful than the finest inkwash, the ways she smells competent and domestic and alluring, like the precious sweet scent of soil that hides between mountain pebbles. She is all these things, and she is so calm as his mind whirls in its delirium of adoration and arousal.

He doesn’t mean to tremble, but his hold on himself has been too tight, and the spaces where his teeth dug into his hand throb. Like the mongrel pet to a noble lady, he has little other purpose but to love her. He sees that she can sense it. There is a grace to her certainty when he grits his teeth, even though she is wound so tightly that when the head of his cock finally presses inside her, he must push. Slick, soft, smooth, she feels, somehow, despite the pressure. As he pushes fully inside, their groans are wanton to the point of inhumanity, more like the sound of creatures in the night than of a man and his wife. His wife, his wife. He pulls back and groans again at the way her body fights to keep him. He swipes the braid off her back and kisses her shoulder, pushing back in slowly as her soft, strong body welcomes him.

“More,” she cries, her first sound of vulnerability, and he is eager to take care of her. He knows to move steady and powerfully but keep it slow at first. She comes better around him, but needs to be allowed to focus, so he is quiet as he focuses on her and the way the muscles of his back stretch and roll to please her. He is still a fit man, and he hopes his body thrills her as hers thrills him.

She makes a needy noise between her teeth and moves faster, shaking just a little. She hisses “keep going,” and of course he does. The tension he felt a moment ago is so unimportant now he is not sure if it was real. In the time when things shift between them he no longer needs permission, and he feels the magic calm settling over him-- it is his turn. All he needs to do is what she needs from him, it’s so simple. And he would do anything she asked, for the chance to be so near her when she finds bliss. It is already rising up his legs, like a snake squeezing and sliding, like ripples... and her sighs are like waves. Maybe she is too wet to be flames because she is water itself. The way into her is blissful enough, a slick heavy pressure around him where she is swollen from all their kisses and touching. The challenge of it makes him grin with a ferality he usually keeps well out of sight, and he presses on, pulls back, kisses her shoulder again and calls her his beloved. His voice doesn’t shake.

Hers does. “Again,” she pleads, grasping back for his hand. “I want it again.” She guides his fingers in circles until he knows where she is and what she needs, and then she lets him give it to her. Trust is such a sacred thing.

When he touches her she laughs, and he laughs too, and fucks her with a great deal of joy. They find their pattern: her hips push back to meet his thrusts, so when he presses in, deeply, they fit as cleanly as a carpenter’s masterwork. The storm has truly cooled the air but all it does is chill the fresh sweat on their skin as they move. It invigorates him, makes his spirit shout with a freedom he cannot contemplate at the time. His wife is using the beam that holds up their roof to push back against him, allowing the tender space between her breasts to be abraded by the wood. There is room for nothing but happiness here, nothing to do but honor her sacrifice and make her feel more pleasure.

“Yes,” she rewards him with her voice for a particular thrust, dragging out the sound at a pitch that registers inside him while he is inside her. So he moves himself even faster to try and repeat it, then relishes the sweetness of her soft whine. It makes him feel like he is surprising her with his love for once, instead of the constant way she graces him with her own.

He leans over her a little more. “I want nothing as much as I want your happiness,” he tells her, the croon of his voice broken by the intense way their bodies are connecting. Her hand comes back over his, keeping him in place. Magnificent. “Go on,” he tells her. “Again, love. Just like you want. Just like I want. Again.”

She shudders and stops moving her hips (she clings adorably to the support beam, her arm as tense as her hand on his). He keeps going, because he knows that is what she expects. At the end, what she needs is to be filled, to be given something to clench around, and he needs to be that for her. He is so driven, from inside and out, to fuck her, that he cannot do anything else until he feels it, not think or breathe, only move into her as though he can shove bliss into her body. So he tries, until he feels the shaking of her legs as perfection alights, and then he takes one great breath before it hits them both as she squeezes tighter still. They gasp together again as her clenching and soft sounds pull his warmth to fill her. Abundantly. Deeply. The air comes out of his lungs onto her shoulders, then touches his cheeks with the softness of a cloud.

She is breathing heavily, and slowly she puts her weight against the wood and becomes still. There’s a gentle press against his hand before she drops her arm. He’s tempted to catch it and kiss her knuckles, but he does not want to move from being curled around her back. He does move his hand away and puts the arm around her belly instead, holding her that much closer. She feels exactly as warm and soft as a cat who has fallen asleep in the sun.

There is a slick, sticky feeling all around his cock, but there’s nothing unpleasant about it-- something in him actually relishes it, loves the thought of mixing, loves the thought of there being too much, it makes him want to take her to the floor and have her again-- and she does not ask him to move, so he stays until he softens. “Darling,” he whispers then. “I’m going to get us a cloth.” He has desires, but he has mastered himself.

But she mumbles “No. Hold me.”

So when he pulls out as not to slip from her, he simply sits down and pulls her with him, right down into his messy lap. There’s not a breath between the time they land and her turning so she can snuggle his chest. He strokes her hair and kisses her cheeks and nose and tells her what a marvel she is. She is all pliant affection, touching his arms, kissing his jaw, raising a love welt on his shoulder... reaching to stroke him gently, experimentally, just like she did when they were on the steps.

He has mastered himself, but not as well or fully as she has.

He pulls over their clothes and lays her out on top of them on the temple floor so he can join their bodies yet again, unhurried. They have the time for slow lovemaking in this life, and the grace. Her knees frame him as he moves and he cannot help but kiss one and then the other, reveling in her laughter (when he tickles her ribs, she tightens deliciously around him) as much as in her love. They lay together for a long time after that, cool and lazy in the quiet. When the rain is replaced by the first note of tentative birdsong, they know they should move in case someone comes to the temple. Despite the afternoon, they are a cautious couple by nature.

He attempts to clean her with their clothes, and carries her to their room to rest more comfortably. Her hair clings to the idea of a braid, but much of it is loose and floats about his arms in the sodden air. There is a satisfied tilt to her mouth when he helps her sit, and as he moves behind her the last he sees of her face is her smile curving deeper. He settles his robe over her shoulders and combs his fingers through her hair to ward off tangles. When he is finished, he replaits her hair and kisses the ribbon, then her mouth. She shakes her head, hiding her mouth and making him chase it. His rewards are sleepy giggles, enchantingly low, every time he catches her.

Several kisses later, he redresses and leaves for the kitchen to make them a simple meal. He delights in feeding her by hand as soon as he returns, because their closeness makes him feel whole and doting on her feels right. They stay near as they bathe, and then they go back to bed. It is early, but they will need to start early tomorrow to make up for the time they spent not working this afternoon. They have earned their sleep. He wonders if he will have the dream again.

Tucked into their bedding, she is in his arms, not yet dreaming herself. “Darling,” he says quietly into her hair, and murmurs love until she turns to kiss him sweetly and tells him to go to sleep.

He does have the dream. It is the most wonderful dream yet.

“Chichi-ue!” The voice is high and happy. It is coming from behind him, so he must turn away from the sight of his wife with a baby at her breast. Before he can see the little one who called him-- called him chichi-ue, his child-- the dream shifts and his wife is with an older child, tasting broth and listening patiently as the child recites ingredients. Then his wife is with two children, each holding one of her hands as they turn on the bend of the path to their home, and the smallest lets go of her to run to him. Their faces are all obscured by a sudden cloud of mountain dandelion seeds borne on the wind... all he can see are healthy little legs and feet in clean sandals, slapping against the ground as fast as they possibly can. The movement becomes a child’s hand with a brush, marvelously steady and precise. The same hand around a cluster of flower stems. Scraped knees and palms and little puffs of breath between shrieks and giggles as tears are soothed away. Two voices laughing over the plunking sound of skipped river stones ending their flights, and he recognizes the stream where they stand. The face and voice of the herbalist in the village, kindly telling them to be patient and then whispering something they might try. Four simple bowls, mismatched but meant to be together, set around a table. He can see this scene over his own shoulder, hears those same two voices dutifully expressing gratitude for their meal. The sounds change as his dream gives him the voices at different pitches through time, thankful for their rice, fish, vegetables; the bowls stay on the table, the food in them changing in dizzying whirls of color until he wakes.

“Good morning,” says his wife, in the voice she can only use for the first words of the day. Quiet and deep as a hidden pool. “I love you.”

He reaches to stroke her cheek, and tells her about the dream at last. She tells him her dreams, too.

Exhausted but awake, awed and unsure, he holds his son for the first time in the crook of his better arm. All of him shakes, because he is weeping at the perfect newness of this child. The baby, so unhappy with the village woman who came to help with the birth, settles into his father like poetry, and closes sweet dark eyes, and yawns flawlessly. They way the baby’s tongue trembles reminds him of a stretching cat. Master Tenkai of the mountain cannot look away. There is so much to see, and there is something about gazing at this tiny face, shifting magically from pinched to peaceful, that shows him the virtue of disregarding time completely. He should know it for what it is: another effort by man to control what he cannot. Everything that marks time in a human way can be broken. The sun rises no matter what people do in the night.

One of the temple cats senses a fellow creature and leans up to sniff at the baby. The baby’s father is happy to share the sight. The cat noses at the baby’s plumpness and then slinks off, but Tenkai stays where he sits, holding his son beside the bedding where the baby’s mother is gazing at them both with a tired, happy expression on her beautiful face. Her hair has all come loose from its ribbon. The woman from the village said it was an easy birth, but it certainly took its time. At the end, they have their perfect son, and she is alright. Everything is alright. The greatest challenge facing them at the moment is that he will have to learn to braid one-handed. He chuckles to himself and the baby blinks, then settles.

He will never hold a sword again. Whatever time may be, it feels like he made his peace with a more important truth a very long time ago, perhaps in another life entirely, and had only to relearn it. To hold his woman, and child, and the other he believes will join then... that is more than enough for the warrior who was once Mitsuhide, who became Master Tenkai of the mountain. All else may come and go. He will treat everything with respect, and allow all that is temporary to leave his hand like water. His family, permanent and indescribably precious, is the only thing that he will never, ever give up.

#slbp mitsuhide #slbp fanfic #slbp fanfiction #samurai love ballad party #fieryanmitsu

37 notes · View notes

the-wintershade · 4 years ago

Text

trust me (always)

pairing: sam wilson x f!reader summary: it’s hard for you to trust anyone, especially people you get close to. you and Sam share a bond, a trust on the battlefield, but the Sam you see when you get back is different. however, things are changing and maybe the two Sam’s aren’t so different after all. wc: 3.4k+ genre: a little angst, some fluff, confusion, protectiveness, reader can’t see things as clearly as Stephen Strange, that’s for sure.

He held you as if you were something ancient, endowed with power but still delicate enough to require a special touch, a touch that recognized the silent strength within its bones.

It was reassuring.

You clutched onto him that much tighter despite the blood racing against your hand. You would have been more concerned if it weren’t for the fact that you were miles above the ground grasping against his chest for dear life.

Your legs tensed against his waist as you buried your head further against his neck. One of his arms stayed securely wrapped around you as he glided through the clouds, navigating through the smoke and clouds, wrapping the two of you in an invisible mist.

“Hey,” He breathlessly whispered against your cheek. “You good?”

You nodded, keeping your eyes squeezed tight.

A fear of heights never made any of this any better for you. You could barely accept the idea that you were up as high as you are.

Sam grunted a bit as he pushed both of you faster through the atmosphere. His suit whined a little in the strain of having only one wing to guide you but still held firm. Tony knew what he was doing with the upgrades.

“I’ve got you.” The words felt reassuring, but you didn’t bother to drop your death grip on his neck. “I’ve got you. I’m not letting you go.”

You weren’t sure who he was trying to assuage more: you or him.

You cracked your eyes open for a second, just as he swerved slightly to avoid a heavy pocket of air, and saw the swirls of white and grey. Adrenaline shot through you, fresh and hot, but you kept your muscles locked. You wouldn’t squeeze him to suffocation, not up here where there’s nothing to catch you if you fell.

You squoze your eyes shut again, waiting till seconds felt like hours.

“We’re here.” He abruptly pulled up before gently lowering you two to the ground. He kept you tucked against his body, kneeling on the hard earth as his other arm circled around you.

For a second, for just a moment, you were pressed so tight in his embrace that you were sure that his fear of losing you was just as real as your fear of having to let him go.

Then the moment was over and he was crumbling into fits of laughter, his default face of charms and smiles came back. Good old Sam.

Just like before, like basic training and initiation, running side missions with Sam and Bucky, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. He was always your guy, always there to get you if something went wrong, always coming to your aide if you called him, he was always around. Always smiling, always teasing.

And he knew you had him to.

If he needed anything, recon, an infiltration team, a scout or just a man on the inside, you were there. You were good.

And that’s why, even when everything was falling apart around you, you waited, you closed your eyes, and you trusted him to catch you as you jumped out of the building.

There he was. Just like always.

“That was insane.” His teeth shinned at you, dazzling you into silence just like so many times before. He watched your face freeze, distracted in nostalgia, and his own brightness dimmed slightly, his teeth receding like the slow crawl of the tide working its way back into the ocean. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He stood up and you slowly unwrapped your arms from around him, finally noticing the vermillion streaking down your forearm.

You felt Sam tense for just a moment, his gleeful mask dissolving for just a second, before leading your charge inside the building. He moved fast despite the fact that you only landed seconds ago.

You, on the other hand, felt disoriented, and stumbled your way forward. It wasn’t the blood loss, or the dizziness from flight. It was something much deeper. Something that had everything to do with him.

Everything to do with the feelings that never went away but you always ignored.

You tried to brush aside the sucking void that appeared in your chest at the easy dismissal of his previous display, but it kept pulling at you, making you feel hollow in the middle.

It hurt. But you don’t need to admit that.

Just keep it in. Just keep it all contained until this is all over and then your void can devour anything it wants.

He led you through all the twists and turns before coming to stop at the medbay. Dr. Strange was in your path almost immediately after Sam hit the button. He’d been on special call for anyone hurt within the facility.

Plus, you and the doctor had become good friends over the years. He taught you basic first aid and you were able to teach him about philosophy, ways to help him see the world and better himself.

It was an exchange of information, but not deceitful, not in exchange for money or for self-gain. It was equal and the company was always nice.

“Hello, (name).” Good to see you again,” He softly smiled in your direction. You forced your eyes to crinkle with the same amount of enthusiasm.

“Always a pleasure, Dr. Strange.” Your voice was calm, lovely even, as you responded. It betrayed none of the subtle agony you felt, nor the pain at the throbbing in your arm. It made your confidence strengthen and the void die down just a little.

He stepped over to you slowly, reaching out to take a look at your arm. “Debris in the arm?”

“Sam managed to pull me out before the building collapsed.” You spared a cautious glance in his direction, careful to manage the sucking pull of his eyes and the void within you. His stare was dark and...upset (out of character for him), before it immediately became ambivalent, balancing on the edge of nonchalance and subtle amusement.

It would have given you whiplash if you hadn’t been trying to keep your face as neutral as possible.

“Lucky girl,” Stephen smirked at you while gently tugging on your arm and pulling you along into the examination room. He looked past you, right to Sam.“I’ll take good care of her, promise.”

Your heart lept for a second.

Stephan looked down at you and winked before glancing back at Sam. “Do what you have to do. I gotta get back anyway.” His voice sounded cheerful, but the develivry of the response held something deeper, something more hidden and protective. He paused for a moment and the silence made you turn in his direction. His gaze was warm and gentle, but if you closely, just beyond it, there was a wall of steel. “I’ll be back.”

You heard his receding footsteps before Stephen closed the door.

“What was that about?” You sat up on the table as Stephen began examining your arm, working around the blood and dirt.

He scoffed. “We’ve talked about this before, (name).” He poured alcohol over your wound and a hiss left your mouth involuntarily. He pressed a towel against the exposed skin and waited for the bubbling to stop before moving on. “He would have stayed here if I hadn’t said you were okay.”

Why?

You were talking about the same Sam, weren’t you? The Sam who was a massive flirt, who couldn’t be tied down to anyone? Sam, who was always so carefree and flirty, who didn’t have to time for anyone else in his life? That Sam?

Or the other Sam? Reliable Sam. Dependable Sam. The Sam who always had your back.

Because that Sam only existed during battle, when everything was going left and the trust you needed to put in each other was stronger than his need to be witty.

But the Sam that came back was always different. It always stung a little. The Sam you came back with would go out and forget about you.

And you couldn’t forget about him.

The void grew bigger.

“We can’t be talking about the same person.” Your tone was grounded in defeat. You’d already fought this battle with yourself, you knew what your decision was.

“Oh,” He grinned. “But we are.”

You shook your head. “You got this all wrong. He doesn’t care that much. He saved me, that’s his job after all. That’s what we do during missions, that’s who we are. When we get back it’s always different.”

“If he was just saving you, why do you think he brought you here?” Stephan’s hands were fast as he wrapped up your arm. You’d been so distracted talking about Sam that you hadn’t noticed when he’d removed the glass from your arm. “He would have put you on the street if you were just another citizen, if it were just another mission.”

“Right,” You rolled your eyes before Stephen set your arm down. “Like that actually means anything. I’m an agent; it’s only right that I’m here.” Everyone was pretty much gone anyway. It makes sense he brought you here.

“Oh?” He smirked as he turned to put the supplies away. “You and Sam were pretty close when he brought you in. Almost glued to the hip.” The first aid kit shut with a loud click. The next sentence makes you question if he’s been watching your interactions properly. He’s done it before, “for research” he claims. “He watches you a lot. If he’s not physically close to you, his staring more than makes up for it.”

“Dr., don’t say all of this to make me feel better. I know when I’m not really wanted. He’s just being good ol’ Sam. It doesn’t really mean anything.”

“Are you saying this because you truly don’t believe that he cares or that you don’t think that anyone could possibly care about you like this?” His stare is deep and hard. He’s not upset necessarily, but he’s frustrated and you know better than to lie to him.

“To be honest,” you sigh and massage your fingers, aching from holding onto Sam’s suit, aching from not being able to hold onto him. “I’m not sure anymore.”

And if your sad eyes gives him any pause, Stephen pushes through it. He comes over and squeezes your hand.

“Listen kid, lord knows that I’m not good at any of this stuff.” He places the back of his hand against your cheek, a soft tap of affection. “But I do know that you deserve to be happy. Allow yourself that much.”

Your throat hurts from trying to push back the heartbreaking agony in his words, but you manage to nod, touching his hand gently in return.

The void still threatens to suck you in, but it doesn’t feel as indomitable as it did before.

…

“Where’d you go?” Bucky grunts through the radio as he knocks out his assailant, watching Sam come gliding down out of the sky.

“I had to grab someone.” He mentions in passing as he sets down on the ground. He pulls out his own gun and puts down a few more guards.

He catches Bucky’s smirk from out of the corner of his eye. His own gaze darkens and he’s unable to check the deep warning in his tone before the words come out. “Don’t say anything.”

“Wasn’t going to, flighty.”

“Call me flighty one more time and I’ll throw you off the bridge.”

He chuckles before swinging around Sam’s side and shooting another enemy with their gun aimed at Sam.

Sam pauses for a second, shooting two quick glances over in Bucky’s direction.

“Thank me later.” Bucky smirked at him with a spark and charm that Sam would have usually given him. Sam clamps his jaw down to avoid saying anything. “I’m sure a special someone would appreciate it.”

“When we get through this, remind me to never give you rides anywhere ever again.”

“Oh no,” he said in fake seriousness. “Who am I gonna call now?”

“Shut up.” Sam said stiffly, thinking briefly to you and Stephen’s knowing assurance. How many people knew how he felt? He didn’t even know how he felt. He didn’t know why your call over the radio made him as nervous as he felt or why he’d abandoned Bucky suddenly.

He just knew he needed to get to you.

Just like all those times before. He needed to be there. He needed you to know that you could trust him, with anything. Just like the confidence and trust that you’d given him.

You hadn’t sounded frightened — no — you sounded reserved. And reserved scared him a lot more than frightened did.

And so he was there, just before you were sucked down into the collapsing building.

Now, he just wanted to get out of this so he could get back to you. Surprisingly, although the thought scared him more than he wanted to admit — it’d been a while since Sam was willing to really settle in one place — he just wanted to get out of the field for just a moment, just to know you were safe before he moved on.

Even then, moving on wasn’t going to be easy. He didn’t let himself think hard about that.

Sam shook his head slightly before getting back into focus. He still had a job to do.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, harrowing with laser focus as a plan formulated in his mind. “I’m pushing that building, there’s still people inside. Can you keep the sky clear? I really don’t want to be hit by shells while I’m moving people.”

“On it.” Sam jetted off into the sky, eyes peeled, ready to shoot down anything that would stand in the way.

…

Sam tried to keep his pace at a normal speed, but failed.

Bucky noticed.

They exited the quinjet back at base and Bucky picked up his pace to match Sam’s quicker clip. “I’ll debrief. You do what you need to do.”

Sam didn’t really care what he said.

Bucky knew better than to demand a response. He was always like this when it came to you.

Sam made it to the medbay and he paused for a moment, expecting you to be there resting at least. When you were nowhere to be found, Sam swallowed down his rising anxiety.

He moved around the corner, looking for someone around to ask where you’d gone. When he’d seen the red cape, he knew he’d found exactly who he was looking for.

“Sam,” He greeted, sitting and pouring over a text. “I trust that everything went well.”

“Something like that.” He compromised in response. “Where’d (name) go? Is she alright?”

Stephen nodded absentmindedly. “She’s fine, just needed a few stitches and a bandage. The last time I talked to her, she went out.”

“Out?” Sam worked to school his face into a neutral state despite the rising anxiety bubbling up in his core. He wasn’t overjoyed at the idea of you going out by yourself, especially after just sustaining an injury. “Where?”

“I’m not sure, Sam. But I assure you, she’s more than capable of taking care of herself. She just probably needs a break. Thinking you might die in a crumbling building isn’t something you just bounce back from.” Sam processed the information and slowed down, searching for an answer, a rational explanation of going after you.

Dr. Strange sighed before giving up this as a solution. “I’d wait. She’ll be back soon.”

Sam nodded, unable to come up with anything that would vindicate him from further suspicion. But just like how he’d almost promised you that he’d return, he’d be patient until you came back.

“Shawarma?” Stephen held out a paper towel. Sam looked cautiously, not sure if he really trusted what he was offering. He looked at him with a guarded expression before removing a glove and grabbing it out of his hand.

“Thanks,” Sam said, still in the middle of deciding whether he should eat it or not. “I guess.”

…

You waltzed back to the compound at the call of Stephen who rang you while you were out getting coffee. He’d sounded amused despite the seriousness of his words.

You didn’t bother rushing back to the office.

Whatever Stephen had going on, he could wait another thirty minutes as you made the walk back up the forested street back to the compound. Your wrap served as a constant marker of what happened, how your life was almost ripped from your clutches. You tried to ignore it now, but the white of the wrap consistently caught your attention.

You huffed in frustration as you worked back to the medbay. What in the world could be wrong now? You didn’t really want to relive the experience of nearly crying in his examination room.

You needed time to absorb it all.

“Stephen, what’s going on?”

You came to a stop behind his chair. Stephen only turned slightly to look at you. “Sam’s waiting for you.”

“Sam?” You scoffed and sipped your coffee. “Like he’d come looking for me. He’s got a debrief, not to mention plenty of other things to do in the meantime.”

“Well, he came here looking for you. Thought you might want to know.”

Disappointingly, you did kind of want to know. You pretended to be annoyed, asking F.R.I.D.A.Y his location in the driest voice you could possibly muster.

When she directed you to his rooms, you pushed down the jolt of surprise and kept your expression neutral as you turned out the examination room and down the hallway.

…

“Sam?” You knocked gently on the door, the anxiousness you felt earlier steadily rising as you waited outside. Maybe coffee wasn’t the smartest idea. “It’s (name). Stephen said you were looking for me.”

You took a few deep breaths, nearly resting your forehead against the door. Your nerves were jittering now, climbing to a fever pitch.

When Sam swung the door open, you nearly fell straight into him. You straightened as quickly as you could, clearing your throat and swallowing abruptly.

“Hi.” You said, meeker than usual.

Sam’s eyes glowed for a second before he found his usual charm, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed. “Greetings.” You almost swore his voice was deeper than usual.

You looked at him expectantly, waiting for an explanation. He just stared back.

You sighed, dropping your head and turning slightly away. This was stupid. “Well, he said you asked for me, but, if you don’t have anything to say, I’ll go.”

“Wait.” He reached out to you for a second before inching his hand slowly backward. “How’s your arm.”

“Fine.” You responded. It was throbbing more than before, but you figured the pain would linger for some time, despite the pain meds. “It should be a little while before I can take it off though.”

Sam nodded. “Good.”

You both stood in a tense silence again, just staring at each other for a moment.

“Okay, well, if that’s all…” You took a couple steps away from him, moving down the hall.

“(name)?”

You turned slowly, sparing a small smile in his direction. “Yes, Sam?”

“If, perhaps,” He tilted his head with a smirk. “I knew this place downtown….”

Your heart leaped into a gallop.

“And I asked you to join me, would you say yes?” His eyes did the soft twinkly thing and your heart melted.

Maybe this wasn’t such a stupid idea.

Maybe your Sam, that Sam that was always there in battle, didn’t actually disappear when you came home.

“Maybe…” You drawled out, slowly stepping closer to him until you’d slipped your hands into his, feeling his warmth stabilize yours. Maybe the good doctor was right. You deserved this, you deserved happiness. And if Sam was willing to take that chance on you, just another agent, then why not take a chance on him. “Depends on how you ask.”

Sam grinned for a moment. “(name), will you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner tomorrow evening?”

You hid a smile before leaning up to kiss him on the cheek, staying by his shoulder while your arms wrapped around him in a hug. Sam’s arms pulled you close, holding on tightly.

It felt like you were flying, but not anything else like your first experience in the air. You weren’t afraid now like you were then. You felt safe, calm, like you were in control.

You were soaring on something much stronger than air. Hope.

“I’d love to, Sam.”

He grasped you tighter as he picked you up and spun you around, your laughs joining together in bliss. And when he set you down, his eyes sparkled like a thousand suns and for the first time in a while, you were ready to let yourself fall.

Because this Sam, your Sam would catch you. Always.

77 notes · View notes

votederpycausemufins · 4 years ago

Text

hey, this is a hermit!tommy fic. let’s get him back in here... at some point. oh! this is also chapter 15!

@petrichormeraki and @helleborusangel

Blacklist check. Attempting Entry: TheseusMC. Assigned roles: Helscraft Member, NSMP Member. Banned roles: None. Allowing Entry.

Theseus was surprised to see how undamaged the spawn area was. Even the surrounding land didn’t look that bad. He figured it was because it wasn’t in Hels. That was fine. The fact that it seemed calmer here meant this would be easy.

From his inventory, Theseus grabbed his mask and axe. He pulled his handkerchief up over his nose and then put his mask on, letting a single brown eye stay visible. He then held the axe so it rested on his shoulder before walking. Nightmare never stayed in one place, so this Dream person would likely be the same.

No matter, he would probably find him eventually, or the admin would get curious and come to him. Either way, he would find him. So Theseus started walking.

Blacklist check. Attempting Entry: EvilXisuma. Assigned roles: Helscraft Member, Hacker, Admin. Banned roles: None. Allowing Entry.

Xannes spawned in and looked around. The place was a little bit of a mess, but it wasn’t all that bad. It wasn’t like you were a step in the wrong direction away from being set on fire. Immediately he activated his present commands. The sky turned dark and started storming, lighting striking everywhere. Then he randomized a player and spawned in a mob, causing Xannes to get three messages sent to his helmet’s communicator.

JackManifold was blown up by creeper

<JackManifold> WHAT

<JackManifold> I WAS IN THE NETHER

Xannes chuckled before activating another command.

<CaptainPuffy> My stuff is suddenly just all gone

<CaptainPuffy> My inventory got wiped

And now how about a teleport or two?

Quackity fell from a high place

Ranboo suffocated in a block

He set up a few more commands and programmed it so they would play on loop while he went looking for the kids. He mostly ignored the messages coming in, instead focusing on trying to get the locations of the bots, but for whatever reason, something was stopping that. “Console? Who uses a console these days? They’re so… inefficient and clunky. Anyone who can get to it can use it. Hmm, though I suppose that would make things easier for me.”

The hels admin punched another command into his helmet and found the coordinates for the Console. He would teleport, but they often had tp protection or traps around them. Sometimes both. Plus Xannes had no clue what the nearby area would look like. So instead, he set his player-mode to creative and started heading off in that direction.

As he got closer to the location, Xannes looked at the ground below. It was covered with some sort of red… thing that seemed to be taking over the land. It honestly reminded him of the nylium war from a number of months ago. Obviously he couldn’t be sure how close it was to that, not having any experience with this particular problem. Plus, he wasn’t the admin, so he didn’t need to deal with it.

Xannes reached the coordinates and then paused. There was nothing here. Had he gotten them wrong? No, they were right. Even the y coordinate, so it wasn’t underground. But the console wasn’t here at all. It was just… missing. He ran the command again just to be absolutely sure that these were the coordinates.

The command calculated the answer, and then gave him new coordinates. Great, it had given him the wrong place. Xannes rolled his eyes before really reading the new numbers. It wasn’t too terribly far from here, so Xannes adjusted and started towards the correct location. But then it wasn’t there either!

A third attempt of the command and a third set of coordinates. This time Xannes took the time to put himself into spectator mode to give himself the extra speed. But even then, there was nothing. “This doesn’t make any sense!” He turned back to creative mode, nearly trapping himself in some blocks. “It’s a console! You can’t just carry them around with you! Unless this is something helping with the protection. That could be in. Leading me off on a wild goose chase so I can’t find it and give up. Well, it won’t stop me that easily!”

He started off back towards spawn, flying over any of that red stuff covering the ground. It started out with him just needing to jump over or hover for a second to avoid it, but as Xannes continued, it just covered more and more until he couldn’t take it anymore and went to see what the source was.

After a bit of travel, it seemed like Xannes was almost there. He could barely see an entrance, but the stuff, it looked like plants, were half covering it. He pulled out a weapon to try and cut the plants, only to move back when he ended up taking damage. “Alright… what is this? I should be fine in this player-mode.” He tried again to get the same result. He then spawned in some lit TNT and watched as the plants exploded leaving charred remains. Xannes went through the now clear opening and started going down the staircase that had been behind it, when it started getting significantly darker. Turning back around, he watched as the plants repaired themselves, pulling back together until they looked undamaged.

Xannes stared at the reformed plants for a few minutes before racing down the stairs. This was really unnatural. It was even to the point where he was considering just baling and saying it was a lost cause. As he attempted to dodge any plants hanging from the walls and ceiling, he instead managed to hit a tripwire and suddenly parts of the walls were moving in and out. The admin growled and stood in place for a second, before just using the commands to get rid of the moving blocks and continue to descend the steps.

He had almost reached the bottom when Xannes realized he could hear people talking. And it didn’t sound distressed, more like a run of the mill conversation. That probably meant whoever it was had been down here for a long time, or didn’t realize they could get out.

Finally, the stairs opened up into a room that attacked his eyes with red. The plants were covering the place, vines all over the floor and hanging down from the ceiling. The walls and floors were also made of netherbrick, crimson wood and red carpets further saturating the place with red. Xannes pulled out his sword to use as a stick to push vines out of the way. It took a bit of hopping about, but finally he was able to see the source of the voices.

There were a number of people surrounding a table. Using his helmet’s functions, he was able to get a better read on them. There was a demon, a cat hybrid, and two humans, one of them wearing some sort of mask. There seemed to possibly be other people, but none that he could get a good read on from all of the vines. Xannes moved a bit to get another look. Indeed there were more people, but one of them caught his attention most of all. It was Jrum.

Grumbot kept walking, getting closer to his- its charger. He- It was low on battery so he- it needed to plug back in. More of the infective plants were in the way, so a flint and steel was used to burn a path. Grumbot continued to light fires, ignoring the damage it took from walking through them. It was fine. The scorching could be cleaned if that was what was wanted. Perhaps it would not. Like the denting and the crack in its monitor.

Finally it arrived at the house. It ignored the dusty bed and instead stood next to the charger, staying in place as its battery filled. Now that it was charging, it could work. Weather was set to clear, unnatural mob spawning was turned off, teleporting was disabled, and more was done after that. It attempted to track the source of the issues, but only managed to find it was due to a hacker. That much was obvious from the start.

More programs started running before Grumbot realized what today was. Perhaps that was the source of the issues. A report was sent to the admin, giving him more details. An order came back and the robot continued to assess the issue, told to continue until he arrived.

It took time for the admin to appear, but he did indeed. Except he was dressed slightly differently. And there was an absence of admin powers for the world. There were indeed admin powers present on this person, but it was not the correct source.

The person stood staring, axe held in their hands. It was a material the robot was unfamiliar with. There was no such item listed in this world. Then they spoke. “You’re a robot.”

“Correct.” Grumbot answered in a fully monotone voice, confirming the sentence.

“How long have you been like that?”

“Since my creation.”

The person sighed. “Alright, well this should still work.” They moved and grabbed the robot by the antenna, but it didn’t want to be moved and pulled out a netherite sword, stabbing the person with it. “Fuck! It would be better if you didn’t fight back.”

“I am not to be removed from this place.”

“And why’s that?” The person asked, rolling their eyes.

“I have been ordered to stay here and wait for the admin.”

There was silence before the person spoke again. “But the admin is Dream.”

“Correct.”

“Aren’t you Dream?”

“Incorrect.”

“Then where is he?”

Tommy cursed as he nearly flew into yet another bee. Sure, walking would mean he didn’t suddenly launch himself face first into one of the fuzzy mobs, but it would also take forever to get back, and he needed to be in the shopping district yesterday. He would have loved to just send a message and get an emergency teleport, but when all his things had been taken in the first place, his comm had been included.

When he finally reached the end of the tunnel to the upside down, Tommy took just a second to breathe before using another rocket to fly to the shopping district portal. Fortunately nothing dangerous was around, so he was able to take a second break at the foot of the portal before stepping through. Being able to see a regular overworld was great, especially since it was home, but there was one last thing he needed to do. Tommy took a deep breath, and then screamed at the top of his lungs.

The moment Tommy started yelling, he started counting the seconds. He was able to keep screaming for about twelve seconds before he needed to breathe, then seven seconds after that, he was tackled to the ground by Grian.

“TOMMY WHAT’S WRONG?!”

“Ow! Not right in my fucking ear, bitch!” Tommy shoved Grian off of him. “And I needed to do something to get your fucking attention.”

“Why didn’t you just-”

“Message you? Can’t. Comm got stolen. Speaking of which, I didn’t come back here with you!”

“What? But you were here with us until a few minutes ago.”

“Wasn’t me. I’ve been stuck with your hels!version. Meanwhile mine’s been the one here!”

“Oh no! Tommy I’m so sorry we didn’t realize!”

“Don’t worry G, ‘s fine. Bitch got his Phil to trap me in prison for a bit, but I’m out now. Now where the fuck is he?”

Grian pulled out his comm. “Shoot, he left just before EX did.”

“And those are connected… why?”

“My best guess is he went to your old server like EX. He’s after the bots.”

“Why aren’t you in there instead?”

Grian’s feathers ruffled. “Because I can’t get in there. We’ve tested everyone at this point. We’re all blacklisted from the place. Even when I use my Watcher powers which shouldn’t be possible!”

“Wait, everyone?”

“Yes! Phil, Techno and Tubbo couldn’t get in,” Grian quickly gestured to them, then himself. “I couldn’t, Mumbo definitely couldn’t. Same with Xisuma, Cub and Scar, Joe, heck, even Jellie couldn’t get in! It seemed EX was able to, and so was your duplicate, but that’s it.”

“Well, I just got here, what if I went?”

“No! I may have been having this conversation without you before, but I do not want you going there if you don’t have to.”

“If I can go as backup, I should.” Tommy crossed his arms.

“Tommy, I don’t really think that’s a good idea.” Tubbo spoke up. “I mean, I know you want to help and all, but that other guy seems to be dealing with it, and the server’s really changed since you were there last.”

“It’s still better than nothing! I know mostly what’s going on while Xannes has no fucking clue. And if you don’t, I can just call Mumza.”

Phil shook his head. “Do you even know how to do that?”

“Pretty much. I’m guessing it’s mostly the same. I’m just hoping she’s not a piece of shit like you were.”

“She’s not! Wait hey!”

“I meant the other you! But you weren’t the best guy yourself.”

“Tommy please don’t go.” Grian pleaded, taking Tommy’s hand. “You said you never wanted to go back.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I assumed one day you’d be able to get over there and grab Tubbo and maybe Ranboo. Possibly Big Q as well. Now you can’t get in and I might be able to. Why are you so against me going in there?!”

“BECAUSE I’M SICK OF LOSING MY FAMILY!” Grian shouted, unintentionally enhancing his voice with Watcher magic. I spent around eighteen years of my life making and losing family at every turn. The people I grew up with, the family I built, the people in Evo. I finally got to Hermitcraft and I started making a new family even though I know I’m going to lose it again! I haven’t been here that long! And then you showed up, and I was able to fix the bots, and I found NPG again, and then I found the family I lost. And now it’s falling apart again. I just want to hold on as long as I can before I lose even more.”

Tommy didn’t say anything as Grian shouted, slowly dissolving into tears. He just let his older brother shout at him and hug his and anything else he wanted to do. He could feel his shirt getting soaked from tears, but he didn’t care. He just softly spoke back. “Grian, I spent my life living in your shadow. I acted enough like you that Dad, Wil and Techno weren’t a fan of it. I got to the SMP and tried making friends, but they sort of fell apart, even a little bit with Tubbo and the whole exile thing. Then I got to hang with you and your kids and became part of the family before we even knew I was that from the start. Life fucking sucks sometimes, but I push through it cause that’s all I’ve really been able to do. And man, I don’t want to lose them either. Sure I’m their uncle, but they’re kinda also like my siblings. I want to go help them.”

Grian still looked conflicted, but then he sighed. “Okay… but you’re going to take this.” And suddenly a sort of communicator Tommy hadn’t seen appeared in Grian’s hand. “This was… a friend of mine’s. It was made to work in just about any situation. You’re going to send me messages any chance you get. If I don’t have one within five minutes, I’m going to use the doomsday option.”

“I’m sorry, the what?!”

“You said you were stuck in prison and hanging out with my double. You’re not there now, so I assume he isn’t either.” Tommy didn’t say anything, he just rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “That’s what I thought. Look, if I can’t get in there with Watcher powers alone, I may have to get his help. If he were still trapped, I wouldn’t consider it on the risk that he would stay freed, but if he’s out, not like that’s a risk anymore.”

“He sort of seems like the person who would completely destroy the SMP.”

“And that’s why it’s called the doomsday option.”

Tommy just nodded and took the comm. “Alright then, let’s see if I can get in.”

Grian used his watcher powers again, and sent him to the SMP. He wasn’t stopped by any blacklist, and he arrived at the other side, still with all his gear.

Blacklist check. Attempting Entry: Tommyinnit. Assigned roles: Family Member, Uncle, Hermitcraft Member, DSMP Member Banned roles: Family Member, Uncle, Hermitcraft Member.

Exceptions check. Exceptions List found: Second_List_Exceptions. Name found. Allowing Entry.

#hermit!tommy au #hermit!tommy #hels!tommy #evil xisuma #jrumbot #the blood vines #grumbot #tommyinnit #grian #watcher!grian #grian xelqua #avian!Grian #philza #tubbo #techno is technically there too

26 notes · View notes

poketin · 4 years ago

Text

An Exercise in Observation

(can also be found on ao3 under poketin)!

Kanamori Sayaka has a sharp eye.

She’s known for it. The label on her favorite milk and what to look out for when someone’s trying to cheap out of her cashing in their favor for some of the good stuff. The way the fresher money tree leaves jut out rather than the slight sag they acquire as time passes. The guilty hunch of Mizusaki’s shoulders as she spends too long trying to make a shot perfect instead of getting things done on time.

It’s why when Asakusa fiddles and squirms in ways different than usual (and yes of course Kanamori has her comrade’s mannerisms filed away, you never know what information may come in handy for your own purposes), Kanamori notices.

Asakusa squirming is nothing new, fiddling with pencils, chewing on her rabbit, coiling in her chair then springing up when her energy needs to go somewhere, “BA-BWAA!” as she helpfully explained. Kanamori knows it helps her concentrate, lays the tracks in front of her mind’s train as it barrels ahead with anecdotes, tangents, and ideas, trying to wrangle its path before it derails and overwhelms her senses.

But Asakusa is twitching in a way that suggests she’s trying to curb her movement, only lurching slightly on the same side each time, not alternating like the blur of her swinging legs or crisscrossing ankles as she taps on the floor, but a movement devoid of silence save for a hiss between her teeth.

Irritation seizes Kanamori’s body, overriding any possibility of worry or patience as she spins herself in her chair and slams her feet on the ground, one leg draped over the other.

“What are you doing.”

It comes out as a statement because Kanamori hates pointless questions, preferring an acknowledgment that “Yes, I know something’s wrong and no amount of unconvincing jabber is going to prove otherwise, so spit it out already,” but in fewer words that can save both of them time.

Despite this, the course of action Asakusa takes is of no surprise to anyone as she tries to withhold her shock, her hat hopping off her head for the briefest moment. She turns to Kanamori with GUILT practically written on her forehead in thick, black lines. She’s either brave or stupid enough to look her in the eyes, nonetheless. Mizusaki smells danger, and hightails it out of the clubroom with the excuse that she’s going to buy them all drinks.

“W-whatever could you mean, Kanamori-kun?”

Her uniform looks fine, a smudge of dirt here and there, a grass stain peaking out behind the sleeve of her blazer, maybe even a twig in her hair if her adventure was recent enough.

Her hands are unmarred, curling and clasping at each other as they are, no bandaids, no bruising, no scabs.

Her hat’s as worn as ever, no new holes or tears, no irreversible bleach stains from a traumatic laundry mishap.

Kanamori’s gaze combs over Asakusa’s body but she doesn’t twist or turn in her chair at all. The telltale signs of Asakusa’s nervousness are what the unimaginative often call “normal.” She curls in on herself slightly, her eyes straight ahead rather than bouncing around the room finding the foundations of a fighter plane or a laser cannon in every cranny of ruffled steel, her legs hang like dead weights, hands steady in their twisting instead of squeezing love into her rabbit or bunching up in her clothes. It’s her usual self-expression that’s labeled “suspicious,” confirming for Kanamori once more that the ignorance of people has no stopping point.

Then there’s that pinched expression on her face that Kanamori doesn’t like at all.

“Did a teacher tell you off again?”

There’s been problems, Kanamori’s opinion of faculty falling somehow even lower every time a teacher snaps at Asakusa to pay attention as she doodles (as if she doesn’t get above-average marks in many subjects) or tells her to stand in the hallway if she can’t stop being a distraction.

“No, it’s been awhile since that’s happened,” Asakusa says, shaking her head. Inwardly, Kanamori notes with satisfaction that her anonymous letters about being “unable to receive proper education under teachers that see fit to constantly single out one student” have achieved their goal faster than she predicted.

Outwardly, she raises a single eyebrow.

Asakusa sighs, and before Kanamori has a chance to stop her, stands up and rolls her skirt up partway. Luckily, Kanamori’s brain hasn’t caught up quickly enough to fry itself and send heat blasting into her cheeks, so she notices the problem rather quickly.

“Mosquito bites.”

There’s an angry, swelling bump right above her right knee, with two more on her outer left thigh. With the way she leans down to tug at her socks, there may very well be more on her lower legs.

Deciding on whether to take a break and get medical help or ignore her discomfort to keep working on backgrounds seems to have been an easy choice for their director.

Kanamori stands up and makes her way over, without a sound.

“Sometimes you need to feel the grass between your toes…” Asakusa mumbles, as if that makes her case more reasonable or sympathetic.

But Kanamori is not one to pity.

She stands in front of Asakusa, who only wilts now that Kanamori is directly in front of her, and lets her fist fall onto Asakusa’s head, a common gesture of her disdain.

“And where was the bug spray in your pack?”

Asakusa jolts up, her arms crossed over her body protectively.

“To bring chemical warfare into their natural territory is a war crime, Kanamori-kun!”

Her eyes shine with such righteous indignation that Kanamori has to clamp her teeth down on the rush of fondness that floods through her. Of course the girl who once let a cockroach ride on top of her hat so it could “experience the world in an entirely new way” would never kill a mosquito that didn’t first invade her home base.

“Will it hamper your productivity?”

“Well…”

Kanamori sighs and cinches her arms around Asakusa’s neck, pulling her along.

“W-wait, Kanamori-kun! The power of my will won’t be defeated by mere itchiness—!”

Her voice becomes a muffled squeak as Kanamori tosses her onto the couch and flips open her bag. She points at the couch without looking up.

“Sit. And no scratching.”

She pulls herself into a seated position as Kanamori digs around in her backpack.

Asakusa immediately swings one of her legs, letting out a strangled note of distress as one of her larger bites brushes against the fabric.

Kanamori, now in front of her, grabs the leg in midair.

“K-kanamori-kun?!”

She could focus on the way Asakusa scrunches her mouth in bafflement or the way her brown eyes flicker between Kanamori’s own eyes and clasped hand. She could think about how soft the skin of Asakusa’s leg seems right above where she’s holding her socked ankle. She could read into the way Asakusa doesn’t jerk away from her, how she seems to trust her completely and is ready to follow her lead.

Instead Kanamori drops her leg and tries to make her voice less hoarse as she says, “Don’t move.”

She kneels down and pops the cap off the anti-swelling pain relief gel. More tenderly than she’d ever admit, she squeezes some onto her finger and rubs it on the bite near her knee. Asakusa sighs as the cool gel soothes the burning area.

Kanamori never hesitates, but she’s not sure how to approach the bites in more…intimate areas. She and Asakusa have always been on the same wavelength though, and wordlessly Asakusa leans over to roll her socks down, nose nearly brushing Kanamori’s as she straightens back up to adjust her skirt once more.

There’s only a couple bumps on her lower legs, and Kanamori gets through them faster than she wants to, what with the last few targets waiting for her.

“Asakusa-shi.”

“Kanamori-kun.”

Of all times, it’s now that Asakusa’s voice is clearest, firmest. There’s a hint of challenge in her eyes and her face is enviably clear of any blush.

Kanamori has never been one to stall on what she wants.

She squeezes out more gel, sliding her other hand up Asakusa’ leg, just barely grazing it until she reaches the spot where the final bites are. Once there, she gently grips onto Asakusa’s leg, her thumb trailing her flesh, urging her to turn so the welt is in clearer view. Asakusa obliges.

Kanamori has a good poker face even on the worst of days. Still, as she slathers gel on Asakusa’s soft skin, its coldness contrasts rather pointedly with the heat coming off her own traitorous face.

The door opens just as Kanamori is finishing up. To their credit, neither of them jump at Mizusaki’s return. Instead, Kanamori screws and unscrews the cap of the gel, cursing design flaws as she struggles to get it back on, while Asakusa hops off the couch. She smooths out her skirt and gives Kanamori a brilliant smile without a hint of their previous tension.

“Thanks, Kanamori-kun!”

She grabs a can of peach tea from Mizusaki and dashes to her desk, throwing herself once more into the spirals of far-off mountains and billowing clouds that hide them away.

Kanamori ignores the grin Mizusaki gives her as she hands off the cool bottle of milk, but what she doesn’t miss is Mizusaki whispering, “You so owe me,” as she straightens back up. They both know she’s not talking about the milk, and Mizusaki skips to her workstation before Kanamori can so much as scowl in her direction.

Never mind the fact that she’s smiling instead.

#knas #kanamori x asakusa #sayaka kanamori #asakusa midori #kanamori sayaka x asakusa midori #eizouken #keep your hands off eizouken!#Eizouken ni wa Te wo Dasu na!#kanakusa #asamori #keep your hands off eizouken #poketin fics

133 notes · View notes

tobebrutal · 3 years ago

Text

slums were slums, covered in dirt or bright lights, the stink stayed the same. it reminded of a decade past, when the leathers of his boots were cracked and slacks were replaced with jeans, holes in the knees and stolen trinkets in his pocket. funny how the weight stayed so similar, even when all he hid within was chump change and a blade. what’d rude like to say, waxing prophetic ? the more things changed, the more they stayed the same ?

what a crock’a shit.

memories of old alleyways made his path an instinctual one, treaded in an intentionally thump’d approach that had nothing to do with want to be there and everything to stand in warning. blazing red was hard to miss... his own ; that flash behind another slot of wood that creaked harder, still, when gloved hands wrenched it open and bared a sight worthy of his scoff inside. because the leash hadn’t been kept taut.. because their blood was a burning sort and fire had a pesky habit of spreading in spite of itself.

“ what’d i say ? ” it’s scolding. chastisement for a child who’d not come to terms with their own age and the risks they wandered into, haplessly, out here. “ lemme think.. did i say— ” reno approached like the tide, warning of its breaking point with the clench of his jaw and the suck of his teeth, “ —go out and make enough noise that i get a call and need ‘t wander the dumps to find you ? ”

axel will say it’s unfair. he’ll scowl his own disdain and give the usual speech about being his own person and making his own choices and, in closing in on him, reno will argue, again, that none of that means shit when shinra says it doesn’t. not when the boom of his own voice rubbed many the wrong way and, for lack of his neck to wring, a like enough one would suffice. make an example.. send a message. he’d have done the same.

“ i didn’t know any better, i’d say you pull this shit just to piss me off. ” to lure him back from a mission beyond walls and steel and mako’s smog. “ get your stuff, we’re leaving. ” / @strywoven

#strywoven #sw!axel #tothrills #i. tothrills & sw!axel #( when ur bro ain't bein a bro amirite bro?? Bl )

1 note · View note

versegm · 4 years ago

Note

Holy Grail War where Guda is their summoner's weird back-alley encounter one night, then ghosts them for two days straight without an explanation and then seamlessly sets themselves up in the next-door apartment. They never explain what a holy grail is, and they're human-passing if they take sufficient precautions, and five months in it's just them and one enemy servant left. Guda goes drinking with them every Tuesday.

The first time you meet your new neighbor, you almost have a heart attack.

“Ma’am! Do you need any help with that?”

Face mask, sunglasses, leather gloves. They stand hover above you, and it dawns on you that you’re about to get mugged.

“No, no, it’s fine.” You steel your spine and straighten your back- and immediately wince. Old age has not been kind to you. “I’m fine. Really.”

The youth chuckles- they sound genuinely amused. Since you can barely see their face at all, you can’t read any of their emotions. It’s unnerving. “Don’t be silly, ma’am.” They take hold of the heaviest of your grocery bags. “Where do you live? I’ll walk you there.”

And you can’t really do anything but agree, can you? Ah, it has been a good life, at least. You suppose there are worse ways to go than...

... actually guided home by a yakuza? Who bids you goodbye and just leaves?

... Wait, they were being honest with the offer to help?

The youth, you learn quickly (for there is no better intel than old lady gossip) goes by Ritsuka Fujimaru, is probably not part of any yakuza group, and works part-time at the okonomiyaki place down the street.

Their apartment is also two rooms away from yours, which is why you keep running into them.

“Ma’am!” They wave at you excitedly. Their face is still covered. Apparently, they’re just that allergic to showing any important patch of skin. “You shouldn’t stay around these parts, ma’am. Haven’t you heard? A pipeline exploded yesterday.”

Huh, really? There has been a lot of these kind of accidents lately. You didn’t know another one exploded in the area.

This city really needs to get it together. You remember another serie of accidents like this when you were a kid. You’d think in sixty years infrastructure would get better.

“Ma’am! Ah, it’s good to see you sticking to safe paths.”

“Ma’am! Ah, you really ought to check the news! The next street is closed up! It shouldn’t last long, but better safe than sorry, right?”

“Ma’am! Let’s walk home together! I just finished my shift. Are you coming back from the market?”

“Ma’am! This looks heavy, do you need help? Oh, this is new! How do you cook that?”

One day, you go out, and you don’t see them. You don’t bat an eye.

The next day, they’re still not here. It’s not the first time that happens.

The next day, still no Fujimaru. Now this is a little weird.

The next day, they’re still absent. You’re getting worried.

“They’re on sick leave.” The okonomiyaki place tells you. “They should be back by tomorrow.”

Sick?

You frown. They’re a weird folk, but you’ve grown to like the youngster. Do they even know how to take care of themself? You remember when you were just getting started into adulthood and boy that wasn’t pretty.

So, you walk determinedly to the youth’s apartment, and knock.

At first there is silence. Then a ruffled sound. Then, a voice. “One moment!”

So you wait.

... quite some time.

After what seems like an eternity, but most likely was only a minute, the door opens up. “Hi ma’am! What brings you here?” And you can’t help but flinch.

They look the same as usual. Sunglasses, face mask, and gloves. The same, no sicker, no healthier.

Three scars like slashes come across their right eye.

They have a sheepish laugh. “Ah, sorry. I didn’t have time to put on my make-up.”

Make-up? To cover the scars?

You look them over. Sunglasses, face mask, gloves. At first you’d assumed they were some kind of delinquent. At first you’d assumed they didn’t want to be recognized.

Ah, sorry. I didn’t have time to put on my make-up.

Ah.

You think you understand now.

“... Would you like to have dinner with me?” Originally, you wanted to bring them some chicken soup and be done with it, but what little of their apartment you can see behind them seems... unfit to host people. You wonder how they manage to live in it. It’s just... so full. Toys and tools and papers as if they could barely focus on one task at once. Where did they even fit their bed?

“Ah.” They click their tongue. “That’s very nice, ma’am, but I don’t think-”

“I’ll look the other way while you eat.” You say. “If you really don’t want me to see your face.”

They stay silent. For a few seconds, you can’t even hear them breathe.

“...Okay.”

It starts with chicken soup on a sick day. Then it turns into a small chat every two week. Then a meal every week.

After two months, you’ve gotten into the habit of hosting Fujimaru over twice a week.

They’re comfortable enough to remove their sunglasses when you’re the only one here, now. One of their eye is blank. The other one rarely ever focuses on you when you speak to them.

Weirdly enough, their eye is about the least interesting thing about Fujimaru.

"And there! That’s how you make mocassins.” They’re beaming. You can’t see their mouth, but you’re sure they’re smiling. “Friend of mine taught me how to make these.”

“You seem to have a lot of odd friends.”

“Oh, definitely. But that’s just how life is, y’know?”

Somehow, you get the feeling that their life isn’t exactly what you’d call “average.”

It takes another month for them to take off the face mask.

... Huh.

“Hyperdontia.” That’s the only explanation they give you. You don’t press them. Not about their teeth, not about their eye, not about their soot-like skin under their gloves. From what you’ve seen, it’s a miracle that Fujimaru ended up somewhat functional despite whatever stacked that many scars on them.

“Say, ma’am,” they ask between two bites of food, “if you could have any wish fulfilled, what would you want?”

“A wish?” You raise an eyebrow. “I’m a little old to believe in genies, don’t you think?”

“Humor me.” They set their chin on their palm. “Any wish at all. What would you wish for?”

Any wish...

A few months back, you’d probably have answered ‘a friend,’ or something cheesy like that. Life can be... lonely, when one is as old as you, with no kid or nephew to speak of.

But now, well...

“... no, I can’t think of anything. I’m good.”

They blink. Evidently, they were not expecting that answer.

“... You’re a good person, you know that?”

Their teeth are long and sharp. Somehow, it doesn’t stop their smile from being incredibly sweet.

Fujimaru has a friend.

Well, multiple, obviously. Fujimaru looks kind of scary at first, but give them the occasion to chat you up, and they will not let you leave unfriended. But what you mean by that is that Fujimaru has a friend.

“I saw Caster the other day!” They always look giddy talking about Caster. You’re hesitant to call it puppy love, but evidently, this person means a lot to them.

Here’s what you know about Caster:

- They act like an old man

- They look young enough that Fujimaru has to be the one to buy alcohol when they hang out

- They’ve got Opinion on writing

“So, you write too, Fujimaru?” You ask, after the third time they retell you about some writing discourse or another.

“Mh? Oh, yeah. sometimes.” They rub the back of their neck. “Well, not really. There’s just this one thing I’ve been writing over and over again, so.”

(They do that a lot. Repetitive things, you mean. Sometimes, they repeat something they’ve just told you. Sometimes, they do the same action twice, thrice in a row, as if they’d forgotten they’d already done it.)

(The scars on their face looks deep. You think they might have some mild brain damage, but again, this isn’t your place to ask.)

“What is it about?” You ask, because you’re genuinely interested.

They look down, and seem suddenly very interested in scratching the underneath of their nails.

“... It’s a little silly.” They finally say. “I had this friend, you see.”

You nod. Do go on. For all the time you’ve spent with Fujimaru, you know surprisingly little about their past.

“He was great. Incredible! He knew so much. And he was kind! And resourceful. He could always get someone out of a bind even when himself had next to nothing to work with. I owe him a lot.”

“He sounds pretty great.”

They nod excitedly. “That’s who I’m writing about. My friend.” They pause, for a second, as if unsure if they should continue. When they speak again, their voice is a little lower, as if telling a secret.

“There is power in stories, you know? If it’s written down, then it’s real. In a way. Not real real. But real in a way that matters. Once a story is weaved, you can’t unmake it. Even if no one knows of it. Even if it gets burned down afterwards. There is power in stories.”

It’s a good thing that they don’t ask you if you’ve understood, because you certainly hadn’t. But they go on.

“That’s what I’m writing about. My friend. I’m writing a story about him. Some meaningless slice of life thing. A regular day at work. Getting coffee in the morning. Saying hi to his daughter. Feeling the wind on his face. That’s what I’m writing. Normal life stuff.”

They tilt their head back, look at your roof.

“... It’s the least I can give to him. It’s the only thing I can give to him. A story in which he lives.”

It’s been six months since you’ve met Fujimaru, when they ask you with the utmost seriousness: “Do you believe in lucky charms?”

“As much as the next person.” You shrug. It’s very much a maybe maybe not to you. You don’t care all that much.

“Okay. That’s good.” Fujimaru smiles. It’s weird, how used you’ve become to these teeth. How comforting the sight of scars can become. “See, there’s this one lucky charm I wanted to give you. Something of a spell if you ever need me and I’m not here.”

? Well, why not. It wouldn’t be the strangest of Fujimaru’s quirks.

“Okay, listen up. Don’t repeat what I’m going to say. You can only say it one day where you really mean it, okay?” They lean towards you and cup their hands around your ear. Their breath is almost anormaly warm. “It goes something like this. By the power of my Command Spell, I ask of you...”

#fate #fate grand order #fgo #ritsuka fujimaru #guda #my writing #WELL.#THAT WENT WILDLY OUT OF HANDS.#MY BAD.#Anonymous

326 notes · View notes

dragon-fics · 3 years ago

Text

Shruikan's Rider (SR): Prologue: A Broken Bond {Inheritance Cycle fanfic}

Book description: Alys Emmasdaughter is going through the worst pain any Rider can ever go through--her dragon is dying and there is no way to save him.

While she mourns his inevitable death, the Eldunarí at the Dragon Riders' Academy inform her of a dragon who is suffering a similar fate

Alys led her silver steed up the path to the Dragon Rider Academy, high on Mount Arngor. Icy wind skimmed against her bare, almond arms as she focused on the dirt path beneath her. She felt and looked unkept; her frizzy, black hair was like a bird's nest; her clothes torn; and her skin filthy and dotted with scars.

The attack had been unprovoked; all she and her dragon, Ugauc, wanted to do was to visit the Stone of Broken Eggs near Ellesméra.

But that didn't happen.

Several hooded figures had struck them down, all baring spears that glistened with what Alys found out later was Seithr Oil; the product known to be used by the Ra'zac.

Every night, all she heard was Ugauc's cries as spiked nets doused in the erosive liquid dragged him down. The scene played over and over in her head; his cries, the pain, the figures emerging from the night's shadows, and them stabbing him to death as she killed them all with her blade. One by one, they had crumbled to the ground, leaving nothing but their scarlet cloaks behind.

From there, she ran to Ellesméra, seeking the aid of the elves, who insisted on her leaving as soon as Ugauc was stable, saying his recovery would be long and waiting there would render her useless.

But where she was wouldn't matter; without her beloved partner-of-heart-and-mind, she was useless.

Alys paused where she was and looked up, fighting off the tears forming in her eyes—again. It surprised her she had anymore tears to cry after her long journey back. She'd sob as she rode, keen while she ate, and cry as she slept—she was empty without him.

the ball of sadness in her heart was heavy, growing on its own accord throughout the day, causing her to crumble into tears unannounced.

And now was one of those moments.

Alys' throat grew sore and her lip quivered. Why had they done what they did? And why now, of all times, had the sadness grown stronger?

She placed her hands over her eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath. The last time she had walked along this path—or rather had to walk along this path—was when she was summoned, six years ago, by Eragon himself to be tested at the age of sixteen. According to the Eldunarí, her dragon Ugauc was the one for her. And they were right.

She wanted to reflect further, to remember his hatching and their training and his personality and how perfect he was, but she'd just end up wailing halfway up a mountain near people who she was supposed to tutor; now wasn't the time to bawl.

Alys continued her breathing, slowly gathering herself and drying off her eyes. "Kausta, Epona," Come, Epona, she said to her elf horse, putting on the bravest of faces she could muster and continuing up the path.

As she climbed, she thought of ways to distract herself; like what to put in the letter to her family for this month, or which eggs were ready to hatch next month; all the while fighting off any memory of a green dragon that emerged in her mind.

Finally, she stood in front of the large, open black-painted steel gates, looking in at the large sandstone courtyard. A few Riders stood about, talking to each other and preparing their dragons for slights.

Again, her sadness swelled.

Not now, she insisted. Don't think about him.

Alys pushed her head up high, pushing back any tears that were read to form and walked through the courtyard, focusing only on the large oak doors in front of her. On one door was a lifelike carving of a dragon, surrounded by fog at its feet with a tongue of fire escaping its maw. It looked down at the figure carving in the opposite door—its rider. The Rider seemed to be neither elf nor human, male nor female. Its features were pointed, like an elf's, yet its build was broader like a human's.

As soon as she reached the door, Alys turned to Epona and removed her belongings—a small pack of food and a book along with a rolled-up blanket. "Elrun ono, fricai," Thank you, friend, she said, stroking Epona's face.

The mare leaned into her touch and backed away before trotting out of the courtyard and out of sight.

Alys drew in a breath, shoving a new pulse of sadness aside and pushing open the varnished door. On the other side, she saw a few students bustling through the hall, with small dragons following them. She swiftly turned to the nearest set of stairs, jogging up to the dormitories.

From the outside, all the dorms looked like the inside of a beehive, openings in the rock connected by balconies and stairs. Each hole was big enough for most dragons to fit through, just like the corridors in the Academy. on the inside, it was nowhere near as intricate-looking, just three levels lined with average-sized doors and a large open balcony on each floor, so the dragons could fly up to the balconies if they couldn't fit through.

Alys loved the layout. It was so simple yet so thoughtful, allowing the dragons and riders to be individual yet have they stay in the stay quarters.

Alys continued her walk to her dorm, slowly opening the door with a quiet creak. She half expected to see Ugauc land on the balcony and make his way towards her, past his nest and her bed and her bookcase overflowing with books to nuzzle her. She closed the door with a quiet click and tossed her stuff onto her bed and looked out through the balcony, holding her arms akimbo and breathing deeply.

Alys shook her head, her sadness growing. A tear fell down her cheek, slowly, as she looked at the bright sun. She looked down at Uguac's nest, a large indent in the stone floor, lined with a thin cushion, littered with green scales and tufts of fur and feathers.

She smiled sadly at it and looked over at the green fragments of Ugauc's dragon egg on her ebony bookshelf. She drifted over to it, picking up the largest piece of the emerald shell, the intact base of the egg, where Ugauc had comfortably sat after he hatched, looking around at the hatchery and his Rider with his curious amber eyes.

Alys sighed sadly, wiping away her tears and swallowing hard, burying the lump in her throat as best as she could. She returned the fragment to its spot and stood back, tears returning to her cheeks again. "I miss you," she whispered.

The heavy flapping of dragon wings came close to her balcony, and a sapphire blue dragon landed on it. Alys looked at her, wiping away her tears. "Hello, Saphira. Eragon," she greeted.

Eragon slid off his saddle, brunette locks bouncing as he landed. His brown eyes softened. "Alys... I got word from the elves as soon as you came to them," he started, coming closer, Saphira following close behind him. "And may I say, I am so, so sorry. I should've sent someone with you." He drew in a breath, smoothing his hair with both hands. "It shouldn't have happened. I promise we'll find out who's responsible."

Alys looked down. "That's thoughtful, Eragon," she said. "But I... I don't think I want to find out; it's not going to change anything."

Eragon paused. "Alys, you can't say that. It's important that someone is held responsible."

She shook her head, fighting off more tears. "I'm sorry. I—I can't do this now," she turned around, holding herself. "Please, let me grieve."

Eragon went to reach for her, but retracted his hand. "I will investigate, to save others." He sighed and glanced at Saphira. "When you're up for it, I'm sure Eldunarí would like your company; they want to talk to you."

Alys nodded dismissively and listened carefully as they left before letting out a choked sob.

*-*-*-*

It took Alys weeks before she could force herself to leave her room to actually talk to people. A few would stop by throughout the day, giving their condolences and offering her the food they had brought. She excepted most of the food but ate little of it.

She plodded her way to the Hall of Colours, keeping her head low as she nibbled on her last apple slice. She ignored everyone that passed, focusing solely on her meeting with the Eldunarí. Finally, she began her climb towards the eyrie—Eragon's sleeping quarters—high in the hold, and at the last stop, he turning into a small side tunnel. She entered the large, disk-like chamber, looking ahead at the many tiered daises that held the array of gleaming Eldunarí. Multi-coloured flecks of light beamed around the room, brightening the cool room immensely.

Alys' mind grazed against the dragons' minds. She found it soothing, feeling their calmness when all she had felt was heartbreak for so long. Her eyes landed on Umaroth's white Eldunarí. He and Glaedr were one of the few she always remembered.

Welcome, Alys-vinr, Umaroth greeted.

Hello, Umaroth and everyone else, she responded, keeping her mind as pain-free as possible. I heard you wanted to talk to me.

Yes, we have some news, Umaroth said elusively.

Alys' heart skipped a beat; could they help Ugauc? Could they save him?

Her joy and thoughts of Ugauc flowed to the Eldunarí.

No, I'm sorry. We cannot help him.

Her heart sank, but she forced herself to push it aside. Pray tell.

We have found a dragon who needs your help, Shur'tugal, Glaedr explained.

Alys sighed, aware they couldn't hear her irritation; she was in the worst shape to help anyone. Though she could admit that she needed a distraction. I appreciate the thought, but I'm not ready to help anyone. I'd only make things worse for them.

You misunderstand, Umaroth stated. This dragon has been without a rider for some time and is lost without them. Please, only you can empathise with him and save him from himself.

#inheritance cycle #eragon #shruikan's rider #sr #yay new story!#totally wasn't gonna be part of my original fanfic #delighted to start this #shruikan deserved better

9 notes · View notes

darkdevasofdestruction · 4 years ago

Text

Kiss It Better - Gyro Zeppeli

The Steel Ball Run...So many stages, so many problems, so many difficulties...And so many people that had to drop out of the race because of the harsh weather and environmental conditions. Not to mention the fact that some participants may or may not attack others voluntarily, despite it being against the rules and risking elimination.

Not that they care, per say, as long as there’s less competition and they have a higher chance to get one of the money prizes, even if it’s not the big grand.

Anyhow, Y/N was fine on her own and did everything she could to make sure she was as far away from people as possible, but despite that, she encountered the infamous Diego Brando, who wasn’t as bad as he appeared, and spent the night camping together, before going on different paths.

The same happened with another woman called Hot Pants, whose ability meant using a flesh spray, which shocked Y/N, but she was incredibly pleasantly surprised nonetheless.

They were on amiable terms now, but that didn’t mean they would travel together for the rest of the race.

Somewhere around the last quarter of the race, on one cold night, Y/N decided to make camp somewhere soon, but her surprise was huge when she saw ahead of her a fire, 2 horses and 2 people, which indicated an obvious camp.

What was odd, however, was that one of the men wasn’t moving at all, while the other seemed to be freaking out quite a lot.

She nudged her black horse, Dahlia, and sprinted in front of them, where she looked down at the blond man dressed in baby blue.

“What happened? Is he injured?” the girl asked, concern plastered on her face, seeing sweat drip down the boy’s face. “Yes, he’s been gravely injured. Can you help?” he asked, his blue eyes wide and pleading. “Of course.” she nodded and quickly jumped off her horse, taking the big medical kit bag and kneeling in front of the other man who seemed to be awake, but just barely conscious. “That’s a lot of blood he’s losing from so many places...Can you help me take off his upper body garments? I need to see the injuries, disinfect them and stitch them as quick as possible.” she explained to the boy, who only gulped and helped her out. “We were attacked just a few ago. He got shot in the torso and was cut on his arm, leg and chin.” the boy informed immediately. “I see...Very well, I have to make a mixture of plants to prevent festering and any more potential internal or external bleeding...But before that, I have to get some alcohol on a gauze and clean his wounds.” saying that, she took out the rubbing alcohol and poured it on the gauze, leaning in to apply it on the wounds, but the injured man’s hand suddenly gripped her wrist pretty tightly. “Poison...” he muttered, glaring at the girl weakly. “I promise it’s not poison. Here, you can smell it, it’s just the basic medicinal rubbing alcohol used in hospitals.” she smiled softly as she got the bottle close to his nose, which made him scrunch it and turn his head to the side.

She gingerly cleaned away all the wounds on his torso, chin, arms and leg. After she finished, she helped him in a sitting position so he won’t lean on the wooden log anymore, to inspect his back. As she thought, the bullet didn’t pass through, so she had to take it out.

“Sorry, but, uhm...The bullet is still inside you. I have to take it out before it gets infected or something.” she explained, looking with pity at the green eyed man. “Urgh...Do what you have to do...” he groaned, looking away from her.

Sighing, she took out her Stand, Nami, and placed her hand on his chest, using the man’s blood to locate the bullets, and thankfully, they weren’t too deep.

“H-Hey, you’re a Stand user too?!” the other boy gasped, looking confused and shocked at the girl, who could only blink in return. “You can see Nami...?” she whispered in surprise, looking at the blue eyed boy. “Y-Yeah. I have a Stand too, and Gyro has a technique, using his Steel Balls. There are others like us too out there. But what are you doing with your Stand?!” the boy’s eyes were shifting rapidly between the two people in front of him. “My Stand’s ability is called November Rain. She can use water to increase the mitotic regeneration of cells...Basically, she heals wounds, but not only that. In addition, I just used the water in Gyro’s blood to locate the two bullets, and now, I’m going to extract them. Nami, my Stand, can only turn the fatal wounds into non-fatal wounds...I’m not sure if it’s because I haven’t managed yet to get the full potential out of her, or if that’s her drawback, but that’s just the situation at hand, so I have to do everything else by myself. I...Uh...Hope you don’t mind.” she scratched the back of her head, looking at him with an unsure look. “Will Gyro be okay?” he asked in a quiet voice. “Of course he will. Ever since I’ve learnt to use my Stand, no patient ever died. I am a physician after all.” she shrugged simply, focusing on the injury and carefully extracting the lead bits. “Thank goodness they didn’t break. It wouldn’t have been too nice.” she threw the bullets in the fire. “Thank you for helping Gyro. What’s your name?” the boy asked as the girl took out a sewing kit. “My name is Y/N, it’s nice to meet you two. And what’s your name?” she asked with a soft smile on her face. “Johnny. Sorry for yelling at you to save him, I was panicking and I was skeptical. There have been many enemies around lately.” the boy explained, seemingly more at ease. “Don’t worry, Johnny, I understand. I’ve also encountered many...Interesting people, to call them mildly. Anyway, Gyro, I have to sew your wounds now. I have no actual anaesthesia with me, but uhm...I can make a little plant mix to numb the pain by...About 20%, if it helps in any way. Or I can give you some vodka, if you think it will help.” Y/N explained with a sympathetic look. “Ain’t drinkin’.” the man grumbled softly.

Nodding, she looked around in her plant bag and using Nami’s water, she created a quick mix which she dabbed on all his wounds.

“This will take a few minutes to react. Are you feeling any better, Gyro?” she asked, brushing the hair from his face. “Yeah...I’m better. Not heavenly, but better. Thanks, Y/N, I owe you one.” he let smirked weakly at her. “No, no, no, don’t worry about that! I just happened to pass by, it’s no big deal!” she shook her head, alarmed at what she just heard. “Heh...You’re pretty cute. Apparently I was right, Luck truly is a nice lady.” he grinned, showing off his golden teeth, making the girl’s eyes widen slightly at the shock. “Gyro...Zeppeli. I feel like I’ve heard it before somewhere.” she blinked, looking away to rake her brain. “Of course you heard of me! I ranked 1st in one of the stages before!” he boasted, making the girl chuckle. “I suppose that’s why. Congratulations!” she smiled softly at him, taking the needle and poking slightly away from the wound. “Does it hurt too much?” she asked gently. “Don’t coddle me too much, just do what you have to do and let’s get it over with.” Gyro sighed, getting in a more comfortable position. “If you’re sure...” she mumbled, taking his wrist and guiding his hand to her ankle. “I can’t give you my hand, obviously, but you can grip as much as you need on my leg, I don’t mind.” she explained simply, making the man look down at her with mixed emotions pooling in his eyes.

Apologising more than she did in her entire life, she kept getting the needle in and out of his skin, forming X shapes with the tread and easily closing the open wound on his chest. She did the same with the wound on his abdomen, leg, arm, forearm...But then, it was just under the chin.

“Are you okay, Gyro? Do you need a break? Some water? Anything?” she asked worriedly, seeing him pant for air slightly. “No...I’m fine. Go on, don’t stop, adrenaline is covering some of that pain now, don’t let it wash away.” he warned her as he let his head back. “I didn’t realise you knew medical stuff. I’m impressed.” she hummed lightly, working on the wound, as he only grunted in pain, squeezing the girl’s ankle and gritting his teeth so he won’t slap her hand away or something irrational. “There, all done. Now to put the gauze on the wound...And that’s it.” she smiled tenderly, patting his head. “Thanks, Y/N. Let’s hope I won’t have to go through that again.” he snorted in amusement. “Hold on.” she took our a lime green handkerchief and cupping his face, she dabbed at his eyes, wiping away the stray tears. “All better now.” “Nyohoho, you’re even cuter than I imagined, missy.” he grinned brightly now that there was no more pain from the procedures left. “No, no, nothing of the sort.” she shook her head in amusement. “Now, to dress your wounds, and that’s it, all ready to go. They will keep you warm, I heard there are going to be some temperature drops pretty soon.” she warned them as she carefully put the plant mixture on all of his wounds and carefully bandage every inch of his body that was at risk of infection. “Well, guess I’ll keep watch tonight. That’s the least I can do.” Gyro offered, but the girl denied firmly. “No. You have to rest if you want to get better. I’ll keep watch. I have to make sure your wounds don’t fester anyway.” her voice was gentle, yet still held a strictness often seen in doctor around the hospital. “Okay, Y/N, we trust you. Wake me up if you need to sleep, okay?” Johnny smiled at her, before getting in his sleeping bag, turning away from them and the fire.

The girl started cleaning around the place, organising all the medical supplies she had and storing them back in their respective bags, in the kit, before giving Dahlia a sugar cube and an apple, kissing hear nose and hugging her neck, telling her how amazing she is, before putting her forehead to hers, telling her she loves her.

The affectionate gesture earned a playful coo from the long haired man, which in turn, made the girl chuckle and sit down opposite of him, leaning on a log and taking out a sandwish that she ripped in two and gave the other half to the man.

“Huh? You’re giving it to me?” he blinked at her in surprise. “You have to rest, drink and eat properly if you want to get your full strength back.” she informed, shoving the half-sandwish in his hands. “Right, right, thanks, Y/N.” there was a silence hanging around them, only the crackling noise of the fire disturbing it. “Do you like the stars, Y/N?” Gyro asked her, as he shifted his gaze above. “Yeah...I guess I do. When I was little, I used to sneak out every night and watch the stars with my friend. It was always nice trying to see constellations...And sometimes even making wishes when seeing shooting stars.” the girl grinned in nostalgia as she, too, looked at the open sky above her. “Awww, two little girl looking at the sky, how cute. Little rebels.” he joked lightly, but the girl only grinned wider, looking at him with a teasing smile. “My friend was a boy, Gyro.” she chuckled lightly at the man’s reaction. “Ahhhhhh! A cute little girl and her crush, sneaking for a stargazing date! Nyohoho, how romantic!” he laughed, as the girl looked down, her smile never faltering. “Well...He was pretty cute, I admit. He was really pretty. And he had gorgeous eyes. My 7 year old me was always very happy to see him. Even though he could be quite naive and lowkey arrogant and boasting over how cool he was...He was always super funny and made me laugh a lot.” she giggled, as she looked up to meet his eyes. “What a lucky guy! Hear that, I’m kinda jealous now!” he grinned, before shifting his position, resting his cheek on his fist. “Y’know...Now that I think of it, I remember a super cute girl that always dressed in flow-y dresses and had flowers in her hair. Oh, and, y’know what? She used to put cute animal plasters on my wounds, whenever I’d scratch my knee or something. And she’d kiss my cheeks every time, to kiss it better.” he batted his eyes at her. “That’s adorable, Gyro! And? What happened? Are you two still friends? Or more?” she leaned forward in anticipation. “Nahhh. Unfortunately, she kinda...Disappeared one day? I searched for her, but nobody had any idea what happened. It’s a real pity, I liked her a lot. My father didn’t really allow me to form any emotional connection with anyone, so he forbid me from looking for her more.” he sighed heavily, looking away. “What about your little crush? How did that go?” he asked, already knowing the answer. “Well...He said he had to use more of his time to learn from his father and properly become a man of his family. I believe they were in the medical field or something. Anyhow, my parents both had fighting-based Stands that they used for thievery, and when they saw my...Uhm...Useless Stand, they didn’t take it well...So I ran away before they could do more damage than needed.” she explained, looking down, biting her lip. “Do you believe in fate, Y/N?” Gyro asked, his voice low like never before. “I didn’t use to. But now...I think there may be something out there. Otherwise, I don’t think we’d have met each other again, Gyro.” she smiled softly at him, taking out the handkerchief on which “Gyro Zeppeli” was neatly embroidered. “Do you still have yours?” she asked, looking into his beautiful green eyes with a tender look. “Of course I do.” he smiled, taking out the f/c handkerchief, on which her own name was embroidered in beautiful cursive letters. “I always carried it with me. My father never found out, thankfully.” he chuckled softly. “I really missed you all these years, you know? When I saw you injured...I...I really panicked. Great thing nobody finds out when I panic...I mean, did you see Johnny? He was trembling like a Chihuahua!” she giggled, getting closer to the man. “Nyohoho, that was a good one! Johnny the Chihuahua!” they giggled together like highschool girls seeing their crush pass down the corridor.

The laughter soon died, and it was replaced by the same fire crackling noise from the fire wood, before Gyro spoke again, yet this time, his voice was more serious...With a tint of mischievousness.

“Hey...Y/N? Do you...Want to kiss it better?” he grinned at her, despite the rosier tint shading his sun kissed cheeks. “Awww, how cute, Gyro.” she mused, getting in front of him, planting soft pecks on both of his cheeks, before looking at him with a playful smirk. “How was that?” “Hmmm...It was nice, alright. But...I think you missed. I’m not quite getting the effect of the kiss like I used to.” he nudged her with his words, making her snort in amusement. “You’re such a dork, Gyro Zeppeli.” but despite her words, she cupped his cheeks and kissed him tenderly.

The world seemed to stop around them - The wood was no longer cracking, the Earth was spinning no more, the stars weren’t twinkling, the wind wasn’t breezing and nor was the time moving. The only thing that was alive was the warmth and feelings flooding from both of them, engulfing the atmosphere more and more with each kiss and each caress.

“That’s more like it.” he chuckled breathlessly, looking up at her with so much love and tenderness. “God, how I missed you. And to think you’re finally here, in my arms...I almost think it’s a dream. And if it is, I’m gonna kill whoever dares wake me up.” he buried his face in the crook of her neck, holding her close to his chest. “Don’t worry, this is not a dream, this is reality. I promise. I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere again.” she caressed his hair soothingly, feeling at peace for the first time in ages. “...Say, Y/N, wanna hear my new song? I wrote it all by myself, and I even made the tune of it. I’m very proud of it, and I want you to be the first to hear it. How’s that?” he kept her at arms length as he cleared his throat to prepare his voice. “Aww, Gyro’s serenading me, how romantic! Go on, I wanna hear!” she grinned playfully.

Okay, so it goes this way....

Pizza Moza-Rella...Pizza Moza-Rella...Rella Rella Rella Rella Rella Rella Gor-Gon-Zola...Gor-Gon-Zola...Zola Zola Zola Zola Zola Zola....

Gyro’s voice sang in a baritone tone, without any care in the world, making even the girl join in the silly song that was, unexpectedly, incredibly catchy, and now it was forever stuck in her head.

In Johnny’s head too, unfortunately, since he couldn’t sleep because of all the chatter and laughter, but he was at least happy that his friend met his long time best friend and crush after so many years, and they were both happy.

#gyro zeppeli #gyro zeppeli x reader #gyro zeppeli imagine #johnny joestar #diego brando #hot pants #steel ball run #jojo x reader #jojo imagine #jojo #jjba x reader #jjba imagine #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure imagine #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo's bizarre adventure steel ball run #jojo's bizarre adventure part 7

188 notes · View notes