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nacrepearl · 2 months ago

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i shall love thee till the sea runneth dry

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Pearl, a handmaid amongst the staff of Queen Whitney's castle in the Kingdom of Valdis, and Penelope, a feeble and imprisoned princess, grow closer as tragedy strikes and Penelope grows more weary. Including a lot of unsanctioned hand touching.

The air in Penelope’s chamber is stifling, as though the walls were empathetic to her condition. Each time Pearl ascends the spiraling stone staircase with her daily provisions, she feels the heaviness grow, an unease she carries alongside the simple tray and laundered linens in her arms. At the top of the steps, she knocks on the door.

“Come in,” comes the soft and wavering voice of her closest friend.

Pearl enters to find the other girl sitting on the edge of her bed, her lithe frame illuminated by the sun’s early rays spilling through the window. Penelope’s hair, done up loosely into twin buns at the base of her head, shines brightly, and Pearl can swear it’s bright enough she sees real silver. Penelope turns to face Pearl, eyeing the things in her arms with intrigue.

“You’ve brought me something.”

“I thought you might like something more than gruel today,” Pearl says gently, setting the tray and basket on the wooden table next to the bed. “And there’s wine to go with it. Just a bit.”

Penelope laughs weakly. “How rebellious of you.”

Pearl says nothing, allowing a smile to grace her lips, and busies herself with laying out the food and ensuring the room is in order. Her gaze is drawn for the hundredth time to the shelf above Penelope’s cot, where a milky white crystal rests. Its small, unassuming shape allows it to be easily passed over, yet its faint glow sends a shiver through Pearl’s fair frame.

Sensing Pearl’s curiosity, Penelope stands. “I know not what the crystal’s purpose is. It has always been there,” she offers.

Pearl steps closer, the air around the crystal almost feeling colder, heavier. “It feels… wrong,” she says, her voice low.

“Wrong or not, it is beyond my place to question,” Penelope replies. “And I have more pressing things to concern myself with.”

Pearl’s lips press into a thin line, but she lets the matter rest.

—

With evening’s arrival and Pearl’s absence to tend to her other duties, Penelope remains in her chamber, left to her own wandering mind ruminating on the crystal. Its faint glow seemed almost alive, pulsing so gently one would nearly miss it in the darkness. Her gaze lingers on it, a strange compulsion rising within her.

With trembling hands, she pushes herself to her feet. Each step toward the shelf seemed an effort, her body weak and unsteady. When she reaches out and her fingers brush its surface, a searing heat shoots through her as though burned, forcing her to stumble back with a cry. The crystal’s faint pulse flares to life, its glow blazing brighter than ever.

Immediately, in the quiet of the throne room, Whitney’s circlet around her head begins to hum and vibrate, resonating with the crystal’s disturbed peace. The Queen rises from her throne, her face darkening with fury.

“Taryn.”

The chilling steps of the queen’s closest and deadliest guard are the only sound echoing in the hall as she approaches the steps to the marble throne. She kneels, head bowed.

“Bring her to me at once.”

—

At the foot of the dais, Penelope is at her knees, trembling in the hands of the guard.

Her majesty speaks, “You know why you are here.” Her voice is like a dagger in Penelope’s ears.

Penelope can only shake her head, though her mind wanders to the crystal–surely her curiosity was not so much a transgression as to summon her to the queen’s own throne room. She is still trembling.

Whitney descends the short steps to the floor slowly. Her lips curled into a cold smile, leaning down and gently lifting the girl’s chin with one finger, forcing her to lock eyes with Whitney’s sharp gaze.

“If I have wronged you, your Majesty, it was unintentionally, I know not of what–”

“Silence.”

The queen rises to her full height once more. “Ignorance is not a shield against consequences, child. The crystal takes what is mine by right. To tamper with those that are not yours is a serious transgression. For that, there must be consequences.”

Penelope’s blood runs cold. Struggling to find her voice, she straightens in the guard’s grip. “Please–I did not know–”

“Did not know,” Whitney repeats, mocking. “You meddled with things beyond your comprehension, and now you will learn the price of unchecked curiosity.”

The queen raises her right hand, fingers curling as if grasping an invisible thread. Cold air rushes through the room, crackling like thunder with each movement. A searing, burning pain blossoms behind Penelope’s left eye. She gasps as her body becomes stiff, curling into herself.

“I beg of you!” She cries, desperate and loud and wailing as the agony intensifies.

Whitney’s gaze remains cold, her hand tightening as the magic surges. The room seems to darken, the light from the thin windows dimming as if recoiling from the cruelty within the stone walls. The only sounds coming from the girl in the middle, her sobs and gasps like a symphony to the queen’s ears.

The queen yanks her arm back, twisting her wrist sharply. The world stops for a split second as Penelope screams, raw and desperate as blood and tears stream down her freckled cheeks. The guard lets her crumple to the ground, holding her face as she shakes.

“Let this be a lesson,” the queen said, her voice chilling and cold like the stone beneath the shaking girl. “You belong to me, and so does your life.”

Penelope clutches her face, vision blurry and half gone, and she tries to find her voice once more as she’s dragged from the room. Whitney turns back to her throne, a satisfied smile plastered on her face as she settles back into her seat of power.

—

The castle is abuzz with whispers and gossip, the news spreading throughout the staff, reaching the handmaids’ quarters. Pearl hears of a punishment meted out by the Queen herself, cruel and swift. Her mind goes to Penelope–her fears are confirmed as a fellow chambermaid recounts hearing the cries of her dearest friend echoing through the throne room and halls surrounding it.

Quickly gathering her supplies for the day’s work, she sneaks into the apothecary for bandages and a salve, silently praying to the gods that she will not encounter what she dreads most. Ascending the spiral stairs as quick as she may get away with once more, the pit in her stomach grows heavier. When she pushes open the door, the sight nearly drives her to her knees.

Laid upon the narrow bed is Penelope’s frail form, barely a shadow of her former self. Wrapped across the left side of her face is a bandage, strikingly white against her tan skin and bloody where her eye had once been. As Pearl shuts the door, Penelope stirs and locks her gaze with Pearl’s, her eye unfocused and exhausted.

“Poppy,” Pearl near sobs, dropping the basket unceremoniously next to the bed as she sits on the edge.

Penelope looks away, shame growing on her face. “You should not have come,” she starts, “There is nothing left to be done for me. Please do not waste your time on me any longer, Pearl.”

“Do not say such things!” Pearl gasps.

Penelope offers no reaction. Stature loosening, Pearl grabs the bandages and salve from the basket. Her hands shake as she says, “I will help you.”

Penelope says nothing, her gaze distant.

The work is slow and delicate. Pearl unwraps the bloodied bandage with painstaking care, heart breaking with every wince and chirp of pain that escaped Penelope’s mouth. Beneath the wrappings, the wound is angry and raw, the empty socket a permanent reminder of the queen’s cruelty. She applies the salve slowly.

“All will be well,” she whispers softly, though the words felt hollow in her mouth.

After the bandage is replaced, Pearl reaches for the tray of food she’d brought–another assortment of cheeses and some bread, breaking them into small pieces and holding them to the other girl’s lips as if to tempt her into helping herself. Penelope acquiesces, and eats slowly. Each bite seems a visible effort, but Pearl is patient, and aids her until she has her fill.

A moment of quiet fills the room.

“You should not waste your time on me,” Penelope repeats, voice faint.

Pearl shakes her head. “No time spent with you is ever wasted.”

—

Days pass with their new routine. Pearl makes sure to include an occasional small comfort as often as she can get away with–soft cloths, a glass of wine, and on one day, slices of citrus from the private kitchen. Despite her efforts, Penelope’s energy diminishes further, and she grows unable to so much as sit up without aid.

Pearl opens the door to Penelope’s chambers once more, a quiet evening with a golden sunset stretching to birdsong outside the window. She approaches the bed with a light step.

“A gift, for you, so that you may be reminded of what you mean to me,” Pearl states, grasping something in her hand gently.

Penelope turns her head, maroon eye narrowing suspiciously to the object in Pearl’s grasp.

She gasps as Pearl unfolds her hand and holds it up for Penelope to see. In it, a delicately sewn eyepatch, with a band made of fine lace. The square contains delicate embroidery of roses and poppies arranged in a mesmerizing spiral, reds and pinks so reminiscent of her home.

“I do hope you like it. I would allow myself another dozen needle pricks to make it perfect for you,” Pearl whispers, breaking the calm silence.

Penelope’s gaze is fixed on the eyepatch. Then, slowly, tears well in her remaining eye as she looks up to Pearl. “It’s beautiful,” she chokes out, her voice dripping with thick emotion, “thank you.”

“You are most welcome. You deserve kindness–I intend to be your reprieve, Poppy,” Pearl states, grasping Penelope’s hand and running her fingers over the other’s.

Weeping, yet smiling, Penelope turns Pearl’s hand and brings it to her lips in a display of affection unlike her, and puts the garment around her head, fitting it into place. “I know not how to express how much this means to me other than this. Thank you… and I also thank your dedication to facing many needle pricks.”

Pearl barks out a laugh at that. The two stay side by side until the sun lays to rest under the horizon, in which Penelope falls asleep during. Pearl draws the blankets up to her chin, and runs her fingers through the girl’s hair before stepping out of the room, the day’s work in her basket ready to be reset for the following day.

#steven universe #pearl #pink pearl #volleypearl #volleyball su #su fanfiction #from allegiance

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sins-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

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The Cruel Choice

'Phoebus… tu es en colère contre moi? Parce que je suis tombé du pont? Je ne voulais pas que tout le monde te crie dessus. S'il te plaît, ne me regarde pas comme ça… s'il te plaît, ne me quitte pas…

'Oh... quoi….

'I'm not dead?'

All Guy can feel is the cold, stony floor beneath his cheek.. and the smell and taste of iron. He can barely see; though the lamp from the ceiling is shining onto his face, only his right eye can see it. The left eye… it can kind of see light, but there seems to be black gaps all over his vision on the left side. Could it be?…

Ohhh. He smacked his lips; that was blood. It has dried up now, but it has coagulated some over his mouth. Now he remembers… he was shot in the head. How long ago was this? How did it happen? Why?

Think, Guy, think…

'Oh… I was shot. Those crooks must have seen me chase off their victims, and they thought they'd have killed me… but why am I still here?' Guy attempts to move. He's tied around the wrists and feet by cables, and the more he moves, the more he can feel discomfort around certain parts of his body. His clothes have been partially removed. At first, he thinks it's due to further malicious intent, until he concentrates on where the discomfort is coming from. Notably where his pockets are turned inside out.

'A-hah. They were trying to figure out if I had any identification on me. They must have thought I was an undercover cop, or some other agent or narc sniffing them out.

'Did they not see that I literally burst into flame?' Eh. Maybe it was their imaginations. That's what Josep tends to bank on whenever someone in the Crew accidentally uses their gifts in public. After all, who would believe someone just… spontaneously combusted then seems fine right after?

Speaking of spontaneous combustion, Guy calms himself down to concentrate. The cables around his hands and feet start to warm up, even making smoke as it burns and melts. However, Guy notices the heat isn't as high as it could be in the time he'd normally be fully immolated. In fact, he notices the cables aren't breaking despite the burning and melting. He concentrates some more, hoping he'd give all his mental and physical energy to free himself from ropes he would normally have thought nothing of…

But he can't. He can't. Guy can't even move on one side. He can't see on one side. And the realization that he is thoroughly debilitated doesn't hit him until the crooks return to check on him. He is unable to hear them or see them clearly… everything is blurry and muddled. He can only feel the floor dragging beneath him as one of the men take him by the wrists. Sliding. Bumping. Guy tries to shout, but nothing comes out except slurs and mumbles. None of his fires are starting. Attempts to char his kidnappers are snuffed out as Guy is taken through cold, stony hallways, with his thoughts drowned out by the banging, humming noises. And as the dragging seem to last forever…

…Guy would find himself thrown into something much, much colder. And darker. The door is shut. And he is left alone.

'Where am I?!'

'Oh, my G-d.... I'm in a cold room? Am I tossed into a meat locker?! Am I being frozen to death?!'

Guy tries to wriggle again, if at least to start up heat. He can heat up a little, but at his weak and paralyzed state, all he can do is raise his own internal temperature by a little... but he finds himself struggling harder than when he was keeping himself warm at sea following Giovanni. And that was a difficult state to be in as is--uninjured and healthy, just wet and stuck in the cold ocean.

There is only so much fire left in Guy to keep on burning.

'I'm going to die here. I'm going to die and probably be buried somewhere. Stuck and unable to get out. The time to give the Master his souls is running out... and he's going to punish the rest of the Crew because of my mistakes.

'Or the Master could just punish me on principle for everything that has happened. I could die here, resurrect, and die again. And again. And again. With no one here to help me. No one to hear me. No one to see me.

'Oh... what have I-...

'What have I done....?'

#[Guy Duchamp]#crime tw #injury tw #[The Cruel Choice]

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dmagedgoods · 2 years ago

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Obligatory OTP Asks - Daeran and Sal~ #5, #8, #32, #53

5. Describe their cozy night in. They’re in their private rooms in the palace or one of the estates, Salvadore sits on a couch, reading, Daeran may be found on top of him with his head resting in his lap or in wilder positions, only his legs on the furniture, the rest of him on a pillow on the ground, his naked feet somewhere against Sal’s anatomy. Alternatively, it may be floor time and he’s reading there as well or writing a letter. Every once in a while, one of them shares a passage from the text they’re captured by, joking and snickering, making fun of someone, or telling the other one an interesting fact they discovered. Salvadore only wears his dressing gown, Daeran loose comfortable pants, and one of Salvadore’s shirts. Later they cook together or play some chess instead or other games they enjoy while chatting about art, music, the last gala or stage play they visited, slandering their enemies and those they find annoying, planning their next banquet … “Check.” “Daeran, put my knight back on the board.” “He has important business far out of town!” Quiet music is playing and if they get in the mood – either a silly one or a very romantic one – they may dance to it, only the two of them, seen by no one. 8. What happens if one of them gets sick? Sal doesn’t get sick. His skin is too hot (or even colder than usually), he’s shaking, coughing painfully, can barely stand, his eyes are burning, his head and body hurt with every movement and even when lying still? Ridiculous, he has work to do! Daeran makes fun of him, then, as his healer, orders him back into bed (if he can’t do anything to better his state). Of course, Salvadore refuses. He is a terrible patient and would leave every infirmary and try to continue with his tasks even if badly injured or close to dying. Daeran may be the only person who has enough influence on him to get him to obey eventually if he stays very persistent and threatens him a bit. And that’s exactly what he does (secretly very worried, illness scares him and he really doesn’t like it when Salvadore just goes on pushing himself in those cases) and makes sure the servants are introduced to get him everything he’ll need to feel better soon. He himself stays at his side most of the time, entertains him with anecdotes, lighthearted games, or tries to trick him into believing he gets at least a bit of work done by reading letters and documents to him and allowing him to dictate an answer to the most important of those. [Serious though, at this point it’d need a very special and strong incident for Salvadore to get sick.] On the other hand, if Daeran gets sick it’s an absolute drama, a cold the worst fate in the world and he vocally announces his immense, never-known suffering. If he’s exaggerating, Salvadore stays unimpressed, expects him to fulfill his duties and Daeran makes sure he regrets it through intense complaining and tiny acts of revenge, acting like a badly behaved cat once more. Sal may tell him so and that he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d start to push stuff from his desk out of spite. – A comment probably leading to Daeran doing just this in leaving after the conversation, a smirk on his lips. If Daeran truly is sick, he’s acting much calmer, quieter, and it has Salvadore worried immediately. Now he finds himself making sure that he stays in bed. He calls a doctor, advises the servants, fulfills every small silly wish Daeran utters and does everything in his power to raise his comfort. If it’s bad, he even takes a while off to be there for him. 32. Who's the better story teller?

They both are great storytellers, just in very different ways. In his typical eloquent manner, Daeran goes for a bit of a show when he entertains an audience with the newest gossip or his own escapades, it’s exciting because it usually gets scandalous or amoral in a way that tends to either intrigue and amuse or to annoy and appall. All of those are reactions that please him. He may get wrapped up in contradictions if he makes up some nonsense or lose interest mid-story if it hasn’t been good enough, but aside from those cases, it’s almost always … an experience to listen to him.

Salvadore is very eloquent as well, one of his most important strengths and favorite pleasures are captivating speeches. He would never view himself as a storyteller, but he absolutely loves to talk in front of people. His voice is pleasant and very confident, he knows how to capture interest, point out issues and how to cause enthusiasm for a goal.

In private Salvadore also enjoys reading to people who are dear to him. 53. Would they ever go skinny dipping?

Absolutely! They both like their own body too much a lot and to have the other one admire it and they both enjoy a bit of excitement. Now add Salvadore’s love for every clean, alluring lake or river he spots out in the wild. Skinny dipping almost is a must for them. At first Sal needs some of his persuading skills. The water isn’t as warm as Daeran prefers it. But he manages to convince him and plans to make sure he won’t feel cold at all. 😏

#daeran #daeran arendae #commander x daeran #knight and dae #daeran x commander #pathfinder: wrath of the righteous #pathfinder wotr #dmagedtexts #knight commander salvadore #oc: salvadore #my ocs #those were so good as well!#thank youuu

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its-deputy-caleb · 3 years ago

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would u possibly do some NSFW morbell? where they're up in colter ( i loved ur original morbell post on them ) pls do more as i love ur blog 💛

this is an absolute mess oml i literally have no idea how to write anything smutty but here we go i guess. I love this pair but i kinda went off topic and centred this on a praise kink for micah. ANYWAY this is probably terrible since i'm melting, its literally 40 degrees and the aircon is broken so its unedited af and i wont look at it again until i have a cold drink. but pls enjoy some morbell <333

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

‘Cold up in Colter’

Fuck, what a mess Blackwater had been. The Pinkertons were on them faster than ever and they found themselves fleeing from a blood bath.

That was almost three days ago and Micah hadn’t had an ounce of sleep. He’d been sent out with John to scout ahead, having found a homestead which ended up burning at the hand of O’Driscoll’s. Okay maybe house burning down was his fault but he tends to make stupid decisions when he’s had little to know sleep. And it was so fucking cold.

That didn’t stop heat rising to his face when he felt Arthur’s hands on his shoulder, pushing him back with a roughness he could only wish for in another way. Damn Arthur Morgan and his ability to have Micah curling in on himself and blushing like a virgin at the mere thought of a hand on his shoulder.

He should hate Arthur, really the two are nothing more than rivals, competing for the spot of Dutch Van Der Linde’s right hand. At the beginning, almost six months ago now, Micah couldn’t stand the sight of the man but somehow that anger tapered off into something more akin to admiration and that admiration slowly turned to desire.

He’ll never admit to how badly he wants Arthur but he won’t deny however that he’s pushed the man’s buttons more than once just to have an interaction with him. All he had to do start a silly argument over camp earnings or a bet at five finger fillet to have the man shaking him by the collar and threatening to break his nose.

It almost always ended with Micah sneaking off into the woods with half a bottle of whiskey and his pants bunched around his ankles as he thought of the way Arthur roughed him up by his shirt collar. Fuck he was pathetic sometimes.

There were other occasions where the two had actually managed to get along and that’s what pissed Micah off more than any threats of violence. Arthur just had to go and bring him a beer as he grabbed one for himself, letting their fingers touch accidentally. Or he went and offered him a seat by the fireplace where they ended up much to close for his comfort. Damn Arthur for always leaving him short of breath with a hole in his heart.

Despite what Micah did to impress Dutch, Arthur was still the camp’s favourite by a mile and he never failed to outcompete him in the eyes of the gang. Micah never minded much, not looking for anyone’s approval, but the thought of proving himself to Arthur, of being worthy of his praise is enough to have his wild side reined in.

Naturally that didn’t stop Micah from losing it from time to time and wasn’t surprised when his jealousy shot up again as Miss Grimshaw announced Arthur got his own cabin while he shared with the rest of the fellers. And he’d be damned if he had to share a room with Williamson who didn’t stop snoring.

That’s why he found himself huddled in the makeshift stables, choosing instead to wrap himself in his coat and down a bottle of whiskey to wait the night out. He cold planks he was sitting on offered little comfort and the draft in the room had his lip shaking. But at least he wouldn’t have anyone in his hair and he’d be left alone, just the way he liked it.

Of course that didn’t last long when the cranky wooden door was barged open, spooking some of the horses in the opposite end of the room. A broad figure entered the room, blocking most of the door way but that didn’t stop to whoosh of cold air flood into the room, draining even more colour from his face.

It wasn’t until the door was closed and the man stepped closer when he realised it was Arthur.

“Micah? What the hell are you doing in here?”

Arthur sounded surprised, with only a hint of concern in his voice.

“Sleepin’— what the hell ya doing here Morgan?”

There wasn’t much of a response from Arthur, only a quiet noise which was barely heard over the whistle of the wind between the planks. He walked over to the horses, checking over them and ensuring none of them were freezing to death. Micah watched in silence, scared to disturb the man as he patted along Taima’s neck.

It wasn’t until after Arthur had checked over all the horses did he turn his attention to Micah.

Micah watched as Arthur’s gloved hand extended out and offered itself to him, he hesitated before taking before taking it and being pulled to his feet. Arthur’s hand draped over his shoulder which he didn’t realise had shaking in an effort to keep warm, having drunk the remaining whiskey from the bottle.

“Common now, yer gonna freeze in here alone.”

Micah dug his heels into the ground, not allowing Arthur to pull him any further to the door as he tried to hold his voice steady. He’d be damned if he ever let Arthur know just how much he affected him.

“I ain’t sharing a bunk with Williams—“

Arthur tutted, pulling Micah out the door as he pushed him towards his cabin in the snow storm.

“Quit yer yapping, you’re sharing with me and I ain’t having any more folk die tonight. Now let’s go.”

Arthur didn’t utter another word until they were well and truely in his room, wrapped in a blanket that was barely big enough for the two of them. The bed wasn’t much bigger, having been made for one person which was evident by Arthur pressing against Micah’s back in efforts for them to fit. The only thing that kept them apart was the fabric of their jackets, otherwise Arthur would probably hear Micah’s heartbeat which was beating much to fast for his liking.

The uncomfortable silence was broken when Micah cursed under his breath which caused his teeth to chatter and Arthur spoke up.

“Yer still cold, c'mere”

Micah’s breath fell short as Arthur’s hands slid under his coat, resting his hands on his tummy to use his body heat as a source of warmth. In doing so Arthur had moved even closer, ensuring Micah’s back was flush against his chest.

Despite that Micah wanted to protest, to go straight to his default of arguing he couldn’t help but feel as he began to warm up and he slowly relaxed under his hands.

A blush rose high on his cheeks as Arthur also relaxed into their embrace, accidentally letting his hands drift lower until he felt the hard press of Micah’s straining erection against his knuckle.

Micah instantly sucked in a breath, panicking and trying to push his way out of Arthur’s hold.

“Shit Arthur I—“

Micah froze as Arthur gently pulled him back to the bed and rubbed slow circles along his stomach.

“S’alright Micah, I’m not mad…”

Arthur held him close, letting him relax before talking again before he whispered right into the shell of his ear.

“…This what you want? Is this why you’re always staring at me from across camp, why yer always picking fights and asking me to robberies?”

A high pitched noise left Micah as he shivered, feeling Arthur’s hot breath against his ear. His blush deepened as he pushed back slightly into him, whimpering at the feel of Arthur’s own erection pressed against his ass.

Fuck it, he thought as heat pooled in his abdomen and he finally allowed himself to have the one thing he’d been craving for months. He nodded frantically, grinding back onto Arthur’s clothed dick and squirming in his grip.

“Relax boy, gonna give you everything you’ve been waiting for— just be good and you’ll get it”

Micah nodded in agreement, a needy, desperate sound leaving him at the promise of praise. He wanted, no needed to be praised by the man so badly that he’d do anything for an ounce of it from the man.

“Oh god Arthur! I need it, need you. Fuck I can be good I promise.”

He knew he was probably being too loud but apart of him didn’t have it in him to care. He moaned softly as Arthur moved him to roll onto his back, towering over him but ensuring they were still kept under the blanket.

Arthur spent the next ten minutes undressing him without exposing much of his skin to the cold. He unbuttoned the lower buttons of his leather jacket, enough for Arthur to work his fly down and pull one pant leg off. He whined pitifully, grabbing at the lapels of Arthur’s coat in a silent plea for him to undress him properly.

Micah mentally scolded himself at just how desperate he was for Arthur to rip his clothes off and fuck him like a bitch in heat but he knew that wasn’t happening any time soon. Arthur however caught on pretty quickly to what he wanted, it seemed the man knew just what made him tick.

“I know sweetheart, once we’re well and truly outta here I’ll get us a room and we can do this properly.”

Micah’s eyes beamed at the thought of Arthur taking him to a hotel in the future, panting as his mind raced with images of Morgan making him fall apart on his cock for hours on end.

While Micah was busy in his mind, Arthur took the opportunity to retrieve the gun oil from his satchel. It certainly wasn’t the best option but it was their only choice with their limited supplies.

Arthur draped himself back over Micah’s body, kissing at his jaw and nibbling as he coated his fingers. The air was cold, only making the oil feel colder as he slowly dipped his index finger past Micah’s rim.

A devilish grin came to Arthur’s face as he heard Micah sigh and take his finger easily, deciding to work his way up to two sooner than he was expecting.

“You’ve wanted this for a long time haven’t you? I saw you once, bout a week ago. Head down, ass up with three of yer fingers inside you while you cried out for me to fuck you. It all clicked in my head then when you started acting different around me at camp.”

Micah flushed a deep red, coughing on air as he realised Arthur knew about his little crush. He tried to think of an excuse, to weasel his way out of it but his thoughts died in his head when Arthur twisted his fingers, scissoring and stretching him open before adding a third.

Arthur dragged a lip along Micah’s cheek to his lip, ghosting his lips over his before kissing him properly. This time Micah didn’t even try to fight for dominance, opening his mouth instantly for Arthur’s tongue to enter. Instead he sighed into it, pulling his legs to wrap around his waist as his hands wrapped around his lover’s shoulder.

It went on like that until Arthur was satisfied that Micah was well prepped enough, simultaneously rubbing against Micah’s prostate while he kissed him deeply. He only pulled away to pull his own leaking member out, bunching his pants around his thighs so he had enough room to move but could stay warm. He coated the rest of the oil onto his member, jerking slowly as he stared down at the sight of Micah below him.

Micah looked like an absolute mess against the pillows already, his face was flush and the scarf around his head had unwrapped slightly, revealing his disheveled blond hair. His chest was heaving as he panted and his thighs shook from pleasure as the weakly wrapped around his waist.

“You look so pretty like this sweetheart”

To say that Micah hated the pet name was a lie, one that he didn’t try deny as he moaned softly. His back arched and he gripped Arthur’s coat tightly as he felt his cock slide between his cheeks and over his hole. He’s wanted this for so long now and yet somehow it still didn’t quite feel real as his mind was clouded with arousal.

Micah’s toes curled and he moaned when he felt Arthur push into him, slowly inching forward until he felt him bottom out.

“Ah— ah! Oh Arthur fuck! Please fuck me, I’ll be good I swear.”

Micah practically sobbed with pleasure as Arthur set up a fast pace, pulling almost all the way out till just the tip was left inside his tight hole before pushing back in quickly, brushing his prostate in the process. His cock twitched from where it rested against his tummy, pinned between Arthur’s jacket which caused a string of moans to fall from his mouth.

“Look at you, so good for me— fucking perfect Micah. Such a good boy”

Arthur’s hands came to hold onto Micah’s hips for leverage, pulling on his slight muffin top under the jacket to help pull him back to meet his thrusts. Beneath him he heard Micah whine and whimper at the praise so desperately needed to hear.

Micah bought a finger up to his mouth, biting on his knuckle to silence any more noises he deemed to be pathetic from slipping out of him. He hated how close he already was just from being praised by Arthur.

It seemed Arthur wasn’t having any of it when he pulled his finger away from his mouth before kissing him like he had done not that long ago. He swallowed every one of Micah’s noises, mindful of Dutch sleeping next door and slowing his thrusts to something deeper and slower.

His hands roamed all over Micah’s clothed body, breaking away for air and whispering praises down his ear.

“That’s it, make those pretty noises for me sweetheart.”

Micah eye’s rolled into his head as he cried out.

“You’re mine, all for me— my good boy.”

More moans slipped from his lips.

“Atta boy— taking me so well, so good.”

His back arched and he withered in his embrace

“So eager to please aren’t you? I’ll take care of you now boy.”

“—Arthur! I’m close— Ah, I’m gonna—“

“Go on sweetheart cum for me…that’s it good boy.”

Micah’s whole body when rigid as he finally came. His mouth hung open, tongue lolling out as his orgasm dragged out with each thrust Arthur delivered, eager to chase his own.

He collapsed into the pillow, thighs shaking as he whined at the oversensitivity. It didn’t last long before Arthur’s thrusts changed pace to something more erratic, picking up the pace as he spilled his load inside him.

Arthur groaned into his neck, pulling him close and collapsing into him as he regained his breath.

He pulled out slowly with a wet and obscene pop, sitting up and helping Micah put his clothes back on. Micah only weakly managed to fiddle with the button on his jacket while Arthur gently manhandled his jelly-like limbs to fit back into his pant leg. He used the blanket to wipe the cum off his tummy, a weak attempt at cleaning up and something they would both no doubt regret come tomorrow morning but for now they were keen to sleep after such a horrific and chaotic few days.

Arthur pulled Micah into their original position for the night, the only difference being that his face was now tucked into his chest. Arthur rested his chin of Micah’s head, littering his hair with kisses as he played with his hair between his rough fingers.

Micah was the first to fall asleep, curled up with his forehead against Arthur’s collarbone. Arthur wasn’t far behind him either, finally letting himself get some much needed rest but not before he pressed a soft kiss to his hairline.

#morbell #micah bell #arthur morgan

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blkgojo · 4 years ago

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Two Superheroes, One Bed | Carol Danvers x Reader

In which, you and Carol hate each other, but have to share a bed.

Request: Anonymous

Despite popular misconception being a former terrorist does not make people like you. If anything, it makes them hate you. Despise you. Question you incessently with things such as, "Why did you do this? What is wrong with you? How could you have justified those acts?" And to be honest, your answer was less than satisfying. There was no tragic backstory. No great villain speech. Just you and your hatred for the government.

Living in the Avenger facility did little to change that.

See, the thing about Carol Danvers was that she wasn't an "Earth" hero. Logically speaking, there should've been no reason you disliked eachother as much as you did. You didn't work for the Kree. You had no squabble with saving refugees from colonial rule. On paper, you two were two peas in a pod. Both looking after people who didn't have others to help them, but you hated her the moment you laid eyes on her. Carol Danvers with the huge ass ego. Carol Danvers who somehow was fighting an intergalactic empire, but saw no problem with the way the US military conducted business. She hated you because honestly, who likes a murderer. Redemption arc be damned. You know how it goes.

"I just feel like I've done nothing to deserve this."

"You've killed hundreds of people."

"In total, the Avengers have killed like 2000 so, I don't really see how that's relevant."

Natasha sighs. Steve steps forward and when you cut your eyes at him, he raises his hands in plea.

"Half the universe's population is gone. The US government just needs a win."

You nod slowly. "And sending me across the fucking galaxy with-" You gesture vaguely to the blonde who until that point had decided to be quiet. "- is somehow a win."

"I hate to say this, but I agree," Carol interjects. "I work better alone. Y/N will just hold me back."

"We just need someone to go back to the planet where the infinity stores were destroyed. Make sure there are no remnants."

"It'd be quicker if I did it by myself."

"Y/N is the only one with the ability to replicate organic life," Steve retorts. "If there's a possibility she can locate some particle of infinity stone and replicate that, we need to take that chance."

"It'd be good publicity for her image and it'd bring us one step closer to bringing them back," Natasha continues.

"The world needs you to put aside your differences for the mission."

That was another thing you regretted about joining the Avengers. Steve had no shortage of motivating speeches under his belt. The good thing about villains was that they weren't much for conversation - there was no need to give motivating speeches when the odds were in your favor.

But, people were gone. Wanda, the only one you remotely liked, was gone. Snapped. Looking at Carol now, it looks like she must've lost someone, too. Her unpleasant face looks somehow more restrained than it usually did.

You sigh and fold your arms. "Fine."

All Carol does is nod.

It would take two earth days to reach his planet. Two. There'd been complications with the engine and so, it would take not the twenty four hours you expected, you know the time span that was customary for light travel, but it would take two days. Between that and the ship having to lower the heat to maintain proper oxygen levels, it wasn't fun.

"I could fly us there," Carol offers.

"Are you forgetting I can't breathe in space?"

Carol shrugs. "You replicate organic life right? Just replicate yourself a new pair of lungs."

"Fuck you."

She smirks, takes the only other available chair next to you. At first, she seems content to annoy you by tapping her fingers against the dashboard. Then, she grows bored. Worse, she tries to talk to you.

"Isn't all of this stuff automated?"

"Yes."

"So," she begins, stretching out the word. "You don't actually need to be here monitoring it. You can get on the cot." She shrugs. "Take a nap."

"I'd rather keep watch."

You think that'll be it and she'll be done, but she continues. You never would've pegged her as the type to not like silence. But, maybe that's not even it. Maybe, she just wanted to squeeze information out of you. God knows you weren't exactly open with the other Avengers when Fury made you join.

"You ever been to outer space?"

You shake your head. "When you're flagged as a global liability they tend to prefer you on the ground."

"A global liability? Is that what terrorists call themselves?"

"At least, we don't give ourselves cutesy nicknames like Black Widow or Captain Marvel."

She scoffs. "No. You guys just blow up innocent civilians."

"Yeah, I guess accidentally killing them is way better." You smile thinly. "For the greater good and all, you know?"

She stares at you long enough that you don't think she'll actually speak. Finally, she looks away and out to the empty abyss in front of you. "I don't pretend to know what the Avengers did while I was off-world. I see them now and they're good people."

You don't respond and she continues. "You must agree. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here."

"Fury said it was either this or experimentation."

"Fury didn't say that."

You laugh bitterly. "He didn't, but he didn't need to. The governments experiment on all mutants - that's how we got Steve and Wanda - they just don't talk about it anymore." You spare her a glance. There's nothing in her expression that would tell you what she's thinking. "So, I chose the Avengers. And here we are."

"You could've escaped."

"Where?" You lean forward in your seat and prop your elbow on the dash. "Please tell me. Where can someone who's wanted internationally hide?"

She squints her eyes. "I'd help, but unfortunately, my knowledge of ideal vacation spots is pretty limited."

Carol's lips seem to be trapped in a permanent smirk - the corner always tilted up in vaguely hidden amusement. Even now. Her snark never stops. You feel your own anger dissipate as quick as it came. There was no point being angry with her. She loved it. Fed off it like a parasite or leech.

"It's almost like you're trying to piss me off."

She places her elbow on the console, leaning forward to shrink the gap between you two.

"Would it make you more angry if I was?"

One time, you and the raccoon had a bet. Whose eyes were more blue: Captain America or Captain Marvel? Like this, you'd have to say Carol. Her eyes had their own halo wrapped around the rim, highlighting the blue and making it fluorescent.

You rub your lips together and lean back in your seat, turning away from her to once again, look at the controls.

The ship breaks down when you reach his planet. You and Carol spend the first ten minutes after landing, arguing back and forth, blaming eachother. The next fifteen, Carol leaves you. Fucks off like a glow stick and searches the planet. When she returns, you haven't moved. Haven't left. You opted instead to lie down in the flowers. It was a beautiful planet. Perfect for retirement. The air was pure, almost light enough to get high in.

"I found his cabin."

"Great." You jump up. The blood rushing to your head and spotting your vision briefly, almost enough to cause you to wobble. "Let's go."

She steps in front of you, quick. You stop just short of bumping into her. Your faces are inches apart. That same infuriating smirk on her lips. Your eyes dart down, down to her chest - she was quite muscular, you could see that even through her clothes- down enough that she has to clear her throat.

"It's too far by foot." When your eyes meet, she's trying to not look smug.

You arch a brow. "Well, we can't fly."

"I'll have to carry you."

You groan.

"Believe me. I'd be more than willing to do anything else."

"Fine. Do it."

You step back and gesture at her to turn around. She rolls her eyes and in a breathe you didn't know you were holding, throws your arm around her shoulders, wraps her arms around your waist, and jumps. You scream. Through the rush of wind, you think you hear her laughing or perhaps, that's a lie and it's you. Laughing hysterically. No. You are screaming. Hitting her chest. And she's laughing. Fuck Natasha. Fuck Steve. When this is over, you're quitting.

When your feet touch the ground, you bend down and kiss it. Pray to it.

"Anyone ever tell you you're dramatic?" She asks.

"Anyone ever teach you about consent?"

"You told me to do it."

"I don't care!"

The two of you spend hours looking for remnants of the stones before you finally give it up and return to the ship. You were careful not to drift too close to his cabin. The Avengers never recovered the body. The rot of Thanos was thick, enough to gag over if you got too close. This planet wasn't used to death, not the harsh meat of Thanos. It had been months and he was still there, newly rotting as if it had been a week or two.

"I'll look again tomorrow before we leave." Carol pops a chip in her mouth, her feet kicked on the co-pilot chair while you lounged on the cot. "For now, you should get your rest."

"Don't you need to sleep, too?"

"I have been." She gestures to the chair.

You stare. Frown. The chairs were nowhere near comfortable.

"We can switch. I'll just take the blanket," you offer reluctantly. The nights here were cold anyways. Much colder than space. You involuntarily shiver.

"I prefer to sleep sitting up."

"Is that a military thing?"

To your surprise, she laughs. "Why?"

You shrug the blanket higher - the thin layer providing little comfort. "Cap likes to do that too."

As the sky gets darker, the cold filters in the cracks of the ship and between the layers of your comforter. You snuggle tighter within yourself, curl your knees up to your chest, burrow your hands underneath your pits. When that doesn't work, you shift again. It was always something. The blanket doesn't cover your feet here. You're uncomfortable there.

"You still up?"

You peek up to glance at Carol. She's leaned back in the chair, her head propped back against the headrest. When you shift, she pops one eye open.

"It's cold," you respond. "Are you cold?"

She shakes her head. "Temperature stops being a concern when you get superpowers like mine."

"Oh, yeah. Forgot you're a glow stick."

She snorts. "You talk a lot of shit for someone whose close to being an icicle."

"Bravado under pressure. It's my best quality."

You think she's gonna retort with another snort, but she stays silent. You make a move to stand, but she stops you.

"It's colder over here. See." She breathes out and you can see the cloud of her breathe. You frown.

"I can't sleep like this."

You think she's gonna do something like procure a blanket or throw you her jacket. You even think she might use her powers to heat the ship. It would make sense. Now, that you thought about it - she could've flew your ship to Thanos's exact location. You open your mouth to say as much, maybe, even yell at her as well, but she surprises you by standing.

Her head tilts to the side. Her mouth opening and closing again as if she's mulling over her next words carefully. If it were brighter, you might say this is the closest to nervous you've ever seen her get.

"I could lay down next to you." You blink. "My body generates a certain amount of heat due to -"

"Your powers. Yeah, I get it."

Slowly, you scoot over in the small cot. There wouldn't be enough room. You'd be touching regardless, but if you didn't turn over, it'd be okay. You could pretend instead of Carol, it was some space heater next to you.

"Come," you order.

You feel her weight in the cot, the warmth of her sinking in and spreading across the fabric. It hasn't even been a minute and already the cold has been dissipated. You could sleep if you wanted to. But, you don't. No matter how much you had wanted to pretend she was just some space heater, she was Carol. She felt stiff like a board and she was unbearably loud in her stiffness, her unwillingness to move.

"You can relax you know," you mumble.

"I sleep on my side."

You wonder now if she's smirking.

"No one's stopping you from doing that."

She moves and you know without looking that she's facing you. Her breathe tickles the hair on the back of your neck. You wouldn't be able to sleep like this. She's thinking so loud that whatever thoughts she's having are sure to interrupt your dreams. You turn over towards her - your faces are a hair apart. She's not smirking. Her lips are parted and her eyebrows raised, her expression torn between surprise and delight.

"You're making it difficult to sleep," you say simply.

"Am I?" She retorts. There it is. She's grinning. "That sounds like a personal problem."

You don't take the bait. "You know why you're making it difficult?"

She shifts her head slightly to imply 'no'.

"You're too far away. I'm still cold," you say.

She arches one brow. "This is too far away for you?"

You nod.

She shifts closer. Close enough that there's no room for you to glance at her lips. There's only her eyes staring into yours.

"This good enough?" She whispers.

"No."

"You're proving difficult to please, Y/N." And you can tell she's trying to be smooth, but right now, you just want her to shut up.

You barely have time to open your mouth to say as much before she's kissing you. Pressing her soft lips to yours, her hand finding its way to your hip and resting there. She tugs you closer to her until your bodies are flush against one another. The soft pecks growing longer. Light sparks from her fingertips, burning the trim of your jacket. She fists it as she presses you into her. Her touch still gentle if demanding.

You pull away slowly to breathe. To catch air. You forget why when your lips stop touching.

"Been wanting to do that for awhile," she says with a smile.

"I didn't know I wanted to do it honestly," you respond because it's true. All you knew was that Carol was infuriating. Still is. Only now you want to kiss her, too.

"Really?" Carol asks. "You didn't know you wanted me?"

"You find that hard to believe?"

"I do," she grins. "You know the raccoon and Groot have a running bet on which one of us would crack first. Groot bet on me."

"Groot lost, then." You mean to kiss her, but she pulls back.

"You're the one who invited me into bed with you."

"Because you offered your services."

"Because you complained about being cold."

You groan, snuggle into her chest so you don't feel the need to respond to her. Thankfully, she stops. Her spare hand strokes your back and slowly, you drift into sleep.

#carol danvers x reader #carol danvers imagine #captain marvel x reader #captain marvel imagine #carol danvers #captain marvel

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greatbigbellies · 4 years ago

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New anonymous commission story! This is another hyperpregnant slice of life piece, about a couple of boys who find out that they can conceive additional babies mid-pregnancy which will grow to catch up to the largest sibling, resulting in rapid growth for one of the husbands! Contains hyperpregnancy, tmpreg, some weight gain and lactation, mild belly worship, and allusions to sex.

Leo sat in the passenger seat of he and Marko’s sedan, his boyfriend behind the wheel. The pair sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. They’d received some… rather shocking news from Leo’s most recent doctors appointment. All three babies were fine, all perfectly healthy... but that was precisely the point, all THREE were healthy. At three months in, Leo was at the tail end of his first trimester, and when he started, there was supposedly only one in his womb. Then a few weeks ago, they were suddenly expecting fraternal twins. Then finally, today, triplets, all inexplicably at the same stage of growth.

“What’s going through you mind, hon?” Marko finally asked, breaking the silence. Leo brushed a few brown, fluffy hairs out of his face with one hand, and held his tummy protectively with the other. “I’m just… I’m floored we’re having three kids! I’m just… confused I guess? Like we were set with one for a while… and then two… and now…” Leo trailed off. Marko squinted in concentration as he thought of how to word his theory. “I… think I know the pattern… I don’t think it’s a matter of the doctors just mysteriously being unable to count…” Leo could tell where this was going. “You mean…” Marko nodded. “Think about it? There was the night we conceived after the party… that’s one. Then there was minigolf night...” Marko began listing off. Leo nodded, “Yeah, Minigolf was fun, we need to do that again sometime,” Leo smiled. Marko raised an eyebrow, “Like… just the minigolf, or what came after too?”

Leo turned to him and batted his eyelashes, “I dunno, can you get another hole in one?” Marko felt himself start to blush. He was typically the more dominant one, but Leo knew how to push his buttons. “Besides, I wanna test your theory. See if I wake up with four tomorrow,” Marko was now no longer ‘starting to blush’ and was instead outright blushing. “Are you teasing me, or are you serious? Cause our turn to go golfing comes up in two blocks,” Leo put his hand in Marko’s shoulder, leaned over, and said “put another baby in me,”

Marko smiled mischievously, eager to relive their minigolf date. “But! If I win you gotta buy me a sundae. The babies want hot fudge,” Leo teased. Marko’s grin widened. “Nah hon, I’m gonna get a hole in one, beat your ass at minigolf, buy you TWO sundaes, watch you eat them, then we’ll fuck like there ain’t no tomorrow,” he said, wearing his confident smile proudly. Now it was Leo’s turn to blush, turning away and putting his hands over his mouth and cheeks. “Fuck, I hate it when you get all assertive like that,” he said through his hands. Marko laughed. “No you don’t, you little bottom!” Leo erupted in laughter himself, his adorable, irregular laugh like music to Marko’s ears.

“I mean… in fairness, you’re too competitive to lose on purpose, but too much of a gentleman to let a pregnant guy go hungry,” the praise elicited another more subtle blush from Marko, two ran his hand through his short, black undercut. “I mean… you need lots of calcium for the babies. There’s milk in ice cream so, like… it’s good for you right now?” Marko stumbled to his point. Leo chucked and lifted the hem of his beige sweater up to his chest, exposing his tiny first trimester tummy, looking ever so slightly pudgy from being 3 months along. Marko’s blush shifted to a deeper red and he tried to focus on the road, but was a sucker for Leo’s belly. “You’re going to get so big with four babies,” he said, his voice just slightly quivering in anticipation.

“Why stop at four?” asked Leo. “Are you serious?” replied Marko. “100%. We’ve talked about this before. We both love…” he gestured to his bare tummy, “THIS. We both have decided to take on fatherhood, why not just… shoot for the moon?” he put his shirt back down. Marko pulled into “Albatross Minigolf” and put the car in park, looking very seriously at Leo. “That’s going to be really hard on your body,” “I know,” “We’ll need a bigger car,” “I know,” “We’ll need a bigger APARTMENT!” “Marko… we’ll be fine! We only get to really do this once, lets make the most of it!” said Leo reassuringly. Marko wasn’t sure if “this” meant pregnancy, parenthood, or life in general, but he didn’t care. He kissed Leo on the lips, beyond excited to watch his boyfriend grow huge with his babies.

He got out of the car and ran around to the other side to get the door for Leo. He was more than prepared to dote on the man, already deciding he’d get Leo THREE sundaes after minigolf. After all, they’d need some calories to burn.

3 months later

Now six months along, and swollen with large sextuplets, Leo was solidly what one would call ‘very, VERY pregnant’. His usual button up flannel shirts had grown tighter and tighter until they wouldn’t button. While the pair did like the belly out, unbuttoned shirt look, Leo preferred to be more modest when in public. As the temperature dropped due to the coming of autumn, Leo had switched to his larger sweatshirts to remain covered, and even those didn’t really do the job anymore. Now looking overdue with quads, he waddled through the Willowbrook Square Mall wearing that same beige sweater he wore during minigolf night, once two sizes too big, now pulled tight over his bump and only reaching just above his navel.

To cover his lower belly, he wore a supportive belly band to help redistribute the weight of his womb and provide some modesty. Unfortunately for Leo, but much to Marko’s delight, the top hem of the belly belt and bottom hem of the shirt couldn’t quite meet, resulting in a cheeky strip of exposed tummy, complete with his popped navel peeking out.

Leo’s belly swayed slowly back and forth as he waddled next to Marko, squeezing his hand. He absolutely loved being so pregnant, but he tended to get colder feet in public. He was a sight to behold, and people weren’t shy about staring at his impressive bump. “I think that lady has intentionally hopped from store to store to keep me in view,” whispered Leo meekly, “She just keeps watching me, it’s weird,” “Bet she’s jealous of how great you look,” chuckled Marko. “Marko! I’m serious!” Leo hissed, “I like being this big but I don’t like being the center of attention!”

Marko raised an eyebrow, not liking his boyfriend being nervous. “I can talk to her if you’d like?” Leo shook his head, “Nono, I don’t want confrontation, I just want… honestly I just want a milkshake…” he said as cravings shifted his focus to his empty stomach. With each added baby to his womb, his appetite grew stronger, even as the amount of room in his smooshed digestive system grew smaller. Marko swiftly steered the pair toward the food court, knowing exactly what to get him.

Leo wasn’t much of a foodie before pregnancy, but getting knocked up had not only expanded his palette, but increased his appetite to the point Marko was constantly feeding him. He had actually become something of a good cook, and really enjoyed feeding Leo. As a result of his new caloric intake, Leo has began to physically soften with time, his thighs and ass become pillowier, and for the first time in his life, he had love handles. Marko took this as a point of pride, that his cooking was good enough to make someone a little pudgy. Of course, the constant flow of ice cream treats certainly didn’t hurt either.

“Any preferences, dear?” Marko asked as he helped Leo ease into a chair, which had to be pulled away form the table to make enough room for the belly. “Where you buying?” He asked. Marko tilted his head toward one of the chain restaurants in the court, “Sonic has the biggest shakes here, and I know you like car-” “Carmel oreo please,” grinned Leo. Marko’s heart flittered a little bit at Leo’s innocent smile, still in the honeymoon phase even after being together for so long. He nodded and made his way toward the Sonic, leaving Leo to sit and rest his aching feet.

He placed his hands on the top shelf of his belly, and scanned the food court. He was semi-used to being stared at by this point. Being visibly trans, being in a visibly gay relationship, hell, even his nose ring got glares from older folks. But this felt different, it wasn’t him they were stealing glances of, it was his belly. He felt a draft blow across the sliver of exposed skin between his sweater and belly belt, and felt a little self conscious. To make matters worse, the woman who had been stalking him made a b-line and was actually approaching him. He considered getting up and moving, but knew he’d reached the point in size and weight were he really needed Mareko’s help to do anything quickly.

“Excuse me!” she said, Leo braced for the worst. “I’m sorry, I know I’ve been following you around, we’ve made eye contact like 4 times, but I really need to ask you something,” she continued. Poor Leo grimaced and prepared for the worst. What invasive question would he have to answer this time? She took a seat at his table, sitting across from him. She made eye contact and seemed very direct, something Leo wasn’t super crazy about.

“So my friend is pregnant, and she’s carrying decuplets, and she’s really starting to struggle with her size… where did you get that tummy support thing?” Leo blinked, feeling like an overhyped bandaid was just painlessly torn off. “Oh, uh, there’s a place across town that sells maternity wear, called ‘twins n’ up’, and the owner makes their own stuff. They, uh, they custom made it for me,” he answered. The lady nodded intently and made several notes on her phone.

“Is this lady bothering you, hon?” asked Marko as he returned with 32 ounces of creamy milkshake. “No, actually she was just asking me about this!” Leo pulled the hem of his supporting belt, letting it snap back against is belly. “I swear I’m not trying to harass your husband, he’s just the first person i’ve seen who is as pregnant is my friend and I wanted to know where he got his clothes. I’ll leave you guys alone now, thank you!” she said to Marko, offering her seat to him. Marko’s protective nature made him a little cautious of the woman’s intentions, but she seemed harmless enough. “Take care!” smiled Leo as she left. Marko sat across from him, and handed him the milkshake.

Marko chuckled, “I guess we look like husbands now?” Leo took a long, indulgent sip of his shake, basking in the sugaryness of it all. “I mean, we are growing our family quite a bit,” he patted his tummy, “I think it’s a fair assumption we’re married,” Marko considered the situation for a moment and realized, yeah, it WAS a fair assumption they be married, or at least engaged… maybe it was near time he brought assumption to reality…

3 more months later

Marko and Leo were currently no longer boyfriends. Rather, they were fiances! Marko popped the question privately after a very fun and successful baby shower, and Leo immediately said yes. Some tears of happiness were shed, celebratory cake was consumed, and more babies were added to Leo’s ever swelling womb later that night. Things were progressing smoothly for the expecting couple as they’d moved from their old smaller apartment to a larger, open floor house.

Now 9 months pregnant with thirteen babies, Leo was a sight to behold. His belly was permanently bared, no wardrobe in the country able to cover his bump. Through some luck, good genes, and lots of cocoa butter, he’d managed to avoid any stretchmarks, but his navel was thoroughly popped. While he’d started the pregnancy off on the skinny side, Marko’s endless flow of food had made sure baby weight accumulated, and now everything from his legs to his chest was growing. The only part of him that didn’t seem to gain any weight was his face, which was still lithe and adorable. His fluffy brown hair had only grown fluffier and fuller with the prenatal vitamins he was taking. He had to lose his blonde highlight though, as the babies could absorb chemicals through hair exposure, strangely enough.

Marko had been hard at work unpacking their whole life into this new house, as Leo had grown too large to really do much besides be doted on, which Marko was fine with. He’d set up their bedroom, and taken the doors off their hinges and removed the doorframes to buy Leo just a few precious weeks of being able to travel through doorways. At the rate they were going, they would need every inch of their open floorplan just for Leo’s titanic tummy.

Leo’s belly now held not only tredecuplets, but enough amniotic fluid to stay full and spherical. He was clocking in at around 300 lbs, and just under half of that was belly. Through the help of Marko, Leo could still walk… but getting up and down was a challenge. Leo’s belly was beyond bigger around than he was tall, and there were substantial portions where he could no longer reach. That didn’t stop the couple from conceiving more though. Even at thirteen full and pregnant beyond words, the couple still had plans for more. Call it some kind of hedonism, but Leo loved being bred and growing ever more massive, and Marko loved to watch.

Even now, well into January, large snowflakes lazily falling outside, the pair were together, warm and happy. Leo had basically outgrown the couch at this point, his belly more wide than the cushions were deep. Instead, they had splurged on an electric recliner which was situated facing slightly to the right of the television, so that Leo could lay back in a reclined position, but only had to turn his head to see the TV, since he couldn’t see past his own tummy straight on at this point. Strong visible kicks could be seen occasionally poking out of his tightly stretched skin, often in places out of view from Leo himself.

He sat, laid back in his large, cushy recliner, eating some chinese takeout Marko had picked up for him. He set the styrofoam container on his chest, idly scooping noodles into his waiting mouth. A chow mein noodle fell into his cleavage, something he didn’t have 6 months ago, and he picked it out with his chop sticks, hoping Marko didn’t notice him miss his mouth.

Marko didn’t notice, too enarmored with his future husband’s massive midriff. He got to see it every day, and yet every day he somehow loved it more. His hands were almost always touching it, only off of the bump when cooking or otherwise doing housework. He knew this had to be hard for Leo, being so massive and carrying so many, so Marko worked hard to do his part. Anything Leo wanted, he got. Specific foods, foot rubs, new clothes, a bigger belly… all of it was hand delivered by Marko himself. For being the more dominant of the pairing, he’d become something of a servant as Leo grew closer to immobility.

Right now, Marko had a dining room chair pulled up next to Leo, and was working cocoa butter into the side of his tummy, working slowly to both be gentile and maximize his time spent touching it. It amazed him how no matter his size, or how many were in there, his overburdened belly still had just a little give to it. Leo smiled, watching his partner be just engrossed with his tummy. “You have such a hopeless belly kink,” he chuckled. “Hmmm? Me?” Marko said, almost missing the question cause he was staring at the belly. “Yes you! Even before I got knocked up you liked touching me there! Who’s hands were on my tummy when we made out the first time?” Marko blushed. “I mean, yeah mine... but also who was so eager he got close enough that our glasses hooked on themselves? Who was so willing he whispered how he wanted a ‘baby in him right then and there?’,” Marko teased.

Leo was the one blushing now, thinking back to one of their first dates. Little did he know just HOW MANY babies would be put in him later in life. “Is it… bad I still want you to put a baby in me?” he said, embarrassed by his own words and avoiding eye contact. Marko set aside the cocoa butter and stood up, taking a good look at the tummy that lay before him. “No… I don’t think it’s bad… but I wonder if there’s room in that belly for any more?” he teased, pressing the tips of his fingers into Leo’s exposed tummy.

“Oh come on Mark, don’t make me beg, you said you’d take care of me?” Leo teased right back, deepening his finance’s blush. “Hmmm…” he rested the side of his head on the front end of Leo’s belly, listening to the ambient, living sounds from inside. “It SOUNDS pretty full, can one guy get any more pregnant?” Leo crossed his arms and mock-pouted. “I won’t ever find out if you keep talking...” Marko leaned over Leo, casting a shadow across his face. “So you’re ready for number 14?” he grinned. Leo wrapped his hand around the back of Marko’s head and pulled him in for a kiss before whispering, “Why stop there?”

Another 3 months later

Marko had needed to make some calls. He had a few contacts with the fabrication industry, and knew some guys always willing to help him out. Now a year pregnant, and full of 20 babies, Leo no longer fit standard furniture. He was simply too large and heavy for traditional couches and chairs. Instead, Marko’s friends had put their heads together, and fashioned him a special, form fitting lounge chair, with a sturdy metal frame and soft, satiny cushions. They even thought ahead and made certain parts of it adjustable to accommodate for his growing size. And growing he was. Now beyond overdue, the growth of his still healthy brood pushed his body to new maximums. Leo often joked about how his womb would need its own zipcode soon.

Leo buttoned his shirt back up, setting the pumping apparatus on the table next to him. He’d had to start pumping his milk, or his breasts would begin leaking on their own, and frankly, he didn't want colostrum on his plaid flannels. “Hon, could you put that in the fridge?” he asked, pointing at the bottles of milk he’d produced. Marko ran his hand along the circumference of Leo’s belly as he moved past him, slightly tickling Leo in the process. He took the bottles and placed them in the fridge before circling back. “How’re you feeling honey?” he asked. “Big. Pregnant. Massive, really,” Leo answered. “Just how you like it?” Marko replied. Leo grinned, “Yeeeaaahhh,”

Marko placed his hands firmly on the expanse of pale, pregnant skin, and started kissing. Leo squirmed on his throne of pregnancy as his husband moved slowly up his belly toward his face. Marko gave him a deep, passionate kiss on the lips, causing Leo’s breath to shake slightly. “You love me so much,” he said in his quivering voice. “I”m so massive and pregnant and huge and round and you adore me like this.” he continued, getting a little emotional. “Of course I do,” replied Marko, giving his lovely husband a side-hug. “You’re my person, and you’re carrying a lot of persons, just for me, and that’s not easy. And I appreciate it. And I want you to know that I love you, both for doing that and for just being you!” Said Marko tenderly. Leo teared up a little, reaching out for another hug. Marko obliged, Leo wiping a couple tears on Marko’s 80’s style denim button-up.

“I couldn’t do all this without you, y’know… all… THIS!” Leo gestured to his astounding belly, which nudged with movement slightly in response. “You shouldn’t ever have to, babe. That’s why we have each other,” The two shared a tender silence, Marko rocking back and forth slowly. Leo sniffed and shook his head, “Augh, sorry. Pregnancy hormones… y’know… make me all emotional.” he said. “You’re allowed to be emotional, babe,” reassured Marko. “I know…” nodded Leo.

Leo’s tummy rumbled and Marko chuckled, “You also get emotional when you’re hungry…” he pointed out. Leo laughed his bubbly, infectious laugh. “Yeah, I can’t argue with that… lemme see… the babies want…” he paused, “Potato soup!” Marko nodded, making his way to the kitchen to cook a huge batch. “Anything for you, my love,”

#writing #anonymous #commissions #not bellies

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blrush · 4 years ago

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If Nobleman Ryu’s Wedding was a serious drama with hour long episodes, Part 3: The Honeymoon Is Over.

Ki Wan drew back his hand. Why had he reached out to Ho Seon like that? What was he hoping to achieve? It must be the exhaustion getting the better of him – yes that was it, he was just tired. In the warm room, under the candle light, Ho Seon had looked so handsome, like a painting of a prince and Ki Wan had felt the urge to touch the painting, and check if it was real. But Ho Seon was a man of flesh and bone, who reacted, and it scared Ki Wan out of his reverie and back to reality – a reality in which he could not afford to make such careless mistakes, or let down his guard.

He stepped back and mumbled under his breath;

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay”, Ho Seon replied, as he brought himself to his feet. They stood apart, an awkward silence between them.

“Ah!” Ho Seon realised, “You spoke!” Ki Wan brought his hand to his mouth, he hadn’t even registered that he’d opened it!

“I’m glad.” Ho Seon smiled, “I thought you never would. I was almost wondering if you could!” He joked, relaxing them both.

Was this the right moment? Should he tell Ho Seon the truth now? The opportunity was presenting itself, he could easily use this conversation as a starting point…

“Come,” Ho Seon spoke before Ki Wan could make up his mind. “Let’s go to bed, you must be tired.”

Ki Wan looked at the bed, then back to Ho Seon.

“Not “to bed”, in that way, I mean to sleep.” Ho Seon assured him.

They were both already down to their under garments, and Ki Wan was tired enough to fall asleep as he was, even though the layers of bandage-like fabric were tight and constricting on his chest and he would rather sleep naked or in a light open robe, he thought that exposing himself was probably not the best way for Ho Seon to find out the truth.

He had never slept in the same bed as another person, and he thought it might prove uncomfortable, but he found the sound of Ho Seon’s deep breathing soothing, and drifted off peacefully, carefully curled up on his own side of the bed.

In the morning, he woke feeling properly well rested for the first time in years. He had never minded his room at home, and was always happy in his own company. But his room had been bigger, and colder, the only sound was the wind outside, whistling through the archways and halls of their empty home. He had no idea the comfort that a warm body beside you could afford. During the night, he awoke briefly, but simply watched the shape of Ho Seon’s shoulders slowly moving up and down and he was quickly lulled back to sleep.

Ho Seon was such a welcome presence, he emanated warmth and comfort. And whilst Ki Wan was still fearful of him discovering the truth, he felt a level of safety and trust already with Ho Seon. He began to truly believe, rather than simply hope, that Ho Seon would be able to accept the truth and Ki Wan’s reasons for his deception. He no longer feared any kind of violent outburst from his new husband, now - he just feared the look of disappointment that would inevitably colour Ho Seon’s normally happy face.

Apparently, even sober, Ho Seon was not easy to rise. He took an age to wake up, twisting and turning under the covers, grumbling and murmuring. Ki Wan found it exceedingly amusing, and lay happily under the warm covers for longer than he should – watching Ho Seon. Ho Seon eventually turned to face him, at first seemingly a little taken aback by another person in his bed, but then registered it was his wife and smiled – toothlessly, his eyes closing.

“Goooggmrrning” He mumbled. Then he opened his eyes, sparkling with mischief, and added in an overly formal tone “My wife.”

“Mmm morning” Ki Wan responded, muffling his voice beneath the covers.

Ho Seon smiled and gave a prompting nod. Ki Wan rolled his eyes.

“Husband” he added quietly. This seemed to please Ho Seon to no end and he smiled ear to ear, giving an enormous yawn and stretch before beginning to get up.

~ ~ ~

The next few weeks of married life passed like a blissful dream. Ho Seon spent most of his days studying, or tending to administrative work, whilst Ki Wan kept his mother-in-law company, doing housework or tending to the garden. Some days, Ho Seon would come out to the courtyard and set up his desk outside on the balcony. Ki Wan suspected he didn’t like to feel excluded from any possible fun they may be having.

Ki Wan found himself settling into a routine of family life, and he and Ho Seon would bid each other goodnight and good morning as spouses, but it felt more like they were children playing house. They both avoided touching one another, and Ki Wan still avoided speaking as much as possible without seeming rude. Though he began to relax, particularly around his mother in-law, who had insisted he call her ‘mother’, which at first Ki Wan found difficult as it made him sad to think of his own loss, but he eventually complied and it only added to the happy-family delusion. She didn’t seem to notice or mind his voice. In fact, she complimented him on it once, and requested that Ki Wan should read to her sometimes – a request that Ki Wan happily complied with, as he missed reading and studying, things which he used to enjoy so much in his old student life before his mother passed away.

One evening Ho Seon passed comment as they were getting ready for bed. Ho Seon was sitting on the bed, cross legged, expectantly, like a child would.

“How come you read to my mother, but you never read to me?” He pouted.

“You can read.” Ki Wan responded.

“Pleeasssse,” Ho Seon whined, “Won’t you read me a bedtime story? Pleeeaase? Wife?”

Ki Wan stifled his laughter, and threw a pillow at Ho Seon in lieu of a proper response.

Their comfortable pantomime as a married couple became second-nature, and Ki Wan almost forgot about the graveness of his circumstances. He knew deep-down this illusion couldn’t last forever, but he couldn’t bring himself to be the one to shatter it. Their bubble was burst before long, not by either of them, but in the form of an unexpected visitor.

~ ~ ~

Ki Wan often bathed at the house, where they had a big warm tub which the maid would fill for him, and that Ho Seon would use after him. But his fear that the maid may walk back in at any moment, or that Ho Seon himself might barge in unknowingly meant that bath-time became more stressful than relaxing, and he could never really clean his body properly as the tub was too small and he spent most of the time trying to hide his naked body under the water. Walking one day near the river, his mother in-law pointed out a gorge where she said there was a natural spring that people could bathe in.

“I used to take Ho Seon down here when he was little.” She reminisced, “He used to love splashing around – he was so chubby as a baby! Aiiguuu, you will have such cute babies!”

The topic of children did seem to come up an awful lot with his mother-in-law, though Ki Wan normally brushed it off by acting coy and shy about the topic of baby-making. She never pushed him about it or asked intrusive questions about the physical side of their marriage, but she did always manage to slide babies into the conversation.

One morning, Ho Seon announced that he had to go into town on some business, and would take a few hours – whilst his mother-in-law felt poorly and said she would be staying in bed to rest. After helping her into bed, and reading to her until she fell sleep, Ki Wan felt a sudden rush of freedom and relief – he was alone! He immediately rushed back to the bridal house, collected clean undergarments, and headed out for the spring. He left a note beside his mother-in-law’s bedside, lest she wake and panic – or worse, come to find him.

Amongst the rocks and foliage, the spring looked tranquil and inviting. He carefully made his way amongst the trees, down the steep incline. He removed his clothing, and waded in. The water was cold but refreshing, and he dunked his head right under. Relief and calm enveloped him under the surface. He floated around happily, washing himself and swimming, revelling in the peace and quiet.

He knew he should get out soon, as his fingertips were beginning to wrinkle, and his mother-in-law was sure to wake eventually, but he was so relaxed he didn’t want to leave.

Giving his hair a final rinse, he dragged his fingers through a knot at the end and turned to where he had left his clothes on the rocks. He yelped with fright, a man was standing above the rocks looking down at him. He lowered himself further under the water, covering his chest completely.

He could only make out a silhouette, a tall frame, an adorned hat – a government official.

He dared not move, he could barely breathe. He had let his guard down for the first time in over a month, and this is what had come of it! The man began to move, and at first Ki Wan thought he was going to come further down the rocks to the pool, but instead – thankfully – the man turned and made his way back up to toward the road. There was no way of knowing how long he had been standing there. Had he been watching? How much could he see from up there? Had he simply wanted to use the spring, seen a young man bathing, and left? Or had he seen a woman in a state of immodesty? Either way, Ki Wan told himself that the man was a stranger so what should it matter to him?

But what should he do? Grab his clothes and head the opposite direction? But he didn’t know his way around the woods outside the property that well, he really only knew the way back to the Ryu house along the road. No, he would have to stay in the pool longer and hope the man left. But there was no way of knowing how long that would be. He sat in indecision until he could bare the cold no longer. Shivering he clambered out of the spring and put on his dress. Struggling and rushing, his clothes were now damp and he felt uncomfortable. But the afternoon sun had moved beyond trees and he was beginning to freeze in the woods. He would have to head home and hope the man had left the road. He tied back his wet hair and set off.

Upon arriving home, Ki Wan went directly to visit his mother-in-law, who was sitting up in bed, sipping some tea.

“Ahhh, my daughter, come sit beside me.”

“Eomeoni, how are you feeling?”

“Fine, I’m fine. I hate wasting away the day in bed. It makes me feel like an old lady!”

Ki Wan cracked a smile. “Oh? But you don’t look a day over twenty-five!”

“YA!” She half shouted, half laughed. “Rude girl! I was a real beauty in my day you know!”

Just then the maid knocked on the door and entered.

“Ma’am, there is an officer here to see the young master. He has been waiting a little while near the stables. I didn’t want to disturb you, and I wasn’t sure where the young madam was. I told him that Ho Seon was away in town, but he said he could wait. Shall I put him in the guest room, or offer him some tea?”

“Ughhh” she harrumphed, “I’m not in the mood to see some stuffy old court official today. He can just wait for Ho Seon, he should be back soon.”

“With all due respect Ma’am, he does seem very high-ranking. And he is not so stuffy or old… he’s actually quite handsome.” She giggled and looked toward Ki Wan for some sisterly affirmation.

“Very well. Hwa Jin, since you are now the lady of the house, why don’t you go and tend to him. Just serve him some tea and make a bit of small talk until Ho Seon gets back. Oh, and then let me know how handsome he is” she winked.

Ki Wan tried to force a smile as he rose, but his heart was sinking. What if it was the man from the spring? It had to be, what other official would be out on that road coincidentally? He began following the maid toward the stables to collect the gentleman.

Perhaps he had not seen Ki Wan’s face? Who was to say he would make the connection that the person he had seen in the pool was Ki Wan? He had to calm himself down!

As they approached the stables, where the official was tending to his horse, Ki Wan was sure it was the same man. The same broad stature, the same high-ranking hat. He turned when he noticed them, he was – as the maid had claimed – young and very handsome. The maid introduced Ki Wan formally.

“Sir, may I introduce the Lady Ryu Hwa Jin, wife of Ryu Ho Seon. She will see to you whilst you await Master Ryu’s return.”

“Pleasure to meet you. My name is Kim Tae Hyung, Head of the Department of Justice.”

The maid gave a bow, and shuffled away, leaving Ki Wan quaking with fear.

Ki Wan gave a polite bow, then turned for Tae Hyung to follow him through the courtyard. Ki Wan kept his head low and turned away from the man, silently praying for Ho Seon’s speedy return.

Ki wan showed Tae Hyung to the guest room, a simple room with a large reception area and a small alcove for bedding to the side. They rarely used it, but it was the most appropriate space for the man to be received, and for him to meet with Ho Seon if it were for business. Tae Hyung sat down at the table, and Ki Wan waited silently at the door for the maid to bring tea. Ki Wan was on edge, waiting for the man to speak. But he sat quietly, and Ki Wan continued to stare at his own feet.

Finally, the maid arrived with a tray of tea, which she placed on the table before leaving again. Ki Wan took a deep breath to steady himself, then went about serving the tea. He focused on his hands, looking down at the table, he poured two cups and handed one politely to the gentleman. As he did so, their hand touched, and Ki Wan wondered if it had been intentional on Tae Hyung’s part – as if he was trying to incite some sort of a reaction from Ki Wan – the kind of small gesture that might fluster a particularly prudish, gentle, or chaste young lady. Ki Wan made no reaction, and sipped his own tea. Then he sat back on his heels, placed his hands in his lap and waited. All the while, repeating the same mantra in his mind; ‘Ho Seon come back. Ho Seon come back. Ho Seon come back…’

“Unseasonably cold today wouldn’t you agree Lady Ryu?”

Ki Wan nodded.

“A bit cold for a swim, wouldn’t you agree?”

He knew.

Ki Wan was petrified, unmoving. What had he seen? There was something sinister behind his light tone. Ki Wan was sure he knew.

Tae Hyung placed his cup down on the table and leant forward. He brought his hand up to Ki Wan’s face, grabbed his chin and forced Ki Wan to look up at him.

Ki Wan could feel himself losing control of his fear, his neck and ears felt flushed, he was gritting his teeth so hard it was nearly audible, and he could feel tears beginning to well in his eyes. This was it, he was finished. This was not his kind husband finding out the truth, this was a powerful military man who probably had deeply strict Confucius values.

He examined Ki Wan’s face carefully, and looked almost pleased with himself.

“Hmmm… utterly convincing. But how odd. What’s a pretty young boy like you doing parading around as a noble woman?” He sounded amused, like this was all a fun game. Ki Wan was gripping his skirt tightly, and felt bile rising up in his throat.

Just then, Ki Wan heard the sound of approaching footsteps in the courtyard, and Tae Hyung calmly pulled his hand away – like he wasn’t at all bothered by the thought of being caught touching another man’s wife. Ki wan had never met someone so self-assured in their own sense of power.

Ki Wan heard Ho Seon enter the room from behind him.

“Ah! Kim Tae Hyung! I wasn’t expecting you. Sorry I had business in town. How have you been?” He sat himself down beside Ki Wan, and began to pour himself some tea.

“I’m well, thank you. I’ve been travelling the country on some royal errands. I heard you were getting married, I was so sorry I couldn’t attend.”

“Ahh, not to worry!” Ho Seon responded brightly, “It was a small wedding, just family really.”

Ho Seon’s exuberance and cheerful voice, which Ki Wan usually found so comforting, was like the sound of grinding metal in its contrast to Ki Wan’s mood and the tension of the room. Ki Wan was still fraught with anxiety and fear and felt like he was suffocating.

“I never pegged you as the marrying type” Tae Hyung began, “What changed?”

“My mother’s getting older, I guess she wanted a daughter to keep her company, and she was determined to see me settle down and have a family.”

“Oh?” Tae Hyung looked amused over his cup of tea, “Any luck so far?”

“Tae Hyung!” Ho Seon chastised half-heartedly. It was clear to Ki Wan that they were old friends, perhaps from school, Ho Seon’s easy manner and informal speech made that obvious. But Tae Hyung was fishing for information, trying to figure out if Ho Seon knew his wife’s secret – but his subtle jibes at Ki Wan were going completely unnoticed by Ho Seon.

“Tell me, where did you find such a beauty? I’ve never met another woman like her.” He looked directly at Ki Wan, with a smirk that, to Ho Seon, must have seemed like flirting – but to Ki Wan felt more like a threat.

Ho Seon followed Tae Hyung’s gaze, and for the first time since entering the room, finally looked at his wife. His smile quickly faded.

“Hwa Jin! Are you okay?” He sat up to attention. He reached across her skirts, and put his hands over Ki Wan’s. “You’re freezing!” He held Ki Wan’s hands tighter and gave them a squeeze.

“I believe your wife went for a dip in the nearby spring whilst you were out.”

Ho Seon lifted a hand to the back of Ki Wan’s neck, checking the temperature of his skin, he touched Ki Wan’s hair.

“You’re soaking wet!” He sounded genuinely concerned. But Ki Wan had barely noticed the damp seeping through his clothes. He was shivering from nerves not the cold.

“Hwa Jin, why don’t you go and get changed and get warm. I will get the maid to bring you some dinner.” He gave Ki Wan’s hands another squeeze, and prompted her to get up.

Ki Wan wandering aimlessly back to their bridal house as night began to fall around him. Should he have left Ho Seon alone with Tae Hyung, what if he told him the truth? What were Tae Hyung’s intentions? What was Ki Wan’s plan? He needed a plan. But he couldn’t think. He was still reeling from the shock of his encounter with Tae Hyung and as the night fell and the temperature dropped, he did begin to deeply feel the cold of his damp clothes.

He arrived back at their room, where he quickly tended to the fire under the house. Inside he lit a candle and began undressing. He hung up his wet dress and put on new under-dress. He was still freezing. He began to put on all the jackets and outwear he could find, then got under the covers of the bed.

Maybe he should leave? Run away into the night. What if Tae Hyung had him arrested, as a fraud or a pervert? What if he turned Ho Seon against him? But where would he go? Run away into the woods to starve or freeze to death? Before he could think of a plan, his eyes became heavy and he submitted to sleep.

He was awoken by Ho Seon gently shaking his shoulder.

“Hwa Jin. Hwa Jin. Wake up, have something to eat.”

At first Ki Wan thought it was morning, but the room was still dark and Ho Seon was still dressed.

“There’s some dinner here for you, you should eat something.”

Ki Wan begrudgingly sat up, his neck felt stiff and he was sweating under too many layers of clothing.

“Why are you wearing all my clothes?” Ho Seon laughed.

“I was cold.” Ki Wan drowsily answered.

“Mmhm”. Ho Seon nodded. He seemed himself. Not angry or scared. Tae Hyung must not have told him. Somehow, that make Ki Wan more unsettled. If he was keeping Ki Wan’s secret, was he planning on using it against him? A high-up military man, he could easily be the type of person to collect people’s secrets and use them to his advantage. This was Ki Wan’s crossroads, the illusion he had created for himself was finally shattered and he would have to make a decision. He would have to tell Ho Seon the truth.

Ki Wan starting shaking off the layers of jackets he was wearing, leaving a trial of clothes behind him on the floor as he went to join Ho Seon at the table.

“Wait.” Ho Seon stood up. Ki Wan froze. Ho Seon began approaching him.

“Your hair is still wet.” He said. Ki Wan sighed in relief.

“Oh.” He was still so drowsy, his limps felt heavy. He felt back to his wet bun – no wonder he had been so cold. He took out the pin and untied the ribbons. He rummaged around the dresser for a brush.

“Come here” Ho Seon plied, “You really need to eat something, you’re already so skinny – how can you go all day without eating. Mother said you were out half the day.”

Ki Wan sat down in front of the table and let Ho Seon take the brush from him. He slowly started picking at the food, but could barely stomach anything.

Ho Seon sat behind him, and began slowly brushing out his hair. It was a nice feeling. And Ki Wan almost began to fall asleep again.

“Tae Hyung spoke to me.” Ho Seon began softly. Ki Wan snapped back to attention, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Mmm?”

“He has a position for me in his department. He wants me to take it, and move to the capital.”

Ki Wan tried not to react. Ho Seon attentively kept brushing his hair, in long careful strokes down his back.

“Oh?”

“I told him I couldn’t take it. That my mother is too sick, and that you are just getting used to life here. But he said it was “of national importance”. I think things in the court are bad. He says he needs “allies”, whatever that means. I don’t want to go. I hate all the politics of court and I am perfectly happy living here. But he can be…. well, he is a difficult man to refuse – he’s powerful and … he said that it was really more of an order than a request.” He sighed.

“He said you would come with me of course, that we would be given housing at court. I am just sorry that you will have to move again. You just got settled here, and I don’t know what my mother will do without us – but she can’t make that journey she’s far too frail…”

He was rambling now, caught up in the rhythmic task of brushing Ki Wan’s hair, he was letting his own anxieties come tumbling out in a string of thoughts and apologies. Ki Wan had not seen him this anxious since their wedding night. He lifted a hand to stop the brush in Ho Seon’s hand, and turned to face him, their knees touching slightly.

Ki Wan had grown to love this space, their evenings together. In this candlelit cave that was theirs, where it was quiet and just the two of them. He knew he was about to ruin that forever.

Ki Wan took a deep breath.

“Ho Seon. I have something to tell you.”

TBC (Other parts here)

Authors Notes:

Yeah, sorry, trigger warning I guess? I made Tae Hyung a creep for added drama, cause every good Joseon drama has to have an evil antagonist.

And I hope you enjoyed my blatant references; to a certain natural spring in cloud recess and a little hair brushing reference to the gayest scene to ever pass chinese censorship.

Hope you enjoyed!

#trigger warning: the military 'friend' is now a creep cause I love drama #nobleman ryu's wedding #nobleman ryus wedding #choi ki wan #ryu ho seon #kdrama fic #bl fic #bl series #korean bl #wetv #Lee Sejin #kang insoo

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frostsinth · 4 years ago

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Burdened by the Stars - Pt. 5

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 - MasterList - Art

Holy Shit, it’s an update! A real update! For an existing story! Not a new project, not some random side quest.

Hey! I’m not dead! Whooo!

Welp. I hope you guys enjoy this! I’ve started writing the next chapter already, so hopefully it won’t be another four months for an update. Thank you for your patience! Lots of love.

Requested tags: @lightning-butterfly

“Auntie Gana!” Lorette squealed excitedly, launching herself onto my back and wrapping her arms around my neck. “I found you!”

I jumped nearly a foot, then laughed to dispel my jitteriness. Nearly toppling over entirely as her brother Corwin gave a shout upon the discovery of us both and jumped right on top. Our combined hot breath billowing like a cloud around us.

The afternoon with my nieces and nephews had certainly been refreshing. Though the mountain air of the goblin castle gardens was cold (colder even than the usual winter temperatures at lower altitudes), with all the running around we were doing, I hardly noticed. The six of them had been ecstatic to be pulled from their lessons early for the day, and had nearly bounced off the walls. Much to the disdain of their tutor, who gave me a dark glower as I pried the youngest off their chalkboard. But as I was the goblin Princess, and technically an adult, they had no recompense against my decision to dismiss them for the day to take over supervision of my nieces and nephews.

“It’s your turn to find us, Auntie!” Corwin informed me as Izaak and the twins skipped over. Likely alerted by the sounds of my hiding spot being uncovered.

I nodded my agreement, tossing Lorette over my shoulder as I stood up. She squealed and kicked, laughing so hard she was breathless. Her red braids slapping about her face as she wriggled. I glanced up at the sky, feeling the edge of anxiousness at the pestering thoughts of what Erramun might be doing. It was a thought that had often interrupted my afternoon. Leaving me more than a little distant and distracted, to the point where even my youngest charges were starting to notice. Hopefully he was still asleep, or at least resting quietly. Though with the sun sinking ever lower, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could assure myself of that.

“Alright, one more round.” I told them, placing Lorette back on her feet. “Then I’ve got to get you all back inside to wash up before dinner.”

I ignored the round of groans at my response. The twins, Yua and Hilal, each grabbed on to one of my legs and began to loudly proclaim I’d have to drag them inside if that’s what I wanted. Hilal even argued that she wasn’t hungry, and that dinner was going to be yucky anyway, so there was no point going in. Apparently Niko was currently on a healthy eating vendetta. Feeling that his family was far too indulgent in sweets and treats not indicative of a well-rounded diet for growing boys and girls. So he had taken a firm mindset and an iron grip on what was being cooked and served for their meals. A decision that I gathered was not sitting well with his offspring. Or his husband, evidently. I looked around four a moment as Lorette ducked under my elbow and tugged on it insistently.

“Where’s Viktor?” I asked Izaak, who was currently having a shoulder shoving match with Corwin, the closest to him in age with only a year between the two.

“Viktor?” Izaak took a step back, letting his brother topple to the ground at his feet as he turned his attention to me. Craning his neck back to look up at me with his soft, umber eyes. “He went to pick flowers I think.”

“Shut up, you ninny!” Cried Yua, jumping up from my leg and shoving her older (and much larger) brother to little effect. “He wanted to surprise Auntie Gana!”

Izaak gave the 6 year old a barely concealed scowl. “Well then he shouldn’t have taken so long.” The little prince squared his shoulders and tucked his hands behind his back. “He should have stayed with the rest of us, now it’s getting dark.”

“It is getting dark,” I agreed, reaching out to ruffle his messy blonde hair, “We should go find him.”

Izaak squealed in displeasure, pushing my hand away. “Auntie! Please don’t touch my hair! It took me forever to get it combed straight!”

Corwin, having scrambled back up, attempted to now launch himself at his sibling. Trying unsuccessfully to rangle Izaak to the ground. They may have been close in age, but Corwin was a full blooded goblin, leaving him smaller and lankier than his half-blooded older brother. Izaak was tall, even for a human child at his age, and while Corwin was by no means a runt, he would likely never quite manage to catch up. Still, he gave Izaak more than a little trouble, hanging off him as he was.

“Be careful not to get Crown Prince Izaak messy!” He mocked as he did, giving a sharp toothed smirk, “Papa is never messy, so Crown Prince Izaak can’t be messy either!”

“Get OFF, Cory!” Izaak howled back, beating a little fist into his brother’s back.

“Alright, that’s enough,” I told them, prying Corwin off and tucking him under one arm despite his wiggling and the fact that one twin was still latched to my leg, “Come on, we’ve got to find Viktor before it gets too dark.”

“He’ll get scared if it gets too dark,” Yua reminded the others busily.

“He can’t see in the dark like us,” Hilal finished, tugging on my skirts and offering me a traditional pointy toothed grin from her place still wrapped around my leg.

I glanced at her, returning her smile, then at Yua, now standing over her sister to tug at my skirts. The pair weren’t actually twins; Niko and Grier had adopted both of the goblin girls at the same time as chubby infants, and they had fast become inseparable. Now they championed the title of ‘twins’, rarely going anywhere without each other and making it a point to finish each other’s sentences. And thoughts, at times. It helped some that they didn’t look particularly dissimilar, though Yua had copper brown hair while Hilal’s was nearly pitch black. Other than that, they were the same age and height, and tended to prefer the same clothes and hairstyles. I brushed a few wild strands of Hilal’s hair out of her face as I finally put a kicking and wriggling Corwin back on his feet.

“But Auntie Gana,” Whined Lorette, “If we spend all that time looking for Viktor, we can’t play one last round!”

I thought about that for a second, tapping my fingertips dramatically against my lips as goblins did and leaving the children giggling excitedly. I had long ago adopted it as my signal to show them I had something fun planned for them. I could see them all bouncing on their toes eagerly as they waited. Even Izaak, trying so hard to be stoic and proper as he thought a Prince should be, had a glimmer of light dancing in his wide eyes.

“Well then, we’ll just have to make a game of it.” I told them. “First one to find Viktor… Gets dessert after dinner.”

I didn’t have to say it twice to have 4 of the five children screeching with delight and bounding off through the gardens. Certainly they must be deprived of sweets for such an incentive to work. I almost laughed at that, and almost being able to picture the tiniest of scowls at the corner of Niko’s lips when he found out. Soon their bobbing heads had disappeared among the hedges and paths. Izaak looked like he wanted to join them, his body slightly angled as if to launch into a full sprint. But he stopped, hesitating and looking up at me.

“Are you ok, Auntie Gana?” He asked me quietly, shuffling in place.

I looked at him in surprise. “Of course, Izaak! Why?”

He shrugged, bringing his hands around to rub at the palm of one. “I just thought you seemed a little quiet today… Are you and papa fighting?”

I almost groaned. “Did your inunu put you up to this? Or Niko himself?” I asked knowingly. Eying my oldest nephew suspiciously. Wondering if he had been spying on me this entire time. And also wondering if i had given anything away.

He gave me a sheepish grin. “Both. Inunu promised I could have three isiok if I asked, and papa said I could stay up a whole hour late with him.”

I would have laughed, shaking my head and putting my hands on my hips. “Is that why you aren’t racing off with your brother and sisters to find Viktor?” I reasoned, and he nodded.

“I already get dessert, even if someone else finds him.” He told me, sounding pleased with himself. “Papa doesn’t know inunu already asked, and inunu doesn’t know papa asked!”

I did laugh then, reaching out and giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze as we turned to make our way off the grass and walk along the main garden path. Mindful of his hair per his request. It hadn’t appeared particularly neat, but I was sure the messy locks were quite uncooperative. And I knew how much he tried. He slipped in a little closer, matching my stride with his and squaring his little shoulders again. I smiled to myself. He looked so much like Niko when he did that. A tiny little green-skinned, blonde-haired Niko, I corrected myself with amusement, but Niko-esque for certain.

“Two birds with one stone,” I mused aloud, wrapping my arm about his shoulders, “Very clever of you, Your Highness.”

He couldn’t seem to help grinning again, looking down at his shiny boots. “Yeah, but I think it only works if I have something to tell them.”

I shook my head once more, kicking up a little gravel as we went. “Not at all! The promise from both of them was just for you to ask me right? They didn’t say you had to get an answer.” I grinned back at him. “Or that you couldn’t tell me they asked you to.”

He seemed to think about that for a second, then nodded. “Yeah, Auntie, you’re right!” He looked up at me again, tilting his head to the side. “So you don’t have to tell me… unless you want to, that is.”

I sighed a little. “Alright, here’s what you can say. You tell Niko I said that he needs to stop treating me like a baby and pestering me all the time. And tell Grier I said you should get four isiok, because you are a very sweet and clever little Prince and you deserve all the extra dessert you want.”

Izaak chortled, nodding in bemusement. “Alright Auntie. I can do that.”

“And tell them Lorette gets dessert tonight too,” I proclaimed more loudly, as the rest of the gaggle returned, the half-goblin triumphantly holding a screeching Viktor over her shoulder, “As she is the best little brother wrangler of all time.”

That brought a round of giggles as Lorette passed her still kicking brother to me. Viktor stuck his tongue out at her, then quickly offered up a messy fistfull of half pulverized flowers to me.

“You’re not coming to dinner, Auntie?” Corwin asked, shoving Hilal out of the way to come and stand next to my leg.

“Not tonight.” I told him, reaching down to push his curly black hair out of his eyes after taking the flowers from Viktor with a pleasant thanks. “I’ve got… other stuff to do.”

“Lorette cheated!” Squealed Yua, stomping one foot angrily.

“She’s bigger than us! We can’t carry Viktor like she can!” Hilal agreed, pouting.

“Not forever,” I assured her, “Soon, I think Viktor will be taller than all of you!” I hoisted him up into the air over my head in illustration, which had him giggling with delight. “Besides, the deal was whoever found Viktor got dessert, not who carried him back.” I turned to the twins, who looked at each other for a moment before turning back to me. “And who found Viktor?”

“Lorette.” They admitted begrudgingly.

“So, the dessert award stands as it is.” I declared, putting the youngest back down on his feet to hold his hand instead. Not that I felt particularly bad. I knew my brother’s sense of fairness was indomitable, and having granted one child such permissions, I had likely granted it to them all. “Now, let’s get you all inside and washed up before your fathers take away my dessert.”

That brought a fresh round of laughter, and the six royal children of the goblin kingdom darted eagerly around my legs and up and down the halls as we made our way back up to our quarters. I spared the tower a final glance before we ducked into the castle, wondering not for the first time just what I would find when I went back to my own rooms.

.....

I was able to hand off my nieces and nephews to their caretakers after helping them all get washed up and changed for dinner without running into either Niko or Grier. Which I took as a small blessing, as I kept nervously glancing out the window to try and gauge just how long I had left until the Kings might just decide to pop in. I knew it was unlikely; usually they met their brood in the dining room at the end of each day. But I didn’t put it past either of them to attempt to catch me unawares. Especially as I was sure they had already heard I had liberated their children from their studies early to play with them in the gardens. Little went on in the castle that the two didn’t know about.

That thought made me smirk to myself in accomplishment as I hesitated outside my own door, having seen the Princes and Princesses off down the stairs with their attendants before heading back down the hall. Certainly I could think of no one else who would have been able to smuggle an orc of all things into the castle undetected. I had even managed to get his mare into the stables with no one batting an eye at her blood splattered coat before I had picked up my nieces and nephews. I glanced about briefly to make sure I was alone once more before I slipped back into my rooms. My heart in my throat and my nerves jumping on end.

The sitting room was quiet and dark, and I closed the door and latched it behind me. My eyes strained in the dimness, with only the barest hints of light coming from under the door to the hall. Perhaps I should get my eyes charmed like Niko’s, I thought to myself as I fumbled for the candle by the entrance. Placing the bundle of pulverized flowers from Viktor on the little table there for a moment as I did. It would certainly make living in a goblin castle half the year much easier. As the wick caught with a soft hiss, I heard the telltale creak of my bed in the other room.

Quickly I had to douse my nerves, straightening myself out with the reminder once more that these were my rooms. I was supposed to be here. Erramun was not. I felt another twitch of satisfaction at the corner of my mouth again, unable to resist feeling a little smug in that confidence. Even if he wanted to leave, he wouldn’t get anywhere without my help. It was a reassuring feeling to have the half-orc under my thumb. Though the reminder of my guest set my heart skipping again. Which I of course briskly ignored.

I used the light of the candle to find a vase amid my things, feeling each clutter and clank of my shuffling was louder than a thundering herd of cattle. Rather hoping the half-orc wasn’t sleeping. I had to move two small boxes and a stack of books out of my way. But I eventually found what I was looking for, and placed the small colorful vase on one end table. Gathering the messy bouquet up carefully from where I had left it by the door to set it into its new home. I ran my fingers over the pretty blooms, smiling to myself. I’d have to get them some water. But I should check on Erramun first.

However, it was suspicious how quiet everything was. I paused for a minute by the door to the bedroom, listening to see if I could hear anything beyond. I had assumed such a behemoth would be a snorer, though I guess that was rather small minded of me to think so. It was also, I realized, possibly silly of me to assume he would even be asleep. I had been gone for hours, perhaps he had woken, if he had slept at all. I pushed aside the fearful thoughts of what he had been doing this entire time if he had not been sleeping.

I hesitated with my hand over the handle. If he was asleep, would my entering wake him? And if he wasn’t… My face felt hot with the sudden reminder of a pair of dimples at the base of his spine. Not to mention the rest of that scene permanently burned into the backs of my eyelids. I glanced around the foyer once more, still trying to decide. Working to calm my suddenly racing pulse. Then chided myself with the reminder yet again that these were my rooms. If he was naked again, well then, I’d just have to scold him better this time. And… maybe I could get a better look. I scoffed silently, pushing away that thought as wholly undesirable and the heavy blush that accompanied it. Giving the handle a solid downward yank and shoving the old bedroom door open with my shoulder.

I had barely started to draw in a breath for a proper greeting when I released it suddenly in a loud shout instead, my body jerking forward with a sudden intruding force acting upon it. My hands went up defensively, the candle abandoned to gravity, as I reached for the sudden weight dropping on my shoulder.

Muscle memory took over then, and it was a blur as my hands found purchase. I shifted my weight, dropping my shoulder down and bending at the knees to use the larger form’s already moving momentum to my advantage as it went to grab me and send its weight forward. Then, a quick twist and a sweep of my foot had it flipping the rest of the way with a abrupt and heavy THUD that even managed to shake the room a little.

I blinked rapidly in the dark left behind by the now doused candle that had clattered to the floor, trying to make out whatever I had just laid low on the ground. My heart racing in my chest, my blood pounding in my ears. A muffled groan broke through the adrenaline, and I nearly scoffed in exasperation. Remembering that there weren’t actually a lot of possibilities.

“Erramun!” I snapped at the large half-orc currently splayed out on my bedroom floor at my feet. “What in the nine HELLS do you think you are doing??”

“Gana!” He said in surprise, tugging at his hand still in my grip. “It’s you!”

“Of course it’s me!! Who else would it be??”

“I thought you were someone else!”

“In my personal rooms, you big idiot??” I retorted, then looked down, realizing I had twisted his arm back with his elbow facing out and his shoulder turned in the way Niko had shown me. Leaving the half-orc completely at my mercy. I was sorely tempted to twist it a little further in my ire. “Who do you think would be just randomly coming in here other than me??”

The dark shadow at my feet gave a growl, and I gave a startled yelp as suddenly I found my own feet swept out from under me. I landed heavily on my back with a gasp, too surprised to react properly. A meaty hand on one shoulder, and the rest of a big orc pining me down with his body crouched over mine.

“I dunno. Could’ve been anyone.” He grumbled, and I saw the glint of his eyes in the dark. “This place is very odd.”

His dark hair spilled like water around us, and I had to take a few moments to calm my swirling thoughts as the smell of him filled my nose. Not to mention the heat of his body, with his big thigh on my left and the other between my own legs. One hand was firmly planted on my shoulder, half-pining me to the floor, the other held one of my hands flattened to the ground by the wrist. I wriggled for half a second beneath him, then stopped dead as I heard him snort.

“Not many can get the jump on an orc.” He noted, sounding heavily amused. I thought I could see the flash of his teeth. “But nobody can best them in actual combat even if they do.”

My temper flared at that, and I twisted sharply. Reaching up with my free hand to catch the back of his neck and burying one knee straight up. Catching his inner thigh and with a sharp upward jerk at the same time as I yanked hard with my hand. Toppling him off balance just enough to use my own weight to flip the tides once more. Using his greater weight and size to roll myself with him.

Another breath later, and Erramun was back on his back, and I glared down at him with a small but satisfied scowl etched into my brow.

“Must not apply to half orcs.” I replied smugly.

I couldn’t see him well at first in the low light of the moon filtering in from the balcony window, but at least now my eyes were finally adjusting properly. I could make out the edge of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders in the cream colored tunic. The side of his face closer to the window was also mostly visible. His black hair caught the moonlight with dazzling strands of silver, and I was pretty sure I saw his pronounced brow raise up. Thought I saw even a bit of the white in his eyes as he widened them. I could distinctly see them blink very slowly after that, and saw his wide nose flair. In fact, I could feel his entire chest rise and fall as he drew in a deep breath.

It was then my brain decided it fit to recall that I was currently sitting directly on top of the half-orc. My knees barely reached the ground on either side of him, my skirts bunched up at my thighs, and my hand was still cupped around the back of his neck. I had managed to free my other hand from his grip, and had his wrist now pinned above his head. Which brought me leaning perilously close. My own wild hair cascaded down like a net around my shoulders, and I realized my face was not all that far from his.

It seemed he had realized this same fact a that exact moment as well. We stared at each other for a long, quiet breath. Frozen in place. I found myself wondering distractedly how well Erramun could see in the dark. Was I just a shape bathed in a silver outline as he was? Or could he see the way I hovered over him, with the collar of my dress dangling a few inches from his shirt, baring the top of my chest to him? Could he see the expression on my face? And if he could, was he any better at reading it than I was at the moment? Could he see the flush of my cheeks, and hear the race of my pulse at his proximity?

I abruptly and quickly pushed away from him. Shoving him so hard in my retreat that he gave another soft grunt as I stood. My face was burning hot, despite my better judgement, and my head swirled as I tried to compose myself once more.

“You’re an idiot.” I grumbled defensively, smoothing my hands down my skirts as I took a few steps away.

“You’re impressive.” He returned, his voice a bit breathy. I saw him sit up, propping his knees and leaning on his elbows over them. “You fight better than some orcs I’ve met.”

“I thought no one could best an orc.” I chided him, carefully making my way over to the bedside table to find a fresh candle. “What are you even doing out of bed? I thought you were supposed to be resting.”

It took only a short minute of fumbling to light the candle, and when I turned to face him once more, he was still sitting on the ground. Looking up at me with emerald green eyes and his long locks spilling over his shoulders. He grinned a little sheepishly, and I had to force my heart to beat again in its wake.

“Some people can best an orc.” He said, as if deciding on it in that moment, then chewed at his thick lip thoughtfully. “Some people can beat some orcs.” He amended, and those lips split back into a wry, crooked grin. “And I got tired of resting. I’ve been resting for hours.”

“So you decided to tackle someone instead?”

His grin grew by a few molars, and I eyed him warily. “It was fun. At least for a moment.” He winced, and his hand went to his injured side. “I think I may have torn it open again.”

“Serves you right.” I grumbled, walking around to light a few more candles around the room. “Perhaps you should just stay on the floor all night then. Seeing as you seem to like being there. At least I’d get my bed back.”

He chuckled, and I heard him give a soft huff as he pulled himself back to his feet. When I shot him a glance over my shoulder, he was using the bedpost to steady himself. I watched him blink a few times, then shake his head stubbornly. I scoffed with a click of my tongue, putting down the candle in my hand and bustling over to him.

“Let me see.” I ordered him, reaching for the edge of his shirt.

He grunted, but didn’t argue, pulling up the hem over his navel. Exposing the wrappings to my critical eye. There was a spotting bloom of pink at the center, and I ran my fingers lightly around the edge thoughtfully.

“Well, the good news is I don’t think you made it worse.” I commended him, unable to resist the urge to skim my fingers over his skin a little. Checking to see if it was hot with infection, I assured myself. “The bad news is you’re still an idiot.”

He laughed again, and I felt it in my fingers currently pressed against his flesh. I straightened slightly, reluctantly removing my hand and trying to ignore the fresh flush that rose to my own face. Perhaps I was the one coming down with an infection instead, I reasoned distractedly.

I almost jumped as his hand came around, catching mine as it retreated. My eyes jumped to his face, and he tilted his head to the side slightly as he peered down at me. Those thick lips of his twisted into a fresh smirk, one side higher than the other. I resisted the urge to quiver at the sight.

“Lucky then that I have you, Gana.” He mused. “You have brains enough for the both of us.”

“And brawn.” I quipped, which only had his grin growing. I shuffled in place, glancing down at our hands before carefully pulling mine back. “Still. No more tackling people in the dark, agreed? Damjan won’t be happy if I return his tunic with blood stains all over it.”

Erramun nodded, slowly pulling his borrowed shirt back down. “Who is Damjan?”

I hesitated only a brief moment, turning to walk over to sit at the edge of the bed. “He’s the General of the goblin forces. Retired, supposedly. But that’s his wardrobe you’re wearing.”

That had a small flash of surprise rolling across his features. “He is large for a goblin then. Or is he human?”

I shook my head, then gave him a small grin of my own. “He’s goblin. Half-goblin at least. And half-orc.”

“Orc?” He echoed, and I wasn’t sure if it was nervousness or excitement that laced his voice. His smile had quickly faded.

I nodded, considering him. “Yes. He grew up here though. I don’t know if he’s ever met another orc. Though I suppose he must have at some point.”

Erramun nodded as well, chewing on his lip as he stared at the ground. I could almost see the thoughts swirling behind his eyes. I couldn’t help but notice that he looked a little relieved. I leaned forward on my hands currently propped at the edge of the bed.

“You avoiding all orcs at the moment?” I poked, curious despite myself.

His gaze darted up to me, then he shrugged his big shoulders, coming around to the edge of the bed slowly. “Just most.”

I tried not to stiffen as he sat next to me, the mattress depressing almost to the frame with his added weight. “Any particular reason why?” I asked warily. “You aren’t on the run, are you?”

The soft chuckle in his chest rumbled like distant thunder, and I felt goosebumps skitter across my flesh at the sound. He glanced at me again, then down at the floor.

“I worry they might try to stop me. If they found out.”

I waited for him to go on, to explain that further. When I was answered with nothing but silence, I shifted in my seat. Debating only for a moment whether or not I cared enough to pry further. But the curiosity proved too much, and I even leaned a little closer to him.

“Found out about what?”

He glanced at me again, and I froze as his eyes ran over my face. Especially the way he seemed equally distracted for a moment as his gaze met mine. I wasn’t sure how much time passed before he finally spoke. But found myself releasing a breath I hadn’t known I was holding when he did.

“Let’s just say I’ve got something to prove to my family.” He mumbled, then his eyes finally dropped away and he shifted. “We should leave it at that. I don’t want you to think I’m stupid.”

His voice was strangely soft again. The way it had been when he had first mentioned the plight of his people at the border. With that same look I had seen a hundred times before on my brother’s faces. The weight of a thousand weights, I called it. I didn’t quite like his face in that shape. It made him seem older, more tired. It hurt me a little to see that look on him, when usually his eyes were filled with such vigor and bravado. I leaned a little closer, nudging his shoulder with mine until he looked up at me again.

“... I already think you’re stupid.” I assured him lightly, and my teasing tones had a smile flicking across his lips again. “But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

He nodded, and I saw his eyes shift between mine for a moment. “Thank you, Gana… You have been very kind to me. And I have given you nothing but trouble.” He leaned a little closer, and my breath caught in my throat. “I would like to give you something else. To repay you.”

It took me far too long to respond with his breath splashing across my face. With his eyes locked in mind. Heat swelled in my chest, and my heart fluttered behind it. I swallowed slowly, trapped in those emerald eyes of his.

“... Oh yeah?” I fumbled my lips around the soft words. “What would you give?”

He paused a moment, and I felt the bed shift beneath us as he adjusted his weight. Somehow managing to shift even closer to me.

“What would you like? What can I give you, that would make you happy?”

I laughed shyly, glancing down. Away from those entrancing eyes. “I don’t want for much here.” I assured him, my heart thrumming in my ears.

“Surely there must be something you don’t have. Something you want?” He pressed, his voice still whisper soft.

My hands twitched, and I brought them together to cup in my lap. Thumbing at one as I stared down at them. So aware of his proximity I couldn’t seem to draw in a deep enough breath for fear of pulling it from his lungs.

“Freedom.” I admitted quietly. “... To go where I want. To see the world.”

“I can give you that.”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “No one can give me that.”

“But I can take you with me.” He pressed. “I can bring you back to my home. It is wild and untamed. That is a start at least.”

I glanced up at him again, and found him closer than I had left him previously. He was leaning on one hand, twisted at the waist. Almost at my eye level with the gentle bow of his broad shoulders and the relaxed curve of his spine. If I moved too quickly our noses might brush together. I kept my breath trapped in my throat. I saw his eyes move, and my face suddenly blazed hot.

Abruptly, I stood, putting a few steps between us. Squeezing at my palm for a moment and feeling horribly, horribly foolish. It took a breath to steady myself, but I turned back for him.

“... You are not here to promise adventures to silly girls in castle towers.” I reminded him bitterly.

He started for a moment at that, staring at me a little wide eyed. The candlelight danced in those eyes, and I had to look away. I made the pretense of picking up the broken candle from the floor where I had dropped it earlier. I ran my thumb over the smooth wax, trying to calm my racing heart.

“No, I’m not.” He admitted, and my efforts were demolished by the skip of my heart at the regret in his tone. “... But if you help me win the Princess, then I can still give you want you want.”

I almost laughed, shaking my head and feeling the sinking weight of his words deep in my chest. Reminding myself why this man was even here in the first place, and chiding myself silently for forgetting. Trying to swallow the sudden disappointment in my throat.

“I can’t help you do that.”

“You’re the only one who can.” He pleaded. “I don’t know this world. I don’t know these people, but I need to. I need to be better, to be bigger than I am. It’s the only way to help my own people. I see that now. My plan was foolish, and I cannot do it alone.”

I was already shaking my head before he had finished speaking. “I cannot help you win the Princess.” I told him firmly, stubbornness lacing my breath. Still refusing to look up at him.

“Fine. Not the Princess.” He agreed, and I heard the creak of the bedframe as he stood. “Then help me learn to be someone worthy of her. Of this court. Teach me how to impress the Kings. How to talk without saying anything. How to dress, how to speak. How to be… human. And goblin, if needed.”

I did laugh now, and turned to toss the candle to a pile of rubbish to be taken out later. “That’s ridiculous. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“So teach me.” He insisted, and his voice was closer. Somewhere only a few steps behind me. “Teach me to be better than I am, to be human enough to be at this court, to pass for one of the goblins, and I will take you far away from this place when I leave. I’ll even tell you stories of all the places I’ve been and the things I’ve seen in the meantime.”

I jumped as his hand grazed my elbow, and spun to face him once more. He peered down at me quietly for a long moment. Then his lopsided smile returned, and I felt my heart skip.

“I can’t give you your freedom, Gana.” His eyes sparkled with determination. “But I can give you the chance to take it.”

Excitement surged in my chest, and I felt the heat of my blood rushing through my veins. I felt the familiar itch; to run. To just go, to leave this place and never look back. To be out there, in the world where I so longed to be. I couldn’t quell the intensity of my desire, and felt it seep throughout my entire core. I saw his grin grow, and wondered if he could see it in my eyes. I chewed it over, trying to keep a level head. Trying to think it through.

“... No Princess? Just-”

“Just teaching.” He assured me. “Even if it doesn’t work, and the goblin Princess doesn’t like me and I go home, I’ll still take you with me.” His head cocked to the side. “If you want to go.”

It would never work. I had managed to smuggle him in, but I was only here for a month or two. Could I even smuggle him back to Geriveria? Or could I leave with him at the end, like he promised? Niko would never allow it. He’d send half of the Kingdom after me, and Val wouldn’t be far behind. Even Grier would think this was crazy. I didn’t know this man! I had no idea where he had come from, or what kind of person he was. And how was I supposed to keep him from figuring out who I really was? Once he found out that he couldn’t even use anything I’d taught him, surely he’d be mad. He would not keep his promise. Besides, how was I supposed to keep him hidden from my brother, the goblin King, my nosy nieces and nephews, my ladies-in-waiting, and everyone else in the entire castle? It was insane! It was dangerous! If I was caught, if Niko found out, if anyone saw him, who knows what they would do! And even if I could manage all that, two months was hardly enough time to train some wildling everything it had taken me a lifetime to learn. It was impossible. The odds were far too high, and the chances of success so slim I couldn’t even see them.

I felt a grin sliding across my face at the challenge raised, and felt my heart skip excitedly in my breast.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

To be continued ...

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my-writings-and-musings · 4 years ago

Note

Could you perphaps do hc for Blitzwings reaction to his tiiny human S/O being hurt because the Autobots accidentally collapsed something on them in a fight because they didn't know they were there

I'm not quite as knowledgeable on TFA but I did a crash course and rewatched some of my favorite bits so I hope this fits what you had in mind!

·The size of all earth life respective to Cybertronians means that, even when absolute care is maintained by all, the odds of a nearby human staying safe are far from optimal when bots fight. This is a reality Blitzwing has had to consider carefully since bringing you into his life. Generally his solution has been to keep you as far away from his "work" as physically possible, but unfortunately enough for him, it occasionally tracks him to you. All he can do when that happens one day is insist you take cover in a nearby abandoned building while he goes on the attack. You heed him without question despite your worry for his safety, knowing that he tends to fight less effectively when stressed due to his personalities clashing, and also because his stories about "Autobots" paint a very brutal picture...

·The Autobots outnumber him as they move in, their goal being to drive him away from what they presume to be a human endangering mission, but it's quite obvious who has the advantage once things get started. You can soon hear him holding his own even from your little hiding spot, the roar of battle shaking the very ground beneath your feet, and a thick accent returning combat banter with ease. The Autobots may just be trying to guide the triple changer outside of civilization, but they still end up being driven back themselves quite swiftly, though they of course are unaware it's because he won't be leaving while you are in cover. He's hardly reveling in victory while holding his ground, as frankly he just wants to get this over with and return to you, for what was supposed to be an enjoyable day in this deserted area of the city... His Hothead self boils in rage at having lost precious time, which results in him focusing everything on driving the meddlesome Autobots into retreat as aggressively as possible. You're more than worth letting enemies get away just this once, but he fully intends on leaving them with a few scars for the trouble.

·The strategy appears to work, at least from your perspective, in that their responding attacks start to become more focused on distraction than corralling. He's told you enough about combat for you to recognize suppressive fire as the typical tactic of those seeking to retreat, and you find yourself sighing in relief from your crawlspace, hearing the blaster fire grow less frequent with every passing second. Being more or less ambivalent to the Autobots means that just seeing them leave is the ideal ending for you. Blitzwing gladly notes their impending escape with a touch of pride at having saved his tiny partner, ignoring that the Autobots are probably only giving up so easily because they've come to the baffling and somewhat accurate conclusion he's not here for anything malicious. There's scattered talk of establishing a perimeter to keep him from trying anything where humans actually live, but it's fading quickly as the team prepares an obvious final retreat.

·Blitzwing so delighted to be saving you that he'll smoothly alternate personalities to let them have a turn at the feeling, or at least, what each considers to be the feeling of victory. The thought of being your savior is appealing to all of them if he's quite honest, and admittedly he can't wait to gloat on his rescue to you in person. Unfortunately, his happiness is cut short when the Autobots just so happen to include the building you're shielding yourself within amongst their final shots, unintentionally causing dilapidated supports to crumble under the gunfire they only unleashed to distract. You don't have time to run before things collapse all around you, but you do manage to catch a glimpse of his expression before everything goes dark, and the sight of his hand reaching in your direction is the last thing you see... His concern for the battle ceases in that instant. Your tiny body, so fragile and soft he'd teased you for your lack of armor every time he'd held you, was now beneath countless tons of rubble he might never clear away in time... if there was still any time.

·Confused Autobots are left gaping as he turns tail to start digging into the remains of the building in a frenzy. His personalities start to fight for control, and for those listening he becomes and endless loop of arguments with himself while digging for what can't actually be a human, right? Because it sounds like he mentioned the word human but that must be a mistake, certainly? But if there's even a chance... Programming to fight Decepticons clashes with oaths to protect organic life, and Optimus is forced to act and offer assistance to the panicked con, an offer that is initially met with threats before his desperation results in him caving to the reassurance that any human within is their responsibility to rescue. Only his love for you could lead to him accepting help from Autobots, but he's still much too worried to feel very self conscious, because each minute is far too precious to waste.

·You aren't entirely aware of your own survival. Though you can hear heavy movement from the outside of your little crawlspace, battered and barely conscious as you are, only the faintest hint of a shout heavily colored with a familiar accent gives you hope help is near. Servos capable of warping steel overturn literal tons of rubble with each swipe in his desperate hazes, resulting in boulders of debris flying in the wake of an impossibly determined Decepticon. The Autobot's calls for strategy and teamwork are only met with silence or threats; if the human in this rubble can't be recovered, then he'll make certain their body isn't alone. He ignores their resulting debate with Optimus over whether or not to continue assisting. All that matters is you, his unexpected treasure amongst the cold chaos, and his absolute refusal to lose you while there's still a flicker of his spark in existence.

·Light strikes your eyes without much warning as the rubble above you shifts, forcing you to flinch in your tiny space and cough as the dust irritates your lungs, which in accordance with your current luck sends a pang through probably broken ribs. The only silver lining to it all is that your noises create an immediate reaction up above. Increasingly clearer voices come as the window of light grows and boulders of debris trapping you in are removed, spurring you to cover your eyes as the final hunk of mortar is removed and you're blessed with a rush of cool, fresh air as the sunshine streams in. To your incredible surprise the gruff voice that speaks first to comfort you is not one you know. There's hardly time for your dizzy head to wrap itself around the phenomenon before large but gentle hands reach down to skillfully pluck you free, but the relief of being rescued doesn't last long, and trouble is brewing even before you discern the team of surprised and worried faces circling you as the Autobots.

·You're in the hands of the Autobot medic when Blitzwing sees you've been pulled, injured but alive, from the collapsed building. His joy at seeing you breathing is matched only by his terror to see you in the hands of his enemy, which quickly turns into far more usable rage as he jumps back into rescuing you from the threat that started everything. Shouts to unhand you are his only warning before a charge, one that's quickly called as a bluff when he refuses to risk your safety and skids to a halt before his enemies. The same medic holding you carefully in his hands stares down the much larger triple changer without a flinch, though the remaining bots encircle him protectively, warning him not to hurt this human in their ignorance. A standoff forms in the tense moments where Blitzwing borders on panic, alternating between threats and demands and barely disguised pleading for the return of the human whilst the bots remain steadfast in their assumed defense. It's only through sheer grumpy determination that the medic, who you learn in this moment is called "Ratchet", is able to briefly cut through the shouting and try to force an understanding, starting with the fact that if any of them care about human safety they'll let him give this one some much needed help. Unfortunately mutual distrust keeps both sides moments from launching a new attack.

·You're in no position to fight and free yourself from the ambulance turned robot holding you, but even as Blitzwing stands just ahead and looks to you with that helpless expression, you realize you don't think you need to. There's no aggression in the arms supporting your battered body, just the cautious concern of an expert. But you know your partner; he feels deeply, and once his emotions take off he struggles to listen to reason. Thus you decide to speak up and help Ratchet act as mediator, partly to be relieved of at least a bit of this pain, but also to get back to the mech who you know only wants to see you safe. The hardest part is keeping down a cough as you try to speak...

·Everything stops when the voice of a weak and battered human pipes up, silencing the still intermittent arguing and turning the attention of all gathered bots to them. Blitzwing drops the entirety of his aggressive stance once he focuses only on you, stepping closer only to be stopped by the rest of the still distrustful Autobots. Your gentle pleading for him to stay calm and hear them out stops a brawl from erupting once again, and also creates a wave of surprise amongst the Autobots; this Decepticon has befriended a human?! His Icy personality is colder and more in control than ever when he prompts the medic to lay out his plans for your care, followed by a warning that you will decide whether or not to accept it, and that if they attempt to force anything on you or take you away there will be no Autobots left on earth by the time he stops them.

·Ratchet is mercifully to the point when he explains that he merely wants to ensure there is no immediate danger from your injuries, and to provide some basic aid to tide you over until a human proffesional can assist. In the grip of rather considerable pain, you can't help but concede to the logic of the plan, looking to your partner so he can see the certainty in your eyes as you express your consent. Ever true to his word regarding you, the triple changer nods his own assent, but insists he will be by your side through it all. Ratchet is able to locate a more sheltered location nearby, and despite the complaints of his fellows agrees to render aid in private, with only his patient and the Decepticon in question to assist him. The distrust crackling through the air makes it quite difficult for you to be relieved at the prospect of medical attention.

·Blitzwing is there for you at every moment, letting your tiny hand squeeze his large servo as the medic patches you up, his dexterity surprising you almost as much as the human medical kit he carries "for the sake of a different human that frequently gets herself hurt". Every whimper of pain from you makes the Decepticon growl through his whispered comforts to you, and by the time the medic has the immediate damage bandaged and secure each of Blitzwing's three personalities has had a turn threatening the old medic. Ratchet doesn't even seem to mind as he strongly encourages you to head for a hospital while he finishes putting away his supplies. The rest of the Autobots leave with a tense and awkward parting (as well as a few murmured apologies) that includes a promise that this incident may change things for Blitzwing, should he be so inclined... An Icy expression only bids them farewell, and when the two of you are alone he finally holds you close, whispering a thousand apologies for failing to protect you from his war. Though you hardly feel prepared to understand a several million year conflict, you embrace him in return, able to take a moment to just appreciate being back with your love. The moment only ends when he, somewhat bashfully, asks what a hospital is and if you could more effectively be transported there via tank or jet?

#transformers #tfa #transformers animated #blitzwing #blitzwing x reader #maccadam #tf #ratchet #my writing #my asks #requests #anon #human reader #self insert

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chilling-seavey · 4 years ago

Text

Seasons Change (d.s.) - ONE

↳ A/N This one already holds a special place in my heart and it has barely even begun! Might be a bit slower on updates because I want to make sure it’s perfect for us all. Thank you to @stuffofseaveyy for your unwavering help with plotting this storyline out, @randomlimelightxxx for your excitement and help, and of course, @jonahlovescoffee for being my hype girl and the best mayor’s wife anyone could ask for ;)

↳ Summary: Everyone knows everything about everyone in this small rural town in east Connecticut and the handsome single father who owns the farm down the main street seems to always be the talk of the town. Balancing the care of his acreage, raising his school-age son, and coaching the local boys’ hockey team keeps Daniel busy; but his mind never strays far from the expansive and vibrant flower gardens planted outside his farmhouse.

↳ Word Count: 2520

↳ Warnings: This story touches on topics such as loss of loved ones and grief. Nothing too detailed but read at your own discretion x

If you weren’t looking, you would miss it. An hour-and-a-half drive east of Hartford, Connecticut rested a small town that barely occupied more than an intersection of space in time. On your way east towards state lines, a rectangular green sign half covered by an oak tree would welcome you to Lincoln – Population: 200. You’d leave the town before you even realized you were in it if you weren’t paying attention but maybe that’s how the locals liked it.

People moved to Lincoln to get away from the bustle of the city…it was full of those people who had ‘let’s ditch this town’ mindsets and set down roots in a section of the world where they wouldn’t be bothered. It was the type of town that lived in the lyrics of a country song: picture perfect homegrown peace where everyone knew everyone and everyone had a place. It was easy to know everyone in a town like Lincoln. Driving in from the city you would pass a white paneled church, a few small single storey houses with lengthy driveways, the red trimmed general store, a brick sided restaurant, a run down and rusted mechanic’s shop, and catch a glimpse of the small community center just past the park before being enveloped by the nothingness that middle-of-nowhere Connecticut was known for.

Not much happened in Lincoln – at least nothing that was worth noting. Sometimes a car would break down and a city dweller in a designer suit would find his way to the general store to ask for assistance or, more often, a coyote would be rumoured to be roaming at night but that was the extent of the excitement. The most exciting thing to do outside of day to day work was play hockey and it seemed to be the town’s pride and joy of a pastime. There was no such thing as ‘hockey season’ as hockey season was year round in the small town of Lincoln, Connecticut. The community center housed an ice rink that could be melted down to a basketball court but everyone stayed for the hockey. The Lincoln Lighting Junior and Senior leagues were usually the talk of the town. The school-aged boys (ages 7-13) played for the juniors and the later teens and most of the fathers played for the senior league. The captain of the senior league was the coach of the juniors and he owned one of the few farms a few paces north of the main intersection.

A father of one and the best hockey player Lincoln had ever seen, Daniel Seavey was more than one could expect from a small town man.

He wasn’t your everyday potato farmer with uneven tan lines or a body that housed more beer than muscle and, in fact, he was the talk and the eye candy of the town. At only twenty-nine, Daniel was the best of the best in Lincoln: best hockey player, best coach, best farmer, best guitarist, best father; and he had the sandy brown hair and sky blue eyes of a heartbreaker to top it all. At six feet tall, Daniel was slim and handsome, and yet had the muscles capable of running a farm and shooting slapshots like you wouldn’t believe. Daniel was quiet and polite and he innocently humoured the wives of the town as they flirted with him in front of their unimpressed husbands.

But no one could be mad at Daniel. Not when he was the first and only widow Lincoln had ever seen.

Marigold Seavey was twenty-six when she died in her bed at their farmhouse in the early hours of the morning. Her passing was the first major event to ever shake the town of Lincoln. Everyone knew everyone in this town and, that being said, everyone knew what a sunshiny soul Marigold was. Daniel, especially, seemed to have his light burnt out once she was buried behind the church at the corner of town. Some of the folks in town will tell you that the saddest sight they had ever seen was Daniel standing at the foot of his wife’s grave after the funeral with his six-year-old son holding his hand and the two of them crying silent tears into the fresh fall soil.

Despite Daniel’s quiet persona, he was strong and he knew he had to be for the sake of his young son. He couldn’t wallow in his grief for long since he had a son to raise and a farm to tend to and the generosity of the townsfolk certainly helped him to stay on his feet after his wife passed.

It had been a year-and-a-half since Marigold died. Daniel had just turned twenty-nine as March moulded into April and the winter chill was starting to fade into spring and the second birthday without her wasn’t any easier. The birthday cake baked by his neighbour wasn’t as delicious as Marigold’s classic lemon cake she would make him every year but he politely thanked the woman and dared not complain. Daniel would never complain over the niceties of the townsfolk.

That’s what came with living in such a small town; everyone had everyone’s back.

It was the first Sunday of April and the first truly nice spring day of the year. With a crisp breeze in the air, it was only just warm enough to discard the winter jackets and most of the town was gathered in the large backyard of the mayor’s house for the usual after-church brunch. On the colder Sundays, brunch was held in the main restaurant but everyone preferred to gather in the fresh air and over the crisp green grass of the mayor’s house as soon as the weather permitted.

The mayor’s house was the largest and had the most land outside of the farms that were just north of the main intersection in town. Jonah – known by the locals as such since he didn’t like the formality that came with the title of ‘Mayor Frantzich’ – and his wife Jocelyn kept a pretty house on the edge of the little town. They could be what you call the ideal small town family with two kids, a dog, and white picket fence – enough backyard space for it to be the perfect spot for weekly brunch.

The town children had space to play and stretch their legs after sitting for an hour in church and the yard was filled with the shouts from their games. The adults lingered around the yard in various little circles, nursing freshly squeezed orange juice in spring-themed clear plastic cups and talking amongst themselves.

Daniel did a lot of listening during Sunday brunches, standing amidst one of the groups of parents as they talked about school, clubs, and work. Marigold was always the chatty one of the two of them…without her, Daniel felt out of place.

“What about you, Daniel? Think the frost will be gone to break ground this week?”

Jack spoke first, a shorter man with unruly brown hair and enough tattoos to surprise anyone with the fact that he raised an apple orchard. He owned the farm beside Daniel’s and was one of his closest friends in the town.

Daniel thought for a moment and scuffed the toe of his dress shoe against the grass. The cold ground was still pretty solid and the chill in the air still had them all wearing blazers over their Sunday button-ups.

“Only if this cold front lets up.” Daniel answered. “I’m hoping to plough by next week at the latest.”

“Everything’s been going well with the farm and your boy?” Jonah asked, his hand tucked around his wife’s waist and he raised his opposite hand to his mouth to sip his juice.

Daniel shifted on his feet and gave a shrug, his eyes drifting past the group of parents to easily pick out his shaggy haired brunette son across the yard with the rest of the kids. At almost eight-years-old, Lennox was the light of Daniel’s life; his little hockey star, helping hand, and the one whom his late wife’s smile and spirit lived on in. It had been a hard year-and-a-half for the two Seavey boys but Daniel was relived that he could hear his son laugh again, his audible glee reaching to the far edges of the mayor’s property and to his father’s ears.

“It’s been…fine.” Daniel sighed, his eyes lingering on his son as he answered Jonah’s question, “Lennox has been doing well…his grades are better this year which I’m relieved about. I just…I already sold the sheep and half the chickens and the second cow last spring to try and tame some of the workload but it’s still a lot.”

“Running a farm on your own isn’t easy.” Jack said, “I know how much work it takes for two owners let alone one.”

“We’re here to help with whatever you need.” Corbyn assured him. “I can give you deals on whatever you need from the shop as often as I can.”

Corbyn owned the general store in the center of town and was the bachelor of Lincoln. It wasn’t like there were any women to date in such a small place full of cookie cutter rural families but Corbyn was very happy as he was: running the store and being the eyes and ears of the town.

Daniel shut down his generous offer politely as he looked back to his friends, “No, no. I don’t want that…thank you though. I’m just worried the garden will suffer. With so much to do with ploughing and planting and coaching…I don’t know how much time I’ll have for the flowers.” Daniel let his gaze drift back to his son playing across the grass, “Lennox is too young to tend to them himself but he loves the gardens so much so I don’t want yet another thing to disappoint him.”

“Have you thought of hiring someone?” Jonah asked.

“Like a gardener?” Daniel hummed, “I dunno.”

Corbyn sipped his drink, “Is it in the budget?”

“I think so.” Daniel shrugged, swirling his orange juice in his hand. “Never thought about it. Mari always took care of the flowers so…”

“I have a family friend who’s pretty good with gardens…I’m sure she’d be more than happy to help out.” Jocelyn offered.

Daniel chuckled under his breath, “That’s…a nice offer but I’m not looking to put anyone out of their way. They’re just flowers after all.”

But everyone knew that they weren’t just flowers to Daniel. They were Marigold’s flowers.

Jack tisked at Daniel’s hesitation, “Well if it’s in your budget to hire a gardener and you know the gardens are important to Lennox and yourself, then why not give it a try? You don’t have anything to lose.”

Jonah only added onto the argument, “She’s been wanting to come visit Lincoln for a while now. Why don’t we invite her to town and she can stay with us and you can give her a look over…if you think you want to hire her then you can.”

Daniel thought about it for a moment, taking a sip of his juice as his eyes found his son again. It was habit. Lennox was already running for him at top speed across the grass and Daniel set his cup down on the table just in time to welcome his seven-year-old’s energetic jump at him. He scooped him up with one arm and a tired grunt as he hiked him up onto his waist and Lennox held onto him around his neck, giggling as the other kids ran over after him.

“Daddy’s safe. You can’t get me.” Lennox told them matter-of-factly.

Daniel smiled proudly and linked his hands under his son’s bum to hold him up securely. At almost eight, Lennox was a bit heavy to hold but after nine years of farm work and working out for hockey, it wasn’t much of an issue for Daniel to hold him. He’d never complain regardless.

The other kids found their parents, gladly taking sips of juice or pieces of cut up fruit after a tiring chase around the yard. Jonah and Jocelyn’s seven-year-old twins found their way between them and helped themselves to the few snacks on the table. They were the closest to Lennox’s age – although a few months younger – and the boy of the set of fraternal twins was on the junior hockey team with him.

With the parents busy for a moment with their children – Jack was helping to fasten his daughter’s curly hair back in her headband – Daniel pondered the previous offer. His son rested his head against his with his small arms slung around his neck and Daniel could feel each of his gentle breaths rising and falling his chest. Everything Daniel did was for Lennox. He bit his lip.

“No rush.” Jocelyn said to him, reassuring their offer as if she could see his hesitation, “Just let us know.”

“Thank you.” Daniel said honestly.

“The Herron’s are coming over.” Corbyn whispered to the group and right away they shifted awkwardly as the family approached. Daniel let out an anticipatory sigh.

If you ever thought of jealousy, you would think of Zach Herron; father of two boys who weren’t very good at hockey and husband to a wife whose eyes liked to linger on Daniel’s biceps a little too much. Zach envied a lot of Daniel…maybe even envied him that his wife was dead. He would never admit that out loud though.

“Seavey.” Zach greeted as his family approached the group with his petite platinum blonde wife on his arm. He glanced around to the others, “And friends.”

There was a dull chorus of replies.

Zach continued, “I’m still willing to buy your horses off you. You know I have a generous price to offer.”

Daniel chuckled lightly, “Yes, I know. But the horses are not for sale and they never will be.”

“Daniel would sell his house before he sells those horses.” Jack said. The group laughed lightly at the truth behind that.

Lennox wiggled from Daniel’s arms and he set him down to join up with the two Herron boys who had just come over. The children gathered together at the other side of the table and chatted excitedly. Daniel picked up his orange juice.

“Daniel,” Zach’s wife set a hand on his bicep, her face filled with nothing but dramatic concern, “how are you holding up?”

“I’m doing fine, Katie, thank you.” Daniel replied politely.

She sighed, “It would just be a terrible shame to see your beautiful gardens go to waste; I overheard you talking about it from over there. Please let me know if I can help in any way.”

Zach’s annoyed scoff had Jack smirking into his orange juice. Corbyn and Jonah exchanged amused glances between themselves. Daniel offered Zach’s wife a small polite smile.

“That’s very nice of you to offer, but Jonah and Jocelyn already offered a family friend who’s in the business.” Daniel looked over at the couple again, with slight thankfulness in his eyes, “And I think I will gladly take them up on that recommendation.”

Seasons Change Taglist: @stuffofseaveyy @randomlimelightxxx @jonahlovescoffee @hiya-its-amber @hopinglimelight @midnightpsychic @sbrewer21 @bessonsbxtch @viamiasoncrack @the-girl-who-cried-wolf

Please click the link in my bio to be added to the taglist!

#🌼#daniel seavey #why dont we #jack avery #corbyn besson #jonah marais #zach herron #why dont we fanfic #wdw #daniel seavey fanfic #daniel seavey imagines

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claralaclarividente-fics · 4 years ago

Text

Life is Dream: A Rosegarden story

Chapter 1- Once Upon A Time

Ruby’s eyes watered as the crisp air breezed in front of her face as she fell.

She had watched as her two teammates swooped down the void, only to be swallowed by a golden glimmer. By then, time had slowed down, and she thought about what could happen. Only to be eclipsed by the thought of her sister alone, wherever she might have ended up, waiting for her.

The battle had been arduous, and she had had a hard time tracking down her friends’ whereabouts during most of it, but when it had all quieted down, when Nora had placed a hand on her shoulder with a million questions in her blue eyes, the roar of the answer thumped in her ears.

Penny had understood right there and then, hugging her friends one by one- ‘do what you have to do.’

Jaune nodded gravely, thinking that if he were in their position, he’d do anything to bring his teammates back. ‘We’ll take it from here on out.’

There was no guidance, no certainty of what could happen, of what laid beyond the darkness. But Blake was trembling, her grasp on Gambol Shroud whitening her knuckles. Weiss held on Blake, afraid she might jump alone.

The decision had been made.

A tingling sensation distracted her thoughts, and with a rueful wonder she realized golden shimmers began to dance on her skin.

‘This is it, then.’ She barely had the ability to think before lighting gold consumed her. She felt herself fall asleep and tiredly closed her eyes.

Oscar opened his eyes at the insistence of Emerald. She had probably been trying to shake him awake for a while now judging by the tender expression she tried to conceal with fake annoyance.

Sitting up on his bed, he noticed that the quarters he shared with the rest of his team was empty.

The sunlight streamed harshly through the willowing blinds, telling him that it was way too late to be sleeping.

“Should have woken you up earlier but you nearly fell asleep on your dinner last night, so we thought it would be better to let you sleep in a bit more.” She explained as she slid open her Scroll, checking the itinerary for the day.

Mind still heavy with sleep, Oscar placed his bare feet on the cold floor. The frigid clay under his soles roused him enough so he began mentally preparing for the day.

“What have we got today on the agenda?”

Emerald rolled her eyes and thrusted a paper bag into the teen’s hands.

“Breakfast rolls with honey. Seriously Oscar, you barely ate last night and now you’re insisting on intermittent fasting? This is why even Little Red’s taller than you!” She jeered at his sudden bouts of sleepiness over the past month.

Oscar smiled, pained. Everyone up until now had been walking on eggshells regarding team RWBY, hushing down when they mentioned them, fearing guilt and sadness. But Emerald, who in her pragmatism did what had to be done, and said what needed to be said, did not care too much about being gentle with expectations.

It was weird. A month had passed since the exodus from Mantle and Atlas, and the remaining members of team JNPR were crestfallen, yet tried to ignore the growing negativity stemming in their hearts. They treated Oscar with care, trying to ignore the four missing links in their lives.

Surprisingly, Emerald and Penny were the only ones keeping hope.

Penny was hopeful and reverent. She had been made of alloy, bolts and dolts. But now she wore shoes, sand was annoying, and she could taste food. Anything was possible in this wide world of theirs.

For Emerald, it was more about seeing impossible feats of ancient wonder, something in her ears whispering that there were more incredible feats of magic to be revealed in her time alive. She felt that third chances in life were rare, and thus, grasped at its stray hairs strongly.

So they stuck by Oscar as the task of repatriation began at dawn and ended at dusk.

It had been a grueling month at Vacuo, nobody was happy to have the Atlesians in their land. The citizens of Mantle fared better, they had been humbled when they huddled close together back at the crater in the Motherland. But the Atlas elite? They could not wait for Mistrali ships to come in hoards to get them to colder ground. They revolted, nothing was up to their elevated standards.

But Theodore was nothing but pragmatic, as all Vacuans were, and a night off in the deserts shut the bunch of them up. The ones who made it back that is.

“Alright, I’ll stuff my face with honeyed bread rolls and spiced tea if it makes you happy.” Conceded Oscar after he tied up his boots and threw on the airy cotton cape on his shoulders. He had decided on a lighter fabric for his stay in Vacuo, the gauzy green tunic emboldened with red and white trimmings, and his loose cotton pants were good enough for the mighty sun that beat on the roofs of the deserts.

Emerald smiled despite herself. She and Penny had taken on the big sister role whenever Nora wasn’t there to mother Oscar to hell and back. It had taken some time to get used to, but for anyone that was not privy to the Fall of Beacon, Emerald was just Oscar’s older sister, who emerged at the Fall of Atlas.

Over the course of the weeks she proved herself, as a true Vacuan, and as a true ally.

“C´mon then. There’s a bunch of convoy ships from Argus and Vale willing to take in some snooty idiots in exchange of supplies. Don’t make Nora wait for you more, she’s missed on her hugging quota for the morning.” With a pat on his head, Emerald walked Oscar to the door, and off they were.

The day blurred by Oscar’s eyes, now and again stifling an inconvenient yawn, but nevertheless, persisted during the course of his workday.

Every day there were less Atlesians to send off, and less Mantle citizens who wanted to leave. Like May tended to say, Mantle knows how to show their teeth.

The migratory system they had built recorded every single citizen that wanted to leave or stay under Theodore’s watchful eye. The controls were harsh since there was no way to know if Neopolitan had blended into the crowd at all. Given that Emerald told Theodore and every staff member in Shade that they were to expect Tyrian and Mercury sooner rather than later, security had been the top priority these days.

In between tending to the wounded and sick, delivering supply packets to the tents of refugees, and breaking up fights, Oscar was beat by dusk.

By that time, Theodore insisted Oscar to keep their sparring sessions until he felt that Oscar moved and fought with more fluidity than the day before.

“Squirt,” Theodore would say, “I know Oz has taught you some things, but he was a dandy and thought that battle was graceful matter.” The rippled headmaster would flex and show him how merciless battle was.

Under the strongman’s tutelage, Oscar’s body ached and grew. With Ozpin’s mentoring in his head, his magic grew and he felt something inside of his soul bubble to the surface.

But at the end of the day, when Jaune was sitting right by his side, and Nora was babbling a ten miles per second into his hearing canal, he felt his shoulders drop their tension. He shot a thankful glance at Ren, who was casually conversing with Emerald, but still kept an eye on the youngest of their group. Penny and Nora, two ginger parakeets with insurmountable force and joy lulled his thoughts, until he sagged forward and faceplanted in his tomato soup.

The resounding splash alerted Jaune who quickly pulled Oscar’s face from the cold soup by grabbing him by the collar of his tunic. Oscar’s lack of reaction, and his fluttering eyelids greeted the blond huntsman, flooding him with worry.

The chatter died.

Nora leaned the boy to her side and grabbed his tanned cheeks, wet with stock, and panicked at his quivering eyelids.

Semi-conscious as he were, Oscar saw the motions at the table like photographs forming a standstill gallery inside his mind, the sounds dull and his feeling numb.

Nora and Emerald crowding over him, worried expressions marring his face.

Penny and her cold hands framing his cheeks, her confused expression.

Jaune’s golden aura around his vision as it tunneled.

Lastly, Theodore’s frown before he closed his eyes and tumbled into sleep.

__________________________________________

Ruby tumbled out of bed confused.

Her heartbeat alert and scared, her eyes darted to the four walls surrounding her. Sweet and spices reached her nose, the colourful walls held handmade tapestries and idyllic paintings. The rug that had cushioned her fall was fluffy, and the blanket tangling in her legs felt like a familiar hug.

“Where am I?”

Ruby struggled to stand up, and once she did, she gasped at herself.

In front of her, a mirror held her image. But it was all wrong. She wore a frilly white dress, with white stockings, red lace and ribbons, and her hair was tied in two tiny pigtails. She looked adorable.

And she hated it.

“Where’s-“ she looked at the nearest wardrove, and opened its doors as fast as she could. Rifling through the cutesy dresses, she was taken aback by a familiar skirt.

Holding the black dress with the black combat skirt, she wondered how her Beacon outfit appeared in the room she was in.

She stopped dead on her tracks.

“I’m not in Atlas anymore, am I?”

Clutching the dress to her chest, she slid down to the carpeted floor. She felt a bubble of panic come over her as she remembered the last events of her life.

“Right, Neo struck Yang, and Yang… She fell. We fought Cinder. And she died. I think. Then we…jumped.”

Ruby looked her hands over, turning them this way and that, as if they were given to change at any moment now.

“And-“ Ruby wheezed, close to hyperventilation. She trembled as she remembered flashes of the fight against Cinder, how Blake evolved her Semblance and fought as three copies of herself, about Neo striking the wrong Blake, and being fallen by the original one. Cinder taunting how she used Jinn, revealing their plans. Penny fell to the golden plateau, and then in a fit of rage, silver.

No more Cinder. Probably.

Her heart running like a wild animal under her chest, she took deep breaths as she tried to calm down. She rubbed the black fabric between her thumb and pointer finger, the texture was light to the touch. In the bottom frill, she found her name embroidered by her own hand. It was supposed to be comforting, but it only fueled her confusion.

A few tears threatened to spill, but then several knocks on the door startled her.

“Darling! Breakfast is ready!” a familiar voice called out to her outside the door.

In a haze, Ruby stood up and let the dress fall from her hands. She marched to the door and opened it in a swift motion, scaring the poor woman in front of it.

“Little Red! What sort of behaviour is this!?” An old woman that looked and sounded like María Calavera chided her, hands on her hips as she glowered annoyed at the teen.

“María! It’s you!” Elated, Ruby swooped in to hug the woman, who patted her back confusedly.

“Oh dear, now you’re calling your grandma by her first name too! Did you hit your head when you woke up this morning? What’s wrong with you?” Not-María held Ruby at arms length, checking her head for any injuries.

“Huh?”

Not-quite-María tutted, before guiding Ruby by the hand to the kitchen area of the cottage they seemed to be in.

“Little Red, you seldom ever visit me, and now you’re calling me by my name! Your mother hasn’t been disciplining you as she should!”

More confused than ever, Ruby sat on the stool offered by Not-Really-María.

The old woman sighed before plopping a plate of sausages, beans with crema and tortillas in front of her.

“Repeat after me, Little Red: Abuela María. Ah..Boo-Eh-Lah. Abuela.” Ruby looked at Abuela María in mild shock.

“Abuela?”

The Abuela María nodded satisfied and patted her hand.

“Now, after we finish mending that cape of yours, please give this basket of goodies to your mother for me. Oh! And thank her for the nice fabrics she sent with you, will you?”

Still starstruck, Ruby stared at Abuela María, not yet understanding anything that was happening in front of her.

“My…mother?”

Abuela María nodded, quite exasperatedly at her not-quite-granddaughter. She flipped her gray-haired braid over her shoulder and began repairing the red cape as she mumbled about ‘youth these days’.

“Yes, dear. Summer Rose. My daughter, your mother.”

More confused than anything, Ruby brought her hand up and mercilessly slapped her cheek. Abuela María looked at Ruby curiously, halting her sewing for a moment before resuming.

“But-but!” Ruby stuttered, holding her stinging cheek under her palm. “We don’t look anything alike!”

“My dear!” began Abuela María. “Silver eyes run in our family! Look!”

Abuela María removed her thick rimmed glasses and pointed at her eyes.

But all Ruby could see was a puckered red bruise, swollen and hurt. It slashed from her right temple to her left, there was not much to be said about eyes, as there were none.

Feeling not quite in a dream, but more in a bizarre nightmare, she stood up, the wooden stool clattering behind her.

Abuela María, with her glasses still removed and acting normally, bit off the last thread on the eye of her needle and folded the red cape neatly, offering it to Ruby.

Smiling sweetly, but with her disturbing red scarring across her visage, she gifted Ruby a basket filled with fruits, cheeses and breads, and pushed her through the cabin’s threshold.

Ruby looked petrified at the old lady that looked like her mentor but was nothing like her.

“Take this basket to your mother, will you? Be careful of the Big Bad Wolf, don’t let it bite you!”

Laughing merrily, the old woman closed the door on Ruby, leaving her alone in the cabin’s porch.

Jarred and perturbed, Ruby walked away from the cabin thoughtlessly, and into the winding roads that crossed the forest.

Only once she reached a small ravine, did she sit on the forest floor and pushed to her face the cape that smelled like home, like Yang and Qrow and Weiss and Blake and everyone she knew, did she weep.

For the longest time she cried, but after a while she felt her tears dry up, her shoulders stopped their heaving, and her heart dulled to a somber beat.

Ruby wiped her tears with the cape and splashed her face with the cool water from the ravine. She looked at her reflection, and disliking the pigtails pulling the hair at her nape, she tugged at the elastics and ruffled her hair. She bunched the skirt in her fists.

Annoyed at her dress, she looked down to it expecting to see white ruffles on white lace, she was caught off guard when she found herself wearing a black version of the dress she had woken up into.

As much as she marveled at this feat of reality writing itself, she feared it.

Taking one last look at her reflection, and tugging on the hood on her cape, she trudged into the deep forest, following the map she was given and hoped for the best.

#rwby vol8 #rwby #rosegarden #rosepine #rwby bmblb #rwby bmblby #ruby rose #oscar pine #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #weiss schnee #nora valkyrie #lie ren #jaune arc #emerald sustrai #penny polendina

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winterbanner · 4 years ago

Text

Mercy (Bruce Banner/OFC)

Summary: Bruce is upset after a mission goes awry. Can Catherine's words help him to see himself in the way that she does? Takes place six months after the first avengers film.

Tags: Angst, Emotional Hurt/ Comfort

Word Count: 2687

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rated PG-13

Pairing: Bruce Banner x OFC (Catherine King, former SHIELD agent gone rogue, now a member of the Avengers.) Her name is only mentioned twice, so just ignore it of you’re looking for a self-insert)

It wasn’t easy being an Avenger, but today felt especially taxing. The battle wasn’t necessarily harder than others, it was the civilians that made the experience all the more horrific. They were everywhere, scattered throughout the streets, sprinting in a panic to find cover, to save themselves from the cataclysmic destruction. We tried to direct them all to safety, and for the most part we were successful, but there were only seven of us and hundreds upon hundreds of them.

When it’s your job to save lives it becomes difficult to focus on the positives, to think about the ones you saved, to consider how many lives would have been lost if you were not present. It is impossible to celebrate a victory, when the dead bodies of innocent civilians, bloodied and lying under the rubble, products of a conflict in which you were involved, are imprinted in your mind. It haunts all of us, but perhaps no one more than Dr. Banner.

I saw it happen, a young couple, was attempting to run into a department store for cover. Hand in hand they attempted to dodge the flying debris, while avoiding the menacing robotic soldiers that flooded the streets.

Hulk was there, doing his duty smashingly, taking cars, and large chunks of metal, and throwing them at our adversaries, leaving them as nothing more than a pile of wires. The decision had been made to keep Hulk off the field as much as possible, for Bruce’s sake mostly, but also in the hopes of lessening the inevitable damage. There were times, however, when his strength was needed. For those occasions we taught him to avoid civilians, and the effort was made. Oftentimes you could find him gently careening around a group of huddled innocents, stepping between them and whatever destructive chaos we found ourselves faced with. This time however, he made a mistake, and when Hulk makes a mistake, the consequences can be gruesome.

He heaved a car, vaulting it over his head at a group of enemy soldiers, but in the midst of our enemies stood the young couple, and as the car came crashing down, they were crushed. The young woman was left barely alive, screaming for her partner, who could be found a few feet away, his head crushed under the fender. Her outcries of pain and grief echoed through the streets, and over the sounds of metal clanging and weapon blasting, piercing our ears, with guilt and shame.

It wasn’t Bruce’s fault. He had no control over what precautions the Hulk did or didn't take, but despite his genius, that concept was something he couldn’t seem to comprehend. Bruce can see what happens during the time he spends as the other guy, he can see the destruction and death, just as much as any of us can, the only difference is that he can’t choose to run away, to duck for cover, to defend rather than attack. He has no control.

It was getting late, our wounds had been tended to, and we were beginning to settle down for the night. For many of us that didn’t necessarily mean sleep, it meant going onto our prospective floors to process the day's events. I, however, wasn’t planning on heading up to my quarters just yet, I wanted to check in on Bruce. I knew for a fact he hadn’t eaten, and I could also guess the toll that the day’s events must’ve taken on his mental state.

As I stepped out of the sleek silver elevator, I could see Bruce out on his balcony, staring down at the destruction from hours before. It was cold outside, and he still hadn’t changed out of the ripped up clothes he scrounged up from the battlefield. His curls were still dirty and his hands were shaky as they clung to his opposing forearms, squeezing himself tightly. He had been crying, the evidence found in the redness of his eyes and the wetness of his cheeks. I grabbed a blanket that laid haphazardly on a nearby chair, and approached the terrace, food in hand.

“Hey,” I whispered, in an attempt not to startle him.

He jumped, before turning around to see who exactly the voice was coming from. When he saw that it was me, I saw the tension in his body release. “Hey Catherine,” he croaked. He was sitting on a patio sofa, staring out over the mangled concrete, flashing police lights and Stark Industry construction workers, that littered the streets of Manhattan.

I gently sat down next to him, before placing the steaming plate of pasta on the nearby coffee table. I took the blanket, and began to wrap it around his shoulders. He winced at my actions, afraid for me to touch him.

“It’s okay” I whispered, as I slowly placed a hand on his, in an attempt to show that I trusted him. I took the blanket and draped it over his broad shoulders before sitting back down again and turning my body towards his. It broke my heart to know that he was afraid to let me touch him, that he thought of himself to be that dangerous.

“Thank you.” he said, finally looking me in the eye.

I grabbed his hand and gave it a loving squeeze, a nonverbal you’re welcome.

He then turned his gaze back to the streets, his expression immediately hardening, holding within it a plethora of sorrowful emotion.

I looked over and saw that the plate of food had stopped steaming, growing colder from the chilly New York air.

“I brought you some pasta, Clint made it so it might taste like shit.” I joked gesturing the plate and fork towards him.

He smiled briefly at my comment. “You didn’t need to do that,'' he said. Before taking the serving of pasta. “You didn’t need to come all the way up here for that.”

Bruce always had a way of deflecting your kind gestures, of making himself feel like he didn’t deserve them. “You haven’t eaten in hours Bruce and even if you had, I still wanted to come up here and check on you anyway.”

He looked up at me, his brown eyes filled with gratitude. “Thank you, really thank you.” he said before twisting some pasta onto the fork and bringing it to his mouth.

“And surprisingly it doesn’t taste like shit.” He joked causing me to chuckle.

We both sat and watched the policeman directing traffic as he ate, all within a state of silence. From an outside perspective Bruce wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but when you took the time to get to know him, it wasn’t long before you realized that the man could talk your ear off. When he was passionate or excited about something, he could talk for hours, patiently explaining every particle, and every computation. Watching his face light up when I would ask a question, or when he realized that I was understanding, had become an occurrence I adored. Tonight, however, he didn’t utter a word. Probably in the fear that he may break down in front of me.

He finished up his meal quickly, he must’ve been starving, before placing his empty plate down on the table, and looking back to the street. It was honestly nice to see the city being picked up, to remind ourselves that the damage done can be fixed. There are certain types of destruction, however, that cannot me mended.

Two EMTs approached a pile of rubble. We witnessed their struggling to retrieve something, and to our horror they emerged with the body of a woman. They checked her vitals, and by the looks of dismay, it became apparent to us that she was dead. The emergency workers retrieved a body bag, and gently zipped up her carcass, thus sealing her fate. My heart ached as I thought of her family. That innocent woman could have been a wife, a parent, a child. Now remembered as a life cut short, lost to those they loved forevermore. I felt the pang of guilt press down on my chest, my mind overcome with the thought that that we could’ve somehow prevented the gruesome scene sprawled out before my eyes.

I looked over to Bruce, his eyes wide as he gazed upon the tragic scene that lay before us. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it, I swear he didn’t even blink. He felt as though he deserved to watch this scene, to wallow in the pain that he may have caused.The screams of that young woman probably still echoing in his mind. I reached over and put a hand on his back, before rubbing small circles.

“Bruce let’s go inside okay. We don’t have to watch this” I said softly, as I gently gripped his chin pulling his gaze away from the street below to look at me.

He nodded in agreement, more concerned for my well-being that his. We both stood up and walked back inside to his sitting area, my hand still resting softly on the curvature of his back, as we took our seats on his familiar sofa. I had spent many nights sitting in this same spot, whether that be drinking and laughing with him and Tony, or after a mission in a similar situation as this one, I felt at home here, with Bruce. There were even some mornings where I had accidentally fallen asleep on that very cushion, only to awaken and find myself perfectly tucked in, with the smell of maple pancakes wafting from the kitchen.

After watching what had just happened, Bruce was trying even harder to hold back his emotions. He sat there, his hands shaking as they clasped together, his head hung in shame staring at his feet, his eyes glistening with tears. I scooted closer to him, before wrapping an arm around his feeble frame, my thumb gently rubbing his shoulder. He leaned into my touch, his weight shifting so his body pressed into my side.

“What happened today wasn’t your fault.” I whispered, rubbing my hand up and down his back, in an attempt to bring him back to reality, away from whatever thoughts plagued his mind.

He pulled away, recoiling at the sound of my words that were telling him the exact opposite of what he had been telling himself. “I-I saw it happen, If I had just taken control, if I had just…”, he looked down once more, placing his head in his hands in an act of frustration. He wasn’t angry at me, he was angry at the Hulk for not being more careful, and mostly he was angry at himself. Angry that he couldn’t save them from the giant he was forcibly given the responsibility to manage.

I will never know what it is like to be plagued with something like the Hulk. The risk of danger and violence forever living just under the skin, unable to be fully contained or controlled. I will never know exactly what Bruce suffers through, but in this situation I unfortunately had some expertise.

I sighed, causing Bruce to look up from his sorrowful stance, as I adjusted my sitting position in the effort to make myself more comfortable.

“Ten years ago, I got a call from Fury telling me I was needed in Chicago for a negotiation. Some prick wanted access to SHIELDS weapon blueprints, in exchange for what I was told was “highly classified cargo”. I was instructed to give the contact false intel, it was risky, but nothing I wasn’t used to. “

“I had guessed that this special cargo would have been some sort of weapon, or at the worst maybe a high profile hostage, but when I arrived on location it turned out to be so much worse. These masked bastards had children, I’m talking little kids, lined up execution style. They looked so scared…”

At this point my breaths had become more shaky, causing me to take a moment to gather my senses. Bruce had scooted himself closer in an attempt to comfort me.

“I was so fucking pissed at Fury for not telling me, I just- I wasn’t prepared ya know?”

Bruce nodded and rested his hand on mine as if to let me know that I had his full attention.

“I proceeded with the negotiation, and at first it seemed like it had gone off without a hitch. My partner sweeped the place, and I was told that every child was safe and accounted for. Things, however, went to shit when he insisted the calculations on the blueprints were off. He pointed his gun at me, and without hesitation I blasted him. What I didn't see was the little boy who had been standing behind him.”

My eyes were now filled with tears, and my emotions made it so it was harder to speak.

“I- I killed him. He must’ve been hiding, and they didn’t count him. He was so scared, but there was nothing I could do. I-”

Bruce’s arm had now been gently wrapped around my shoulder, pulling me against his side.

“He was perfectly innocent. So, I guess that makes me a killer.” I whispered.

“No,” Bruce softly uttered. “Catherine, no you’re not-”

I pulled away from his grasp. “I should’ve looked closer, I should’ve double checked I-I”

“Stop, that wasn't your fault.”

I paused for a moment to regain my senses, before turning to look Bruce in the eye.

“Bruce, I killed that little boy, me myself and I. I was in control of my decision making, I did that. So, if that poor boy’s death wasn’t my fault, then how is what happened out there today your’s?”

“Catherine it’s not the same.”

“Your damn right it’s not the same. If anything, I'm at more fault than you are. I, Catherine King, am a killer.”

He looked at me saddened by the words I said, “Don’t associate yourself with that, you’re not that, not you. I’m the monster.”

I took his face in my hands, forcing him to look me directly in the eye. “Why can't you grant yourself the same mercy you’ve given me?” He looked down, at a loss for words.

“Bruce Banner, you are no killer, you are no monster. I know what evil looks like, and you aren’t it. Everyday I go out there and find myself met with the absolute worst shit that the world can offer. So, when I get back, I go see you. I go up to the lab, or come find you here because Bruce, you remind me that there’s still good left. You make me feel safe. I couldn’t feel that way about you if you were a monster.”

At first he sat there in awe, at a loss for words. The last few years of Bruce’s life had been ones of fear, isolation, and self-deprecation. His kind nature and mild-mannered disposition, met with violence, scorn and pain. He didn’t deserve to have gone through all that he did, but he didn’t realize that. His experiences were those fit for the monster that he and the world had so convinced himself he was. So, at the sound of my words, he began to tear up, not because of sadness or fear, but out of gratitude. Ever since the accident no one one had ever told Bruce that they felt safe in his presence. That they didn’t see him as a potential threat, a ticking time bomb.

After a moment, I noticed the look on his face grow soft, as he pulled me into an embrace. His chin resting on my head, as his arms wrapped around me. His hold was gentle, but all encompassing. It was as if he was afraid he’d hurt me if he squeezed too tight, but everything within him was telling him to never let go. I tightly hugged him back, carding my fingers through his hair, as I guided his head to rest in the curvature of my neck, all in the hopes of making him feel the truth behind my words, to make him feel human.

“Thank you.” he whispered.

And in that moment, with the two of us intertwined in the others embrace, we felt safe.

#bruce banner #bruce banner x ofc #bruce banner angst #bruce banner fanfiction #bruce banner needs a hug #SOMEONE GIVE THIS MAN A HUG #marvel oc #king chronicles

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author-morgan · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Call of Home

Pairing: Brasidas x fem!Reader

Rating: M

Summary: Brasidas comes home after having been away at war too long.

THE DAYS ARE long without Brasidas at your side, but the nights are even longer. War had called him away to Methone, his wit and shield needed to repulse the Athenians plaguing the sea-side Messenian polis. Intended to be a short campaign lasting no more than two moons, it has stretched on into seven. Regiments came and went, but your beloved was never among them though the Spartiates spoke of his courage in battle and his ability to craft lucrative strategies on a whim. There were even rumors among the Lacedaemonians of the two kings’ interest in Brasidas’ feats with the word promotion whispered at feasts.

Life cannot stop with his absence, though. There are still crops and livestock in need of tending and trades to make in the agora. You wipe the sweat from your brow and readjust your grip on the scythe. It was time to reap the golden fields of barley. As you work the blade, Pherenike gathers the crop into tight bundles for storing for the winter. Pausing, you set the scythe down and walk toward the stone well near the small farmhouse.

Taking a drink of water, you sigh, recalling your last moments with Brasidas —a gentle and bittersweet kiss in the heart of Sparta. Come back with your shield, you told him while forcing yourself to smile. Or on it, he finished, placing the shell necklace he wore in your palm. Reaching up, you run your thumb over the smooth shell, longing for the day you could return it to your husband. Shaking your head of the memories, you return to the fields working in the midday sun.

The day’s work is cut short by Eudoxos shouting whilst racing up a winding path to the farmstead early in the waning hours of the sun. “What is it?” You ask, offering the helot a ladle of water as he catches his breath. He had gone to market to purchase a ream of linen and trade a basket of salted lamb for fresh apricots but returns empty-handed though wearing a widening smile.

“A trireme arrived in Gytheion,” Eudoxos announces after hearing the news in the agora. You dare to hope this will be the ship that bears your husband. The months are long, and you miss your husband more with each passing day. “They say Brasidas is the trierarch,” he adds. If word had reached the polis, then by the day’s end, you should see Brasidas marching up the worn path through the fields of grain to your home. The next hours will seem like days.

“Brasidas,” you cry. He drives his spear into the soft earth and drops his shield. You leap into his waiting arms —embracing him tightly as he lifts you and turns. His smile so large the edges of his golden gaze crinkle. Even with your feet on the ground, you are not eager to let go of him, for it truly feels like home again with his return.

“What a fair sight you are,” Brasidas muses, stroking the backs of his fingers over your cheek and brushing away the dirt stains from working the crop. He bends forward, lips brushing over yours —it has been so long he fears he has forgotten how to kiss you properly— but with a quiet laugh, you chase away the distance and his worries.

You kiss him like you’ve done a thousand times before, falling into the rhythm as though you never parted. His kiss, in turn, is gentle, echoing the longing he has endured since departing from your arms on a cold winter’s morning. Your fingers comb through his beard as you part, foreheads resting together. “I’ve missed you,” he breathes. You trace the new scar on his cheek, wondering if it is the only wound he bears from this campaign. “A mark of victory,” he notes softly, still cupping your cheek in silent adoration.

“You must be tired, love,” you note, stepping back and lifting his bronze shield emblazoned with the red sigil of Sparta —it had served his family well for nigh six generations though now bore new dents and scratches.

“Weary, yes,” Brasidas says, taking the shield from your hands and fixing it across his back. He plucks his spear from the ground and lays a hand against the curve of your back, continuing the trodden path to the small house. Many nights passed where Brasidas was unable to sleep, a mix of missing you and shouldering the responsibilities of his rank. Sleeplessness was a battle you fought too —waking up to an empty bed somehow stung worse than going to sleep in one. “It is difficult to sleep without you next to me,” he admits.

Despite the years of marriage, his flattery —albeit laced with truth— still causes warmth to rise to your cheeks. “I’ve missed your charm,” you tell him. It was because of his charm and charisma you were able to call him your husband. Brasidas talked your father out of proceeding with the marriage he arranged for you, instead proposing he would make a better match, having been a longtime friend and someone quickly rising to renown within the Spartan ranks.

“Is that all you’ve missed?” He teases with a soft chuckle, stepping back into his home for the first time in months. You watch as he moves in routine, propping his spear against the hearth and mounting his shield above it. He loosens the ties of his sword belt and hangs it upon a hook before starting to shed his armor.

Taking one of his wrists, you loosen the vambrace and slide it from his arm, laying it on a low wooden table. “I’ve missed my husband,” you remark, reaching for his other arm, “my general.” He raises his brow, knowing you’d heard of his promotion while aiding Messenia, and cannot help the shiver that creeps down his spine at hearing his rank in your sweet voice. Brasidas lifts your hand to his lips, kissing your palm, and gives a silent nod of assurance that he will finish ridding himself of his cuirass and greaves. Turning to the washbasin, you splash water on your face —scrubbing away the dirt from the day’s work.

He tells you of his exploits in Methone over a small meal of fresh bread and fruits —even reenacting one of the battles with grapes and olives before you both finish them off with cups of watered wine. Brasidas stretches his legs and drapes an arm over your shoulders, asking after the crop and the helots, who are less slaves and more family. The harvest will be a good one, with plenty of stores of the colder months and enough to take to market. “You should rest, Brasidas,” you murmur against his cheek before rising —noticing the darkness encroaching the corners from the loss of Helios’ light. “There is always tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Brasidas agrees, standing too, one of his hands forming a loose shackle around your wrist, drawing you back to him, “but after these lonesome and endless weeks?” The beginnings of a smirk kink his lips as he releases your hand and moves closer. “I want to feel your warmth, wife,” he tells you, voice dropping to a low rasp as he pulls the bronze fibula at your shoulder free, watching the linen flow down the length of your body like a crimson waterfall. You loosen the knot holding your breast band in place, discarding it on the floor as you step from the puddle of garments and to Brasidas.

You smooth your hands across the planes of his chest and down his arms, feeling the warm corded muscle under your palms with a quiet sigh of content. Brasidas leans down to kiss your lips again before he moves to kiss your neck, making his way down to your breasts, kissing your skin as he goes, cupping each breast with his battle-roughened hands as he takes your nipple into his mouth, rolling his tongue around it and drawing soft moans and quiet whimpers from your lips.

When you pull Brasidas close, he pulls you closer —skin against heated skin. Each of his breaths is met with yours; kisses too. You feel the moan you coax from Brasidas against your tongue when your hand tangles in his short hair. He pays you back by slipping one hand from your back to your waist. It almost takes your knees out when he squeezes your bum, lifting you for a moment. But then his hand moves to your front and in between your legs.

Then those deft and calloused fingers start playing you like a lyre —and you sing for him, or something perversely close. Moaning and sighing. But it’s music to his ears. Brasidas’ other hand holds you steady when your body begins to rock and writhe on its own. Another finger slips inside, and it has you shaking. But he stops too soon, lifting you to carry you to your bedchamber upstairs.

Brasidas looses his footing over one of the pillows and you fall into the pile of pillows and pelts of the bed pallet with him atop you. You both laugh —foreheads pressed together. Despite Brasidas’ weight on top of you, you’ve never felt lighter. Even when he presses against you, pushing what little air you have out, your heart flutters like a hummingbird. Brasidas kisses you over and over, like he cannot stop. A kiss for every day we were parted, he thinks.

His barrage of kisses halts when you loosen the knot of his loincloth, throwing it to the side. You roll your hips into his and feel the heavy length of his cock resting between your thighs. Brasidas reaches between you, stroking himself thrice before starting to press into you. He groans, mind reeling —what is the love of the gods compared to a woman’s love? Brasidas bares his teeth, cursing as he slides into your warmth until your hips are flush together.

The pace is slow but steady. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist while one of your hands reaches around his broad shoulders —feeling the muscles flexing and shifting beneath his warm skin. The other one cradles his scarred cheek, and your thumb brushes the skin just beneath his eye. In all the time you’ve known him, Brasidas has always been taciturn. Even though there are few words, he makes the most wonderful noises. Every kiss accompanied by a low moan and almost every thrust is followed by the throatiest grunt. Then those sounds change into desperate panting, his chest heaving against yours.

Brasidas’ whole body begins moving, surging, and writhing against yours. One of his hands caresses your cheek before he slides it down your body. Without thought, your body arches into his hand as it moves, ripening under his touch —thoughts clouded by lust and love. “Brasidas!” His fingers find your clit the same time his mouth latches to your neck.

His face hovers above you, keeping eye contact as the pace quickens with your name slipping from his lips like a soft prayer. The muscles in your lower body tense as your climax shudders through your whole body. You throw your head back and cry out Brasidas name, exposing your neck, which he peppers with kisses. The sensation of you tightening around him sends Brasidas over. He thrusts a few more times, shaky but solid, and groans from deep in his chest.

You hold Brasidas right where he is. He kisses you languidly, tiredly, and you stroke his back —finding the small scar on his shoulder blade from when you were both children. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say how much I missed you,” he breathes.

“You don’t have to dwell on that,” you tell him, running your fingers through his hair —still holding him close, “we’re together once more.” He smiles against your neck. The stories said man was originally created with four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces, but fearing their power Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves. You’ve no doubt Brasidas is your other half because every time he returns home you are made whole again.

He rolls his weight off you, but quickly brings you into his arms and draws you against his chest —the steady and strong beat of his heart echoing like a sweet lullaby you’ve not heard in months. “Rest well, my love,” you whisper and Brasidas steals a final kiss for the night. For the first time since he departed, sleep comes easy for you both.

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#Brasidas #Brasidas x Reader #Brasidas of Sparta #Brasidas Imagine #Brasidas Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Odyssey #Assassin's Creed Imagine #Assassin's Creed Fanfiction #my writing

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