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the-bad-batch-baroness · 1 year ago

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Lean On Me

Kix x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're out dancing with your friends when you sustain a knee injury and Kix comes to your rescue.

Pairing: Kix x Fem!Reader

Characters: Kix

Tags & Warnings: 18+, established relationship, alcohol, mention of past injury, minor injury, domestic fluff, romance, a little angst, hurt/comfort, mild suggestive themes, non-sexual shower scene, implied nudity

Word Count: 6.1k

Author's Note: Due to an unexpected knee injury, my fic writing schedule has been thrown out of whack and I wrote this instead of the ten other fics in my queue. Still a bingo square down, so I don’t feel too bad. Fic is based on a real injury that happened to me four days ago. How the reader got the injury is how I got the injury. Self-indulgent, because I wanted Kix to kiss it and make it better, but it got away from me. As always, please enjoy 💚

@clonexreaderbingo Square: Kix

It’s a gorgeous summer evening as you bustle around your apartment while getting ready for your night out. You playfully slide across the linoleum kitchen floor in your socks and stop abruptly at the calendar hanging on the wall. You grab a red marker from the adjacent drawer, pull the cap off with your teeth, and cross off today’s date. You flip backwards through the calendar and look at the sea of red adorning the previous pages and let out a small sigh.

Each red slash marks one rotation of Kix’s deployment. It’s already been sixty rotations since he shipped out, but a smile creeps onto your lips as you flip the calendar back and focus on the large red circle four rotations away. Kix had sent word two weeks prior that the 501st were finally coming home and he gave you an estimated date of his return. You’re excited for him to come home, but each rotation seems to linger longer than the last as you wait impatiently.

Nevertheless, at least for tonight, you’ve decided not to dwell on how much you miss him. Instead, you’re preparing yourself for a fabulous girl’s night out. You and your friends have been planning this excursion for a couple weeks now and you’re thrilled to finally get out, party, and unwind. It’s not something you do often, especially without Kix, but this night was just for the girls, so no boys are allowed. It’s only about you and your friends having a good time.

As the time for you to leave approaches, you pull off your loungewear and slide on a playful emerald green dress that you purchased for the occasion. It’s not sexy by any means, but it’s fun and perfect for a night out with friends. You slip on your favorite pair of flats and sit in front of your mirror to style your hair while humming a happy little tune. You adorn your ears with a simple pair of earrings and give yourself a little spritz of your white gardenia perfume.

As you finish up your look for the evening, you hear a knock at your apartment door. You wonder if it’s the neighbor down the hall. She’s an elderly woman that you help out every once and a while. She’s really sweet and loves to tell stories of her younger days when you get lonely. You announce that you’re coming and make your way to the door. You press the button to open it and your eyes grow wide at the unexpected sight before you, a clone trooper in full armor.

“Kix!” you exclaim as you throw yourself into his outstretched arms. You nuzzle your face into his neck and breathe in his musk and vetiver cologne that instantly intoxicates you.

“Hello beautiful,” he purrs while dropping his duffle to squeeze you tightly, pressing a desperate kiss on your neck while savoring your alluring floral scent.

You lean your head back to look up at his face, his amber eyes just as warm and piercing as you remember. “I wasn’t expecting you,” you admit with excitement.

“We got back a little early,” Kix explains. He gives you a soft kiss on the cheek and you smile. “I wanted to surprise you.” He leans you back a little, running his hands up and down your bare arms, while his eyes gaze upon your dolled up body. “This isn’t for me is it?” he inquires with a chuckle.

“Oh, this?” you look down at yourself and remember what you were doing before he came home. “I was going out with the girls tonight, but I don’t have to!” you quickly rebut. “I can stay here.” As much as you have been waiting for this night out, you are completely ready to ditch all of your plans to spend it with the fine man standing in front of you.

“Out of the question,” he shakes his head. “Go out with your friends and have a good time. I’ll be here when you get back.” He presses a tender kiss to your forehead and a small whine escapes your lips when he lets you go. He picks up his duffle and heads into the apartment, sighing in relief at finally being home. You lean against the doorway, smiling as you watch him instantly meld back into domestic life as if he never left.

“If you keep staring at me like that, your eyes are going to get stuck,” Kix jests without turning around. He can feel your gaze resting on him and knows you won’t leave without a little nudge. You huff through your nose at his intuition and grab your purse from the stand next to the door. You amble over to give Kix a goodbye kiss and he swats your butt when you turn to leave. You whip around and shoot him a surprised look, but he just smirks. “Get out of here!”

You shake your head at his playfulness and head out the door with a small wave of your hand. The place where you’re meeting your friends isn’t too far, so you decide to walk since the evening air is pleasant. You take your time strolling along the sidewalk, thinking only about what you’re going to do when you get home. You want to stay in the present and have a good time with your friends, but it proves difficult knowing your handsome man is waiting for you at home.

You finally make it to the meeting spot, a little dance club that has great reviews. Your friends see you coming and greet you with excited waves. You quicken your steps to close the distance and exchange hugs all around. You enter the club with your friends and make your way to the bar first. You order something light, a simple sangria. The goal is to have fun, not get wasted, and you want to enjoy your night out and have a blast with your girlfriends.

The rhythmic beats emanating from the speakers vibrate under your feet and traverse up your legs as you wait for your drink. You close your eyes and let it encapsulate all of your senses. You love the deep bass and the way it makes your body feel. The way it makes your heart beat faster in anticipation and excitement. The way it rumbles into your core in the same manner as Kix’s voice when he moans sweet nothings of desire against your body.

You’re pulled out of your daydream by a clink of glass when your sangria is placed down in front of you. Feeling slightly embarrassed at your lewd thoughts, your face flushes pink as you thank the bartender. You take a few sips of the cold, fruity, wine drink and let out a sweet sigh. It’s refreshing and helps cool you down in the hot club. You leisurely sip on your drink as you chat with your friends at the bar, occasionally falling into a fit of laughter from your growing buzz.

Your ears perk up when you hear the bass of your favorite song. Your heart races, and you grab one of your friends to pull them out onto the dancefloor with you. You sway your bodies to the beat, waving your arms over your heads, laughing, and smiling at how silly you’re being. The song switches, and now you’re jumping up and down in a crowd of people doing the same. Everyone’s energy is feeding off each other and you jump around with reckless abandon.

As the song continues, you pant heavily as sweat droplets disperse from your body at your rapid movements. You slow down as you feel your calves burning from all the jumping, and it becomes a sudden reminder that you need to exercise more often, because clearly you're out of shape. You finally stop jumping to catch your breath, and you bend over to rub your screaming muscles. You straighten yourself up and see your friends wave you over to where they’re sitting.

You plop down in the booth with an exhaustive exhale and order another sangria to help you cool off. Your friends ordered some finger foods for everyone to pick at throughout the night and you dive into the greasiest and saltiest looking thing that was brought out. You start chatting with your friends, laughing hysterically at the jokes you make, leaning playfully on each other, and enjoying their company. You dance a little more, drink and eat a little more, and chat a little more.

You check your chronometer and realize several hours have passed, and you think now is a good time to head out before you’re too tired to walk home. You let your friends know and begin scooting yourself towards the edge of the booth. As you straighten yourself up, something doesn’t feel right. Your left knee feels strange. You try to walk a little, but your knee won’t bend or straighten. It doesn’t hurt, but rather it feels as if something is stuck under your kneecap.

You try to walk forward, but you end up limping. Your friends take notice and ask if you’re alright. You’re not sure how to answer them, but you know you can’t walk home like this. You hobble backwards and sink back down into the booth. Your face downtrodden at your awful luck. Your friends offer to call you a cab, but you're not sure what you want to do. You debate whether or not to comm Kix, but knowing your medic boyfriend, he would be furious if you didn’t try to reach him.

Regret washes over you when he answers in that groggy, sleepy voice he gets after waking up in the morning, but he brushes away your apologies. You explain the situation to him and he asks a few simple questions. He doesn’t sound worried, but you can tell the wheels aren’t completely turning in his head yet. He directs you to stay put and says he’ll come get you. You smile and exchange ‘I love yous’ before ending the call. You sigh in relief and await his arrival.

It doesn’t take long for Kix to appear on scene. You see him come through the entrance, in full gear no less, and you wave him over. He has a stern look on his face and walks deliberately, quickly closing the distance between the two of you. You barely let out a small greeting before he slides his hands around your back and legs and lifts you up into his arms. You’re taken aback by the sudden and silent gesture and instinctively wrap your hands around his neck to hang on.

“Kix,” you chuckle playfully as he walks toward the exit of the club. “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking you to the GAR clinic,” he answers without moving his eyes to meet yours. His fierce gaze is locked on its heading.

“It’s 23:00 hours,” you remind him as you wave goodbye to your friends. “They’re closed.”

“Nothing is closed if you have a key,” Kix retorts, a smirk flashes across his face, but is gone as quickly as it came. He raises his foot to push the club door open and his armor-covered thigh glides across your bottom. You inhale sharply at the swift movement, but Kix doesn’t notice as he carefully maneuvers you both through the opening before it swings shut.

“Don’t you think that’s a little excessive?” you question in a stutter as your face flushes. He doesn't answer. “It’s twelve blocks away!” you try to convince him of the absurdity of him carrying you for such a distance, but he still doesn’t answer or waver from his course.

His face is trained forward, focused solely on his mission and nothing else. You know that look, that gaze. The one he gets when he automatically falls into combat mode. His expression becomes serious and determined. It’s like a switch, and his ability to flick it on and off amazes you every time. It doesn’t matter the situation, when his training kicks in he becomes unstoppable and immovable, and it’s one of the qualities you admire most about him.

As Kix walks down the street towards the GAR clinic, a cool breeze blows through and hits your sweaty skin sending a shiver through your body. Kix notices you shudder and grips you tighter against his chest to keep you warm, cursing under his breath that he didn’t bring you something better to wear. In his groggy haze after your comm, he forgot you wore a dress tonight and left the apartment with just his gear and blaster, as if this situation even called for a blaster.

He gives you an apologetic kiss on the forehead and continues your journey towards the GAR clinic. The walk is mostly silent, with just the serenade of rhythmic crickets filling in the void. You want to say something, maybe tell him to take a break, but he would never listen. You wonder how his arms haven't fallen off yet at carrying you for such a distance. He doesn’t even sound winded. You start to feel bad about the situation and doubt creeps into your mind.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper while burrowing your face into his neck, a small tear escaping your eye and dissipating into the black fabric of his body suit.

Kix stops walking, tosses you up a little to readjust your position in his arms and continues walking. You thought he was going to say something, but he didn’t. You wonder if he’s mad at you and the destructive thoughts begin swirling endlessly in your mind. All of sudden, you’re second guessing everything about your relationship with Kix. What if you’re too much for him? What if he’s getting tired of you? What if he wants a less accident prone girlfriend?

Before your thoughts could spiral any further out of control, Kix speaks up. “I’ve carried heavier for longer distances,” he reassures. “This is nothing.” He pulls your torso up a little higher and nuzzles your face softly with his cheek before bringing you back down to the comfortable carrying position. You breathe a sigh of relief and rest your head once again on his shoulder, letting the warmth and calmness of his body relax and comfort you.

Not long after the short exchange, Kix stops walking again, but this time it’s because you’ve finally made it to the GAR clinic. You look up at the familiar sight, where the two you first met, and smile briefly at the memory. The clinic is dark, which is what you would expect at this late hour. Kix shifts your weight so he can grab his clinic access card from his pouch and swipes it. The door whooshes open and the lights automatically turn on as you enter the lobby.

Kix swipes his access card again to gain entrance to the secured medical facility, and instead of carrying you to one of the exam rooms, he brings you straight back to the x-ray room. You still think the whole thing is overkill, but you trust that he knows best. He carefully sets you down on a chair, kisses your cheek, and maneuvers the x-ray machine and your knee to get the pictures he needs. His biggest worries are a tear, fracture, or dislocation and he won’t feel satisfied until he knows for sure.

You sit still for him while he takes the x-rays, scrunching your face periodically at the stiffness and aching you feel in your kneecap. It’s becoming more and more uncomfortable the longer you sit with it bent at this angle, but this is where Kix wants it, so you stay put. You turn your head and look through the window of the tech room and watch as he works. He’s completely focused and engrossed in what he’s doing as he flicks switches and taps on the data-pad.

You continue to watch as he projects the holo x-ray and puts his hands on his hips as he studies it. You’re starting to feel nervous about the outcome and wonder how badly you injured your knee. Your breath quickens and you let out a small grunt at the pain in your knee. You lean over to rub it and glance back through the window at Kix. He switches off the holo-projection and turns around to look at you with a small smile. You really hope that’s a good sign.

Kix makes his way back to where you’re sitting and gets on one knee in front of you. Without saying a word, he lifts your injured leg gently, fully extends it, then fully bends it, focusing carefully on the movement and your expressions. He rotates your leg to the right, then to the left, presumably to check your mobility. It didn’t particularly hurt when he moved it, but it didn’t feel great either. He then takes his thumb and presses it just below your kneecap.

“Ouch!” you cry with a sharp inhale and recoil your leg from his touch.

“Bingo,” Kix states as he gets up from the floor.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask while rubbing your knee, slightly offended at his painful test.

“Patellar tendinitis,” Kix answers with a relieved smile.

“Galactic standard, please?” you question, unsure of the medical terminology.

Kix chuckles and gives you a kiss on the cheek. “It means the tendon that connects your kneecap to your shin bone is swollen. It’s an easy fix with some anti-inflammatories, an icepack, and rest.”

“How did I do that?” you wonder aloud. All you wanted to do was have a fun night out with your girlfriends and here you are sitting in a clinic with a knee injury.

“Were you jumping?” Kix inquires while crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall behind him.

You purse your lips, almost embarrassed to answer him. “Maybe, a little.”

Kix raises an eyebrow at your sheepish answer. He always knows when you’re lying. It’s one of his unfortunate special powers.

“Okay, maybe a lot,” you answer while looking down, not wanting to meet his piercing gaze.

Kix sighs and shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be jumping like that when you have a previous knee injury.”

“But, I just wanted to have fun!” you protest as your emotions flow through your words unabated. “I just want to dance and have a good time like every other girl gets to do.”

Kix frowns, pushes himself off the wall, and sits next to you on the x-ray table. He slides a strong arm around your back to pull you against his side and leans his head atop yours. He takes your hand, brings it to his lips, and kisses the back of it. “I know, cyare,” he soothes in a low rumble. “I know.”

You close your eyes and lean into his touch, feeling defeated and betrayed by your own body. The previous knee injury wasn’t even your fault, and it happened so long ago, you didn’t even think about it while you were out with your friends. It’s funny how quickly your body reminds you of how truly broken it really is. You wish your body could do what everyone else’s can but this blatant reminder fills your heart with a type of grief that will never leave and your eyes well with tears.

Kix is quick to notice and wipes them away before they get a chance to fall from your flushed face. He knows you try. He knows you want to have fun. He knows you want nothing more than to be normal. And he knows how much it hurts you when you can’t, but there’s nothing he can do about it. You stay in each other’s embrace for several more minutes, silently exchanging invisible words of hurt and comfort, with light sniffles and soft kisses being the only sounds heard.

Kix pays close attention to your body language, waiting for when you're ready, and not a moment too soon. He feels your heartbeat slow, your breathing moderate, and your body finally relaxing into his. “Do you want to go home?” he asks.

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yeah, I think I’m ready.”

Kix kisses the top of your head and stands up. He stretches out his hand and you grab it to help hoist yourself up to stand on the floor. You wince at the discomfort in your knee and limp forward a step. Kix puts his other hand on your back to steady you, and you breathe out a small thanks before continuing to limp forward. Unsatisfied with your struggling, Kix bends over to wrap one arm around your legs and the other around your back, cradling you into his arms like before.

You sigh and roll your eyes at his selfless, albeit reckless, gesture. “You can’t carry me all the way home too. That’s even farther!”

Kix smirks at your challenge. “Watch me.”

The journey home is much more light-hearted than the walk to the GAR clinic. You can tell Kix is relaxing as he steps down from medic-mode and steps into boyfriend-mode. He asks you more questions about your night out with your friends and you regale him with exaggerated tales of your womanly wiles. You both laugh at your wild stories and he tells you a couple funny ones from his time on deployment.

It must be quite the sight at 02:00 hours, two people laughing hysterically while strolling down the street, one carrying the other. People probably think you’re drunk, but neither of you care about their opinions. You're finally getting a chance to be together after being separated for such a long time. It doesn’t matter the circumstance, just the closeness, the fondness, and the affection are what you need. His gentle touch, his strong heartbeat, his deep voice, it’s all that matters to you.

Kix rounds the corner of the street your apartment is on and you hear him huff. The long distance and exhaustion is finally getting to him, but he is determined to finish strong. He shifts your weight in his arms to get a better grip and you smile at his tenacity, rewarding his efforts with a sweet kiss on his cheek. He makes the final stretch and pulls out your apartment key card, swiping it to open the door to your home.

He carries you through the doorway, past the kitchen, and into the bedroom, laying you gently on the bed, before flopping backward onto it himself with a heavy sigh of relief. You roll onto your side to face him and prop your head up on your elbow. “Are you okay?” You chuckle as you run your other hand over the stubble of his shaved head.

“I just need a minute,” Kix breathes, his chest rising and falling rapidly from the exertion. “And a shower.”

“I could use one too,” you realize after thinking about your night out before you injured yourself. There’s no way you can go to sleep with all that ick covering your body, but you wonder how well you can shower yourself with your knee hurting so badly. You imagine all the ways you can brace yourself to wash your hair and how hopping on one foot works in a slippery bathtub.

“We can take one together,” Kix suggests as if he’s reading your mind. He turns his head to look at you, waiting for your answer.

You raise an eyebrow in response. It’s not that you don’t want to, in fact, you’d love to, but not now, not like this. This isn’t the time for that. You're in pain and you don’t want to play around. You just want a shower, and only a shower, nothing else.

“What?” he asks, feigning feelings of hurt that you think he would take advantage of you in your injured state. “I need a shower, you need a shower, and you obviously can’t do it on your own.”

You purse your lips and narrow your eyes at his assessment, feeling offended that he would say something like that, even though it was the same conclusion you came to only moments earlier. You think about it a little more, and you hate to admit it, but it does make sense. You're both exhausted and disgusting, so a shower must be taken at some point. You sigh in defeat and begrudgingly agree to shower together, but you stipulate no funny business.

Kix agrees to your terms and conditions without hesitation, because, honestly, he doesn’t want to do anything either, but it’s more fun if you think he does. He loves to see that flustered look on your face and watch as you get defensive and straightforward with him. He smirks at your empty threats as you rattle off all the things you would do if he crosses even one line, and he laughs at your playful smacks on his arm when he tosses out a lewd joke.

“Kix,” you stretch the pronunciation of his name out to show your annoyance.

“Alright,” he concedes while still laughing. “Are we doing this or what?”

“Yes,” you answer with a sigh. “We’re doing this.”

Kix smiles and heaves himself up from the bed with a grunt.

“You sound like an old man,” you jest with a snort and start to giggle.

Kix turns around and furrows his brows. “If you weren’t injured, I’d–”

“You’d what?” you quickly cut him off, daring him to answer.

He takes a deep breath and lets his thoughts dissipate. “Never mind.” You both laugh at yourselves, obviously too tired to think straight. “Come on,” he beckons. “Shower time.”

Kix starts by removing his armor piece by piece and neatly piling it in the closet. He then peels his sweaty blacks off and tosses them towards the laundry hamper, but they land hanging halfway out. He shrugs at them and leaves the room to turn the shower on. You then slip your dress over your head and also toss it towards the hamper, but you sigh at your terrible aim as the hamper topples over. You shrug at the mess and decide to worry about when you have more energy.

Kix comes back to get you, and frowns as he watches you rub your knee. He knows it’s going to hurt for a while and he wishes he could do something to alleviate your pain besides medicine and ice. He walks over to the edge of the bed and kneels down in front of you. You raise an eyebrow, wondering what he’s going to do, but you give him the benefit of the doubt. He slides his hand along the outside of your shin, snakes his fingers under your knee, lifts it to his face, and kisses it tenderly.

“I’ve heard kisses make boo-boos better,” Kix whispers against your knee, his hot breath giving you goosebumps. He recoils apologetically at your body’s reaction. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

“It’s fine,” you assure him with a soft chuckle and a sincere smile. What he did was a sweet gesture and you had no qualms with it. You wish his kisses had the magical power to take all your pain away, and sometimes it feels like they can, but there are some things that kisses cannot fix. However, you play along and feed into his heartfelt attempt. “My knee already feels better.”

Kix smiles knowingly, gets up from the floor, and comes alongside you. He reaches one arm around your back to support you, and grabs your hand with his free one. You brace yourself against his strong hold and pull yourself up from the bed. You hobble forward a little, trying not to put pressure on the injured knee, and Kix steadies you. You lean against his toned body and limp toward the refresher, wincing at the discomfort.

Once in the refresher, you toss your undergarments aside and Kix picks you up to lift you over the raised side of the tub and places you down into the warm spray. You grab the small railing on the side to steady yourself, and give Kix a nod to let him know he can let go. He slowly takes his hands off you, making sure to watch if you falter. As he sees you holding yourself up, he gets into the shower and joins you under the hot water.

Kix places his hands on your hips and pulls you back against his bare chest. “Lean on me, sweetheart,” he whispers in your ear.

You don’t hesitate to take him up on his offer as you release the railing and let his strong arms hold you up. You’ve built up enough trust with him that you’re not afraid for a single moment whether he’ll drop you. You know that when you’re in Kix’s arms, there’s nothing that can touch you, there’s nothing that can hurt you, and there isn’t a force in the galaxy that can pry you away from him. There’s no fear when you’re with Kix. Some call it possession, but you call it safe.

You let the hot water roll over your face, your hair, and down your body for several minutes before grabbing your shampoo bottle. You squeeze a little onto your palm and lather it up in your hair. Kix leans his head back to keep it from getting in his eyes and you giggle as he blows away the bubbles forming in your hair. You rinse the shampoo out of your hair, add some conditioner, then grab your body wash and loofah.

It’s a little awkward, the two of you tangled up as you try to wash the dirt off your body, but he tries to maneuver you into different positions to reach different spots. At one point, he was holding you with one hand and scrubbing you gently with the other. You wonder how he does it. How he could be so strong and unyielding in the field, yet so gentle with you. He holds you like a fragile piece of glass even though he could crush you with a single flex of his muscles.

You finish cleaning all the nooks and crannies of your body and rinse out the conditioner from your hair. Now, it’s Kix’s turn to get the water he’s been waiting so patiently for. He moves you both forward, so you're past the shower’s spray and he’s directly under it, pressing one hand against the back of the shower for you to lean against. He groans with pleasure under the water’s cascading heat and the vibration echoing from his chest sends a shiver down your body.

Kix notices you shivering, and makes quick work of cleaning himself up, thinking your cold from being outside the water’s warmth. He switches hands for you to lean against so he can clean everywhere he needs to, and rinses the soap off his skin just as fast. You feel bad that he didn’t get to spend more time under the water, but he reassures you that as a soldier he’s used to quick showers and this was more than enough for him to feel satisfied.

Kix turns the water off, leans out to pull a towel off the rack, and wraps it loosely around your damp skin. He tussles the towel to help you dry off and you start giggling. He smiles at the happy little sounds you’re making and gives you a chaste kiss on the nose. Once satisfied that you’re not shivering anymore, he gets out of the tub, picks you up to lift you over the side, and gently places you back onto the ground.

He makes sure you're steady, then grabs another towel from the rack, pats himself off, and wraps it around his waist in a few short movements. It’s so quick that if you blink you’ll miss it, but that’s him, quick and efficient. He positions himself beside you to help guide you back to the bedroom, limping slightly along the way. As you approach the bed, Kix picks you up princess style once again and gently lays you down onto your side of the bed.

He rummages through the dresser, grabbing you some clean pajamas and a pair of boxers for himself. You both dress yourself for bed, and you take the towel wrapped around your body and work on drying your hair to an acceptable amount to go to sleep. You don’t have the energy to blow dry it at this point, but you also don’t want to sleep on a sopping wet pillow. As you work on your hair, your stomach starts growling and you realize it’s been hours since you had any food.

“Is it too late to eat?” you ask an already half-asleep Kix laying next to you.

He opens one eye to look at the chronometer on the bedside table and mumbles into his pillow. “It’s basically breakfast time, so why not.”

“I bought a frozen pizza last week,” you mention while tracing small circles on his back to coax him awake. “You could pop it in the oven real quick.”

Kix groans in protest, but his stomach betrays him and growls at the mention of food. He sighs in defeat, gets up, and rubs his eyes. It’s been a very long night for the two of you and dawn is already fast approaching. Luckily, neither of you have plans for the day so sleeping past noon is the only logical course of action. On his way to the kitchen he remembers to grab the anti-inflammatory medicine and an ice-pack for your knee, the two things he wasn’t supposed to forget.

He puts the pizza in the oven and brings you the medicine and a cup of water to wash it down. You gladly take it as the pain in your knee started bothering you again after the shower made it feel slightly better. Kix smiles lazily at you, the exhaustion clear on his face, and you feel bad for making him stay up so late for you. He takes the cup of water back and places the towel-covered ice pack on your knee, timing fifteen minutes for when you need to remove it.

Kix, being the ever-doting man he is, decides to do one more thing to help make you feel better. He steps back into the kitchen and puts the kettle on. If there’s one thing he knows you enjoy, it’s a hot cup of tea. For some reason, tea fixes everything. Bad day? Tea. Period? Tea. Sad? Tea. Injured? Well, according to the track record, tea will work for that too. He sifts through your tea cabinet and pulls out your favorite blend and mug, and steeps you a steaming cup.

The pizza timer dings and Kix pulls it out of the oven, slices it, and brings the whole thing into the bedroom, along with some napkins, and the tea he brewed for you. You smile when he comes into the room and you're even more happy to see your favorite mug in his hand. He sets the mug down on your bedside table and places the pizza in the middle of the bed, before walking back around and settling onto his side of the bed.

You take a sip of the tea and lean your head back against the headboard in simple bliss, sighing softly. Kix smiles at your peace and downs a slice of pizza. You grab a slice as well, and pick up the remote to start one of your favorite princess holos. You're feeling extra sappy tonight and in need of something comforting. You already have your prince charming, but you still love the nostalgia of watching the maiden fall in love with the prince and being swept away into a happily ever after.

Once the pizza has been demolished, Kix removes the pan from the bed and tosses it onto the floor. He slides across the sheets to close the gap between you and wraps an arm around you to pull you close. You lean into his loving embrace and nestle your head against his chest, laying an arm across his stomach. He kisses the top of your head and you close your eyes, listening to his strong heartbeat and his soft breathing as they soothe and lull you softly to sleep.

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neiptune · 2 years ago

Text

all over me

(gojo x female reader)

wc: 2k

warnings: angst, you won't find any comfort here my friends

There's only one place Satoru usually stops by in Shibuya and although he's prayed he would so many times, he certainly doesn't expect to find you in it

Sweat runs down Satoru’s back as he takes one hand out of his pocket to push up dark sunglasses, annoyance taking shape in the creases between his furrowed brows. He should’ve went for the cashmere jumper instead of the wool sweater but then again, he can’t quite remember the last time he had made a good decision. Not that he would ever allow anyone to know.

People are buzzing around Shibuya as usual and he has to offer more than one gentle smile to strangers profusely apologizing for bumping into him on their way to god knows what, god knows where. As he finally makes it out of Takeshita street the mob decreases in density at last, giving him the chance to take a deep breath: sometimes the drainage smell can rise to the surface and make the simple experience of taking a walk excruciating, but today Shibuya smells just right. Smoke coming from yakitori restaurants mixes interestengly well with the strong smell of fermented soybeans scattered in colorful stands and the sweet, fruity scent coming from the magnolia trees blossoming among shops and sidewalks.

Satoru comes to a halt right in front of it, old habits die hard after all. As usual, the Aoyama flower market teahouse comes with a consistent queue outside its pretty building. It’s a Tuesday afternoon and under normal circumstances he’d have to wait around 50 minutes to get inside but he’s, well, him, and he’s known for two things: dashing charm and generous tips. Sunglasses are graciously pushed over his forehead, lazy half-smile a blinding crescent moon as the lady in charge of the queue, name list in her hand, bows and motions him towards the entrance right away. There was a time when you would’ve rolled your eyes, with a sarcastic huff and a barely muttered you are shameless. When he was with you, Satoru had only been allowed to work his magic once: every other time, you had always forced him to respect the queue. Sure enough, each time, he complied. And that was the magic you worked.

He’s not bothered by the smell anymore, way too sweet for his taste. But every blossom, branch and flower still has your laugh embedded in it, so it’s alright, really. He wonders if this is still your favorite place to hide away in, where you’d catch up with your friends on rainy days, sit all alone with a book whenever you needed a break from reality, snap selfies of you two nestled between hues of an impossible amount of pretty flowers. Red, pink, green, orange, white, their scent lingering on you for him to savor it for hours on end, the way you’d jokingly push him away when he’d try to nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck for the millionth time. Satoru gets a kick out of the way ill stitched wounds tear apart and resume their bleeding whenever he steps foot in this place, pain crashing over him in waves, the emptiness of his chest taking the shape of your absence all over again through a carving so painful not even the strongest sorcerer feels powerful enough to bear. But it’s only right. He doesn’t deserve smooth edges and being the strongest unfortunately means he survives the process every single time.

“Toru?” a timid whisper, one he’d recognize everywhere regardless of having been left without that voice for over two years now.

And sure enough you’re there, actually there, sitting at your own glass table with plants sprouting from underneath it, a giant plate of your usual order in front of you, mocking him, because apparently nothing has changed besides your absence in his life. He’s hated french toast ever since.

Satoru approaches your table, patiently ignoring the way his stomach has flipped at the familiarity of your voice paired with the nickname.

“Hey” he hasn’t seen you in so long, and this is all he can come up with. But it must mean something, finding you here at last after endless wanderings and cups of tea he doesn’t even like and flower parfaits and rose jellies. It must mean something, the fact that you invite him to sit, smile every bit as warm as he remembered.

“How have you been?” you ask right after he places his order, a hot mojito even in the middle of the afternoon, because he can’t hold his liquor and definitely can’t do this while sober.

“Good, busy. You know how it is” he grins with a slight shrug of the shoulders.

“I know how it is” your lips curl in a soft smile as you drag a forkful of french toast through syrup.

“You look great, by the way. Shorter hair suits you”

The way you shift nervously in your seat as you let out a uh, thanks signals your discomfort so he leans back ever so slightly, gives you space, hopes to be smart enough to reassess a lead he doesn’t actually have. With each sputter, his heart seems to be articulating all the words he’s been aching to say out loud for the past two years. I miss you. Come back. I’ll do better. Please. Please. Please.

And you know him well enough to sense that, whatever it is, it’s coming. So you brace yourself the best you can, with a deep breath and tense muscles, ankles crossed underneath the table pressing painfully to each other, toes curled in your sneakers.

“Let’s get dinner tonight” his slender fingers are closed tightly around the glass, in sharp contrast with the casualness of his pitch. The deep sigh you let out is a flag red enough but, frankly, he refuses to go down without a fight. What should he fear at this point? Humiliation? He’s been without you long enough to figure there’s nothing worse. He’ll handle humiliation.

“Satoru” the name rolls off your tongue as a warning but you can’t ignore the way your heart squeezes a little at the sound of it. You haven’t said that name out loud in forever and it still tastes every bit as sweet and dangerous as it did back then.

“What?” he challenges, impatient “it’s just dinner”

“I have to be home for dinner”

“Why?”

He’s not a dumb man, he knows what you’re about to say. Regardless, he needs to hear it before the glass shatters in his very hand.

“Don’t do this” you let out a shaky breath as you put your fork down, suddenly unable to stomach a single other bite.

“There’s someone” Satoru does his best not to make it sound like an accusation because it really isn’t. It couldn’t be, he wouldn’t dare.

Your gaze meets his and it’s hard to remind yourself that you’re a different person now that you’ve been away from his magnetic field long enough. Leaving came with the terrifying, inevitable need to learn how to be, who to be, on your own. You had been with him for so long it had been excruciating to find out, during those first months, you couldn’t remember how to be whole without the stupid amount of his cologne stinking up the small bathroom of your studio apartment, his chin resting on your shoulder, his fingers gently massaging shampoo in your scalp, his good mornings. His his his. Everything was a reminder of how much you had given and the unbearable, sweet time each piece was taking to travel back to you and try to fit in its original spot.

But they did, in the end. Most of them, anyway. Little by little, each part crawled back and you had to patiently pick them up and find a place to gently push them in. They didn’t fit with each other as well as they did in the beginning, he had made a miserable, imperfect puzzle out of you: one with pieces fitting with the wrong ones well enough not to make the subtle cracks noticeable to everyone else. You’d been left with a version of yourself you had to get to know from the start and the process had been so painful, so exhausting, you’d sworn you’d never risk any of that ever again.

Still, it doesn’t mean you don’t miss it. What you had was a kind of love that, to this day, you deem unrepeatable. Being with Satoru felt like knowing exactly where you were meant to be in the world: it was powerful and overwhelming, all consuming, a feeling strong enough to match the strongest there was. The beauty of it was that it was a balanced exchange coming from both sides, constantly created between you two in equal measure.

You’ve made peace with the thought that it won’t be possible to feel that way with someone that isn’t him, no even now that you’re in love and fairly happy, not even now that you’re free. Satoru is still there, all over you. But as much as you’re certain he’d still move heaven and hell and every other world or dimension available to make you happy, to keep you safe, it’s too late. It will always be too late.

“Yes” your reply is as dry as your throat.

Satoru remains silent, eyes focused on the glass of ice water in front of you, condensation dripping down onto the tabletop and forming a small puddle underneath it. The place is so fancy and yet cold drinks don’t come with coasters, it’s ridiculous.

“Does it compare?” the question comes out light, void of anger or bitterness. He wonders if you’ll still be fooled, even after so much time apart. Because no matter the way his whole being ached and burned and radiated with the disarming love he had for you, there was always a small, almost imperceptible part of Gojo Satoru he had always kept to himself. The same one that ruined everything, in the end.

“It doesn’t” you speak truthfully “but I’m happy”

He hums, pensive.

“I sure wonder what that feels like”

You shut your eyes for a second. It didn’t end with smoke and gunpowder, explosive fights, cheating or lying: you were too in love with each other to let any of that get in the way. It ended simply because he never thought it could end.

“It feels right” you push the knife a little deeper, not enough to tear him apart entirely but surely enough to make him feel it. And oh, does he feel it.

“Right”, Satoru repeats the word mockingly “I guess that means he’s the one. Better marry him fast”

The derision in his tone is just too much for you to bear. He’s still so good at pushing all your buttons until you snap, until you’re angry enough to forget the childish desire to safeguard his feelings. Why would he deserve such grace after everything he’d put you through?

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Satoru. He’s already asked and I already said yes”

For a moment, he thinks there must be a curse concealed somewhere around the crowded teashop, somewhere between leaves and branches and colorful flowers. Because why else would everything be still alive, breathing, moving? How are people chatting mindlessly around him, how is the sudden, light rain still falling outside? Why isn’t everything motionless or at least slowly crumbling in on itself?

The strongest always needs a fragment to hold onto, something only his that can be worn like armor. Memories nag mercilessly at the back of his mind: the day he’d met you, a few seconds of playful banter enough to make him grin and drop a nonchalant well, this is going way too smoothly to not let it be a date. How he’d always make sure to get up at dawn whenever you spent the night wrapped in silk sheets, rushing to make breakfast and brew coffee because he simply couldn’t risk you collecting your clothes and vanishing from his apartment while he was asleep. The way you’d convinced him to try out a skincare routine, giggling as you carefully massaged clay masks and serums and your favorite moisturizer into his skin. All the times you’d waited for him to come home, movies watched on his couch, late night hushed conversations about the future, how you’d rolled your eyes with a coy smile at his m’gonna marry you.

He meant every word, could’ve sworn he would’ve stopped breathing if left without your lips on his for too long. He meant it, Satoru just thought he had all the time in the world. Because you were his and he was yours, what on earth could’ve changed that?

So he’d stopped notifying you when missions would take too long, leaving you waiting for his return for days, sometimes weeks, not a call nor a reply to your texts. He became increasingly annoyed at the idea of having to hang out with your friends, because he was tired and just didn’t feel like leaving the house and maybe you should’ve stayed too: you hadn’t spent some time alone in a while after all. He’d started throwing around words and phrases you both hated: overreacting, attention-seeking, blowing this out of proportion, don’t ya think you’re being too sensitive?

He forgot birthdays, anniversaries, claimed he couldn’t refuse to go on that mission right on Christmas day, your gift left to collect dust, unopened on his bed. And when you started drifting away, he didn’t notice. Not until your suitcase was packed and your warmth was taken away from his suddenly too large, dull, dark apartment.

So right now he needs it, that fragment. Hadn’t you called him heartless, once? It’s best you keep believing that. You may even be right: there’s not enough left of his heart anyway. He sure hopes you’ll be treated right this time, he wants to wish for your happiness and he does. But the desire for whatever joy expects you to never surpass the one you felt when you were with him is stronger. He will always hold onto that selfishness because it will be all he’s left with while you’re out in the world without him, forever.

“You never even replied when I asked” his smile is bitter, incredulous.

“You never meant it”

Fragment or not, that’s a lie he wouldn’t dare speak out loud. He could never agree with what you just said because, in his life, Satoru never meant anything as much as he did when he rambled endlessly about making you his wife, perfect wedding venue, guest list and witnesses already on his mind. Ring sitting in his secret drawer, still there, to this day.

He gets up and your gaze softens as you watch him put his sunglasses on again, some cash tucked under his empty glass. Of course you still care for him, you always will. And it’s not like it doesn’t hurt, the way this encounter went.

“I hope you find it, too” you mutter with a strange taste in your mouth, one not even all the tea in the world could wash away.

“I will” he flashes you a smile “try to stick around with this one, hm?” doesn’t even give you the time to let the petty words sink in as he gives the two-finger salute and turns around to exit the shop. Eye for an eye.

Whilst wandering through a wet and still overwhelmingly bustling Shibuya, Gojo Satoru chuckles to himself until a broken, boisterous laugh crawls all the way up from his throat. Pedestrians turn their heads in his direction but that only makes him laugh harder. Because how could they get the irony? He’s only had two people in his life that he’s called best friends at some point, only two people he’s loved with every fiber of his being, and he has lost both.

That’s probably the one curse he’ll never be able to exorcise.

#gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x you #gojo angst #am i honestly shitting myself bc i'm writing for the first time for someone so popular and who so many people already write beautifully?#the answer's yes #therefore feedback will be sosososo appreciated #thank you!!!!

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embossross · 2 years ago

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The Art Collector

Prologue >> Chapter 1 >> Masterlist

✣ Pairing: Mikey x AFAB fem!Reader

✣ Warning: 18+ dark explicit content, minors DNI

✣ Series: part of the In the Belly of the Beast fic universe

✣ Chapter CWs: references to past cheating, drinking, author is not an artist and is Reaching for this character lol

✣ Story CWs: yandere, stalking, dubcon, kidnap, sex (ptv, oral), rough sex, and probably more to come

✣Synopsis: Mikey isn't like your typical boyfriends. He isn't an artist. He doesn't sport a messy bun or name drop Heidegger. He's just an antisocial IT guy. Or at least that's what he's told you...You may not know your boyfriend as well as you think you do, and by the time you realize your mistake, it may be too late for him. Or you.

✣ Word Count: ~6k and counting

It wasn’t raining or snowing, yet here you stood, struggling. You cupped a hand over the lighter, clove cigarette dangling from your pursed lips. This time you succeeded. A lungful of bitter smoke flooded your belly, and every synapse fired in relief at the familiar rush. You sank into a crouch, back against the wall as you savored your first smoke in six weeks.

On the other side of the wall, inside where it was warm and the harsh, unseasonable winds didn’t beat down like a father’s heavy hand, a dozen or so patrons wandered a little art gallery. It was the opening night of your first ever solo exhibition.

Thirty-eight minutes. That was how long you had survived playacting your official role as artist on display before you had snuck through a door marked employees’ only to smoke away the heartburn that flared in the face of phoniness.

To exhibit anywhere, even a dingy little art gallery in a dead backstreet of Kichijoji, one that saw less foot traffic than a 21st century Blockbuster video, was an enormous privilege. At twenty-seven, most artists slaved away at parttime jobs to afford cup ramen or hung up their paints for a life of housewife drudgery. You were so very fortunate, and if you were the type for positive affirmations, you would remind yourself of that more regularly.

The reverberations of polite dialogue trickled from inside, past the open door, to where you hid. You needn’t hear the exact words to know what they were saying. Trivialities as they strolled past work that dwarfed months of your life. Whether their comments were good or bad, asinine or nuanced, it didn’t make much difference.

Was it wrong to make art not just for the sake of its creation but in the hopes that someone, anyone, might find in your work the hidden messages that you knew were there, just out of your grasp, if only someone might decode them for you?

The breaking point that had sent you fleeing for the alley came from a smartly dressed woman, who praised one of your paintings as an ‘arcadian fantasy,’ as a ‘violent refusal of modern social organization,’ and return to innocence. She had categorized it as a clear response to the Tōhoku tsunami’s continued psychological and economic impact on the Yutori generation.

The painting in question depicted four schoolchildren at play. Lush green grass layered in oils dominated the background, leaving no visual queues as to the time of day, weather, or location as if the playground extended for eternity: back, back, back. The children appeared happy, but upon closer study, the viewer would find each child was built from an amalgamation of swirls. The swirls varied in size, but each one spiraled predictably at the same angle and to the same inevitable end. Using your most delicate paintbrush to measure to exactitude the angles, you had labored for hundreds of hours on that piece.

During the painting process, when you would stumble home after a night of drinking, you would get lost in those swirls, a sense of overwhelming mawkishness rising up from your gut at how each child was bound for the same destination. Everything was so predetermined in their young lives.

The spiral motif appeared again and again in tonight’s collection, going largely unnoticed by the gallery’s patrons. The only time your swirls seized attention was in your one interactive piece: four wooden panels, 75x225 centimeters, one fitted as a door to create a cramped room. Inside the panels were covered in tar paper and painted a deep black. Then, you had layered on the swirls in a gritty grey, so they dominated every spare millimeter of space, spinning and spinning. You had dubbed it the panic attack room because closed inside, you would be confronted with the inverse of infinity, feel the walls moving closer with every winding spiral.

The two “journalists” there that night – one an art blogger, the other covering for a university newspaper – both attended solely to try out that room. They thought it might make an attractive picture spot as interactive art was all the rage.

Speaking to them earlier, both presumed so much about your work and influences. You must have so admired Kusama Yayoi’s infinity rooms, they said; yes, you recognized Kusama as one of the greatest living artists, but no she was not a direct inspiration for your piece. The art blogger asked if, like the French-American sculptor Louise Bourgeois, you saw the spiral as a symbol of “freedom and control;” no, not remotely. The student journalist wondered if you’d read Uzumaki by Junji Ito as it depicted spirals in horror; no, you had never heard of it.

One of your friends, Shiyuri, had urged you to spell out the meaning behind your work on the placards that accompanied each piece.

“Don’t just name your art,” she had insisted. “Give people some guidance, some keywords, or shit, so they know they’re looking in the right direction.”

You had thanked her for the suggestion, even stared at a blank Word document for a half hour hoping to write out something helpful, but the words did not come. Behind each artwork yawned a question, dreadful and all-encompassing, and you painted in the hopes that someone, someday might answer. Maybe then you would finally understand yourself.

“There you are!” the curator boomed, peering around the doorway to where you crouched. “I’ve been looking everywhere. You won’t believe it. Every piece! Sold! Just like that!”

“I can believe it,” you breathed out around a last, lingering puff of smoke.

The curator’s beard twitched as he rushed to tell you about the phone call. A mysterious figure had bid to buy every single painting on display for the full asking price. He hadn’t even tried to haggle! The man’s fingers waggled as he spoke as if imagining the bills he would count and caress once he received his commission for hosting your work. He led you back inside with a hand at your back and the promise of celebratory champagne.

Inside, the orangish lights cast your work in warm tones that drew out their vibrancy. People flocked to the paintings now that they saw the lauded stamp of approval beside each, the sought after “sold” sticker that warned them this was their last chance to see the collection before it was locked away forever.

The champagned tasted fine as it fizzed down your throat. Around you, the blogger and student journalist prattled about how artist patronage of this sort was so uncommon these days. The curator boasted how he put you on the map with this exhibit. Your show was officially a success.

When ten rolled around and the last of the patrons left the gallery, you and your friends made the short walk to Harmonica Alley, settling on the first empty bar you found. It was standing room only, so you formed a single column at the bar. Your group tallied six in total: you, your four housemates, and one of your housemate’s new boyfriend. An hour ago, you had texted an invitation to the jazz musician you were seeing, but he shot back that he was busy with a gig and couldn’t join. He promised to see you soon and capped off the message with a winking emoji.

The once quiet bar grew rowdy as your friends settled into place. All of you were artists, renting a house together, a commune of sorts for creatives not long out of school. You shared the two bedrooms on the second floor with Shiyuri and Kii, rotating the private room every month to keep things equitable. Then, on the first floor, you’d hung a curtain over what was probably meant to be a dining room to create a makeshift bedroom for the boys, Yuudai and Fujio. There was a basement as well, but by unanimous vote that was retained as a studio for your collective use.

By the time you ordered a third round of beers – on you and your new windfall you assured your friends – everyone was red cheeked and loud as only twenty-somethings on a Friday night can be.

Normally, conversation would turn to topics like whether the newest arthouse film was worth seeing, the status and inspiration behind your current projects, and any household gossip, but tonight your housemates were joined by Kii’s new boyfriend, Shinosuke, and he couldn’t resist asking the obvious question.

Who had bought all your paintings tonight? And why weren’t you more surprised?

Your friends exhausted that topic months ago but as Shinosuke was himself an art student, the kind who monologued about the virtues of sacrifice in the name of art, fashioning himself as a starving idealist in the vein of a young Yoshizawa Akira – as if his parents didn’t deposit a tidy sum in his bank account every month – he fixated on the night’s dreamlike events.

“I don’t know who bought them,” you admitted.

“I think it might’ve been that woman in the fur coat. She looked like she had money, and she said she liked the painting of the empty hallway,” Shinosuke said.

“No, no, we know it’s a man, and that he always orders everything over the phone,” Kii explained.

“Always? Wait, so this has happened before?”

You shrugged, too bored by the saga of your good fortune to answer, but Yuudai jumped in and answered for you, “It happens nonstop. Everything she’s put up for sale in the last six months. This mystery guy just calls right up and buys it all. I’ve been telling the universe to send him my way, but so far, no dice.”

Seven months actually. It had been seven months since the first strange purchase. The lack of name hadn’t seemed so odd then when the cash was warm in your pocket. Then, your next painting had sold within mere hours of debuting. Then, the next. The guarantee that your work would sell was why you could afford to exhibit in a real gallery in the first place. It also earned you enough money to pay your water bill, to no longer worry over the expense of new brushes or the cost of good tampons. You even stashed a little away in savings. Thanks to your mysterious benefactor, you were the most financially stable member of your art collective.

“How can you have no idea?” Shinosuke demanded. “How would this rich, art-loving guy even find you? And why would he buy up all your art?”

“It’s not that crazy. Some artists have exclusive patrons even today. It’s rare, but it happens,” you said.

Shinosuke pressed his stomach into the bar and leveled you with a smirk. “Sounds like a sugar daddy situation to me. If he has any hot friends, hook me up, okay? I’d sell more than my body to get my art out there.”

Dents in the shape of fingerprints mangled your beer can. Kii’s faux-outrage, more worried about Shinosuke pimping himself out than the insult to her friend, saved you from having to respond.

Maybe Shinouske’s dumb remark could be chalked up to male pride. It was the kind of comment that almost any male artist languishing in obscurity might make when faced with a woman’s comparative success. They all figured that success came entirely at their own expense, a kind of stolen recognition. The art world thrived on scarcity, and you didn’t entirely blame Shinosuke for his resentment.

But you wondered if Shinouske’s mind might circle sugar daddies for a different reason. Kii might have run her mouth about that time you slept with your professor.

(You hadn’t slept with your professor to improve your grades, mind you, or for any other professional advantage. You had slept with him because you were young, and you liked the way his hands shaped around clay in your pottery class. You had slept with him because it was lonely that first year at CalTech, where you discovered your English was less “conversational” than passable. You had slept with him because you liked the way he would gasp out, like a confession, that you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever been with as you rolled around in cum-stained sheets that his wife would later clean. Like you said, you had been young. You would do it all differently now.)

The congratulatory beer doesn’t warm you on the way down. There wasn’t much to celebrate anyway when everyone took your success for granted these days, when your art would only be hidden away from the world in some rich asshole’s vault.

That was the other reason for the exhibit. You wanted someone, anyone, to see your work before it disappeared from your sight forever.

You excused yourself as if to the bathroom but made a beeline for the exit. A second cigarette laid crumbled in the pocket of your jeans, and since you were already off the bandwagon, you figured you might as well enjoy.

Thick cloud cover shaded the night in misty grays, but the moon glowed down unimpeded like someone had punched a hole in the sky just to let it shine. Still, the wattage of the moon couldn’t compete with the many LED lights that shone from streetlamps and storefronts alike. You had dressed for a warm spring night, but the wind had other ideas, stinging the bared skin of your arms and legs.

Once again, you struggled with your lighter, but before the spark could flicker to life, a hand, ghostly in the moonlight, held a flame up to your cigarette.

You screamed.

There were no blind spots on the narrow road, and there should have been no way to approach you without the sixth sense you possessed as a born-and-bred city dweller kicking in to warn you. Yet here stood a stranger. You raised a hand to your forehead to check for fever, wondering if you drank too much at the bar.

The man – because of course it was a man, you thought wryly – was shabbily dressed in a too-large black tee-shirt and joggers. The baggy clothes concealed his frame, but he looked small, shockingly so. Sharp clavicles jutted out above his shirt collar, and his gaunt cheekbones stood in sharp relief against a shadowed face. He might have been any age, a boyish prettiness put him in his early twenties, but his eyes…his eyes had seen things. Between his frailty and bottle blonde hair, he looked like he daylighted as a pretty boy idol.

“You scared me.”

He didn’t offer an apology. You couldn’t place what about this stranger unsettled you. The happy chatter of your friends drifted from the open entryway only a short distance away. Most of the other shops on the street were sealed shut by metal gates, but passersby ambled past the opening of the alleyway every few seconds. There was no rational reason to feel afraid, but you couldn’t escape the impression his icy smirk left on you, the impression of stumbling into a vampire movie and now playing the part of the woman who dies stupidly. His face of contradictions, his silent tread as he approached, and now, his undeniable presence all unnerved you.

“Shouldn’t you be celebrating?” the man asked.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re the artist, right? Didn’t all your art sell?” the stranger jerked his head in the direction of the gallery.

“Yeah, yes, drinks on me tonight!” you said.

“Oh, thanks. But I’ll take a rain check.”

Reality rebalanced itself as you laughed. The only horrors that awaited you were the hangover symptoms sure to greet you in the morning. This guy was just some starving artist who stopped by for a drink after the show, same as you and your friends.

“I liked your show. I’m not surprised it sold out as fast as it did,” the stranger said.

You don’t deign to thank him in the same way he avoided apologizing for scaring you. Strange to start off a conversation on such a rude foundation, but the polite niceties seem superfluous when judged against this man’s innate intensity.

“What kind of art do you make?” you asked.

The stranger chuckled. When he shook his head, the messy blond locks that framed his face swung momentarily to shield his eyes. The fine strands looked baby soft, almost translucent.

“I’m no artist,” he said.

“Really? If you’re not an artist, why do you go to shows? Usually, the only people who come to these sorts of things are other artists or friends of the artist. I’m not a big name, so it’s not like I draw a crowd.”

“I don’t. I just walked into yours because it was there. First time I’ve ever done that.”

“Ah, so when you say it was good, you mean it was better than the alternative, which is nothing,” you teased.

“No. Your art moved me.”

Such simple words. Such black eyes. They could suck you in. Yet the sensation of falling was almost pleasant, a kind of indulgence that raised goosepimples up and down your arms.

“What…what about it moved you?” you croaked.

The man shrugged. “I don’t know anything about art, remember? I can’t explain it.”

“Nah, I’m sure you can. All theory does is teach people to lie about what they’re seeing. I mean, I love reading theory to spark ideas or challenge my preconceived notions, but I think it’s more helpful in the creation of art than in the understanding of it. You go to school, and they teach you how to contextualize everything within these discourses, even if they don’t actually apply to what you’re looking at. As if art isn’t a visual medium. All you need to understand it is to look. Or, well, at least that’s what I think.”

Another half-assed dissertation on your work would send you to the hospital. This man claimed to be moved by your art, and you wanted to know what he felt, not what sounded impressive to the ear.

“How to explain it? Looking at your paintings, those spiral things especially, it’s like they sucked me in. But, rather than pulling me outside of myself, they pushed me back into myself, like the block hole was inside me, and so to look at your art was to look at myself. Does that make sense? I never liked art growing up. I always thought it was stupid the way artists tried to make something beautiful when nothing they make could ever beat a sunrise. The world is beautiful, I thought, but humans? We’re too ugly, too corrupted to create something truly beautiful. Looking at your art, I don’t see beauty, but I do see myself, every ugly part, and there’s something beautiful in that. Almost.”

As he spoke, the stranger met your gaze with unflinching eyes. You swore they swirled with all the same power and loss as your paintings. True to his words, they sucked you into their depths.

“See, you don’t need to learn theory to talk about art. Actually, you kind of stumbled into centuries long discourses about the possibilities and purposes of representation in art. And, while I’m not going to agree that aesthetics don’t matter or that beauty is impossible – because, hello, I am an artist – I know exactly what you mean. There’s a theory called the Formulation Theory of Expression that basically just says art is an outward expression of the artist’s inward feelings. When I paint, it’s because there’s something inside me that I don’t understand, and when I put it on the canvas or whatever…I can look at it outside myself. And then, I feel like I can conquer it or at least live with it.”

At some point while you spoke, you wrapped your arms around yourself, rubbing at chilled flesh. The cramped alley created a wind tunnel effect, directing all the elements straight at your lightly clothed body. The stranger’s eyes tracked your shiver.

“You’re cold.”

“Yeah, I think it might storm. This wind is weird,” you said.

“I don’t have a jacket to give you…” the stranger frowned.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

“How about we take a walk? It’ll be warmer if we keep moving,” he offered.

You glanced back at the bar where your friends remained happily ensconced. Through the entrance, you could see Shiyuri flirt with the bartender. The bar shaded in yellows and reds looked toasty, the simplest way to warm up. Your stranger, on the other hand, looked cold and somehow otherworldly, like he could never join your friends for a pint and a chat, like he was meant to wander the streets like a wraith until the sun rose and dissolved him back into the sea.

“Why not? So long as we don’t go too far,” you agreed.

With an illicit thrum of adventure, like you were doing something naughty, you took the stranger’s icy hand in yours and led him onto the main drag. You debated whether to head to Inokashira Park to enjoy the moonlight on the water or the opposite direction to stroll the shopping on Sun Road before deciding on the latter. The man let you drag him along without complaint.

You set a steady pace until you reached the shelter of Sun Road. Glass paneling overhead blocked out the moon and shielded you from the worst of the elements. Soon, you were warm, blood pumping strongly in your veins, but you didn’t let go of the man’s hand as his fingers stayed chilly in your grip.

An hour passed without you accounting for it. Childhood memories of Osaka and the free-wheeling college years you spent in Pasadena, venturing into L.A. as the mood struck, provided a benchmark against which you judged all cities. Since moving to Tokyo six years back, you were sure of one thing. You loved Tokyo with your whole heart.

You loved its tall buildings, the character of those varied architectural styles that never sought unity with one another and made for such an ugly skyline. You loved that it made a wonderland of the skies, climbing up, up, up as the city grew ever taller, loved that it made a playground of the underground, carving shops and restaurants out of earth and rock to accompany the subway system. You loved its people, who set the speed and schedule of the city. All that life happening just outside your door if you only thought to look.

It was a rare treat to visit Musashino as you sometimes went months without leaving your district, let alone Tokyo, and as you wandered about, you considered that your love just might extend to Tokyo’s network of satellite cities, too, thankful for the supportive flavor they added to the place you had made your chosen home.

Your eyes feasted on the vibrancy around you: the messy mix of old and new, high and low – a fortune teller’s impromptu stand blocking the entrance to a Krispy Kreme, a high fashion boutique on one side of the road and a hundred yen shop on the other. The smell of fresh bread wafted from a bakery only to be replaced by the heady scent of perfume from a department store a few steps beyond. A few shops had yet to take down their Golden Week decorations, and colorful carp streamers gaped with dumb open mouths down from those storefronts.

As you walked, the conversation flowed easily between you both. You would talk for a few minutes about aesthetics, and then he would return with a dazzling compliment, delivered as if it were the merest trifle, about how your art made him feel seen for the first time in so very long. He told you about old friends, who had insisted they understood him just because they were always looking but in reality, only saw the afterimage of the man he once was and refused to see the shell in front of them. You told him how you never felt less seen than after someone looked at your work, the contradiction and frustration of failing to communicate when you poured your soul into each piece.

You never talked like this with your friends. They would have called you pretentious, a death knell in your world, and scolded you for not appreciating the honor of even having an audience in the first place. The stranger, on the other hand, showed no signs of irritation as you unburdened yourself, your steps growing lighter and lighter with each confession.

Several times, you almost walked right into a trash can or utility pole. The stranger jerked you out of the way each time. After another near accident, your body bumped into his and stayed there, glued to his side where it was safest.

The many sights of the shopping distract were distracting enough, but it was the man’s eyes that increasingly tripped you up. They were all-consuming as they listened so intently to your every word. Yes, listened! His eyes rather than his ears received what you said. So black, they were almost a void. You wondered how you might capture them on paper. Charcoal was the obvious choice, but you doubted you would be able to render the nuances, the momentary flecks of light that warmed his haunted face and made the contrasting darkness all the more harrowing. Cold sweat collected in the creases of your arms if you stared into them too long.

“You know, I’m not always this moody,” you said, having just finished angstily opining against your audience. “I get anxious about showing my work, but on a normal day, I’m a lot of fun.”

“Oh, yeah?” the man hummed.

“Yes, very fun and bright,” you said cheerfully as if to prove yourself. “I’m a super fun friend to have because I love to go out and try new things, see shows, visit new places. And, I always have a ton of energy because I drink too much coffee, which now that I say it, doesn’t sound like a positive, but I swear it is. And, I am a great conversationalist, which…that one you already know.”

The ghostly facsimile of a smile brightened the stranger’s face as he said, “Well, I’m sold. You sound like a fun friend to have.”

“And you? Your turn to pitch me.”

“Pitch you?’

“Yeah, you now wanna be my friend, so you’ve gotta convince me that I want to be friends with you, too?” you teased.

“Your friend, huh? I guess that depends. Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked.

Thoughts of the jazz musician you’d been seeing made you hesitate. You thought of his fingers, so nimble as they danced across piano keys, his smile – cool and remote and the right kind of unattainable to make your heart race –, and his deep bass rumble when he got excited about music. You liked him, maybe enough to consider making him your boyfriend, but neither of you had broached the topic yet, and left in the no man’s land of situationships, you had no loyalties to betray.

Until now, you had balanced precariously on the line between friendly and flirtatious with this stranger, not entirely sure which direction you ought to tip. Despite his dismissal of aesthetics, the man’s face was certainly aesthetically appealing. Not merely handsome, but arresting, the kind of face you could stare at for hours. And, when he spoke about your art, your tummy buzzed with a feeling not so different from infatuation.

So, you answered honestly.

“Not really.”

The stranger nodded, once again quirking his lips into something that almost passed as a smile but didn’t penetrate his eyes.

“Well, what’s there to say about me? I have err, security, money, and time? I work from home doing IT stuff, so I set my own schedule,” he said, and then grew quiet for several long beats as he struggled to come up with more. “I…am a good driver. I have a license to drive cars and motorbikes.”

“Well, that does sound fun. I don’t have a license,” you giggled, and then you knocked your shoulder into his. “Come on, you’re supposed to be selling yourself to me. Tell me that you’re the funniest guy in every room or something.”

“I’m not.”

“Well, yeah, but that’s not the point. This dark and mysterious act is hot and all, but I want to know what you’re like on like a Wednesday afternoon not just on a Friday night when you’re brooding outside bars,” you said.

“I used to be fun,” the man conceded. “I was somehow always the leader in this friend group I had as a kid. People just looked to me. And I had all these dreams and ideas and the ambition to see them out. I was always reaching for something, and my friends were right there with me.”

“What changed?”

“My family died.”

“Oh my God!”

Stunned by the barefaced admission, you dropped his hand for a moment and then hurried to relace your fingers with his. Every time you compared him in your mind to a ghost or wraith or vampire returned to you. He wasn’t some dead thing but the very opposite, startlingly and devastatingly alive despite his loss.

“I’m so sorry,” you rushed to say. “For your loss I mean, and for all those jokes. I didn’t mean to be such an asshole.”

“It’s okay. It’s been over ten years now since my sister died, so I’m used to living with it. I figured you would understand after looking at your paintings. I could tell you’ve lost people, too,” he said.

“Not really, actually. I’ve only lost a grandmother I wasn’t that close to,” you admitted.

He came to a halt, right in the center of the sidewalk and studied you. A generator, in the alley behind his back, whirred loudly. When you looked at him, the darkness of the alley seemed to reach forward as if to swallow him up.

“I don’t understand. Your art has so much pain in it. Grief.”

“It does in a way. When I was a kid, I went through this – and I’m so sorry, this is so awfully morbid after what you just said about your sister – but I went through this obsession with corpses. I would beg my mom to take me to cemeteries everywhere we went. We actually visited the one up ahead at Gesso-ji Temple once. I wasn’t obsessed with death but the corpse itself. I’ve always been fascinated by abjection, the revulsion we feel at something that was once the self, transformed into the other. It’s in most of my works, this interrogation of what is that which is no longer us. How much of the self is left in the corpse? It must not be much based on the way we react to them. Anyway, I guess I have this perversity in me. I can’t forget that everything ends even when I’m happiest. Especially then. So, I find myself mourning people that are still there. It’s kind of sick when you think about it,” you said.

Maybe that morbidity explained your love of Tokyo. A city on the verge. One seismic shift, and then, collapse. The Tokyo Skytree would fall, devastation, evacuation. An ending both symbolic and true. But until that day, it shone brighter than anywhere else, glowing like a beacon for whatever astronauts peered down from space.

Engrossed by you as if you yourself were a work of precious art, the stranger continued walking without once looking away from your face.

“That’s smart,” he said finally. “I wish I’d known to mourn people while I still could. I would have appreciated them more. Kept them safe.”

Persistent buzzing from your pocket reminded you that you were hardly appreciating your own friends. They probably thought you’d fallen in the toilet at this point. You asked the man if he minded and fished out your phone. There were four missed calls and ten unread messages. You skipped reading any as you could imagine well enough what your friends wanted and dialed Kii.

“Hey, sorry about that,” you said when she answered.

“Where are you? We wanna head home, and the subway’s gonna close in an hour.”

“I needed some fresh air and ended up taking a walk. Didn’t realize how long it’s been. If you give me twenty minutes, I can come back with you guys.”

“Well, you better. Don’t forget you’re paying!” Kii cheered.

As you chatted, the man loomed over your shoulder, or loomed wasn’t quite right. He didn’t have that tall, physically intimidating presence some men had. His stillness, however, was eerie, his ability to stand patiently as you made plans without fiddling with his own phone or scratching a single itch. The only motion he indulged was scanning his surroundings, dark eyes missing nothing.

“Sorry about that, but I have to get back. Walk me?” you asked.

The man hooked his elbow through yours this time, and you walked arm in arm back to the bar. He kept you busy with questions about how you learned to paint, your next collection, your hopes for your career. After hearing about his family, his reticence no longer struck you as weird, and you appreciated his desire to simply listen.

Exiting Sun Road, the night returned in full force. The cityscape was a living thing, loud with sighing exhaust pipes and gurgling streams overheard as you crossed over storm drains. You made sure to appreciate every moment of it.

Somehow, the hurried walk back felt longer than the leisurely, initial stroll from the bar. Time froze and then sped up when you talked to this strange man, but too soon, you were back. Sounds of your friends’ good cheer trickled from the bar.

“Well, I’ve gotta get back to my friends. Thanks for keeping me warm,” you said.

Once more, the stranger’s mouth moved, corners curling up, but this time, even though the air was still, you shuddered with your whole body. You had the strangest impression that he didn’t want to let you go. That he wouldn’t let you go.

This figment of your overactive imagination passed quickly as he merely nodded.

“I’ll be on the lookout for your next show, then. It was fun,” he said.

“Fun? You? In that case, why wait? Let me give you my number, and we can grab a drink sometime.”

You typed your number into his phone without scrutinizing the spontaneous decision beyond the basics that he was hot and his hand fit well in yours. He may not have been your usual type – not an artist, no messy bun, not a single name drop to Heidegger the entire conversation – but he was attractive in a midnight kind of way, and he saw something in your art that you wanted to see for yourself.

Watching his retreating back, you were struck by the thought that he might be what you had been looking for all this time.

“Hey, wait a second!” you called after him. “I just realized, you know my name, but I don’t know yours!”

“Sangawa Manaomi,” the man answered quickly. “But my friends call me Mikey.”

‘Well, friend, Mikey it is then!”

You would be waiting for his call.

#tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader smut #tokyorev smut #mikey sano #manjiro sano #mikey smut #mikey x reader #mikey x reader smut

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youareiron-andyouarestrong · 1 year ago

Note

Followed the breadcrumb of snippets back to the original prompt - they’re all such a treat to read!

May I request 🧡 for rebelcaptain, please, if it’s not already in your queue?

🧡 kissing in bed / lazy kiss / cuddling

Cassian is slow to wake in the morning, which surprises Jyn. She usually the first one up, rising with whatever the dawn is, but Cassian will roll over, grumbling, it's not time yet, santos, mujer--

She suspects it's because he keeps spy hours, nearly nocturnal some missions. Cassian works best at night, which is almost a shame, if only because she loves to see him in the morning.

The morning light loves Cassian, pooling over the planes of his face, lending gold to the hollows of his cheeks, gilding the stubble that appears on his face after a long night, no matter how meticulously he shaves in the morning. Jyn rather likes it, likes the rough rasp of it on her cheeks. Like now, for instance.

His cheeks are rough as she scatters kisses across them, the fine, sharp lines of his cheekbones, his jaw. The place where his pulse beats, which she gives the gentlest bite. But she's not in the mood for teeth (not right now, they'll get to that later), so she moves on, to the soft place under his ear, his earlobe. The very hinge of his jaw.

She can feel him stir under her, wakefulness coming in moments, his barely heard, "Jyn?" as she continues to scatter kisses. The early morning rasp of his voice gives her all kinds of agreeable shivers.

To that end, she leans down, kisses him softly on the mouth, no more than a light press of lips as he enters the waking world fully. Then she smiles as his questioning "hmm?" becomes a satisfied "mmm...." It's exactly the leisurely kind of kiss that Jyn wants to sink into like a hot bath, and they rarely get to indulge in. One of his hands rises to tangle lazily in her hair, angling her so their noses press together more comfortably. His satisfied sound against her mouth sets off sparks in her blood.

Because they have time, at least until someone bangs on the door of their quarters, Jyn doesn't hesitate to take advantage of it. She lets her weight fall on Cassian, pressing his head back against the pillow. She manages to settles herself on top of him, careful to keep most of her weight off his trick hip, and continues to kiss him right into the mattress. This could easily end with their nightclothes scattered across the floor, but alas, they probably would get interrupted just as they get to the good stuff. So she pulls back gently, smiling as Cassian makes a faint noise of complaint as their lips part.

"Come back," he murmurs, the sleep rough drag of his voice practically a caress in and of itself. "I'm not done kissing you yet."

She makes herself resist stealing one more. That's why she's such a good thief. "We can always come back to it," she teases. "Later. When your tin can droid isn't going to knock down the door."

"Kay would only do that if he thought I was in danger," Cassian says, even as Jyn gives him an unimpressed look. "Alright, I know, it doesn't take much with him."

"No, it doesn't," Jyn agrees, and indulges them both with one more kiss to his upper lip. "But...we have that training for the new recruits to get to, after mess hall. Maybe during the dinner break? I'll find us a spot."

"I'll take you up on that," Cassian murmurs, and Jyn savors how the morning light limns his dearest, most beloved face.

#replies #anon good sir #star wars #rogue one #rebelcaptain #jyn x cassian #otp: and make death proud to take us #my writing #prompts

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fluffy-umbreon · 1 year ago

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Crackship dump! started losing steam, but i loved how these all came out!

Novita is from @askthe-dawsons

Mewna from @absol1177

and Jack is from @vanessa-the-mewtwo

#fluffy post #mew #mewtwo #crackship meme #oc shiver #art #savor the good queue #askthe dawsons #absol1177 #vanessa-the-mewtwo

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jackassbrainrot · 4 months ago

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one last time [dunn x f!reader]

desc: you and ryan break up, but you can't resist having each other one last time

a/n: wasn't planning on writing more fics today (except the hcs I wrote earlier today that are still waiting in my queue) but I had to indulge @mcgpoy, hope it lives up to what you wanted!! angsty sex with ry is truly something

warnings: smut, angst, p in v, crying during sex, unhealthy bad life decisions DO NOT DO THIS

word count: 832

You never thought you'd find yourself in this position. You were standing in your kitchen, holding onto the counter for balance, feeling your heart break into a million pieces after your long term boyfriend told you he was breaking up with you.

"I'm sorry, y/n, but it's for the best." Ryan said, his voice painted with pain. You knew he was right. He was constantly away for filming, risking his life every day for a living, which you had to admit was stressing you out more than you thought it would. It was fine when you were younger, filming silly skits for Bam's skating videos in high school, but the older you got, his injuries and your anxiety were getting worse by the day.

You couldn't speak, your heart beating out of you chest, words lost in the mess of your thoughts, replaying all the memories you'd made over the years. Your eyes were stuck on the floor, unable to meet his, knowing you'd cry if you did.

"Y/n, please say something, you're killing me here." He pleaded, and you knew he meant it.

"You're not the one being broken up with here, Ryan." Your voice came out much harsher than you'd wanted as your eyes finally met his.

"It hurts me too, you know." He says, walking over to lean on the counter next to you. "I didn't want it to end this way. Hell, I didn't want it to end at all."

"Why are you doing this, then?"

"For you."

"Don't fucking say that, Ry." Your eyes fell to the floor again, tears threatening to spill from them any second.

"I'm serious!" He sounds like a child desperately trying to get their angry parents to trust them. "I still love you, y/n, but I'm not good for you."

You knew he was right but you didn't want to accept it. Overflowing with emotions, you turn towards him, pulling him into a kiss. He stills for a moment before kissing you back, unable to resist your touch. "Y/n..." He says your name like a warning before you cut him off. "One last time, Ry. Love me one last time. Please."

He groans into your mouth, losing all of his restraint. He lifts you up onto the counter, standing between your legs, hands holding your thighs. The kiss was desperate, both of you wanting to savor every touch you shared. Your hands were all over him, in his hair, on his arms, his back, his chest, taking in his form, knowing you were never going to touch him like that. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling his body against yours, his hands moving over your body.

He took your shirt off, his mouth moving from your mouth to your neck to bite gently, making sure not to leave marks for the first time since you had to sneak around in high school. His warm lips on your skin made you shiver. You pushed his shirt up, raking your nails over his body, his groan vibrating through you. His hand slipped into your pants, rubbing circles on your clit. A whine leaves your lips as you dig your nails into his arms.

"You're perfect, angel." He says, pulling your pants off and pulling his dick out of his pants. You ignored his words for your own sanity, shifting closer to the edge of the counter to make it easier for him to enter you. You feel every inch of his dick as it slides into you, the feeling so familiar and satisfying.

He fuck you slowly, lovingly, which finally breaks the dam, tears spilling from your eyes freely despite your moans. An array of praises leaves his mouth as he slowly thrusts into you, reaching up to your face as he wipes away your tear. "Relax, sweetheart, let me make you feel good." He whispers directly in your ear, his fingers coming to rub your clit again.

You pull him closer, holding him like you were going to lose him, because you were. You feel heat rising in your stomach, your moans crescendoing. The combined feeling of his skilled fingers and his dick thrusting into you so slowly, passionately, made you feel like youHe's started babbling, his own orgasm nearing by the second.

"Fuck, I love you so much." As those words leave his lips, you cum, hard. He keeps fucking you through your orgasm, biting down on your shoulder before he cums in you. His head falls onto your shoulder, both of you breathing heavy against each other. As you collect yourself, the reality of the situation hits you. You push him away gently as you straighten yourself out.

"I think you should leave, Ryan." You say sternly, but the sadness in you voice slips out.

"Yeah, I think I should." His voice mirrors yours. "Can I kiss you again? Please."

You kiss him one last time, before watching him walk out the door, and your life.

#OH MAN THIS SHIT MADE ME SO SAD FUCK #never make me make ryan sad again #even though he's sliiightly manipulative during the actual sex #but shhhh it's ryan it doesn't count #ryan dunn #ryan dunn x reader #jackass #jackass fanfic #jackass fic #cky #jackass x reader #viva la bam

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greenerteacups · 3 months ago

Note

I've bothered you with an ask before instead of commenting on the fic like a good reader and a normal person would but god! Lionheart is making me FEEL things and have the urge to tell you here like some fool from 2000s romcom playing a boombox outside your window.

I just read both of the yule ball chapters and I was expecting this great chapter, right? And you delivered, but like. In a Frankenstein way, you know. Like a collection of small details that, while complimented the total, It was so special and unique in its own way.

Dumbledore dancing the Macarena. Harry and Hermione dancing together to a muggle song. Dracon teaching Hermione how to waltz. Daphne helping Hermione with makeup and hair and dess (also i would die and/or kill to have Hermione's perspective here. But you are such a great writer that we have a pretty good Idea anyway)

I would not like to be 15 again If you put a gun in my head. But this chapter made me a little nostalgic for my teenage years lol

But after this long prologue, the reason I'm sending you this ask has a name and surname: Daphne Greengrass.

Fandom is great but I always liked It best when looking from the outskirtss f it. I've been a fan of Harry Potter for a decade and half now but never much cared to read FanFiction of it or dip my toes into things that were more fanon territory. You changed that. Now i appreciate Draco more. Now I'm addicted to dramione (not a good thing btw. I'm gonna sue you for brain worms). Now i remember that Theodore Nott and Pansy exist and i'm fond of these little snakes. Now I'm obsessed with your daphne. The girl is a fucking delight. I will admit to you that I don't even remember her from Canon, but aside from the golden 4 she is my favorite. I'm obsessed with her. I don't know how, but you did It.

I'm sorry for the rant, really, but I found Lionheart about 2 months ago and it singlehanded reignited my love for Harry Potter. I'm both eager to catch up and savoring like a dessert. Its my treat before bedtime.

I hope your drinks are always in your preferred temperature. I hope you never have to wait in queue ever again. You are a treasure and I can't thank you enough for the obvious care you put in that story

This is such a wonderful ask, and it absolutely made my morning. You cracked my heart right open, man. My coffee is in fact my preferred temperature, and I'm thinking gratefully of you. <3

#greenteacup asks #lionheart spoilers

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gottawritesomething · 10 months ago

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Pride cometh before the Fall

Rating: Mature

Category: M/F

Pairing: PreOrb Gale/Named Tav

A prideful, brash pre-orb Gale courting an utterly unapologetic Wild Magic Sorcerer. Both Mystra and the Orb come with heavy costs.

Written for a world where this line was true: "If things were different, if we were home, I'd have taken the time to do things properly. To say it all better."

Part 1/? - Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11 (New Chapter coming soon)

Gale desperately wished he were back at his tower. The first couple of hours of the event had gone well. He had swept into the hall —trailed by some twinkling stars for appropriate flair— bowed deeply to the gathered guests, and shaken their hands vigorously. He'd smiled graciously and chuckled pleasantly as he presented himself to the host.

"Your celebration has been elevated to magically new heights, my friend—a privilege you should savor!"

But as the night wore on, the appeal of the evening’s soiree had fallen away. So many hands that required clasping, so many promises to foregather, and the many wizards anxious to make his acquaintance. It was reasonable, their enthusiasm. His own research had kept him somewhat reclusive the last couple of months, but a rather desperate party planner had all but begged him to make an appearance. His arrival had been rewarded by the murmur of excitement that rushed through the crowd at his arrival, not every event was graced by a visit from an archmage and Mystra's Chosen. That had been all fine and well, but by this point in the night, he found himself unengaged. He'd attempted to procure a glass of whiskey from the trio at the bar but was waylaid only steps from his destination by a set of researchers eager to hear his thoughts on their proposed project. He feigned nodding thoughtfully as they went on, thinking back to his own research, tragically abandoned for this event. By the time he resurfaced from his own mind, he caught the name 'Blackstaff Academy' somewhere in the din. He let his eyes wander through the crowd hoping to spot a former classmate or at least a familiar face. Though perhaps not the most gentlemanly desire, Gale had decided he'd greatly prefer to spend the night delighting an alumni with tales of his wayward youth at the prestigious school than hear another mundane research proposal.

⟺

"Are you a bartender full-time, Talia?" asked the wide-eyed half-elf as the group of three buzzed about behind the very ornate, mahogany bar. It was unsurprising—given the hosts—that had been plied with all manner of exotic spirits. It did however require some effort to parse which were actually ingestible.

"No, not typically. Tonight I am here as a favor to a friend. Though I suspect he'd meant it more as a punishment than a favor." Talia's curls had begun to fall into her face as she swirled a warped-looking bottle with one hand. Assessing the misty green liquid inside that seemed to occasionally produce a distorted face before sinking back into the mix.

"I'm shocked that Tyrig knows people who openly call themselves friends of his to begin with." scoffed the half-orc.

"I would say he’s... particular in the way he interacts with people." Talia countered. She would never concede that she took part in any underhanded dealings, especially in the 'City of Splendors'. But a well-informed friend was a good friend to have, and Tyrig happened to be both—a good friend and a knowledgeable one.

Asiruk grumbled something under his breath, but the line of customers had grown too great for any meaningful rebuttal, especially given that half of the queue was there to complain. A few proper drink orders alongside some grousing of unfilled cups and the flow of attendees had slowed enough for the trio to resume their chatting.

"You mentioned earlier that this was a punishment, but you seem excellent with the customers," Jilnoa recalled, leaning both arms on the bar as she peered curiously at her. Talia didn't know the girl outright. Most of Tyrig's associates had gruff interiors and exteriors, but the girl seemed to suffer neither. Talia had not been aware that they'd be working alongside locals for tonight. The half-elf had been a veritable fountain of questions all night, but she'd also been very sweet and quick on the mixing station, so, the least Talia could do was answer a few questions, not that her opinions took much prompting.

"Mostly because Tyrig uses my interactions with wizards as…entertainment."

The younger girl looked puzzled, seeming hesitant to pry further. "But aren't you... a wizard? I thought I saw you casting earlier? Are you a cleric?"

“Nope!" The half-orc clapped Talia's shoulder before leaning towards Jilnoa conspiratorially, squinting his eyes for additional dramatic effect. "Talia here is a sorcerer, but one of those wild ones. Very spooky, very tempermental, explosively dangerous even. You look at her the wrong way and she might turn you into a duck! Most folks are rightfully frightened of that lot," Jilnoa’s eyes widened and she briefly looked as though she was considering making a dash for the exit.

Talia scoffed, shooting Asiruk a pointed glare.

“Thank you for the introductory course, Asiruk. I do appreciate you spreading propaganda whenever possible.” She turned back to Jilnoa. “In short, I like to think I practice wizardry as more of a hobby, but I am a sorcerer full-time. You are, of course, in no danger from me. Part of why I pursued an education was to better control magic surges. Though if I was entirely honest with you, my stint at Blackstaff Academy was distinctly shorter than most who attend.”

“Did they expel you when they found out that you were a sorcerer?” Jilnoa asked, her eyes had reached frankly dangerous levels of wide.

Talia chuckled to herself. “Nothing that controversial. It was more that you tend to finish classes very quickly when you already know how to cast the spell they’re teaching. Though I suspect they were not sorry to see me go; I was somewhat prone to spirited debates with my professors and classmates.”

“I knew it; I knew I knew you from somewhere!” The trio turned towards the source of the outburst. A young man with sandy blond hair and a self-satisfied smirk had sauntered over and placed a hand firmly on the bar. “Earned a little nickname if I recall. The Chaos Conjurer, wasn't it?" The young man paused as if waiting for Talia's retort but hastily cut in as she opened her mouth to respond. "You were in my class, as I am sure you remember. I am doing quite well for myself. In fact, there is talk of an apprenticeship with the Blackstaff himself." He eyed the drinks in her hands. "But glad to see you’re working, at least.” He turned to Jilnoa and Asiruk. “Word on the campus was you could flip a gold on if she’d make the curve or blow up her own books. When they managed to get her to attend, that is.” The smug grin had seemingly become etched into his face permanently, as he turned back to Talia expectantly.

“Yes, I remember you. Caspian, right? However, where your memory is failing you is I wasn’t in your class; I was your TA. And honestly, if MY memory serves, based on your quiz scores you really shouldn’t be here tonight…you should be studying. Gods knows you didn’t get into school on your ability. I believe that the Silverfire library was donated by your family, correct?” She didn’t wait for him to respond. “And didn't construction on that library begin almost immediately after what would have been of your first year of secondary school?" She punctuated the biting comment with a smile. "Do let me know if you need tutoring..."

At this, the smirk briefly slipped from the man’s features before a forced version of it returned. “Always pleasant to see you, Talia.” With that, he turned on his heels and disappeared into the crowd.

In the lingering silence that followed, Asiruk slapped his hands together appreciatively. “See? Tyrig would have killed to see that."

⟺

Gale felt a small amount of shame at his disinterest in the researcher's proposed project. Maybe if they had caught him earlier in the evening, or perhaps if they had completed their pitch sooner, his attention would have held. To his credit, he was certain they hadn’t noticed that he’d not contributed to the conversation in a decidedly long time. At present, he was vastly more interested in eavesdropping on the three individuals attending the bar. Not that an archmage would ever eavesdrop, Gale assured himself. Besides, it wasn’t as though they were attempting to converse in any kind of hushed manner. He suspected they were relying upon most attendee’s general disinterest in the staff, which, to be fair, seemed to have worked before his notice.

He had pinpointed the source of the discussion of Blackstaff to a tall half-elf woman. She spoke fast and seemed to move faster; her darkened copper curls pinned somewhat haphazardly to the top of her head. A loose strand occasionally escaped from the updo, falling across her hazel eyes. She expertly wove between the two others behind the bar, flashing a smile and a laugh to the patrons as she served them. Much to the delight of many of the customers.

Before Gale could inquire about her connection to Blackstaff, a young man strutted between them to speak to the woman. Though ‘speak’ was a generous word for what that lad had attempted. Gale shook his head ruefully; he was especially aware of how a young man's pride could lead them into churning waters. He certainly did not envy the apprentice wizard as the half-elf turned her full attention to him. Her eyes held a potent intensity he suspected felt a bit like being boiled from the inside out. Despite the fire of her gaze, her response came out collected and polite. An onlooker out of earshot could have presumed she was offering helpful advice to a lost tourist. Fortunately for Gale, he was not out of earshot. As she thoroughly disemboweled the young mage, Gale glanced down at his robes to obscure the slight smile he felt was inappropriate for a man of his distinction.

A few moments after the sandy-haired lad had slunk away, he heard the woman sigh.“I think that may have been uncalled for…” she said, smoothing back some of the wispy hairs from her face.

“I think it was exactly called for.” Her half-orc companion offered.

“I can’t even imagine what school was like. Were they all like that?” The younger half-elf queried. She received a laugh in response.

“Ha, hardly ever so openly adversarial. Most wizard hostilities feature a quill and a strongly worded missive and I was usually very successful in navigating those interactions. But in cases like Caspian, sometimes they need a little pushback; it's good for them.” The woman smiled with surprising warmth despite her words, as though scolding a beloved but misbehaving pet.

“Though I do wonder what got into him, he never spoke to me like that in class. Or at all come to think of it. Something about these events brings out the worst in them. Most of my arguments arose from a difference in perspective when it came to magic. Not interpersonal issues.”

Before she could continue, another line of customers had materialized and they were back to their frantic service.

Gale wondered if asking for the whiskey he had sought earlier would draw the tall woman’s ire. He had all but given up on the pretense of listening to the researchers, but they'd seemed to have given up on the pretense that he was involved in their conversation. They had become occupied with arguing bitterly amongst themselves about ethical sources of dragon remains, so Gale turned his full attention to the bar staff with amusement.

“Miss, I can’t taste the notes of gentle tannins in my wine.” a woman complained through heavily lidded eyes.

“I'm afraid that can happen after eight glasses. Very sorry, ma'am.” The drunk woman nodded sagely as the tall half-elf poured water into a wine glass. She tapped the side until its color resembled a rich red and placed it carefully in front of the woman. Gale found himself quietly impressed at her management of the increasingly belligerent patrons.

“Talia, this man is asking for you!” Now Gale had a name with which to flag her down. He was endlessly curious about her time at Blackstaff and wished to parse and perhaps challenge her misconceptions of wizards. The tail end of the conversation he’d heard suggested that she’d worked at the academy at least briefly, and the way she had gone on to discuss ‘wizards’ as a group indicated she did not consider herself one. He couldn’t think of anyone working at Blackstaff who wasn’t a wizard, and Gale thought he knew the names of most of the faculty. Perhaps her stint had been during the semester when the school had cut back on class sizes. The school had significantly downsized for a time while one of the buildings was undergoing significant repairs in the wake of an "incident." Rumors had abounded, one suggesting some sort of laboratory had exploded.

“Sir, I apologize, but I will have to decline your dinner invitation. The woman at the end of the bar has already proposed marriage so I’m afraid your offer is outmatched.” Talia was smiling brightly as she waved the man away. Gale chuckled; he’d also been on the receiving end of his colleague's more lascivious behaviors that tended to manifest toward the end of the night. The line had again waned and he made his way over leaning onto the bar, awaiting an opportunity to introduce himself.

“So your issue with wizards…?” The younger woman asked inquisitively, putting words to Gale’s own question.

“Ah yes, typically I know how to manage them. Most wizards you meet will attempt to either impress you or belittle you. Sometimes, if they’re feeling ambitious, they'll attempt both. Not to say some ego isn't warranted. The Weave allows you to pull the barest figments of imagination and breathe life into them, giving them a beating heart and legs to run with. Actually my most frequent complaint coming out of interactions with wizards is a devastating lack of creativity in application. Engaging with magic is such a beautiful experience but most that I’ve met boil it down to the barest bones and pick it apart, attempting to manufacture something strict when it is meant to flow organically. The Weave is fluid and solid, tangible and not, to imply there is one correct approach is such a limiting way to cast. Worst of all to me, most refuse to use magic for fun. I’m not sure if perhaps a requirement of being a wizard is a disdain for fun but it certainly feels like it.”

Talia sighed again pressing her hip against the counter as she toyed with a glass. Her fingers graced the rim as she set the cup down again. Frost bloomed everywhere glass had met skin, each patch spreading delicately and tangling with each other to for intricate designs in the frost. The icy coating began creeping down onto the wood below. With a secondary smaller flash, a minuscule rain cloud sprouted above the drink, rained its contents into the glass, and dissipated.

Gale’s first instinct was to interject. This woman, this Talia, was being incredibly presumptuous. Furthermore, if she was indeed not a wizard, then who was she to critique their time-honored traditions? Worst of all, the familiarity with which she spoke about The Weave —about Mystra— set him on edge. She knew so little of what it was to know The Weave as intimately as he, so she hardly seemed qualified to speak on Her. He took in a breath, calming himself. He would gently correct her, but first, he had to deliberate upon his phrasing to ensure this discourse continued in a more dignified manner. He smoothed his hair down and took another deep breath. She was entitled to her opinion however misinformed, and if he was being candid he’d also felt some frustration at the resistance to the inertia of progress displayed by his colleagues. The more he considered her words, the more the desire to converse with her about her perspective grew.

“It seems to be slowing down, might be able to clean up early.” the half-orc said, his relief evident in his tone. The woman winced slightly as if he'd spoken a curse,

“I think the calm before the storm would be more apt, unfortunately. As freely as the drinks have flowed tonight, I'd suspect the resulting candor will lead to more arguments." She scanned the room. “And I see that Professor Thimbleshon is here, as is Professor Finasta. They could actually come to blows–Which I would be all right with–I am still a bit sore about an assessment he gave me after we got into an argument about Alchemical Casting. He tried to argue that it requires a physical application prior to casting when everyone knows…”. She stopped as she noticed that her companion’s eyes had begun to glaze over. “Point is: he’s a bit of a blowhard," before adding "worse still, an inaccurate blowhard.”

Gale snorted inelegantly and rather louder than he’d intended. He’d also had a similar disagreement with a book that Finasta had published and had written them to say so.

Three heads swiveled to look at him. Hazel eyes locked to his. Now under the full power of her gaze, he found himself surprised by how expressive her eyes were. Her mouth barely moved, but he watched a swirl of emotions pass through her eyes. They shifted too fast for him to parse them in time, but settled on a cautious, curious, and certainly sizing him up. Her companions, however, remained consistent in their response. The younger half-elf, whose name was stitched into her collar, read— Jilnoa —had a shy, bashful smile as she looked at him. She touched her hair as if to neaten it. (Gale had seen her aiming a similar smile towards Talia for most of the night). The half-orc looked on in anticipation, glancing between Gale and Talia like he expected one of them to take a swing.

Talia cocked her head and smiled. “I wasn't aware we had an additional participant in our conversation. May I inquire how long you've been abreast of our discussion?”

Gale realized he didn’t have a good answer prepared for that particular question. He did want to challenge her prejudices, but also realized that it would be disconcerting to admit he’d been eavesdropping. He became increasingly aware of Talia’s eyes on him. Earlier, he’d hypothesized her rapt attention would feel like being cooked. Instead, he found himself feeling frangible and exposed, like she was peering into him and taking notes.

“Long enough to gather that I am anticipated to either highlight my achievements or make jests at your expense and that I am required to dampen any potential mirth in the process.” Despite, or perhaps because of, his sudden nervousness, he sincerely hoped he’d come across in an affable manner. As Talia opened her mouth to respond, Gale cut in once again, fueled by the lengthening silence. “Alas, the precepts of casual discussion mystify me. I beg your pardon for the intrusion.” He wondered if it was possible to make an expeditious exit without further discomfort. As he finished his hasty apology, Talia pressed four fingers to her mouth in a poor attempt to cover a slight smile.

“If you’re amiable to amending your rules to allow for some merriment, I have no objections to hearing your input.” Talia said, still covering her smile. Gale would have breathed an audible sigh of relief had the moment allowed it. She couldn’t be that off-put by his listening in if she was willing to tease him about it.

“While I wouldn’t have used such severe language, I, too, had some unfortunate altercations with Professor Finasta. Nothing that came to blows, I hasten to point out. But certainly lengthy, hostile correspondence.” Gale felt like he had launched from the starting gate. “Why a Professor is permitted to teach from a book he wrote and is nearly two decades out of date is beyond me. His book on the Shadowdale suggests that Doust Sulwood still rules.'"

"Embarrassing." Talia agreed, which earned her a wry grin from Gale.

“You promised I wouldn’t have to listen to any wizard-talk, Talia.” the half-orc groused.

“Fine, then I am taking my break. It is slow enough that you two can handle the stragglers.” Talia tossed her hair and disappeared from behind the bar.

Gale hadn’t heard her cast; yet the space she’d occupied crackled with a strange energy. The half-orc seemed to have located where she'd landed, calling out to her. Gale swiveled on the spot, trying to relocate the woman.

“Oi, we don’t get breaks, get back here. Tyrig is going to be furious.”

“Then remind him I am doing him a favor and I’m not his employee. He should have sent a scrying eye if he wanted to keep a better watch on me.” Talia retorted; she had landed near the door to the terrace.

Gale now had a dozen more questions. He shook his head as he headed for the terrace.

⟺

Talia had been incredibly surprised when he hadn’t formally introduced himself. Not to her specifically, but he certainly had a reputation on first impressions. She, of course, knew of Gale of Waterdeep. If you had even a hint of magical ability and you stepped foot in Waterdeep, you knew of Gale, doubly so if you’d attended Blackstaff. It was nigh-on a miracle they didn't have a statue to him outside every town square, or passed out tourism pamphlets with his face adorning their covers. Child prodigy, mastering high complexity spells by his mid-teens, making archmage by his mid-twenties, the title Chosen of Mystra had soon followed. However, if the rumor mills of Waterdeep's arcane community were to be believed, the title bestowment was merely a formality; whispers at the tower suggested that Mystra had claimed him far, far earlier than that. Talia was perhaps fortunate enough to know fact from fiction.

She'd heard first about Gale through Elminster, who had taken (it would be generous to call it interest) accountability for her penchant for trouble. On occasion, he had advocated for lessened consequences following her wild magic outbursts mostly in an attempt to ensure she continued her schooling. He'd mentioned Gale on one such occasion. Though it was poorly timed, and she was fresh off a threat of expulsion, Elminster had generously answered most questions she asked. The conversation had been brief but even all those years ago she could see that Elminster had quite a soft spot for him. Later she’d also observed that Gale's induction as Chosen had seemed to weigh heavily on him. The rest she’d pieced together herself. When he’d first been mentioned, she'd mulled over, asking Elminster to make an introduction. But before the thought had even solidified, he'd expressed his disapproval at such a notion.

“Young lady, may I remind you of your proclivity for instigation? Frequently at the most discommodious of times. Gale of Waterdeep is a sedulous wizard, and you are uniquely talented in the art of disruption and discontent. I’d fear for the realm and possibly the continent were you two ever to conspire.” He’d tutted at her.

She recalled feeling a little insulted at the insinuation. But there were few individuals whose opinions Talia outright respected and Elminster, unfortunately, was one of them. So she’d left it alone, which for most who knew her would have been considered a miracle. It had been a genuine accident running into Gale, it was unreasonable to believe she'd have had any idea he'd attend tonight. Still, she carried an uneasy feeling that Elminster might manifest out of nowhere to scold her.

The cold air hit her bracingly as she stepped onto the balcony. The sea was always nearby in Waterdeep, so the air always smelled faintly of salt. Gale had caught up to her in no time, a million questions dancing behind his eyes, which were crinkled in an amused kind of squint. She leaned on the railing, she could almost spot the harbor, provided she was willing to crane her neck at an uncomfortable angle for long enough to view it.

She was surprised to find herself intentionally avoiding his gaze. Obviously, his looks had been mentioned in the rumblings and whispers. She’d heard first-years giggle about it; even some faculty looked bashful at its mention. Faerûn was awash with beautiful people, and she'd been fortunate enough to have a wide breadth to pick from for most of her life. She knew people considered her appealing; she’d heard it frequently enough that the compliment felt hollow, no matter how sincerely intended. He was handsome, that she could admit, beautiful even. He’d seemed surprisingly nervous to be caught listening and while he’d recovered smoothly there was a nervousness she’d been curious to see. His eyes held a shocking depth and with a unanticipated earnestness, and if she were just a touch more honest with herself, she’d have accepted that his eyes were her favorite feature.. She couldn’t recall if she’d ever met an earnest wizard. It made her stomach flip uncomfortably in a way she didn’t wish to dissect.

He’d come to lean on the railing beside her, a respectful distance. A heartbeat later, he pushed off the handrail and murmured something in a language she did not recognize. He ran his hands over the vines entangling the railing’s balusters. The more plants climbed from the ground winding up the balcony like snakes, gathering in a great cluster in front of the wizard. The leaves and stems began to shift and pull, twirling around each other. Building atop of each other, their organic shaping discarded for a higher purpose. After a moment of leaves rustling, he stepped away to admire his creation. The plants settled into place, creating an incredibly detailed recreation of the building that now stood behind them. The vines tangled and braided themselves together to create the great columns of the building, the leaves slotted between each other and flattened to create the roofing and floors. Upon closer inspection even the balcony they stood on had been recreated, green newly sprouted vines tenderly wrapped to create the ledge.

As Talia examined the intricacies, she realized he was observing her carefully as if measuring her reaction. Grateful that she'd noticed, she carefully kept her face neutral as she looked over the structure. It was blatantly impressive; she was confident that an attempt to replicate it would take her days. The extent of her plant magic was limited to vines weakly grasping at the ankles of passersbys.

She gently pressed her fingers to the building, curious if he’d used any illusionary magic to assist in its creation. No sooner had she drawn a trail than the structure began to once again unsettle; she withdrew her hand quickly. They both watched as a smattering of delicate buds appeared near where her fingers had met the vine. She wondered briefly if he thought she’d done it intentionally, in some kind of exceedingly hollow attempt to upstage him. But brushed that concern away for the vastly more pressing one that she wasn’t certain what would burst from those buds. Mirroring her own apprehension, the buds remained stubbornly closed. Touching them again seemed an unnecessary risk; instead, she refocused on balancing her feelings. She allowed the fluttering in her stomach to float away on the salty breeze as she breathed out, in tandem the edges of petals began to peek from the buds, slowly opening to reveal small pink flowers. In most circumstances, she would have been disappointed at the mundanity of the flowers, but for tonight she was grateful that her more outlandish results of wild magic had been withheld.

"Extraordinary," Talia glanced up from her flowers, only to meet his twinkling eyes over the top of the structure. Talia had forgotten she was supposed to be talking, only pulling her eyes away fully from the flowers once she was satisfied that they seemed to be of unexplosive variety.

"I believe I recognize a cast of Plant Growth, though I confess to a seed of doubt that you are a druid. I wasn't aware that Blackstaff had expanded its’ hiring practices. As I thought that I was aware of most who graced its hallowed halls."

Talia raised an eyebrow but decided not to reply to that particular discourtesy. “I was working under one of the professors as a teaching assistant and researcher as I finished some classes. I am not, in-fact, a druid; I come by my magic more innately.”

“AH HA, a sorcerer then! I suspected as much; I was curious when you cast, but nary a verbal component was to be found.” He looked positively giddy at the affirmation of his theory before becoming oddly silent and far away, his brow furrowed as if concentrating on an inward search for all the information he knew about sorcerers. “I will admit I haven’t met many sorcerers personally. Of course, everyone knows the infamous ones, but I haven’t had the pleasure of making a personal acquaintance. Though they’ve received quite a reputation at Blackstaff. The squawking of bored wizards suggests that the required repairs to the right wing of Blackstaff tower were from a particularly irate Wild Magic Mage over a grade dispute.” He chortled, shaking his head before returning his gaze to Talia. Where it was Talia’s smirk had returned, it did not take long for the pieces to fall into place. “Surely not…?” he mumbled, lowering his voice.

“It wasn’t over a grade,” Talia added helpfully. At this, Gale quickly turned away, covering his mouth. After a moment, Talia realized he was stifling laughter. A battle he was rapidly losing. Talia follows suit, turning away to give him time to recover or prevent her own bout of laughter she wasn’t sure.

“This I must hear.” Gale managed, the corners of his eyes still wrinkled.

“It is not inaccurate to say it was a matter of difference in opinion, just not on grading. Professor Lornsin had requested my help with a demonstration; she was teaching the class on casting recovery.”

“I know the one.”

“She was insistent that a spell cast after an augmented recovery period were noticeably weaker, so reliance on arcane recovery was ill-advised. Which, as I’m sure you are aware, has been disproven innumerous times; and yet wizards cling to the notions they learned as youths regardless of accuracy. She was not receptive, so I decided a practical demonstration was needed…”

“—and conjured yourself a new window for the south wall?”

“Technically... no? The spell itself went fine, but I was still feeling frustrated, and an errant gesture to punctuate a point and—”

“—and then you blew apart the south wall.”

“And then I blew apart the south wall.”

They both laughed.

“You know, I read an excellent paper on that concept recently; maybe the scroll should find its way to Lornsin’s desk,” Gale said teasingly. “I actually might have it on me presently.” He began rummaging through the outer pockets of his formal robes as Talia watched bemused. “Ah, found it! Here.” No sooner had he handed over the scroll than she glimpsed the title. Talia almost audibly snorted.

"Would you like my autograph? Is that what this is?" He swiped the parchment back. Scanning the authors and no doubt seeing her name nestled between two professorial names. He chuckled, smiling broadly at her.

"Yes actually. Quite a biting rebuttal, I heard there were tears." He materialized an elegant eagle feather quill, which she took from his hands as they both began the cycle of laughing and stifling again. After she straightened, Talia shook her head in disbelief.

"Who keeps published academic retorts in their formal robes?" She was earnestly teasing him now, grinning as she did.

"What if I wanted to get some light reading done as I awaited my drink from a very distracted bar staff?" Before she could answer, their revelries were cut short by the sound of multiple shattering glasses ringing out across the balcony. Talia glanced over her shoulder worriedly, attempting to assess the damage.

“As if by magic... Sounds as if I’m being summoned.” Talia sighed. She glanced at Gale; he looked conflicted. As he noticed her eyes on him again, he straightened up.

“Yes, they sound quite shaken by your absinthe." She groaned, turning her head away to disguise a laugh. "I must insist that you join me for tea at my tower. Please.” He added quickly. At that moment, he seemed to realize that he’d not introduced himself. “Please forgive my lapse in decorum.” He bowed deeply, one hand sweeping out in front of himself in a flourish. “I am Gale of Waterdeep, resident archmage of the City of Splendors. Chosen of Mystra, maestro of mystic arts and unparalleled arcanic ability. I stand ready to assist with the fulfillment of any petition or wish."

He raised himself from the bow, seeking Talia’s eyes. She nodded slowly; this part of Gale she’d expected.

⟺

At the sound of shattering glassware, Gale could feel the interaction coming to a close. He hadn’t gotten his questions answered, nor had he gotten to ask about the mechanics of wild magic and its interactions compared to the serenity of The Weave. Worse still, he’d neglected to introduce himself properly; she must have thought some nebbish wizard had stolen her away, which did explain her rush to leave their private discussion. He was fortunate that he’d demonstrated his prowess of The Weave with the intricacy of the structure he'd created for her. Only to find himself frustrated once again at her tame response. Perhaps she wasn’t aware of the technical talent required to create it so flawlessly and efficiently. Regardless, she was leaving, and the event was ending and this had been the most enjoyable component of the night, and he wished it could continue. Thus a panic-induced invitation had left his mouth and suggested a future meeting. It was somewhat out of character for him to invite a stranger to his tower, let alone after one interaction. She smiled in a way Gale hoped very much was genuine but shook her head.

“I would… but I am not in the city for long, I’m afraid. I am leaving two days after tomorrow.”

“Two days from now would suit me fine if you’re amenable. Plenty of time to neaten up the tower.” An utter lie. The tower was in an absolute state. He cursed himself silently.

Talia tilted her head slightly, considering, her eyes again on him. Gale suddenly felt acutely aware of the cold, like he wasn’t dressed for the weather. She smiled and nodded. With her smile, he felt a warmth battling the cold back. He detailed how to find his tower, gave her a last gracious smile, and thanked her as she headed inside. He stood for a moment, gazing at the building he’d constructed. The flowers from where she had touched the structure waved gently. As he moved closer, he realized that they, too, were buzzing with the strange static she’d left behind when she’d misty-stepped. Gently, he reached out a hand to touch one. The moment his finger had made contact, the flower had belched a small cloud of sparkling mist. As curiosity took hold he prodded the other flowers much to the same effect. Once the mist had settled, the flowers began to shine. Each flower gave off a slight glow visible in the dark night. Likely, it would have been missed had the sun been shining. Carefully and gently, Gale pulled a flower free of the structure and let the rest of the building collapse into a mat of leaves and stems. He examined it closely; the small glow had remained. He smiled to himself and carefully placed the flower into the folds of his robes.

(Next Chapter)>Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11 (New Chapter coming soon)

Interested in one-shots instead? (List of All Current Works)

#baulders gate 3 #gale x tav #gale x oc #gale dekarios #fanfic #baldur's gate fanfiction #bg3 gale #baldurs gate gale #gale of waterdeep #galemance #gale romance

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bubblymiilk-art · 1 year ago

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VERY funny how I'm getting to the end of this queue right as stuff is starting back up again (Read More!!)

Sadly (at least to me), this is all that I had managed to do in the time frame of one school year. College is a new beast in terms of managing motivation, but I still really liked the stuff I did!!

Once again, my habit of going back to 23 to Feel. I'm real proud of the acting I was able to convey. Quad is such a tragic guy :')

The Shadow Fandub came out right before I left for school, and was pleasantly surprised that Ryan ended up doing a similar arc to Quad's. This was also inspired by Quad's moment of Catharsis in an ncct (3 i think?) against Dr Order because he deserved it <3

Lyric pieces are fun, this one is Artificial Heart by Jonathan Coulton. I wanted to have fun with a lineless style, and I think it came out really good!! ohhh J0hn4th4n you have been Ship of Theseus'd

Jack for a club contest piece, I wonder what his life on the tundra was like...

And a bunch of other doodles I managed to get out sporadically through the year

Quad and Blora are attached at the hip to me, if you can't tell. That's not really it but they Go Together so much in my mind it just Makes Sense

Wow look at that wonderful family I hope they aren't narratively doomed to never be together :) But on another note, I loved how all of them turned out. Getting to differentiate between slightly different versions of someone really makes you savor the details.

Some silly Order and Sephiroth doodles, I had realized just how Goofy those two were. Mad scientist/doctor tampering with life and the universe itself. And Sephiroth from Sephiroth is here and has probably been her closest working partner for years.

And sappy gay people because I Live for that shit :] Man drawing HamHel is hell but it was worth it

#cpu kerfuffle #cpuk #and thats the end of the queue!!!#stay tuned for Majestic Kerfuffle stuff in the coming days >:)

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outstandingblue · 2 years ago

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Promises to Keep

Eighteen - Three Little Words

recom!miles quaritch x fem!na'vi oc

What's that thing Wainfleet says all the time? Get some?

cross-posted on ao3 here + wattpad @/beanswolo content warning: explicit language, smut, p in v, fingering, slight cum play (?), alluded breeding kink, miles being rough, teasing, biting, marking, miles almost cums in his pants, blood, mild angst, fluff, cringe word count: 6.3k

Miles was trying to be gentle as he kissed along Jiniraa’s skin, exploring each inch he came in contact with. Her hands explored the expanse of his back, pressing a scratching when he reached sensitive areas of her own body. He was trying to take it slow, but the overwhelming sensations of the bond were making it next to impossible.

The moment Jiniraa released the smallest whimper imaginable, Miles’ self control snapped in two. He wasn’t able to hold back anymore, no matter how much he wanted to savor this moment.

Within an instant, Jiniraa was out of Miles’ lap as he pressed her against the floor of the cave. Her hair splayed out beneath her - she looked like the sun. Bright and warm. An essential part of life - she was essential to his life now, but he didn’t have time to dwell on the emotional sentiments as Jiniraa’s lust seeped through their bond.

Miles’ plank position faltered as her desire mixed with his own. Miles smirked as he slowly traveled down her torso, pressing a sloppy wet kiss at the base of her sternum, “got me losing my strength, babydoll.”

Jiniraa could barely form the words, her rebuttal coming out as breathy pleas for his touch, “please, Miles, I need more.”

Miles nipped at her freshly exposed hip bone, “don’t you worry - I’m just gettin’ started.”

Jiniraa tried to help as Miles slipped the rest of the fabric down her legs, but her excitement and nerves were doing more harm than good, making the task more difficult than it needed to be. Once rid of her flowing pants, Miles traveled back up her legs, beginning at her ankles. Light touches and soft kisses were a juxtaposition to the harsh squeezing and bites as he passed over her knees. As he grew closer to the apex of her thighs, he could smell her arousal. She shifted against the ground in attempts to entice him into doing what she wanted, but there was no need for that. Miles felt like he was already drunk off her pussy without experiencing it yet.

Although she was comfortable with Miles and trusted him wholeheartedly, there was a sense of anxiety growing in the pits of her stomach as he seemed to delay his actions. Her knees began to close as her arms stretched across her chest, attempting to find a sense of modesty under his intense gaze. Settled between her legs, Miles despised her efforts to hide away. He wasn’t pausing because he was repulsed - which was the nagging fear in Jiniraa’s mind - he was pausing to take in the sight of her.

The way her hair was spread beneath her. The way she had already moved to remove her top of her on volition at some point. The way her entire body twitched in excitement as he trailed his index finger along the inside of her thigh. The way her head would roll back and her back arched slightly off the ground, making the dark bruises around the base of her throat more apparent. The connection of their queues that rested across her stomach, outlined by her arm of glowing dots. He loved it all.

The only thing he didn’t like was the way she tried to shy away. Being connected meant he felt all of her emotions - both the good and bad. He felt her shame and anxiety. Since the day they met, Miles was aware of how she struggled with her self worth, but he thought those negative emotions were far behind them. It seems they prevailed. He hoped she would’ve come to learn over time that there was no need to feel apprehensive around him. He loved her for who she was, even if he hadn’t said those three little words yet - hell, he didn’t even know if the Na’vi said shit like that.

With newfound determination, Miles gave himself a new goal: worship Jiniraa for all she was worth. Tonight wouldn’t be about him - it was about them coming together as one. He was used to being selfish with past partners. Now, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t finish, but it certainly wasn’t a priority as he chased his own high.

Miles grabbed Jiniraa by the hips, pulling her closer against him. Her weeping cunt pressed against his own hardened member, trapped under layers of clothing. He teased, “why you shyin’ away?”

Balancing his weight on one arm, Miles bent over Jiniraa’s torso to move closer to her head. Jiniraa’s eyes were entranced by his every move - his single arm wasn’t straining in the slightest, even though he was balancing hundreds of pounds of muscle on the single limb.

Once close enough, Miles hummed again, nudging his nose against Jiniraa’s cheek to move her head as he wished. She completed instantly, but ignored his lingering question. Miles wasn’t going to move - he would hover above her pulse until he got his answer.

Miles almost jumped as Jiniraa’s hand wrapped around the wrist that rested on her hip. He carefully watched her face as she moved the hand where she wanted it to go - where she needed it to go. Painstakingly slow, Jiniraa allowed her knees to fall open to expose her glistening heat to the cool, damp air of the cave. In unison, the pair sucked in a breath as Miles’ fingers made contact with the slick exterior. Miles ran two fingers up the entire length of her slit, trying to familiarize himself with her anatomy.

He cursed as he felt her body clench around nothing, “Jesus Christ, woman.”

Having given up enough control for one evening, Miles took back the reins on the situation as Jiniraa has given his answer. With a glance down, Miles could see how her much smaller hand remained wrapped around his thick wrist as he lazily traced along her slit to tease her a little further. He chuckled, realizing he would have to fight Jiniraa’s iron grip if he tried to retract his hand before she was satisfied.

Jiniraa whimpered, slightly grinding into Miles' hand, “need you.”

“Gotta stretch you out first, baby, can’t go hurtin’ you,” Miles kissed her clavicle, feeling her heart racing in her chest. His voice trailed off, “wouldn’t forgive myself.”

Holding eye contact, Miles ran a single finger up the length of her slit before slowly pressing inside, meeting little resistance as her slick eased the entry. He remained slow, especially as her face twinged in mild discomfort as one of his fingers was the thickness of two of her own. Miles took her pleasurable whimper to continue, beginning to pump the single finger before adding another once her face relaxed.

In order to get a better view of her body, Miles shifted to lean on his one side, forearm stretched around the ground. Reaching three fingers, Jiniraa’s hand left his wrist as she began to arch off the ground, trying to grind down on his fingers in time with his thrust. He wasn’t going to withdraw anytime soon, at least not until he came around his fingers. In a flash, Jiniraa’s newly free hand stretched above her head, blindly tapping around to find Miles.

She could feel that familiar build deep with her stomach. In the few times she experimented and touched herself before, it had never felt like this - never this good or building this quickly.

Miles snickered as Jiniraa’s fingers finally found his own, quickly weaving them together - she was trying to ground herself. Through their bond, Miles could feel her own build affecting his own body. He had yet to take off the makeshift shorts and he deeply regretted it - he was painfully pressed against the rough cloth and unrelenting zipper. Jiniraa seemed to sense his discomfort as he shifted around to find some relief. With her other free hand, Jiniraa tentatively brushed her fingers against the tent in his pants. Now, Miles was never a two-pump chump, but just the feeling of her fingers ghosting over the outline of his cock almost had him cumming in his pants.

“You wanna feel me? Feel my cock?” Miles teased as he shifted his hips out of her reach. Jiniraa pouted, liking the effect such a simple touch had over him, but her thoughts were interrupted as his thumb swiped over her clit while continuing the pumping motion. His fingers began to curl at the apex without slowing down once.

“I can feel you squeezin’ me, baby. Once you cum on my fingers, I’ll fill you up just how you need. How does that sound?”

Jiniraa’s eyes rolled back at his dirty talk - she felt so full as it was with just three of his fingers, she couldn’t imagine being stretched out more, but it was enough to push her over the edge. Her eyes squeezed shut as the orgasm raced throughout her entire body. It was almost too pleasurable and she could barely comprehend what was happening as Miles continued to thrust his fingers into her pulsating body, grinning as she writhed under him. He was so busy trying to catch a glimpse of how her slick managed to saturate his entire wrist that he didn’t see her jaw open before clamping down on the meat of his shoulder. She was trying to ground herself in the moment - the overstimulation became too much and almost rendered her temporarily unable to use her brain. Her fangs penetrated the skin but not too deep. She was able to refrain herself that much, but the blood slowly pooled around the fresh wound.

Jiniraa licked it clean, while muttering an apology, “m’sorry.”

Miles shook his head as he slowly withdrew his fingers, lightly tapping at her spazing cunt, “you cum like that around my cock and there’s gonna be no reason to apologize. Squeezin’ the life outta my fingers, baby.”

Jiniraa nodded as the aftershocks continued to rack through her body. MIles groaned as he licked his fingers clean - her taste was divine. He wanted to bury his face into her, but if he did that he certainly wouldn’t last long enough to actually cum inside her. As Jiniraa continued to twitch along the ground, Miles took the opportunity to finally remove the rest of his clothing, haphazardly throwing it elsewhere. He didn’t care, but it would be a problem later when he tried to find his belt that was tossed into one of the nearby pools.

“Miles..” Jiniraa whispered.

Miles rolled back, carefully moving to rest over Jiniraa’s body. Jiniraa shook as the tip of his cock lightly brushed against the tender and bruised skin of her inner thigh.

Miles mocked her breathlessness, even though he was light headed as well, “what’s that?”

Jiniraa reached down, dancing her fingers along his narrow waist. She couldn’t reach the object of her true desire, but the message got across, “your turn.”

“I appreciate the gesture, but tonight ain’t about me, sweetheart.”

He wouldn’t say it, but if Jiniraa’s hand or mouth came anywhere near his engorged cock, he would be done for. He wasn’t sure if he would blow his load instantly or not, but he wasn’t about to find out - another time.

Jiniraa began to protest, but Miles silenced her with his lips. Harsh and aggressive as spit slowly pooled at the sides of their mouths.

Miles pulled back to sit on his haunches, grabbing one of Jiniraa’s legs to hook it around his hip as her entire body was on display for him. In the dim purplish glow of the cave, her slick glimmered as it dripped down her slit and began to form a small puddle on the ground.

Jiniraa looked down the expanse of her stomach to find MIles on his knees, gently rubbing at her thigh. He looked bigger than usual from this angle. Each curve of his muscled torso and arms were accentuated by the shadows of the cave. His lids were lidded over and pupils blown out.

Traveling down his body, Jiniraa found his cock standing tall and proud. Her mouth instantly watered at the sight of it: the tip was a deep purple, seemingly painfully engorged by this point. It twitched as blood continued to rush to the appendage.

Curved ever so slightly to the left, he was long and thick, even though she didn’t have anyone to compare it to. She’d only heard about her friend’s mates, never having seen a hardened member. She almost laughed - even when her friends would talk about their partner’s equipment - which they surely exaggerated for dramatic effect - came nowhere close to what was waiting for her.

Miles could tell Jiniraa’s mind was beginning to float away as flashes of her memories passed through their bond. He softly slapped the outside of her thigh “you with me?”

“Yes, Miles, I am with you.”

“You ready?”

Jiniraa gulped and nodded, realizing they finally were there. Even though Miles clearly had the capabilities to hurt her in this time of vulnerability, Jiniraa trusted him. He had the strength to kill her with his bare hands, but he would never create any bruise that wasn’t from her pleasure.

Miles tried to steady himself. His hands were shaking as he almost felt like a sixteen year old who was nervous to even palm at his high school sweethearts chest through her shirt. Jiniraa was nervous as well, but it was difficult to differentiate between her own anxieties and Miles. To ease them both, Jinraa tentatively took one hand away from her hip, intertwining their fingers while giving a slight squeeze, enough to encourage him to continue.

Miles snapped back to his usual domineering self, pinning their intertwined fingers to the side of Jiniraa’s head. His other hand continued to squeeze at her flesh, holding her still as he shifted his hips to line himself up. He couldn’t tell what he wanted to watch more - her eyes fluttering closed as she embraced him or how she would suck him in inch by inch.

He settled on her face as a feather light kiss was pressed to the inside of his wrist.

His first thrust was an utter failure, only clipping the rim of her cunt before sliding through her slit. While it wasn’t on purpose, they both revealed in pleasure. Miles groaned when Jiniraa moaned as the head of his cock rubbed along her clit, still sensitive from her previous orgasm.

Miles growled in annoyance. He was tired of delaying this. He couldn’t wait any longer. The frustration took over more than he’d realized as he pressed the entire head in at once. Jiniraa’s eyes rolled back as she whimpered, spine curling off the floor as their torsos touched together.

Miles’ strength faltered as the warmth of her cunt seemed to take over, making his mind go blank. His mouth dropped open in a heavy breath, jaw twitching. Miles wanted nothing more than to press further until their hips met, but he knew it would be too much too quickly.

Through gritted teeth and razor thin restraint, Miles gritted out, “you - you alright?”

Jiniraa nodded, squeezing at their intertwined fingers. Her head lulled around as she tried to process the new sensation.

“Words - I need words, baby.”

Jiniraa matched his semi-annoyed tone as she just wanted to be filled, “yes,” she hissed, “just fuck me.”

Miles slipped forward another inch at her vulgar language. He’d never heard her use English profanity, even when she was pissed off beyond recognition. She was desperate for more.

Mockingly, Miles nodded, “yes ma’am.”

His girth was the hardest to overcome, stretching Jiniraa further than she’d ever been able to achieve on her own. There was a dull ache in her pelvis as he finally settled in. Unknowingly, her vaginal muscles tensed as he pressed forward to the hilt. This time, Miles did collapse on top of her as he tried to suppress the quickly growing orgasm. He needed to move or else he was going to bust, “goddamn.”

He was finally close enough that she could kiss him, trying to distract herself from the ebbing pain as she grew accustomed to his length. He was more than happy to comply, but paused to suck in a breath each time her walls squeezed around him.

“I know you’re still adjustin’ and all, but baby, I gotta move.”

Jiniraa nodded, but quickly corrected herself knowing he would want a verbal response, “please move.”

Miles kissed the corner of her mouth, “since you asked so nicely.”

His thrust started off slow as he carefully studied her face. The movement caused her eyes to clench shut, but he continued as her muscles became more relaxed. Once those sweet little sounds started to spill from her mouth, Miles took it as a sign that he could dial it up a notch. Just because did not mean he lost any depth - he continued to hit that sweet spot deep inside her with every stroke.

Jiniraa gargled between thrusts, her entire body shifting along the ground as the momentum pushed her upwards, “Miles… you - it feels - so good.”

Miles lowly moaned, “cunt is so, so sweet, babydoll. I’m one lucky man. It’s mine, right?”

Jiniraa whined at his possessiveness, “yours.”

Without missing a beat, Miles continued, “sucking me in so good. Doesn’t want me to leave. You want it? You want my cum?” Jiniraa nodded, walls squeezing at the thought of him painting her insides. Miles smirked, “oh ho ho, I felt that. You want me to fill you up? Have you drippin’ when we get back? So much that I need to push it back inside. Gotta keep it where it belongs, yeah?”

Jiniraa released a high-pitched moan, scratching at his back as the familiar pressure began mounting in her lower abdomen. Miles felt it as well, but he was trying his damndest to hold off until she came around him. He needed to feel her cum clenched around his cock.

The dirty talk was working, but not quickly enough. A skilled hand navigated to the juncture of her legs, expertly finding that little bundle of nerves. One swipe and she was already convulsing on the floor. It wouldn’t be long.

Jiniraa felt light headed as everything suddenly was so overwhelming. She was deprived of air as Miles continued to smother and kiss her. Her clit, already swollen from earlier, was being relentlessly circled with a heavy thumb. Her entire body continued to rock in time with his deep thrusts, each time pressing impossibly further into her.

“Miles - I -”

She was unable to finish the sentence before the wave crashed. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. Her limbs wrapped around his body, clinging on as he continued to fuck her through the orgasm. In her moment of overwhelming pleasure, Miles sped up his hips in attempts to trail her as closely as possible. Within seconds, he was unloading into her. Half a dozen pumps of sticky cum lined her walls. His balls continued to tighten as they forced every last drop out, milking him for all he was worth.

With one final thrust, Miles pressed as deep as he could, feeling his cock twitch at the overstimulation as her walls continued to squeeze erratically. Even so, he wasn’t going to pull out anytime soon. No, he would stay deeply settled in the silky warmth. Pulling out now may be too jarring for Jiniraa.

Once her full body twitching finally slowed to a stop, Miles slowly rolled their conjoined bodies over so she laid against his chest. Nether knew it was possible, but Jiniraa slipped further onto his cock before falling limp against his chest. The first bit of cum slipped out, forming a semi-translucent ring around the base of his cock.

“That was -” Jiniraa was too breathless to finish the sentence, burying her face into his neck.

Miles was the same, “yeah.”

After catching their breaths for a minute, Jiniraa traced circles along his bare chest, “the bond is complete now. You are mine and I am yours. Until death.”

Jiniraa licked a beat of sweat off his throat before pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. Miles tensed under her, feeling a rush of blood back to his cock, “you better knock that off before I start fuckin’ you again. This time, I won’t be gentle.”

Jiniraa ignored him as they fell into a peaceful silence. Neither knew how long they stayed there as their breaths fell into tandem. After a while, Jiniraa began to wince in pain as her hips tensed from the position. Miles didn’t want to lift her off, but it was going to happen at some point or another. He slowly sat up, making sure not to jostle Jiniraa as she fought the urge to sleep.

Neither enjoyed the sensation as Miles’ strong arms wrapped around her torso to lift her off his soft cock. While the pressure was gone, Jiniraa suddenly felt empty without him. Her walls constricted, forcing a glob of his cum to slip out of her stretched slit, landing right on his balls. Miles groaned at the sight, forcing himself to look away so he wouldn’t grow hard again.

Jiniraa fell limp against his chest as more of his cum began to slowly seep out, tucking her head into the crook of his neck as she tried to find a comfortable position to rest her exhausted body.

Like before, Miles softly slapped the outer side of her thigh, “c’mon, stay up for just a few more minutes, sweetheart, then you can sleep.”

Jiniraa bashfully whined, “want you to sleep with me.”

Miles' ego soared, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe I just did that.”

Jiniraa half-heartedly swatted his chest, whining as he lifted her off his lap to lay her against the ground. He gently disconnected their queues and suddenly his mind was too quiet without her there. Her hands reached out as he moved away to wet some extra cloth in a nearby pool. His heart tightened in guilt as he seemed to pull away too quickly.

He pressed a kiss to her sweaty hairline, trying to smooth it down, “I’m right here. Just gonna clean you up.”

Jiniraa was unable to pay attention as Miles cleaned the inside of her thighs, rough fingers lightly tracing the outlines of bruises. He muttered small apologies when her face tightened, but it was only semi-sincere. He managed to remain relatively tame with his marking this time. It seemed Jiniraa enjoyed it as well - the bite mark on his shoulder and thin scratches along his back were proof enough.

Miles hesitated for a second as he collected their clothing. He knew they should get dressed, especially in case they were to encounter someone or something, but he just wanted to feel her skin against him. Jiniraa was beginning to grow impatient as he took too long, so he quickly shuffled back, but not before grabbing his revolver to keep it close. It was stupid to throw it so far away in the first place. What would’ve happened if they encountered something as he was balls deep in her? Well for one, Miles would’ve ripped someone to shreds if they saw Jiniraa exposed like that - no one would ever have the opportunity to hear her howls of pleasure or see the way her mouth dropped open in a silent scream.

With lidded eyes, Jiniraa reached out for Miles to settle down next to her, “Ma Miles.”

Miles hummed, “what’s that?”

Her exhaustion was undeniable as her words slowed down, “term of endearment. Fondness.”

Miles hummed again, smoothing down Jiniraa’s hair as she curled into his side. Given the low temperature of the cave, it would’ve been a smarter idea to get redressed, but he was trapped now. There was no way Jiniraa was letting him get up again.

Miles rubbed at her bare skin, hating the way she was slightly shivering, “get some sleep.”

Jiniraa nodded in agreement. She wasn’t going to fight on that one, “you should too. Sleep.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me. Rest.”

Her breath evened out in under five minutes.

●●●

For the fourth time in twenty minutes, Spider began thinking out loud, “where are they? It’s been hours. She promised to be back before dark. Well, it’s almost dark.”

Lyle and Zdinarsk shared a pointed look. They both made their own observations about what the Colonel and Jiniraa were up to, but they wouldn’t say anything. Afterall, Spider was still a child and they were the closest thing he had to parents. He didn’t ever need to have that mental image in his head.

Lyle widened his arms, roughly slapping Spider on the back, “cheer up kid, I’m sure they’re on their way back. Why don’t you go help Mansk?”

Across the clearing, Mansk scowled at the Corporal. He had finally found solace in the preparation of food and there was nothing he despised more than when someone indeed - not even his darling Renia was immune to his neurotic habits when it came to food preparation. He knew better than to snap at Wainfleet as Spider had been fiddling with his knife for the past hour, periodically sneaking away to see if he could locate the Colonel and Jiniraa. Mansk was the sacrificial lamb to keep the boy entertained.

Begrudgingly, Mansk scooted over to make room for the human. Spider instantly began critiquing the way Mansk was fileting the yerik Spider shot earlier - the first attempt to distract the human was Lopez taking him on hunting expedition. Mansk’s eye twitched under his sunglasses each time Spider reiterated how it wasn’t the Na’vi way, but he managed to keep his cool.

Lopez was leaning against a tree trunk, repairing a hole in his vest. To no one in particular, he called out. “So you think they finally fuckin’?”

Zdinarsk shot the tattooed Recom a pointed glare, pointing at the human sitting just a few feet away. She was glad Prager and Ja were out on patrol because without a doubt, Prager and Lopez would’ve begun an explicit discussion about the possible sex life of Jiniraa and their Colonel. Spider’s cheeks flushed hot in embarrassment as he tried to hide away. Lopez shrugged his shoulders as no one responded, muttering something about how Miles was one lucky bastard.

A few miles away, Miles and Jiniraa were slowly waking up. Once Miles realized he accidentally fell asleep in the first place, he instantly snapped up to survey their location. He must’ve failed trying to remain awake and keep watch, but it was too hard as Jiniraa continued to curl further into him. His sudden jolting had Jiniraa stirring awake, but at a much slower pace. She was instantly annoyed, ears pinned slightly back as he pulled her from the wonderful sleep.

Miles apologized, “sorry, sweetheart, didn’t mean to wake ya.”

Jiniraa mumbled something incoherent as she tried to settle back down. Her body was begging to go back to sleep as the soreness began to settle in. She groaned in protest as Miles began to shift away, reaching for his pile of clothes a few feet away. He hastily pulled on the clothing, cursing when he couldn’t find the belt. A thin waist and narrow hips did not agree with standard issued Project Phoenix military pants - his hip bones were on display as the pants instantly sagged at his first step

Jiniraa continued to lay on the ground, having reached over to use his tank top as a makeshift pillow in his absence. She was wide away now as she continued to admire the view of his broad back and shoulders as he navigated the dimly lit cave in search for his belt. Miles cursed, reaching into a shallow pool of water as he finally found his belt, “oh, fuck this.”

Jiniraa grabbed the canteen, taking a few deep gulps of the lukewarm water. While she didn’t want to leave their little bubble, she knew Miles would want to reconvene with the group sooner rather than later, so she may as well start getting herself ready.

She bit her lip as the thoughts of Spider suddenly crashed down upon her conscience - what would he think? Would he approve? Spider had his father’s ability to hold a grudge, so if he was upset with her, she would have to grovel endlessly until he accepted it. There was nothing they could do to change their mating bond, not that either wanted to.

Miles’ soft spot for Jiniraa had increased tenfold over the previous night. As a human, Quaritch had never felt this way for a woman. Not even Paz Soccoro, Spider’s mother, who got pregnant during their stint as fuck buddies. His love for Paz was different, mostly because she was something constant in a time of uncertainty.

But his love for Jiniraa? A whole other level. The softness of her skin, the way her eyes shone in the darkness, the trail of glowing freckles, her little laughs at Spider’s interactions with the other Recoms. All of it. He loved her because she was good. Better than he ever would have deserved, but she still chose him. She chose him because she saw the good Miles had buried deep inside. The chance to do better. She’d given him a reason to be better - for her, for Spider, for his team.

Miles couldn’t help it as he hastily dropped to his knees, pulling Jiniraa flush against his chest. She was slightly startled as she was in the middle of dressing, but reciprocated nonetheless. She melted against him, but her clinging wasn’t nearly as desperate as Miles’ was. He was scared. Scared of how she made him feel - scared because he felt safe enough to just fall asleep next to her. Scared that now he had something to lose.

“Ma Miles, what is wrong? What is it?”

Miles shook his head, not wanting to say anything. There was a tightening in his throat - if he tried to say anything, it would come out choked. Jiniraa didn’t push it any further, not needing their entangled bond to decipher the intense emotion he was feeling as his hands began to shake around her. She remained as calm as possible, slowly stroking at his bare back as she murmured reassurances against his ear.

Miles’ voice was muffled against the skin of her collar bone. Jiniraa tried to pull away so she could hear him better, but Miles grip tightened on her as a sudden shot of fear coursed through his veins. Once again, he mumbled something that was muffled by her skin.

Jiniraa didn’t try to pull back this time as she softly whispered, “what did you say?”

Miles lifted his head from his hiding place to stare into her eyes.

“I said I love you,” Miles declared. Jiniraa recognized the utter devotion and sincerity he held in them as they were glossed over with a thin layer of moisture.

Jiniraa pressed her forehead against Miles. The words didn’t quite make sense to her as it wasn’t a usual part of Na’vi relationships, but she knew they must’ve held weight as Miles struggled to say time until the third try.

“Oel Ngati Kameie, Ma Miles,” Jiniraa whispered back.

Miles laughed, remembering how flustered Spider got a few weeks ago when he asked the kid for a translation, “that your way of sayin’ I love you, huh?”

Jiniraa shook her head, “it means ‘I see you’.”

Miles hummed, not having enough emotional capacity to try and maneuver through the cryptic and riddling complexity of the Na’vi language. He would just imagine that’s what she said.

There was little rush to leave the cave as they slowly gathered the rest of their items. Jiniraa pouted as Miles strapped his tactical vest back on. It probably was a good thing his back wasn’t exposed, but Jiniraa had no way to cover the bruises that painted her skin. At least the bite mark around the roundness of his shoulder was impossible to hide.

“Quit your pouttin’, we gotta head back. Can’t delay any longer,” Miles caressed the side of her face. With a huff, Jiniraa took one last look at her special hiding place before beginning the ascent upwards towards the mouth of the cave. Miles followed closely behind, ready to grab at her waist in case the ground shifted under her and she slipped.

Even though it was beginning to get dark, the light was still blinding as they exited the cave. Jiniraa hissed as she covered her eyes, turning around the shield herself from the sun. Miles rolled his eyes at her dramatics, even though he wanted to do the same thing.

“Call your ikran. It is almost eclipse and we do not have time to climb up again.”

Miles complied, placing two fingers between his lips and whistling as loud as he could. Jiniraa’s ears flattened slightly, not liking how Miles had cheated and used a human-style call for Cupcake. They waited in silence for a few seconds before the powerful flaps of wings could be heard. Cupcake soared down from above, chittering as he was finally reconnected with Miles. Miles grimaced at the dried blood around Cupcake’s jaw, but said nothing of it. He must’ve just gone hunting and it obviously was successful.

Even though their exit of the cave was unrushed, Miles’ anxieties were beginning to build once they were out in the open. He wanted to return to the safety of the group as quickly as possible, only pausing for a moment before shuffling Jiniraa towards the jittery ikran. The flight was rather smooth as the winds were working in their favor for once. Jiniraa would wince every once and a while at the soreness between her legs, but it was nothing a few of Miles' caresses couldn’t fix.

As Miles slid off his ikran, maybe twenty or so yards away from the group’s clearing, he paused Jiniraa in her tracks. “You gotta hold back Spider when we get back - that kid is going to try and slice my balls off.”

Jiniraa rolled her eyes at his graphic description, but there was a real sense of fear behind Miles’ joke. She returned his smirk as she turned away, “you are a big baby.”

Spider was pacing around the fire as Jiniraa and Miles finally broke through the treeline. In an instant, he was all up on her like a crazed mother hen with a rapid fire of questions asking where she was, why it took so long, and if she knew how worried he was.

Miles took a half step in front of Jiniraa, trying to save Jiniraa from the rapid fire questioning, “kid, slow it down.”

Miles' protective step was enough to tell him everything. Spider’s eye twitched as he quickly glanced between the two. In his crazed questioning, he hadn’t seen the bruising that littered Jiniraa’s chest and abdomen. Once he saw the bite mark on Miles’ shoulder, Spider lost it.

“You son of a bitch! You fucking -” Spider cursed, waving a pointed finger at the Colonel. Miles stood there with an amused and cocky expression - it just added fuel to the fire.

Jiniraa was the only one thinking rationally as she tried to diffuse the situation, “Spider, calm down.”

Spider whipped to her, “calm down?! You mated with this piece of fucking-”

Jiniraa’s demand had everyone stop what they were doing. “That’s enough!”

A few of the Recoms snickered at her outburst, but her glare was enough to make their tails go between their legs. Spider huffed through a few breaths, as he continued to glare up at the Colonel. Miles’ lip twitched and everyone knew he was about to make matters a whole lot worse.

To Jiniraa, but loud enough for Spider to hear, Miles murmured, “I told you so.”

Spider unsheathed his blade, swinging it at the Colonel, “you - you fucker.”

Miles had been expecting it, so he jumped back in defense. He didn’t even scrape his pant leg. In a very un-Jiniraa-like fashion, she stepped in front of Miles to stop Spider, but she wasn’t quick enough as Spider accidentally slashed her forearm. Spider was too blinded by his rage to even notice that Jiniraa had moved to protect her mate, but his blade clattered to the ground as he realized what he had done

“I-I’m so sorry, ‘Niraa, really - I didn’t mean-” Spider choked out.

Jiniraa cut him off, trying to suppress her winces, “it’s okay, Spider, really. I’m okay. I know you didn’t mean to.”

Miles was next to Jiniraa instantly to survey her wound, pressing down against it. It wasn’t deep by any means and wouldn’t even need stitches, but in that moment he was back all those weeks ago when she was attacked by viperwolves. All that fear he was so scared about came rushing back. Spider seemed to realize the care the Colonel actually held for Jiniraa as he quickly searched her over.

Miles fought to suppress the urge to scream at Spider for what he had done, but it would’ve made Jiniraa more upset. With his ears pinned flat to his head as he glared at the human, but softened as he saw the way his hands were shaking.

The rest of the Recoms were awkwardly watching from their respective seats. Zdinarsk was prepared to tackle Spider to the ground if needed. Lyle had the same thoughts about the Colonel.

Mansk was the first to speak in the aftermath of the confrontation.

“Dinner is ready,” Mansk called out, hoping it would diffuse the situation. It didn’t, but everyone was about to have the most awkward dinner of their lives.

Next: Nineteen - What's Real?

●●●

so this has so many errors throughout it, but i wanted to post before i started driving back to school in a few hours.

i hope you enjoyed and it wasn't too cringe. ain't been bedded in six months (tmi i'm sorry)

Taglist - let me know if you'd like to be added

@drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed

@oceandeepthirst2

@bolggerist

@mxddymay

@ttreader

@luciddasher

@sofiebstar

@azilove

@fairycaitlin

@graysonmalik2550

@quaritchxx

@dakotali

@lillybbyy

@biggestsimpever191919

@cr1mz0n-wh0r3

@waterborn-phoenix

@violet-19999

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thoughts-with-hailey · 2 months ago

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My Life in Prythian - Chapter Eleven

Faking It

Summary: Azriel and I are now the fake dating trope? Pop off queen.

We all went to settle in around the small tea table near the fire. I moved to settle back into my armchair only to have a pair of big arms wrap around me just before I could sit, hoisting me up and settling me on his lap as Azriel sat in my chair.

Oh, so he really wanted to be extra about this.

Fine, I could do that.

I tossed him a cheeky grin and wiggled deeper into his lap, pressing my ass into him. He let out a small groan as I felt him harden beneath me, then covered it by clearing his throat and glancing towards the table.

On queue three more tea cups and saucers appeared, along with a serving tray for the croissants. Elain, who seemed studiously ignoring us and yet also sending us curious glances every few moments, got to work on setting out the treats and pouring tea. Lucien settled into the sofa near us, looking comfortable and relaxed for once which made my heart swell. He truly was such a good male and he deserved the world. Though I thought he could do much better than Elain, I just liked seeing him happy.

“So you’re from the human world?” he asked, accepting the tea that his mate handed him.

“Yes, though not the human world you were in. Mine is more…populated. More, uhm, advanced?” I tried to explain, unsure how to say it without sounding like I was insulting them.

“Right, the ipad things,” he nodded. “We were watching Nyx the other day and he had his with him. It was interesting to see him matching shapes and letters on the screen. It would have been a useful tool when teaching Feyre to read, I’m sure. Perhaps if we had had one in the Spring Court prior to everything under the mountain, I wouldn’t have been so stressed during the second trial.”

I grinned. Lucien had always been my favorite during the first book with his sass and his witt. Perhaps it was the instant connection us redheads had with each other, that base understanding that we were all a little bit insane in the best way, that had me gravitating towards him.

Elain stepped over, handing both Azriel and I a saucer with tea and a croissant. I nearly groaned at the chocolatey scent wafting up from it, desperate to taste the softness. “Thank you. I’m very excited to try this,” I said politely, pleased it was my last pleasantry I had to suffer before I could shove the thing into my mouth.

Before I could move to take it from the plate, however, Azriel’s large hand snaked out and snatched it. I whipped my head around in time to see him take a large bite, nearly half the croissant, while holding his own out of arms reach.

“Hey!” I glared, instantly setting my tea down and grabbing him by the jaw with little regard to our audience. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

There was no hesitation in me as I held his jaw firm with one hand and used my fingers on the other to pry his lips apart. Determination and love for croissants had me snagging the bite of food directly out of his mouth and shoving it into my own, then quickly wrestling the remainder of my croissant from his hand while chewing hastily. Once I had the other half I shoved that in too, all the while glaring at the croissant thief practically daring him to try and take it from me.

Laughter rang through the room and I glanced over, mouth stuffed full like a chipmunk, to see Lucien looking on with an amused expression.

“You obviously grew up with siblings,” he commented.

“Yeah,” I murmured around my mouthful of food, shooting another glare at Azriel as I grabbed my tea to wash it down.

Azriel only chuckled, looping his arm around my middle and offering his plate to me. “Sorry, you know how I love to see that angry look in your eye. You can have mine too.”

Well, obviously I wasn’t going to say no. Swallowing the remainder of the first one I grabbed his and took a bite. This time I was able to savor the flakey exterior and the perfect ratio of sweet chocolate inside, eliciting a low groan from my throat.

“Elain, these are fantastic,” I complimented, looking over to see her eyeing the two of us closely. “Thank you, truly.”

“I am pleased you like them,” she murmured demurely. “There are plenty more, so no need to fight over them.”

Nodding I situated myself more comfortably in Azriel’s lap, swinging my legs over the arm of the chair and resting my back on the other so I could sprawl out on him, tea in my lap. He adjusted easily enough underneath me, one hand holding his tea cup with the saucer abandoned on the table, the other he placed possessively on my knee as if this was something we did often. Judging by the way Elain’s eyes trained in on the movements, it wasn’t going unnoticed.

“I wasn’t aware the two of you were together,” she said, sipping her tea with all the decorum of a gently bred lady. “I must say that I am pleased to see you looking so happy, Azriel. The number of times I have seen you smile that large can be counted on one hand, and I would still have extra fingers.”

Azriel’s thumb brushed lazy circles over my knee as he nodded, looking at me with an almost sickening amount of adoration in his eyes. “Yeah, it’s a bit new. It’s hard to resist her, though. She’s not only beautiful, she’s funny and smart too.”

I felt my cheeks heat at the compliment, even if it was fake, and rolled my eyes at him. “Complimenting me after trying to steal my croissant, huh? I’ve trained you well. You might just get to sleep in the bed tonight.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lucien’s grin widen and he asked, “Where else would he be sleeping?”

“On the floor, of course. I made him a nice little dog bed on the floor for when he misbehaves. Thankfully he seems to be doing well with our training, as he hasn’t been banished to the floor for a few nights,” I said proudly, patting Azriel’s head.

Lucien barked out another laugh, clearly entertained by us. “Hailey, I think I’m going to like having you around.”

The conversation turned subdued after that and I let Elain go on about her house renovations for a while, only half paying attention as most of my focus was on the fact that I was sitting on Azriel’s lap. The warmth and scent of him surrounded me, my entire body fully away of every point of contact between the two of us and even more so of the generous swell of hardness against the curve of my ass. There was no mistaking that he was just as turned on by this as I was, and that only lead to a cloudy head of lust as I tried not to appear too uninterested in the shade of curtains Elain thought would be best for the drawing room.

Once our tea was empty Azriel and I both abandoned our cups on the table, curling in closer to each other like we actually liked one another. One of his hands tangled in the tips of my unbound hair as I leaned against his shoulder, one of mine curling around his bicep. That was how Cassian found us when he strolled into the library, a grin splitting his face as he took in the scene.

“I thought I smelled croissants,” he laughed, moving in to settle in an open chair and not looking at all shocked at Azriel and I. “I figured where there were croissants, there would be Hailey.”

“Am I that predictable?” I huffed.

“I saw you eat three without even blinking just yesterday,” Azriel murmured, twirling my hair around his finger.

I sent him another glare before focusing my gaze on Cassian. “Was there a particular reason you were looking for me, Cass?”

“I was actually looking for Azriel, and I knew he would be where you would be. Croissants means you, you means Azriel. Simple math really.” He polished off a croissant in one bite before directing his gaze over my shoulder. “Since she has company now, I assume you can leave your stalker tendencies for an hour to accompany me to the Ilyrian camp? We need to deliver a message.”

Something about the way he said it alerted me that this message was probably more of a threat, which pleased me. Whatever was going on at the camp, I was sure they deserved to be threatened. Misogynistic pricks.

Azriel let out a sigh and nodded, like this was some great inconvenience for him. Carefully he shifted me around as he stood, placing me in the chair that suddenly felt way too big without him. I expected him to leave with Cassian then, maybe a quick cheek kiss goodbye, but he surprised me. Grabbing the blanket I favored from the back of the chair, he settled it over me and the tucked it in around me so I was perfectly cocooned in it’s warmth. Then he grabbed another croissant from the basket and put it in my waiting hands before he leaned close.

The warmth of his breath caressed my cheeks as he pressed his forehead to mine, eyes locking on me, and he whispered, “I’ll be back later. Behave yourself while I’m gone, and no more croissants. If you eat any more your stomach is going to hurt, and I’m not going to have you complaining during training tomorrow that you have a belly ache.”

With that he brushed the briefest kiss over my forehead and went to meet Cassian where he was waiting at the door, a smug look on his face. From that far away I couldn’t hear what he said to Azriel but whatever it was it was irritating enough that Azriel whipped out his hand and punched him in the ribs before Cassian could even move to defend himself.

I watched their wings disappear out the door, feeling bereft to be inside the house and out of his presence for the first time in weeks.

The rest of the visit with Elain was just as boring as I figured one would be. Once Azriel and his distractingness was gone I had nothing to entertain me while she went into great detail about the painstakingly slow process of choosing a varnish color for the hardwood floor of their home. Smalltalk had never been my strong point and I nearly fell asleep while I listened to her, certain that if she hadn’t baked me croissants I would’ve feigned illness a long time ago just to escape the room.

When she finally deemed it late and that she was tired of talking about the house, her and Lucien stood with promises on their lips to return another day to get to know me more. Elain, the sweet little empty headed idiot that she is, came to hug me goodbye and I didn’t have the heart to refuse her. I stood and allowed her to pull me in close, where she whispered something in my ear that had the hairs on my neck rising.

“Don’t get too comfortable with him, little liar,” she whispered so quiet I almost didn’t hear her. “I know what happens, and it’s not happily every after for the two of you.”

And with that she turned to her mate with a smile on her face, taking her basket of croissants with her.

#acotar #fanfic #acotar fanfiction #thoughtswithhailey

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vagabondreamer · 2 years ago

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Drunk Drabble

Summary: Mor meets a female at a club, and they immediately get intimate.

Note: I am very drunk rn. If you don't know me, I do these things called drunk drabbles where I drink and then proceed to write fanfic. It is NOT proofread, and not perfect obvi. Minors DNI.

Maybe it was the way she moved – or perhaps it was her constant glancing that triggered the events that followed that night. Mor was at Rita’s, which wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, but the fact that she couldn't keep her eyes off a female was new. Although she danced with a male, she couldn’t help herself when it came to appreciating the female form. So vivacious and curvy, she was entranced once she laid eyes on the mysterious form. Her body reacted in a way that was only natural to her, her pheromones enticing the air around her, but the male behind her had no idea that it wasn’t him that was seducing her. She danced around him as if he was the one turning her on, but she couldn’t help herself. The female was beautiful - she hadn’t seen such beauty in years – hell, it had been such a long time she couldn’t fathom what would happen if she didn’t approach her. Smoothly she made her way to the female that couldn’t stop moving her body.

“Hey there beautiful,” Mor spoke confidently. It wasn’t much, but it made her intentions known that she was talking to one person and one person only. The female turned her attention to the stunning blonde.

“Hi,” she replied. It wasn’t that she was necessarily shy, but her body was entranced to the music that played. Mor matched her rhythm, swerving and dipping at every right move. It didn’t take much to see that this female wasn’t interested in conversation, but rather she wanted to dance – to truly be free of whatever confines she felt was on her. Mor followed her lead, letting her body slide behind hers as no one else was occupying it. The movement was sensual, and down right dirty. But both females danced as if no one else existed in that room.

“My place?” The mysterious female asked. It didn’t take Mor long to recognize the need that radiated off this female.

“Absolutely,” was Mor’s only reply as she followed the lead of the other female.

They made it to a quaint apartment not far from the bar. There was no need for conversation as both females were on each other as soon as they entered the safety of the room. Clothes flew off in all directions as they were both laid bare in front of each other.

“You’re beautiful,” Mor whispered to her companion. She blushed in reaction. The kiss they shared was shy at first, but soon it amped up to hunger and desire. Mor pushed her hands through the dark curls and savored every moment of the passionate kiss they shared. Soon her hands traveled to the unknown females’ breasts. The grasping alone almost sent Mor into a spiral, but she contained herself, knowing there was more to be discovered. Her mouth traveled down the female's form, sucking and licking at every inch of skin. Mor’s mouth reached her goal, and she tasted the sweet honey that leaked from the female’s pussy. She couldn’t get enough of the taste of her companion. She devoured her whole, like she had been waiting for this moment all of her life. The moans that accompanied her partner were out of this world, and Mor thought she could cum to it alone. As if her partner could hear her thoughts, she pulled Mor to face her and gently played with Mor’s clit – eliciting a high moan out of the female.

“Please,” Mor begged, not knowing if this female would grant her the pleasure of an orgasm as she played with her pussy.

Both females hungered after each other, making it their mission to finish off each other. As if on queue, they both began to plummet from their high. An intense release came out of Mor – one she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

“Fuck – that was good.” she said to the mysterious female.

“It was fucking fantastic,” she agreed. They both stared at each other, not sure if they should recognize their shared feelings of euphoria.

“We should do that again,” Mor said – practically begged.

“Fuck yeah.”

#mor x reader #mor smut #acotar #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #a court of frost and starlight #a court of wings and ruin #morrigan

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countessofravenclaw · 6 months ago

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El Lugar más Feliz de la Tierra: Chapter seven

To all that come to this happy place, welcome. Disneyland is your land. Here age relives fond memories of the past, and here youth may savor the challenge and promise of the future. - Walt Disney

Luna had never heard these words before, nor had she heard of the man who had said them... well until she and Mateo end up having a movie night and Luna comes up with an idea. If there is really a place that can be called "the happiest place on the earth" she wants to see it for herself. So she and all her friends leave on an adventure ... an adventure over to a place where you can leave today and enter the world of the past, future, adventure, and fantasy.

The song of the chapter v ¤

Nothing can stop us now

“Uuuuu, uuu, what do you think he’s gonna be like?” Luna was skipping ahead in the queue, “I mean I read like that he’s like the boss.”

“I don’t know if I could ever work for a mouse,” Matteo joked as he walked behind her with Gastón and Nina.

“Well, good thing you don’t have an employer,” Gastón patted him on the shoulder. “You could never survive with my boss.”

“I thought you liked your boss,” Matteo rolled his eyes at Gastón, “Or. Don’t you have like multiples? I will never understand how that works.”

“I mean, there’s my direct supervisor who answers to the division manager Mr. Gomez. We all contribute to things the executive works on, and they are under the CEO’s direct management.”

“Stop talking about work!” Luna turned around frustrated and linked her arms with Nina and then went to grab Ambar as well. She started dragging them further along the queue.

“I think it’s safe to say that this Disney obsession of hers won’t end anytime soon,” Gastón noted as he and Matteo kept on walking as well.

“As long as she is having fun,” Matteo shrugged and look ahead at Luna.

“Okay, next group!” The character attendant yelled and opened the gate. Luna could almost burst from excitement. The rides were awesome, of course they were, but she absolutely had loved meeting all the characters. It was so cool seeing them basically come to life, with the costumes and everything.

Obviously, she knew that they weren’t real, she wasn’t stupid, but it was fun to pretend. The characters with the big head—Nina had called them something fur—were especially adorable. They were fuzzy with big eyes and mouth… In short, extremely huggable.

“Hello my friends!” A high-pitched voice was heard as Luna entered the area where Mickey Mouse was standing.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Luna was suddenly taken aback. “You talk?? He talks? This is so awesome!”

None of the other characters that had these big heads talked.

“It is so nice to see you!”

“It is so nice to see you too Mickey!!” Luna started jumping up and down before hugging a ginormous character.

“Have you had fun at my home!”

“Absolute best!” Luna continued, “We’ve been here for a long time now. We’re going home tomorrow, but I don’t want to leave.”

“Where are you from?” Mickey kept asking Luna questions.

“Buenos Aires!” She responded enthusiastically.

“Thank you for coming so far to see me.”

“You’re welcome! But like, it’s not that far,” Luna started, “Or is it? The flight was very long, let me tell you…”

“Have you visited that one house on New Orleans Square?” Mickey started asking.

“What house?” Luna looked at him confused.

“I once went there, and I think it was haunted.”

“Oh!” the realization hit Luna, “YES!! We went there on our first day here! It was spooky.”

“I think a ghost tried to follow me home from there,” Mickey continued.

“Oh me too!” Luna looked over her shoulder, “Hopefully it didn’t happen… Matteo! Has there been a ghost chasing me this whole time?”

“Not that I have seen,” Matteo laughed and walked up to where Luna and Mickey were standing and offered his hand. “Hello, Mr. Mouse.”

“Mr. Mouse?” Luna looked at Matteo.

“Well, he was the boss, wasn’t he?”

***

“So, my Jaz-fans, today we start our day with some culinary delights—”

“Jazmin were going to be buying churros,” Delfi noted as Jazmin kept hyping up the snacks to her camera. “I don’t think you can really call them the most exquisite culinary delights.”

“How do you know?” Jazmin turned to her after shutting the camera off. “Have you ever eaten churros?”

“Literally the last time we went to Costa Park, but you didn’t want one because, and I quote “they would destroy your outfit.” So, yes, I have had them,” Delfi rolled her eyes. “You surely have too, they’re super common, you probably had them at ours. Those were Aaron’s favorite dessert.”

“I mean maybe I have, but these are Disney churros,” Jazmin shrugged, “So must be better and make better content.”

“Delfi just shrugged and laughed as they received their long treats.

“Uuf, all this cinnamon is ruining my outfit!” Jazmin started complaining.

“I tried to warn you.”

“Anyways,” Jazmin grabbed a few selfies with her churros and then pulled her camera out, “So, who guessed right? The answer is Churros! So, all my Jaz-fans, you get to see me take my first bite of a Disney churro.”

“Can we get these for the wedding?” Pedro asked as he was munching on his own churro.

“So, a finger food buffet isn’t enough for you?” Delfi raised and affectionate eyebrow at Pedro. He had been surprisingly involved with the wedding planning, especially when it had come to the food.

“Isn’t this finger food?” He countered, “I don’t see forks.”

“We’ll see what we can do once we’re back in Argentina.”

***

“Where are they?” Luna was tippin on her toes as they were waiting on for the others in the middle of Toon Town.

“Delfi texted me that they are on their way now,” Ambar looked at her phone, “Now that they’re done with their churros.”

“I wanna churro,” Luna stopped on her tracks, “Matteo! Why haven’t you gotten me a churro?”

“Because you literally had three macarons and an ice-cream sundae,” Matteo responded, “No one wants to deal with you while you’re hangry. But wait like an hour, because you’re really hopped on sugar right now. You’ll get your churro.”

“I’d better…” Luna rolled her eyes.

“We’re here!” Suddenly they saw Jim, Yam and Ramiro jog toward them, “We almost got kidnapped by pirates!”

“Only because Ramiro neglected to tell us about the drops,” Yam scowled at Ramiro.

“I thought it was obvious.”

“We’re very close to banning you from third wheeling us ever again,” Jim continued.

“And now we have entered the world of cartoons…” Everyone turned around as they started hearing Jazmin’s voice. Low and behold, she was walking toward them—camera in hand—with Delfi and Pedro. She directed the camera toward Luna, “So, tell us. What are we doing here?”

“So, we were just meeting Mickey and heard that he has his own ride here.” Luna started, “I can’t believe that I almost completely missed that while doing research. It was called a run-away way or something like that, so basically a train ride! Now we just need to find it.”

Luna started scrolling through the map. She had never been good with maps—that had been very proven when she and Matteo had once taken part in a city orienteering event at Buenos Aires, because it had sounded cool. They had gotten pretty lost. She finally found the attraction she had been looking for after swiping around for at least 5 minutes.

“So, we need to be heading toward a theatre of some sort,” She looked up and started looking around, “I have no idea where that could be though…”

“Right there,” Nina pointed behind them. Luna turned around and saw a cartoonish looking movie theatre. It had a billboard that read: “The grand World Prem-Ear”. “Huh, what does that mean?” Luna stared at the sign.

“A mouse pun?” Gastón shrugged. “Are we gonna stand here the whole day?”

“Lets go in.”

As they entered, they walked over a carpet that said: “El Capitoon Theatre”. Then there was a display that read: “Mickey Mouse and the Perfect Picnic”. It looked like one of those shorts that Luna had watched on the plane.

“High School Goofical?” Luna read off one of the posters. “What does that mean?”

“I guess it's a parody of High School Musical,” Matteo had appeared on her side.

“High School what now?” Luna looked at him. “Why would someone make a musical of a high school? Imagine if someone made one of Blake, it would be ridiculous.”

“They made three movies,” Ambar remarked as she came behind them, “And a streaming series. I used to love those movies, but they were a bit silly.”

“Those movies had the best songs,” Ramiro suddenly started doing some random choreography, “I’m not gonna stop, that’s who I am…”

“Has everyone heard of the High School musicals except me?” Luna looked around. “That’s it! Matteo, we’re watching those movies on the plane back.”

“Sure,” Matteo made a few faces that very clearly tried to convey a message called “help me”. It would be a very interesting flight back.

They walked forward in the queue and Luna tried to look at all of the posters. They all seemed to be some sort of parodies of movies… not that Luna had ever heard of any of them. Maybe she really should ask Nina to hold some sort of an old movie marathon, so she could get more up to date. But at the same time… She had terrible track record with falling asleep during movies if she was even tad bit bored—one of the reasons why the Star Wars thingies would never work out with her.

Next, they walked under a banner that read “It was all started by a Mouse”. Since Ambar had apparently read multiple books on the Walt Disney guy who was the founder of all of Disney, she and Nina—who just had known about the history, because of course she did—had given her a crash course on some of the history. The whole company really had been started by a mouse, Mickey to be exact.

The queue continued onto the next room which looked like a museum display. There was a helm of a ship and a plane hanging off a ceiling. It looked very cool.

Luna stopped in front of a mannequin that looked like Mickey. It was wearing a red rope and a pointy blue hat. Why she had stopped was because the hat just spoke to her. It had a white moon and stars on it.

“Oh!” Luna staggered back. “It flew! Everyone else saw that right?”

“What are you talking about?” Matteo looked at her confused.

“The hat just flew off the head of the doll,” Luna pointed toward the mannequin.

“It’s a hat. You sure you weren’t just dreaming like you usually are?” Matteo looked like she was trying not to laugh, “Those don’t float—Ah, what was that?!”

The hat had started levitating again. Matteo jumped back scared like a bunny.

“See, I wasn’t just inventing things,” Luna laughed at him. She looked at the hat again. It was floating and she could see sparkles around with some magical sound effects. “This is actually really cool.”

“Whatever you say,” Matteo nodded, “Let’s move along.”

“Hey, this mirror is haunted!” Jim seemed to be yelling from further up the queue. “I swear I saw a ghost!”

“Nope, not even gonna comment on that,” Matteo shook his head and turned to grab Luna by her shoulders. “Come on…”

“Wow! A beanstalk!!!” Luna had already dashed away, “Mom always used to read me that story.”

“Here we go again.”

Soon, they were standing in front of the double doors which had three circle windows, making a Mickey shape on the door. The doors opened up and they walked into a space that looked like some sort of a movie theatre.

“What are we doing here?” Luna was bouncing on her toes excitedly. From what she had learned of the ride, it was supposed to be some sort of a train, so she didn’t fully understand why they were in a movie theatre.

As they all had entered the room, the screen lit up and started playing a cartoon.

The cartoon depicted Mickey and Minney apparently going to take a picnic. They came across Goofy who was driving a train. Then something weird happened…

The train that Goofy was driving suddenly rode into a barn and then exploded.

The weird thing was that the screen they had been watching the cartoon on exploded too. There was a concrete hole in there and now they were directed to go through it.

“What is going on?” Luna looked around intrigued.

“We’ll just have to see,” Matteo took her hand, and they started walking.

***

“No.”

“Well, what about this?”

“NO.”

“Why not?”

“I am not buying that.” Matteo sighed as Luna showed him at least a hundred silly looking hats.

“You can’t be that grumpy all the time,” She rolled her eyes at him. “You promised me that you’ll buy me ears.”

“Yes, for YOU,” Matteo countered. “I’ll buy you ten pairs of ears, but I will not be wearing any sorts of hats.”

Luna was holding a giant green hat in front of him. As far as Matteo was able to deduce, it was Mad Hatter’s hat.

“You’ll need some sort of a souvenir,” Luna gave him her best puppy eyes and Matteo almost gave in… He really needed to stay strong, otherwise that hat would end up in their next Christmas card. That would be a field day for his fans.

“I have a souvenir,” Matteo continued, “The lightsaber. That’s enough… Okay, you can pick something else, but not a hat. Okay?”

“Yayyyy!” Luna jumped on her feet and dashed toward the next display.

“Don’t get lost in here,” Matteo yelled after her. “Our flight leaves in five hours!”

“I am trying not to think about it!” Luna yelled back at him. “Oh, I listened to some of that High School music yesterday while you were asleep. I want to walk down the aisle to one of the songs.”

“Fun.” Matteo didn’t know if he wanted to cringe or smile.

The past days had been so much fun but also exhausting… he was looking forward to just crashing on the plane.

And if Luna had already picked the processional music, maybe they should now actually get some wedding planning done.

All that said, this had really been an adventure.

{}

So, our journey come to an end, but yours continues on... Anyways, the story is done now. I gotten be honestly, writing this time to time has kind of been mentally taxing on me. It's probably because this idea is years old, and part of those cookie cutter ideas I for project post MOT. This story is very reactionary and nothing really happens so it's not that exciting to write. That being said, I'm not unhappy about how this turns out and I'm hppy this exist. We can move onto some more wacky projects and I hope everyone enjoyed the adveture.

#Soy Luna #soy luna fanfiction #Going to Disneyland #Disney #disney chaos #lutteo #gastina #simbar #Pelfi #Jam #Chaos will reign in the happiest place on earth #Roller crew goes to Disneyland #Lugar más Feliz

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