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jangofctts · 4 years ago

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Bloodsport (din djarin x fem!reader) (part one)

rated: 18+

word count: 5.4k

warnings: smut, knife kink (no blood is drawn and consent is clearly given), blowjobs, vaginal fingering, din is sorta a virg duDE, alcohol, mentions of violence (reader punches someone in the face kwejrkejh), some gambling (sabaac) also please let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: oOf this is the first fic in sO LONG IM SO SORRY YALL KEHJRKEJH BUT ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOY

It’s been a couple months since Din’s stepped foot on the sandy nightmare of a planet. Went through hell and back and kriff—it feels like a lifetime ago. But the landscape before him hasn’t changed an inch, Mos Eisley same as always—busy with all sorts of scum and villainy he turns a blind eye to.

Din hopes it’s not the only thing that’s stayed the same—selfish as it is. Someone as volatile as you is bound to catalyze and shift, so is the nature of life. A lot can happen in a month or two and it’s ridiculous to think that you would ever push your life to the side and wait for him to return.

Turns out, you are here, still working as the resident mechanic. Though in the same elated breath of hearing that tidbit of news, it’s equally dissatisfying when he somehow misses you completely. You’re off planet, looking for power converters and electrical wiring—back in few days Peli promises. Maybe by the time his wild goose chase is over, back from the butt fuck middle of nowhere, he’ll get to see you—

Nothing goes as planned—naturally. All Din finds is a man playing dress up, an oversized lizard, planetary drama he’s forced to resolve and—to top it all off—an attempted stickup. Maker—he’s not even worried about anything save for the kid and your speeder. The very same one now scattered over the sand in miserable heaps.

At least some of it is salvageable…

By the time Din reaches the outskirts of Mos Eisley, the binary suns are smearing across the horizon like molten puddles of magma. Deep aches amass in his shoulders and back from the weight of the speeder parts, his gear, and the second pair of armor. Maker—it feels like his arms are going to be ripped off.

The baby babbles something incomprehensible.

“Almost there, kid,” Din responds, sparing a quick glance down the baby. “How does soup sound?”

Instead of trudging back to the hangar, Din wanders to the cantina. Call it a hunch or just you and your aunt’s tendency to lurk around the premises, he’s certain he’s going to find one of you here.

Din is right.

The moment he steps inside, he spots your mess of hair, the low solar lights illuminating the rich colors with a soft orange. The baby coos and blinks up at Din, his tiny clawed finger gesturing in your direction.

Din hums. “Good job—you found her.”

The child’s little teeth peek out, pleased with his discovery. Din steps into the doorway, down the carven stairs and over to your table. A older man—a ship rigger by the looks of his uniform—sits across from you, a game of Sabaac spread across the table between you. You’re winning.

“Hello, Shiny.” You greet, dipping your chin in his direction. “Your armor is looking a tad ripe.”

It’s true. The layer of slime coating his armor had baked and crusted under the suns—probably doesn’t smell too good either…

“I killed a Krayt dragon.” Din states it with a twinge of smug satisfaction despite knowing how little something like that would mean to you. He could conquer three dozen planets and shower you in all the precious metals in the world and you’d still turn your nose up at everything.

“And I curb stomped a centipede today—you aren’t special.” Your eyes never leave the set of worn cards you hold between your fingers, acutely ignoring him like you would an overly enthusiastic puppy. You inhale and scrape your right thumbnail along the edge of the hexagonal cardstock—it’s a subtle tell, one Din would more than likely miss if he were the unlucky bastard brave enough to sit at the other end of the table.

“You playin’ or what?” Your opponent gripes. He scratches his unkempt salt and pepper stubble and quirks a furry brow.

You lift your chin in scorned defiance and lay your hand down—full Sabaac. The man hisses through his crooked, clenched teeth and utters a curse as he shoves his winnings towards your end of the table.

“Peli promised me information.” Din pushes, hearing the kid coo in curiosity as you begin shuffling the cards with practiced flare. “About others like me.”

“Do I look like my aunt to you?” You grumble. It’s the first time your eyes leave the perimeter of the game to look at him. They settle on the kid first with a guarded version of compassion, then leap to the faded green armor clipped to the heavy luggage, and then his visor. Your lip twitches at the green slime still coating the beskar. “I’m assuming my speeder didn’t make it.”

“A technical difficulty.”

You roll your eyes and snort, dealing out the cards then setting the stack in the middle. “Right…”

The background ambiance of the bar and the quiet rasp of cards fill the brief lull in conversation. Any other rational person would take the blaring hint to leave, but Din is just as stubborn as you are.

“I don’t remember where the hangar is,” Din lies, cocking his head to the side in mock innocence, “could you show me?”

The tip of your tongue peaks out of the corner of your mouth. The unconscious tic is not one of irritation—not yet. Though before you’re able to respond, your opponent beats you to it.

“Yeah—I know where it is. It’s between fuck off and take a hike.”

Din turns his head, the cool, even tone of his words sharper than shrapnel as he address the man. “I was speaking to her.”

This is funny to you Din realizes—one of the tiny mysteries of your entirety clicking into the place of the puzzle map he’s conjured for you.

“Well, I don’t have the time of day for cowards who wear shiny buckets over their head.” The man gripes into his drink, dark eyes flicking over to Din as he sizes him up. “What’s a Mandalorian doing out here anyway? Thought your planet exploded or something.”

The man’s ignorance irks him—sure. How could it not? But with years of harsh words and jabs at the foundation of Din’s very being, he’s learned to adapt. It’ll always sting no matter how many layers of beskar he wears but you on the other hand…

Your eyes spark, molten and bright like the last solar flare on the surface of a decaying star. Each encounter Din’s had with you, he’s bared witness to the deep well of your anger that fuels your being like the auto-mechanical heart of a droid. He’s felt the bite of your rage firsthand, but this anger—this is the tragedy of the delicate mayfly wings trapped between the black teeth of misfortune—the story of the boy who rammed a spear into the flank of an ancient beast that bites before it barks and gnashes its yellowed teeth in warning.

Din’s hand inches towards his blaster. He’s not willing to weigh the safety of the kid against your rash decisions, despite it being on his behalf.

Though, just as quick as it appears, it recedes like the cool drawback of a tumultuous ocean. Din’s arm relaxes at his side as you release a puff of air.

Your scuffed up fingers, stained with years of engine grease, scars and dirt, curl around your half finished drink. You stand, lay your cards face down onto the table and flash the stranger a feral grin.

Without a word, you toss your drink directly into the man’s unsuspecting eyes. In another breath, the pointed edges of your knuckles fly forward and hook beneath the point of his chin with a meaty thunk. The man’s head whips backwards and connects with the gravely wall—

Out like a light.

Jaw clenched tight, you shake out your bleeding knuckles and gather up the strewn credits over the table. You shove them into the pockets of your jacket and side eye Din. “Restitutions for damages,” you mutter.

The other patrons keep their eyes to themselves as the three of you hurry out the door. Only an apathetic glance from the bar tender serves as proof that something did, in fact, occur. No one wants to dirty their nose sniffing about where they shouldn’t be when they have their own business to safeguard.

The crisp night air rustles the stray strands of hair that escape from your ponytail. Ghostly moonlight carves the shape of your cheeks into an almost ethereal sight—one of those deep space creatures with pointy teeth and hellfire for eyes. Stuff of legends you’d never think to look in a dingy bar for.

But he knows—Din knows that cool mask is just a front from what you hide. It is a hungry ghost that hounds your thin stretched shadow—what ifs and the glories of war you never really escaped. You forget that you are flesh and blood and ghosts are only air and echoes, nothing more.

Din is sharp edged steel. A stray fragment of a shattered mirror, the lacerated reflection of a nameless purpose and a faceless existence. He’s torn edges and cracked glass but his heart beats within his chest with the blood of a thousand suns. Two souls under the umbrella of the word damaged but entirely different in nature.

“No one—“ you growl, your voice a steady and lethal timbre that terrifies a part of Din’s unconsciousness, “—speaks that way to my friends.”

Touching.

“Don’t look at me like that, Creature,” you huff, staring down at the child who gurgles in return. “He deserved it—“

The reunion certainly wasn’t the one Din imagined, though it’s a relief to find that there’s no roughened edge like sandpaper over skin wedged between you. Picked up right where you left off—no questions asked and no inglorious retelling of how Din nearly died on the floor of a shitty cantina. There’s not a doubt in his mind that you'd laugh at him for it—it is sorta funny…

The rest of the evening is spent walking back to the hangar, arguing over the fact that yes Din should take the couch instead of that miserable little hovel he calls a bed, and spend the night. He’d have to find some other mechanic to work through the night if he wanted to leave in the morning, because you certainly did not want to volunteer for that. And so—Din reluctantly takes the couch and agrees to let you tackle the monstrosity of fixing up his ship for tomorrow.

He has to admit…the couch is a bit smaller than the length of his body, but it’s comfortable…maybe he’d buy a better blanket while he was here. As a treat.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You purse your lips and whistle. “I swear each time I see it, it gets worse. Y’know, I know a couple guys selling—“

“Can you fix it?”

You fold your arms over your chest and roll your eyes.“Yeah I can fix it, jeez—no need to get your undies in a twist.”

You try not to take offense, because hey—you’re offering him the info on the good deals on new ships (and at this point anything would be better than this old rust bucket). But if Din doesn’t want anything to do with that, then whatever. His loss.

When you wander onto the ship, toolbox in hand, the Mandalorian tags along. Unsure if he doesn’t trust you with his things or just wants to hang out, it blankets the space with an air of uncertainty. Turns out it was neither of those guesses. All he does is throw open his stash of weapons, collect his pile of vibroknives, and set them on a table to polish and sharpen.

Makes sense, you suppose. Everything has to be as shiny as his armor.

You drop to your knees near the closest wiring panel you find. You wrench open the paneling and frown at the disarray of sparking wires and tangled cords. You organized these perfectly last time he was here. “Who the fuck junked up my rigging?”

Mando sits at the little table tucked away in the corner, brooding over his cache of weapons. He shrugs. “Could’ve come loose when I landed.”

You roll your eyes at his half assed excuse and mutter a foul string of curses under your breath that’d make even Peli wince. It’s fine. It’s cool—no biggie. You can sort through this in a couple hours, maybe three.

But of course rarely anything goes as planned. As time ticks away, arms deep in wires older than the kriffing Clone Wars, the distractions begin. The scrape of metal on durasteel makes the hair rise into little pricks all up your arms—you shoot a glare over your shoulder. Din tilts his head, your kneeling self reflecting within the ever dark visor, features scrunched into an obvious tell of annoyance. Huffing, you bury your head back into your task at hand.

The second distraction arrives in the form of a quiet hum of curiosity originating from the Mandalorian. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bring a vibroblade up to his visor, inspecting the notch in the blade that disrupts the electrical current that flows through the weapon. Din then rubs his thumb over the handle of the vibroblade in a slow, sensual circle. You lick your lips and tear your eyes away. That shouldn’t be hot.

You furrow your brows and tear apart another wire, but the metallic tap, tap, tap of Din bouncing the tip of a different blade over the table is bothersome. You swing your head to your left, mouth parting to snap at him, but his hand—sans glove—brings you to a halting stop.

It’s alluring, the way his long, weathered fingers twirl the knife with practiced ease—like silk through water and followed by the low hum of electricity meant to slice through flesh. Din tosses it in the air, watching it spin three rotations then catches it by the handle. Your lips purse when his visor meets your eyes. He spins it between his fingers.

“Am I bothering you?”

Fucker.

You scowl. “It’s fine.”

The soft rasp of his thumb sliding along the flat of the blade entices the eye and damnit—he’s doing this on purpose.

“Doesn’t seem fine,” he hums.

“Well, it is.” You retort hotly. You snatch up your pliers and imagine you’re pulling his teeth out in place of the crooked paneling. “I’m currently thriving in my element.”

Din hums, the sound buzzing with grainy distortion. “Do you want a closer look?”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s playing with an open flame and you with volatile jet fuel.

“I don’t know, seems kinda lame from here.” You scoff, busying yourself by pinching and twisting another set of frayed wires between your fingertips. “A toothpick if anything.”

Din snorts behind you. The deadly whisper of beskar against the durasteel tabletop makes the hair on the back of your neck prick into points. You tense as heavy boots shuffle along the floor, the near silent rustle of armor tinkling behind you as Din steps closer. You’re slow to stand, even though the presence of the Mandalorian is no less than overbearing. You wipe your grimy hands onto a spare rag, continuing to face the paneling. You then turn, a coy smile threatening to break across your face.

Stars Din is broad—and close enough you swear you’re able to see the perspiration of your breath fog the beskar plating. Your eyes follow the seams of the cuirass, across the leather bandolier and up to his helmet that’s fixed in an impassive glare of tempered steel. Your back bumps into the wall as Din takes another step forward, boxing you in. To escape you’d need to duck under his arm and yet…you refuse to move.

Your breath catches as he languidly lifts his hand and taps the flat side of the vibroblade over your collarbone. The sharpened point tickles up the column of your throat, a crackle of nerves and your pounding pulse following in its wake. Din turns the blade to flat edge and pushes into the space right below your jaw—you squirm when he chuckles, the sound low and deep.

“You like this…”

Din grunts as your hand reaches between his legs, squeezing the growing hardness there. “So do you.”

Din circles his hand around your wrist with his free palm. Moons above his hands are warm. He murmurs your name—you shiver. “Tell me you want this—want me.”

A blush, hotter than the surface of Tatooine in the midday sun, rushes up your neck and pools into the apples of your cheeks. Maker you want him. With a shuddering sigh you nod—braving the scathing shrapnel of vulnerability. “I need you, Din—please.”

A low chuckle rumbles through Din’s chest. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please before.”

Din drops his hold on your wrist as you roll your eyes. “Shut up, Bucket Head.”

The Mandalorian snorts and dips his head—gesturing towards the blade still lightly pressed against the base of your throat. “This ok too, Skitter?”

You flash him a wolfish grin. “Gonna fuck me with it?”

Din swears under his breath, crowding his body closer to yours. You hear his strained sigh as he dips his head closer, the beskar a chilly whisper against your cheek. “You’re depraved…take off your pants.”

You smirk, tear off your belt and shimmy out of your pants and underwear, bottom half now bare. His visor dips, entranced.

Your heart leaps into your throat, your pulse roaring in your ears as he settles one of his bare hands over the swell of your hip while the other trails the blunt edge of the handle from your clothes collarbone, and down your belly. From your mid thigh he skates the handle up your bare thigh and then rests it over the crack of your thigh. Heat flushes through your entire body, a stark contrast to the cool metal of the handle. A shiver races down each vertebrae when he drags it over the swell of your cunt and then carefully pressing it against your clit. You gasp and arch into the light touch, your thighs involuntarily jerking as he increases the pressure. It’s cold, rigid and filthy. Who knows where that knife has been—how many lives it’s taken or severed through muscle and skin.

You don’t find it in you to care all that much.

He trades his hold on your hip to slide his hand into your shirt, palming and kneading your breast through your bra as you roll and whine against his fingers. The tight circles he's drawing over your clit burns through your abdomen, drags you closer to the precipice that you’re all ready so close to. Fuck—it’s been so long since you’ve indulged in this sort of pleasure.You whine his name as wicked heat licking up your body and spreading to each limb. You arch into him, the handle of his knife slipping through your folds as arousal drips from your cunt.

Your groan as you tilt your hips into the handle, craving any lick of pleasure he’ll give. Your breath hitches as Din pushes the hilt closer to your throwing entrance, murmuring praise as he sinks the first couple inches inside of you. It’s cold—the knobby feel of the handle not too much thicker than one or two of your fingers combines. You huff and grab at his cowl, the warmth of his hand grazing your pussy each time he rocks his wrist forward.

“You’re so quiet,” Din goads, pulling the handle free from your aching center. “You usually have plenty to say.”

You shoot Din a glare, tongue weighed down by arousal to come up with a god retort. You lean your head back against the wall of the Crest and with a chuckle, Din’s hand leaves your shirt to pull you against his chest, the vocoder rumbling against your ear. The blade clatters to the floor and instead brings his calloused fingertips to your cunt. He softly rolls your swollen clit between his forefinger and thumb, delighting in the way you shake. “Be a good little thing and cum for me.”

Shit, you didn’t think it’d be that easy. Your body seizes as white hot heat ripples through your core. Stars, brighter than a dying sun burst behind your eyes, a high pitched cry filtering past your lips as shake and fall apart in his arms, your cunt clenching tight around the thick fingers he slips inside of you.

You whine as he pulls out, little aftershocks of pleasure wracking through your body in wake of your euphoric high. You groan as he lifts your head and pushes his digits, coated in your juices into your mouth. You lick them clean, tasting the tang of your own arousal and the salt on his skin. “Fuck—that was good.”

You can only imagine that Din rolls his eyes. He takes a step back but before he can escape—

You drop to your knees, a wicked smile curling over your lips. The muscles in his thighs jump as your palms smooth over the outsides of them, then up to his narrow hips, your thumbs lightly massaging the ligaments that protects the fragile joints. Din sucks in a sharp breath when your fingertips hook around his trousers.

“What are you doing?” Din asks, brushing a thumb over your jaw.

You pause and glance up at him. You quirk a brow. “Was gonna suck you off, but if you have something else in mind…“ He hisses and tips his head back, flashing the underside of his chin as your hand leaves his hip to cup the heavy bulge tenting in his trousers.

“Maker—“ He looks off to the side, inhales a choppy breath and then snaps his head back. “You’d…you’d do that?”

You nod and flash him an encouraging half grin. “Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”

Din mumbles an incoherent string of words under his breath and shifts his weight onto his right leg. His fingers touch your cheek again then tuck a loose hair behind your ear. “But—“

Moons above this man is straight out of some kind of fucking fairytale—arguing about getting his dick sucked—or not.

Whatever.

“Din…” His breath hitches at the sound of his name. “I’m asking you kindly to fuck my mouth—it’s cool if you don’t wanna, but my knees already kriffing hurt and—“

He cuts you off with a hasty nod. “Yes—stars, please.”

Fuck yeah.

You smile and slide your eyes past Din’s legs to the cargo crate shoved up against the wall. “You should sit—easier that way.”

He nods and shuffles over, lightly perching himself on the edge and ready to flee at the barest hint of well—anything.

Din’s knee jumps when you place your palm over it. You assume his nerves are from the nature of his occupation—trouble always strikes when you least expect it—and what better time would that be when his pants are around his ankles. “Relax—I’m not gonna bite—maybe.”

He makes a wary sound low in his throat as your fingertips hook into the waistband of his trousers and pull. Din lifts up as you tug the fabric further down his legs, tan skin and solid muscle following in its wake. Fuck…

You swallow, mouth feeling quite dry when your eyes drift between his legs. Din is thick, a rosy brown color, flushed at the tip and curling towards his bellybutton. Beads of liquid shine at the tip, dribbling down the underside and pooling into the dark patch of curls at the base. Din’s fingers hook over the side of the crate, squirming under the weight of your stare.

Yeah—that’s gonna leave your jaw aching.

You hear his breath hitch, magnified by the crackle of the vocoder as your lips descend over a silvery scar on the inside of his right knee. You pepper a trail of wet kisses and light nips up his thighs, and by the time you reach the crease of his leg, his hips mindlessly rock with need.

The second the wet warmth of your tongue brushes over the tip of his cock, his hips jolt off the crate, a load groan echoing through the empty ship. It’s like striking a match to an open line of kerosene—devouring and explosive that’ll leave your delicate skin singed. You’re not nervous playing with fire if this barest scrap of wild heat is anything like burning to a crisp.

Emboldened by his initial reaction, you wrap your hand around the base, pulsing and achingly hard beneath the velvety flesh. You flatten your tongue over the tip, lapping up the sticky liquid the slip the head of him into your mouth. His hands fly to your hair, tightening into fists as he throws his head back. The beskar scrapes over the durasteel with a sharp squeal, but you don’t find it in you to care about the abrasive sound—eardrums be damned.

“Fuck—kriffing hell—“ Din snarls, arching his hips to seek more of your warmth. “K-keep going.”

Your own rekindled arousal blazes hot in your core hearing his stuttered pleas. You pull away to catch your breath, feeling almost guilty for doing so at Din’s low whine of protest. He picks his head up, watching as you languidly jerk him off—entranced with the way your hand rolls over the leaking tip, back down to the base, then up again. You could keep him like this—tease until he cracks under the pressure and begs you for whatever iota of pleasure you want to give but—

You’re not that mean.

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you part your mouth and slide nearly half of his length into your mouth. Din mutters something garbled, his hips jolting as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head.

Din shifts, arching his back and stuttering out broken whispers of encouragement. Placing your hand over his thigh, you can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingertips, wild and alive—something real beneath all that heavy armor and unforgiving helmet.

“You—you look…” He grunts as you hum around around his cock, swallowing him down further. “Shit—you look so p-perfect like this.”

You groan and squeeze your thighs together, attempting to ignore the gnawing hunger snapping at your insides.

Rolling your tongue along the underside of his shaft, your fingers slide over what your mouth cant reach—squeezing and gently coaxing him towards his high. He seizes up tight—yet, just when you think you’ve got him skidding off that precarious edge—

His hand fists your hair at the base your neck and yanks you off his cock. He huffs, breathy little pants as he folds into himself like he’s been punched in the gut, his head rolling forward onto his shoulder. Din shivers as he scrambles for control, beginning to loose that slippery foothold he’s so intent on maintaining. His cock, flushed an angry red and still slick with your saliva, twitches and throbs for the release so cruelly wrenched away.

You let him catch his breath. The fingers tangled in your hair go lax and drop away to rest at his sides. You swallow, his previous skittishness suddenly clicking into place. “Din, are you…?” A virgin. Your question tapers off, unsure if it’ll embarrass and scare him off.

“No,” he answers—not in a sharp way like you’d hear with a bruised ego—just stating a fact. “Just not—not this. Never had someone—stars—“

Your teeth roll your bottom lip between them, forcing your face to remain neutral despite the stroke of pride blooming singing in your chest. You’re his first—lucky enough to make this the best goddamned oral he’ll ever have. Something he’ll remember for years.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask, praying to the Maker he’ll say no.

He shakes his head, sucking in another calming breath and unfurling himself. His fingers clench into fists then relax, crackling with pent up energy and unsure nerves as to where he should put them. You solve it by threading your fingers through his and placing them around you head.

Your lips quirk. “You’re allowed to cum in mouth—don’t worry about it.”

His cock twitches as a quiet moan fizzles through the modulator. “You su-sure?”

“Oh, yeah.”

With a smile you bring your mouth back to his cock, tongue swiping up the entire length of him. Din groans as the soft warmth of your mouth slips over the flushed tip of cock, his thick length twitching as you hollow out your cheeks and suck. You bob your head as you slowly work him in further because even like this, hardly halfway into your mouth, you feel your lips stretching a bit too much around him. You groan and part your mouth wider, letting him sink into the soft warmth of your throat. Din inhales, the sound shaky and unsure as his hips twitch with a few tentative thrusts.

You take it slow—lifting your mouth nearly all the up to the tip then back down to the base. Din rolls his hips, helping you ease into the gentle pace. Saliva drips down his cock and over your knuckles making an absolute mess you have zero intentions of cleaning up. It’s his ship after all. Din swears as his hips stutter, your hand squeeing around him, trying to push him off that edge he so deserves. Din gasps your name, the pitch of his words knocking up to a lighter, more airy tone, warmer than melted butter.

“Ca-can’t believe, it—ah—it fits.” He groans with astonished reverence. You preen under his praise.

You swallow around him and grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you let him rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans.

You can feel is cock twitching over you tongue—he’s close—and when your eyes roll up to meet the darkened visor, he’s gone. He shouts your name and knots his fists around your hair as he spirals of that edge. You nearly gag from the force of his release hitting the back of your throat—cock throbbing and jerking in your mouth like he’s been denying himself release for months. His moans, fragile and gasping, filling the quiet space as his hips grind his cock deeper down your throat, his hands threaded into your hair acting as an anchor—the sole tether he has to the waking world.

Din’s grip relents as the last few catastrophic waves tear through his body. He doesn’t move his hands, just lets them rest over your skull as his chest heaves for precious air, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. You pull his still twitching cock halfway out, dragging the tip of your tongue below the frenulum while one of your hands circles the base of his length. Maker—he’s still going—

Last little dribbles of his cum spurt onto your tongue and drip over your knuckles still securely wrapped around him. His legs and lower abdomen flex when your hand falls lower to carefully knead at his balls, milking out his pleasure for all its worth. You let his softening cock slip from your mouth when he swears and mumbles your name.

When you rest your back against the wall, he slips himself back into his trousers and joins you. You take a risk and rest your head over the chilly beskar pauldron. You’d never call this love—the word is much too harsh for this delicate string of seconds. Love means giving pieces of yourself to others like martyrs give their hearts to the sky—or risk fragile skin against the rays of an unforgiving sun. Broken ribs and clenched fists, immensity beyond comprehension—

“You should come with us,” he says with a hesitant mumble. Love is formidable—but you know that somehow, here, pressed against Din’s side, that this is right. In a golden way, a honeyed way, a path that tastes of blood, freedom and blaster smoke that will leave your lungs stained with blackened soot. Cowardice has long made a home inside of your soul, and he’s offering you a chance to shake off the layer of frost clinging to your bones and step into the gentle merciful dawn.

“Yeah—alright, Din. I will.”

tags (only tagging some moots for now bc i have no clue what’s going on in this fandom anymore dbdndn): @goldafterglow @jango-fettish @djxrxn @blsmjoon @spookoofins @krissology @steeeeeeeviebb @teaofpeach @comphersjost @gummiishark @delusionsxfgrandeur @pettyprocrastination @huliabitch

#well it aint that good but it honest work wkerkjehr #my writing #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #fanfic #star wars #sw #star wars fanfiction #jangofctts

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snackhobi · 4 years ago

Text

pairing: jungkook x reader / word count: 7.4k / genre: pacific rim au with brief smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: there are no secrets in the drift. if jungkook were to see the mess inside your head and heart, laid utterly bare, he’d turn away from you.

warnings: sexually explicit content (briefly), unprotected sex (please be safe when you have sex) / reference to injuries but nothing graphic, giant robots powered by love punching big alien monsters

a/n: this is a birthday gift for the amazing @yeojaa. happy birthday, erin. this is completely self serving and is stuffed full with inside references that I hope you’ll enjoy. I wrote this in two days and it kicked my ass because I did so much reading and researching that turned out to not even come up in the story 👁👄👁 you know when I said I was studying? I lied. I was writing HAHAHAH ily I hope you like it hhhh (this is unbeta’ed so please forgive any mistakes it’s 1:30am as I’m scheduling this) (also summaries are so hard, I’m sorry)

Jeon Jungkook really is the perfect posterboy for a Jaeger pilot.

Broad across the shoulders and trim at the waist, all sharp punches and hard muscle, resilient and tough, with a face that’s the perfect balance of angles and softness; the cut of his jaw easing up and into his pretty mouth, the line of his brows subdued by his warm eyes—he’s a Goddamn vision, raw masculinity overlaid on rich veins of boyishness, glittering stratum that sparkle and shine even under the harsh lights of the Shatterdome.

He pouts when he thinks and his hair hangs a little in his big, big eyes and he has dimples that appear when he grins, teeth poking out onto his pretty pink lips, like someone took a rabbit and turned it into a man and packed on pounds of muscle alongside. Undeniably powerful and strong, but youthful and sweet, too.

Alongside Kim Taehyung—arresting and beautiful and somehow affable and approachable, all at the same time—they’re exactly what South Korea needs right now, propelling the country’s new look for their renewed assault against the kaiju. They’re the lucky new Rangers who’ve claimed ownership of the only Mark-5 that their homeland has produced, Bulletproof Striker, a fucking gorgeous Jaeger bristling with the latest and greatest technology that the world has produced.

But that doesn’t mean they’re the best that South Korea has to offer.

Cypher Zero is smaller, lighter, older, but she’s fierce. Just like her pilots. You and Yoongi might not be the burning beacons of hope that Jungkook and Taehyung are, polished and buffed to a squeaky shine, but you don’t need to be. You’re vicious and victorious and show no signs of stopping. The kaiju kills painted on your Mark-4’s shoulder are evidence enough of that, notches for each monster taken down, spray painted in one tiny corner of the huge swathe of burnished metal plating, the red edges of her midnight skin.

Bulletproof Striker is almost untouched, deployed just once since her recent launch, flawless exterior so at odds with Cypher Zero’s battered facade. Cypher’s beautiful, of course, but bears the history of your skirmishes, inside and out: scuffed paintwork, dented metal, rust dripping down from the ladder rungs dotted across her, melting into the obsidian of her hull.

Jungkook and Taehyung move in a way that’s practiced, disciplined motions of combat that their Jaeger echoes in turn. Her mechanical movements reflect those of the men inside her head, skilled and superb. Stunning. But you and Yoongi? You fight dirty, violent and rough; messy bar room brawls; shattered glass and clawing hands in beer soaked backrooms, tinged sulphur yellow under dirty lightbulbs; two kids who fought against a world that was against them.

(Two damaged people coming together in the Drift to make something even stronger than the sum of your parts.)

(Two damaged people who survived the rough hands of the Jaeger Academy, trying to take them, push them, shape them, break them.)

(Life isn’t kind. You’d learned that young, surrounded in the splintered remnants of your childhood home, the facade of family and happiness already gone, long long long ago, leaving you aching and lonely and cold. The prospect of fighting thousands of tons of alien hatred, lifting out of the depths of the uncaring, dark sea? At least you can see the kaiju coming. Broken households and loneliness? A little harder to lay your hands on.)

(But out of everything you lost, you’d gained one thing—Min Yoongi, another quiet, damaged thing, but with the biggest depths of warmth and love underneath that hard surface; your best friend, your brother-in-arms, growing alongside you, with you. Damaged kids turned bitter teenagers turned razor-edged adults, outcasts in solitude, but together. Not alone.)

(The deeper the bond, the better you fight. Falling into the Drift with Yoongi had been easy, years of tangled connection bleeding into the images that flashed across your brain. The same memories from different angles, overlaid with different emotions, undercurrents eddying under the surface that caught both of you and swept you up in its flow; the same mind, bridged by hundreds of tons of metal and technology and firepower underneath you, linked together in the silence of the Drift.)

There’s reverence, in the way these two new pilots look at you both, reverence and awe and respect alike: older Rangers, more experienced, history written across the worn edges of your Drivesuits, the paint flaking away from your battle armour, scuffs and scrapes on the once unblemished veneer; knowledge etched into the feline slant of Yoongi’s eyes, the turn of your shoulders and hips.

You know Jungkook’s track record. You know of the endless months of assessment and sparring and psych evals and Drift tests and simulation drops that every successful Ranger has to go through, and Jungkook had trumped them all, stood atop them like a conqueror surveying his hard-won lands—gifted, talented, some even said God-touched. And yet for all this indomitable talent and skill, there’s still humility at his core, a willingness to defer with respect.

That deference is obvious whenever he sees you. Jungkook’s dark eyes will touch your own, for a moment, dark and deep and bright—and then his gaze will skitter away, cockiness and bravado dissolving into something submissive, yielding. (Shy.) You’ve watched him orbit you, the younger ranger caught in your gravity, always nearby—the Shatterdome is only so big, for its magnitude and sprawling corridors—but never broaching that final gap, that little step, into Cypher Zero’s space, Yoongi’s space, your space. Keeping himself at arm’s length.

South Korea’s golden boy, less afraid of the Kaiju than he is of his sunbaenim.

Jungkook and Taehyung are both beautiful. But you and Yoongi are less so, unapproachable in ways that the younger pilots aren’t, private and prickly, like grasping a patch of stinging nettles with bare hands, stinging and burning.

As if Jungkook isn’t terrifying and gorgeous in his own ways. As if he doesn’t shine brighter than the sun himself. Taehyung moves through the world with a thoughtless, charismatic ease that Jungkook doesn’t share—but he’s still magnetic, bold and brilliant, monstrously skilled at everything he puts his mind to, training again and again and again to get it right, get it right, get it right.

To get it perfect.

But there’s no level of perfectionism that can surmount the twisted, unpredictable nature of the kaiju belched forth from the breach. No matter how good you are, how strong or fast, how smart or seasoned, sometimes you still get caught in that hurricane, even in a Jaeger.

It doesn’t matter how many engines are packed into each muscle strand. It doesn’t matter how fast the pistons and levers and gears shift and move. It doesn’t matter that the pilots in her cockpit are impeccable and incredible. Under the cloak of deepest night and pouring rain, blanketed in darkness and water from the heavens above and the sea below, movement is impossible to track—and when Steelbrute rises from the waves, no one sees the kaiju coming.

Bulletproof Striker takes the hit. Jungkook and Taehyung fight back but they’re blindsided and overwhelmed, and their Jaeger falls to her knees in the churn of the Pacific Ocean, salt water crashing over her in choppy waves as Steelbrute’s merciless maw gapes wide open.

Cypher Zero is 250ft tall and weighs 1410 tons. You and Yoongi are tiny specks of organic matter in a fearsome behemoth of titanium and tungsten and graphene and circuitry, commanders of a weapon that’s the same size as a skyscraper—and yet you wouldn’t think that for how fast you move. Zero hesitation. No verbal communication. Cypher’s legs cut through endless waves and gain momentum with each crashing step that slams into the seafloor before you leap forward in a flurry of motion and Drift powered fury.

Your motions in the Conn-Pod are ragged and incensed, your arms and legs moving in sync with Yoongi, with Cypher Zero, a snarl ripping out of your co-pilot’s usually quiet mouth as the kaiju lurches underneath you. The world narrows down to this: throwing yourself into the fray, jagged knuckles edged with plasma pummelled into Steelbrute’s skin in a scuffle that’s vicious, aggressive, until Bulletproof Striker regains her footing.

The sun is rising, grey and cold on the horizon when Steelbrute finally sinks into the sea, toxic blood flooding the water with neon blue. When you step out of the cockpit, Yoongi’s fringe is matted with sweat, and you can feel all the places the circuitry suit sticks to your skin—piloting a Jaeger is mentally and physically exhausting, every muscle and organ and bone working overtime for endless hours as you fight tooth and nail. Without the helmets in the way, there’s nothing stopping you bumping your foreheads together, heedless of the sweat slicked there; Yoongi’s hand rests at the back of your head, a familiar cradle.

“All good,” you say. Yoongi lets out a quiet bark of a laugh, rough and exhausted.

“I want a nap,” he says, like he always does, even if you’re a long way away from that, still fully suited and due to speak to the Marshalls. There are so, so many things separating you from the bliss of sleep.

One thing that’s not part of the normal routine, though, is the other pilots catching you, demanding your recognition, respectful (Taehyung) but insistent (Jungkook). You know that Yoongi doesn’t like attention or hero-worship, but there’s nothing except gratitude, here, bent heads and words of thanks. You’d saved their lives, after all. Saved their Jaeger from being torn apart, pain screaming through their own bodies of flesh and bone, connected to their metal monster. Of course they’re grateful.

You dismiss it with a hard cut of your hand.

“It’s nothing,” you say.

You’re speaking the words you know are in Yoongi’s head—years of friendship and shared Drifts leaving his thought processes wide open to you—although you know you’re sharper than he is, harsher than he is, even, for all that he looks like the cold one from the outside. Long lashes and silken hair don’t translate to something soft and feminine and pretty, and you’re all ragged edges and rough parts, bleeding into the delivery of your words. Yoongi rounds the words in his mouth and places them into the world with a rumble of quiet strength that belies his past, but you? Your tongue is cutting and terse and drips with distrust, even when you don’t mean it to, staring at these two boys, Jungkook’s eyes so brown and large when he stares back at you.

The truth is that you care about humanity, of course. You care about humanity and you care about the millions of people in the cities that line the coasts and further inland, and you care about your fellow pilots, skilled but soft-hearted as they are. You’re stronger. You have to be. That’s what Yoongi is, that’s what you are: fighters. You fight dirty because you fight to win, not to protect yourselves. You’ll fight and you’ll die for this, for them, even if there’s no friendship there. Not yet. You’re still too distant, for all that you’d thrown yourself in the line of fire to rip the kaiju from the younger Rangers.

And when Jungkook levels a look at you, there’s a flicker of something. A spark. All the glittering of his warm eyes comes together like the cascading sparks of molten fire that fall when metal is cut through— his eyes score through you, down down down, right to your core, underneath all the armour you’ve laid about yourself throughout your life. Your heart stutters. You’ve been watching Jeon Jungkook, and he’s all cocky Ranger bravado, or innocent brown eyes and shy, curving smiles, and yet.

And yet. You know he sees this soft part of you, somehow. Past the thorns and sharp leaves, past the hard husk, into the rich, bursting sweetness inside, oozing red gems of pomegranate that yield so easily to the fingers and mouth.

(He’s temerarious and modest and wickedly perceptive too, it seems.)

“That was our kill,” he says suddenly. Taehyung—the voice piece of the two, the one who’s been smiling and speaking, easy and slow—goes still at his side.

“What?” Yoongi’s eyes pierce through him, but Jungkook keeps his focus on you.

“Steelbrute. Our kill. It was a hit from our rockets that took him out,” Jungkook says, eyes still glinting with that sparkling shine. Slicing through you with an explosion of light. “Not your blades.”

Silence steals over you, for a breath. It’s never truly silent in the Shatterdome, an iron fortress that never sleeps, but for a second, there’s quiet. It wraps around you. Tight. Almost deafening.

But then you break that silence.

You laugh.

You laugh at the cheeky grin that pulls at Jungkook’s lips, the boyish lift to his face. You laugh at his shamelessness, the sudden 180 from his earlier fear. You laugh at the way he’s diluted this astonishing, formidable thing—humanity coming together to destroy alien predators that threaten the planet—into a competition.

“You’re a menace, Jeon Jungkook,” you say.

Stinging nettles you might be, but if you’re grabbed hard and fast by confident hands, you don’t wound. Jeon Jungkook defers to respect, avoids confrontation, bows his head and quiets his mouth, but he knows, now, that he can do this. That he can push you like this, and you’ll let him, sway against it, let yourself be pushed.

Yoongi slides you a glance out the corner of his eyes, a light touch, a tacit agreement to an unspoken question.

“You can have it. Steelbrute’s yours.” There’s the smallest curl to your lips as you speak for you both. There’s something weirdly easy and familiar to this, to this interaction, even if you’ve barely exchanged words before now, giving this triumph to the other pilots hand over fist.

(Giving it to Jungkook on a platter.)

You can see the flare of triumph in Jungkook’s eyes. You know it’s not for the notch of their first kill, one they can add to their Jaeger. It’s for something far harder to achieve, something far more ephemeral: digging down and past your cool veneer and lifting out a smile, spreading it across your lips like warm butter, liquid gold.

And he keeps making you smile.

Jeon Jungkook, you find, is a force of nature, relentless, an ocean. Sometimes he’s soft, loving waves of glittering blue that crash on pearly white beaches, playful and bright. Sometimes, he’s intense, the crashing waves of a storm tossed sea, powerful and unstoppable. Always, he’s striking, even when he’s not trying—even more so because of it, moving without thought or uncertainty, a silence settling over your thoughts whenever you see him like this. See him in this raw state, so unafraid where before he’d curbed his tongue and bent his head in front of you. Now, he’s just himself, without filter.

Taehyung is there too, of course. Both pilots join your small, fiercely private circle, not just a path from you to Yoongi any more. They become intertwining lines, a pattern that’s drawn between the four of you, pilots, friends. And you learn, that for all that you’d thought that Taehyung was the dominant one outside of their Jaeger, social and extroverted and unabashed, Jungkook isn’t quiet. Not when he’s comfortable.

(Not, now, when he’s with you.)

He’s a myriad of things, endlessly deep, so different from you, from Yoongi, but—the truth of it settles inside you, your joints, the marrow of your bones, the blood that pulses forth from your heart each time it beats in your chest, liquid life running through you.

Drift compatibility.

Not that it matters. You already have a partner. You’re never going to open yourself up to anyone that isn’t Yoongi, who’s seen every part of you already. There’d been no fear about letting Yoongi see inside your brain, your heart, the raw, bleeding parts of you—because he’d already known them. Just like you’d known his. Yoongi stands to your right, inside the Conn-Pod and out, a driving force, even in his silence.

But Jungkook is softer, sweeter, for all his raw power and skill, respect engraved into his every motion, even when he’s teasing and making you laugh. Even when he ignores the social guidelines that he should follow, does follow for others, everyone except you.

And you don’t mind. You don’t bite out insults at him when he slides into the quiet hollow you’ve scraped out, a small space with just enough room for the people you keep in your heart. You’re still barbed and spiked, warding away unwanted attention, but for Jungkook, the claws retract.

You’re still you, of course. Jungkook calls you mean, says that you bully him, even as he’s flopped across your bunk, eating your rations, shovelling coveted popcorn into his mouth. He might pout and sigh and cry oppression, but you’re soft on him and he knows it. That quiet hollow in your heart is a little larger, now, a little louder. Jungkook is brazen in his claim of this space, spreading each of his limbs wide as he fits himself into every part of it. He doesn’t know every piece of your past, and you don’t plan to let him see all the messy parts bundled in your chest, but. But he’s still there.

And you let him stay. You make a home for him inside you and let him take the key. He might tilt his head and goad you, might pretend there’s a genuine challenge in the set of his jaw, but you know it’s all tempered with admiration, veneration. Friendship.

(And where he clearly respects you, you admire him in turn. You’re reminded of your differences every second he moves and breathes and just exists in front of you, but you don’t have to be similar to someone to realise just how incredible they are.)

(But though you’re different, there are similarities. You’re not a mirrored image, a reflection, like you are with Yoongi. Instead, you’re a line drawn between two separate places, an isohel, sun lighting up your world for the same sweep of the clock even for how far apart you are. Sharing that same, tenuous thing, for all your contrasting parts.)

(This thing that’s growing, held in your hands. This soft, gentle thing, shimmering, frail, unfurling slowly but undeniably. Tinged with happiness, disbelief. Disbelief that you’ve found this, that you can see Jungkook across the echoing cavern of the Shatterdome’s main hall, so far in the distance, barely visible at the foot of his Jaeger—and something will settle in your chest. Featherlight, iridescent. Something comforting.)

When you fight the kaiju, now, it’s with a deeper reserve of desperation. Taehyung and Jungkook aren’t just fellow pilots, dongsaeng that you’re obliged to look after: they’re your friends, something more than that too, part of the rare handful of people in the world who understand, this overwhelming pressure to fight and win and protect the things you love. The people you love. They understand what it’s like to step into someone else’s head, to be connected to that person on a level that’s unfathomable, anchored in a depth of love that’s endless. You’re their aegis, now, their shield.

(Jungkook’s shield.)

Maybe that’s what’s to blame. Maybe that’s why you’re so sloppy, this time. Maybe that’s why you throw yourselves in the way of the blow that was meant for Bulletproof Striker. Maybe that’s why Ojousan shreds Cypher Zero’s chest apart, her head, why Yoongi is almost ripped from you, his fear and pain screaming through your neural connection. You feel everything he feels and more beside, your heart hammering in your throat as you scream, Jaeger’s arm swinging up and around in tandem with your own motions as you try to rip the kaiju away, anything to protect Yoongi, so scared of losing him, always always always, scared of being left alone.

But you’re not alone.

Bulletproof Striker lifts up like an avenging angel. Her horns roar a challenge, an echoing battle cry as the younger pilots move in. Heavier and stronger, keeping her balance even in the turbulence of a fight, she takes the hits, gives back her own, sends the kaiju down into the crashing waves, waits for it to rise. But the monster is crafty and quick and even as you’re lifting your left arm—Yoongi’s hurt, so hurt, you know this, feel this, but he moves with you to ready the plasma cannon buried in the mechanics of your Jaeger’s hand, even if he’s keening with pain—you watch as the other pilots, too, fall victim to the clawed tail of the kaiju, screeching through layers of alloys and across their Conn-Pod.

Terror strikes through every part of you and morphs into hate. You hate the kaiju, hate your own weakness, hate the pain that’s been saved from being written into your own body while Yoongi screams and sobs even though he still fights. Your motions are anguished and desperate as you battle to overcome this beast that’s almost taken away everything that matters to you—and Cypher Zero, Yoongi, as damaged and hurt as they are, come through. (Like they always do, for you, always.)

And somehow, despite everything, for all the self-hatred and pain and fear, you pull through. You pull through. Damaged and hurt but alive.

Barely.

Barely alive.

(One hand gives, the other takes away.)

It takes hours for them to pick Yoongi’s Drivesuit from his body, crumpled around him from Ojousan’s claws, cutting into the soft flesh of his body, body ruined further by the fighting he’d been forced into despite his injuries; so many of Taehyung’s bones are shattered, and when you finally see him awake and with his eyes open, there are burst blood vessels that cast red across the usually warm expression, his friendly eyes.

You should be grateful that they’re alive. You should be on your hands and knees, weeping, benedictions dripping from your graceless mouth as you thank whatever merciless God above decided to turn their gaze on you and grant you this leniency. So many pilots have died and will continue to die, you know this, but somehow your partners are still alive.

And you are grateful. You are. But there’s bitterness on your tongue, twisted across your palate, sour and acrid and filling you with its taste. You’d been foolish and reckless and you’d almost lost the things you cared about most, even if you’d destroyed the kaiju, torn it apart and left its fluorescent indigo blood to corrode the ocean.

That’s what’s important, isn’t it. Saving humanity. One person, two people, four people—you’re the tiniest cogs in a whirring engine of billions. Unimportant. Just a spinning part that keeps the machine going.

When you’re not with Yoongi or Taehyung, an unmoving presence from their hospital beds, a hovering gargoyle carved from stone, you’re with Jungkook. Always, always, always. Somehow you’d both escaped without the injuries inflicted on your partners—you’d manage to break your little finger, and Jungkook had a black eye and a twisted ankle, and the both of you had mottles of bruises cast across your skin, pulled muscles, an ache carved into your bones, but that was it. That was it. It was almost laughable, how unscathed you are.

You hate it.

(It should have been you.)

Your legs—unbroken, unharmed—hang over steel scaffolding, motionless as you watch the tiny specks of people scuttling across the catwalks that criss-cross Cypher Zero’s body. You can see under her skin, damage peeling back all the layers of metal that should be holding her together. Endless showers of sparks fall and scatter as she’s stitched back together. Your beautiful girl is so damaged, so disfigured.

(You’d caught Yoongi as he’d fallen from the harness, listened to the horrible noises that had torn out of his lips as he’d dripped blood and pain over your shaking hands.)

The bland food you’d scraped off your dinner tray settles fitfully in your stomach, still one second, nausea bubbling up your throat the next.

It’s one of the rare times you’ve been alone, since… since everything. You’ve been taking comfort in Jungkook’s presence, unwavering and understated, needing someone there when staring at Yoongi’s battered face proved too much. Even with his own upheaval Jungkook’s been there, at your side, always close. Eyes locked on you and taking everything in, the tired set to your face, the expression that tugs down your lips, and still, he stays.

But he’d disappeared after you’d eaten, a peculiar look on his face—you know him well enough now to recognise that look, that it means he’s got something in his head, some plan he means to unfold. It’s the first time you’ve seen it since Taehyung had been pulled out of the Conn-Pod. It’s some semblance of normality, an expression of something other than pale-faced dread and bone-shivering guilt.

(You feel it too, that survivor’s guilt. Taehyung and Yoongi will recover but it’ll take time and so much suffering and you wish you could take that from them, heft that burden onto your own shoulders.)

(You know Jungkook feels the same.)

(You see it written in the tense lines of his body. Hear it unspoken in the words he shares with you. The bruises on his skin melt from red to purple to blue to yellow, but even if his body heals, his brain and heart bear the scars of helplessness.)

Jungkook reappears, finds you at the heavy steel door that leads into your room, rusted and worn but silent as it swings open in front of you. His eyes are wide and he’s breathless, like he’s been running, chest heaving as he sucks in air through his parted lips, a flash of teeth and tongue as he smiles.

Despite everything, you smile back. Helpless for that smile, always, happier now for the sight of it, for how little you’ve seen it. You want to see that smile every day. You don’t want him to worry for anything. You want him to feel the same way you do, when you see him: that quiet, maybe selfish thought that things are okay.

Maybe he does. (His eyes are so warm.) He presses something into your hands, something soft and round like a well-practised secret, and then he’s gone. You can tell by the gait of his stride that he’s going back to Taehyung, giving you a moment of lonely reprieve to wash the grime and dirt off your useless body before you follow in his footsteps, stationed at Yoongi’s side.

The door swings shut behind you.

You lift your hand.

It’s an orange.

It’s a small, overripe thing, hard nub of the stem falling away from the skin with only the lightest brush of your fingers. You stare at the fruit, its brightness cutting through the muted sepia tones of your surroundings, a point of colour in an otherwise dull room.

You haven’t seen an orange in months. Rationing is tough on everyone, even Jaeger pilots. You’d mentioned in passing, so long ago, an old habit of yours. Before something else floated above it, more important and interesting, you’d made a fleeting statement that had flitted across the surface of the conversation: you liked eating oranges in the shower. Liked that nice, cool citrus sweetness in your mouth while the rest of your body was caught in the fall of warm water.

It’s such a small, tiny thing. Just the briefest lament—there are more important things than the fact you can’t have shower oranges any more, after all—and you’d forgotten you’d even mentioned it.

But Jungkook hadn’t.

It’s almost syrupy sweet, this orange. You savour each slice, pressing them between your teeth, feeling the rush of juice burst forth through the pith and skin, and it’s so good you could cry.

You do cry.

Your mouth is full of orange and your eyes are full of tears and your head is full of—of—something, something so all encompassing that it overwhelms you, water cascading down the aching planes of your body as you crumple inwards. Jungkook had protected you with the overwhelming power of Bulletproof Striker, and he’s protecting you now, soft and considerate and kind, vulnerable and human. Stripped of tons of metal and technology, Jungkook wears his beating heart on his sleeve and is none the weaker for it.

This seemingly small thing means so much, so so so much. You understand him, and he understands you too, knows that this gesture is indicative of support and care and nurturing, a tiny fragment of peace he can offer you in the tumult of everything out of your control.

A tiny fragment of peace that’s part of a greater whole, all the things that Jungkook gives to you.

When the Marshalls gather you and tell you the plan going forwards, you’re unsurprised.

It makes sense, of course. Four pilots down to two still leaves a pair, and Bulletproof Striker is nearly functional even if Cypher Zero will stay out of commission while she’s rebuilt. Simple maths. One Jaeger, two pilots. You and Jungkook.

You’re scared.

You know you’re Drift compatible. Every fight in the Kwoon Combat Room is evidence enough of that. A dialogue, each challenge is meant to be a dialogue to show physical compatibility, and it is: there’s perfect sync in how you each move to strike, even if your motions are so different, muscles burning and breaths coming faster each time you attack, parry, strike, block. It’s not about winning or losing. It’s a conversation, one that you and Jungkook fall into without thought.

And he would be the perfect partner. That much isn’t in doubt. Loyal and open and strong, honourable and brave and kind—and you know him, have grown to learn so much about this golden boy, this bright, brilliant boy. He’s fucking indomitable and anyone would be lucky to find themselves in the same Jaeger as Jeon Jungkook.

But there are no secrets in the Drift.

To let someone in, you have to trust them. And you do, you do trust Jungkook, probably far more than makes sense, some unspoken thing between you burning like a wildfire. But while you trust him, confident in his strength and his heart, you trust yourself less.

You’ll be flayed open, naked and defenceless. He’ll see right to the core of you, every dirty corner of your crumpled soul, every shameful part of your foundations, uneven brickwork layered into your shaky temperament; strong one second, weak the next. He’ll see that you’re hard inside, too, biting and acidic right down to your shrivelled heart. This nascent thing that you’ve been building with Jungkook, been keeping safe in the cradle of your careful hands, will sputter out and die.

“Baby.”

Yoongi’s voice is comforting, a familiar rumble that rolls through your ears as you rest your head in his lap.

“And I mean that you’re literally being a baby,” he continues, and you curl your lip back from your teeth in a small snarl, menacing.

Yoongi just continues to thread his hands through your hair.

You’ve Drifted with Yoongi often and long enough to know how every thread of thought unspools in that skull of his. You know he has every confidence in the unshakeable pillar of your soul. He’s a brother to you, a connection that thrums deep in your veins even without the intimacy of the Drift, and the love you hold for him is undying and true.

But whatever you have with Jungkook is so timorous in the face of that.

“It’s different.” Yoongi looks down at the twist of your face. You know his thoughts and he knows yours too, your face and heart an open book to him. “But different isn’t bad.”

You keep your mouth shut, keep the words swallowed down in your throat, shoved down to the pit of your stomach. Keep it secret. Keep it safe.

“Baby,” he says again, softer, lower. This time, you know it’s an endearment.

At the end of the day, no matter what fear grips cold and endless at your insides, you’ll do it. You’ll Drift with Jungkook. You’ll throw everything you have into the pyre, watch it burn and turn to ash, if it means you can keep everyone safe. To save Yoongi, Taehyung, Jungkook—you’ll open yourself up to the mortifying ordeal of opening up, laying yourself bare. You have to.

It’s chaotic, anyway. The day that your practice Drift is scheduled is the day the next kaiju rises out of the breach, that dreaded rift between our world and theirs, because why would you be allowed to breathe, even for a second?

It’s a scramble into the cockpit. There’s no time for trial runs or test Drifts. You fly or you fall. Everyone’s in a state of orderly upheaval as you’re suited up and left to stride forwards into a Conn-Pod that isn’t yours, in a Jaeger that isn’t yours.

(Left to stride forwards to stand next to someone who isn’t yours.)

Your Drivesuit is grey. Jungkook’s is white. There’s a subtle hologramatic sheen laid across the planes of his armour, leaving him a multicoloured vision that shines out under the flicker of the cockpit’s endless tiny buttons and lights. Your own suit is a matte, gunmetal with accents of burning scarlet, far more battered and worn. Dark and wild in the face of Jungkook’s radiance. He’s the perfect answer to the kaiju invasion. You, though, feel like an interloper in a space that wasn’t designed for you, this circle room that’s been home to Jungkook and his true, real partner.

But he’s looking at you like there’s no one else he’d rather have by his side.

He doesn’t care that everything about this moment just cements how he’s too good for you in every conceivable way, elevated above you. Doesn’t care that you’re just a temporary stop gap. There’s trepidation, of course, skittering nerves that dance across his face for this first Drift, surrounded by all the commotion that’s swallowing the world up outside the cockpit. But there’s also that fire in his eyes, one you’ve learned to expect: Jungkook is a wildfire and will surmount any obstacle in a blaze of white-hot light.

And he wants you along for the ride.

(Burns bright for it.)

“You ready?” He asks, and the tiny tremor in his words takes you off guard even as it soothes a balm over the rash of apprehension that prickles across your skin.

(Because he’s nervous, too.)

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you answer, truly.

His eyes crinkle into a smile, crescents of happiness as his lip peels back from his teeth. It should be jarring, seeing his sweet bunny smile in the pit of a Jaeger, so at odds with the military polycarbonate that girds his body with protection, the masculine edges of his face—but it’s not. The world is just a backdrop to Jeon Jungkook, dropping away as you fall into his eyes, twinkling stars of brightness and warmth that hold you safe, even now.

Peace and contentment steals over you. You’re almost shocked by it, the way your own face softens into a smile, the rising beat of your heart. Every ragged messy edge in you is smoothed over by Jungkook’s presence and you glow for him.

When the Conn-Pod drops, there’s the familiar weightlessness, the sway of your body in the harness as you fall. Anticipation roils through you as Bulletproof Striker’s head locks into place, whirring mechanisms securing you to nearly 2000 tons of metal, so much heavier than your own Jaeger. You’ve taken Jungkook’s usual place and he’s taken Taehyung’s, the right hemisphere, the dominant pilot, familiar with this machine in a way you’re not.

Not yet, at least.

“We’ve got this.”

Jungkook’s voice cuts through the noise, the AI talking at you, a narration of events you’ve long grown used to. You turn your head to look at him. He’s already looking at you, intent and sincere. Like always.

“Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, we have.”

There’s no point being afraid. In a few seconds, Jungkook will be in your head, washing over every part of you—and you’ll be in his, pressing your ethereal touch into every facet that comes together to make Jeon Jungkook who he is.

Seconds pass. There’s a little hitch in his breath, a stiffness to his limbs, and he shuts his eyes. You breathe in deep, deep, deep, sucking in a harsh breath into your greedy lungs—

—the timer hits zero—

—and then the Drift slams into you all at once, all encompassing and consuming, threading your minds together.

(Drifting with Yoongi is easy, the familiarity of coming home after so much time away.)

(But this?)

(This is throwing yourself into a cold lake on a hot summer’s day, bracing and refreshing and breath-stealing all at once, shocking life into every one of your limbs, so sharp and fast you’re scared you might drown before you breach the surface, water holding onto you and not letting you go. This is driving reckless and fast down empty roads, watching the world pass you in a blur, laughing in delight at the pleasure of it all. This is scaling a cliffside with nothing but your own hands and determination, digging your fingers into the unyielding rock, pulling yourself up-up-up, never letting yourself fall.)

(This is having Jungkook beside you. This is having Jungkook diving into the lake with all the grace of an Olympian before he rises to the surface, tosses his hair carelessly out of his face, and spits a mouthful of water at you with laughter in his eyes. This is having Jungkook behind the driver’s wheel, shifting gears without thought, looking away from the road to watch the way your hair dances in the wind. This is having Jungkook climbing beside you, waiting for you at the top, holding a hand out to pull you up and over so you can sprawl out beside him, exhausted and exuberant at the top of this mountain, basking in the sun with Jungkook just a hair’s breadth away from you.)

(He takes one look at you. He takes one look at all the dark of your memories, the cascading mess of your insides, the hidden things that are open to him in the Drift, cut open and peeled back for his gaze—and he doesn’t look away.)

(He sees everything, past skin and muscle and bone and nerves, even deeper, right into your heart—)

(—all the torrents that eddy the deep waters of your soul—)

(—and he doesn’t look away.)

(He doesn’t look away.)

(Can’t look away.)

(Doesn’t want to.)

(Never wants to.)

(Jeon Jungkook takes one look at you, your whole being, and he knows you.)

(And he doesn’t want you any less.)

It’s just a second, a flicker, a breath, this first connection in this Drift, falling into each other. But it’s also a lifetime, two lifetimes, four lifetimes; your memories, Jungkook’s memories, Yoongi’s memories in yours, Taehyung’s memories in Jungkook’s. Layers and layers and years and years piled over one another, a tumbling sprawl—but it’s easy. It’s easy, so easy, Jungkook seeing you, you seeing him, everything he is, everything you are, everything you are to each other, with each other, for each other. The important things. The things you need to know to navigate this together, in sync even before now, reading each other to a level neither had even realised.

And when you’ve killed the kaiju. When you’ve walked Bulletproof Striker back to shore, brought her back to the Shatterdome, back home, it doesn’t end. You lift out of the Drift, step out of your Drivesuits, as different as they are (as different as you are), and it doesn’t end.

Jungkook’s eyes linger, as heavy as a physical touch, and even as congratulations for a successful drop are bandied about you, he doesn’t leave your side. He keeps his hand against yours—not intertwined, but brushing, the curl of his fingers against your own. Touching. You’re not the protector here. He’s protecting you, in a way that doesn’t leave you feeling inferior or weak. You feel soft and warm and small and safe, pulled inexorably towards him, supported, buoyed up, and you don’t feel selfish for it.

Because he wants this.

He wants to be your comfort and your support.

He doesn’t want it to end.

(You don’t want it to end.)

And when you finally break away from those crowds, released from the shackles of responsibility and expectation—when you’re finally left alone, the two of you with each other, there’s no hesitation when you come together.

He lays you out beneath him and has you sobbing, back arching into the pleasure he draws out of your body, playing you like a maestro. Because he knows you, after all. He knows exactly how to trail his lips across your skin, your neck and stomach and thighs, painting marks across your body like it’s his personal canvas. He knows exactly how to have you twisting underneath him, how to pull those pretty sounds from your lips, fucking you with his fingers and his tongue until you’re a shaking mess. He kisses you sweet, merciless, letting you claw at his skin as you beg for more, more more more, wanting it, needing it, wanting him, needing him.

And you know he’ll give it to you. He’ll give himself to you, give you everything you ask for. You know how he wants to see you fall apart and you know how to move your body to have him gritting his teeth and staring in awe. You know how desperate he is to worship you, to show you his adoration and reverence, and you open up for him, unfurl like a flower, dripping nectar. When he finally presses into you, hot and long and thick, it’s so good you could cry. You draw him in-in-in, into your body and arms and heart, pressing your lips to the sweat at his brow, the taste of skin and salt and Jungkook bursting across your tongue.

There’s no Drift here, no curl of memories and unspoken thoughts between you. It’s physical and human, the crash of your bodies against each other, skin on skin, the thrust of his cock pressing into the dripping folds of your cunt. It’s the other half of that connection, the final piece, this thing you have with Jungkook, this perfect balance you have with him. It sears itself across your body and into your soul: it’s pleasure and passion and devotion carved into each touch of your lips and fingers, each roll of your hips, each time Jungkook makes you cum, gasping for him.

When he’s finally come apart inside you, spilling into your willing heat as you shake beneath him, arms and legs wrapped around his body as you pull him as close as you can, unwilling to let go—it still doesn’t end. You’re so wrapped up in Jungkook, in his arms, his heart, and you know he won’t let you go, either. He presses his lips against yours, chases those kisses, quiet and chaste to open-mouthed and dirty as the mood takes you, and then Jungkook rolls over you again, a spark in his eyes as he decides he’s still hungry for you.

You know, now, that all that time ago, when you carved that space for him into your chest, he’d done the same for you. He’d laid his heart at your feet and waited there, kneeling, for you to accept it, patient and willing. Staring at you with all the deep love you never thought you deserved, never thought you’d receive. But here he is. Here he is, love burning in his dark brown eyes. Eyes that have seen all the damaged, aching parts of you and love you anyway.

“I’m yours.”

Jungkook shines so bright at your words, a supernova of joy. His smile is so wide and his gaze is so soft, for you, for you, for you.

“Everything I am is for you,” he murmurs, letting the words curl into the air, settle across your skin, sink deep inside your chest. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel this touch of him inside you, wrapped around your heart.

And when you lift your hands, he comes so easily. He presses his cheek into the curve of your fingers, lets you hold him, lets you cup those lovely cheeks in your palms.

“I love you,” he says.

Right now, in this instant, there’s nothing but him. No kaiju, no Jaegers, no crumbling world, nothing. There’s only him, and you, together.

“I love you too,” you reply—and when you smile, gentle and tender, Jungkook falls in love all over again.

Burns bright for you.

1K notes · View notes

whump-a-la-mode · 3 years ago

Note

Would it be possible to get the aftermath of a heroic whumpee who went up against someone incredibly far out of their league? Kind of along the lines of that one time Dazzler went up against the Juggernaut on her own (A heroine with light projection powers vs a villain with the power of unstoppable force) and ended up being beaten to the point where she was too weak to move. The other heroes become her caretakers for a little while. I loved that arc and could really use something similar.

I can hardly describe how much I love this prompt. I absolutely adore it, and I can only hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I think I’m somewhat familiar with Dazzler, though when I looked through the wiki, I couldn’t find anything about this story? The wiki may just be incomplete, though. It reminds me of a story arc of the original ms. marvel, too!

This is absolutely one of my favorite kinds of whump, and I really hope that I did it justice. Thank you so much for the ask!

CW//Medical settings, poison, therapy, paralysis, inability to speak, self-hatred, low self-esteem, hair-pulling

The metal doors at the entrance to the Metropolis General Emergency Room swung upon with the force of a thunder clap. And, just as thunder, they too heralded lightning.

Or, at the very least, light.

A pair of lab-coats pushed forth a gurney on ratta-tatta-tattling caster wheels, footsteps crashing on the floor in even rhythm. Close behind, an entourage of two sprinted in close pursuit: A pair of heroes in civilian clothes.

“Lux!”

To the person laid upon the gurney, the voice felt to be emanating from a thousand miles away. Or more. Maybe a couple thousand, or a million... It was hard to think about numbers when their mind was stuffed with cotton, and their vision was dominated by blurry white ceiling tiles.

“What in the world happened to them?” The doctor that spoke had had all sense of clinical professionalism drained from their tongue.

“We don’t know.” A hero, outfitted in jeans and sweater, replied in a single, slurred sound. “We just found them, and-”

It was too loud. Far, far too loud-- Lux felt as though the full force of the ocean had made the sudden decision to crash into their eardrums. And, beneath at all, the caster wheels refused to stop their clitter-clatter. Spikes piercing their temples, they let out the tiniest of cries.

A tiny sound, and all eyes were on them.

“Lux!”

“Lux, what in the world happened to you?”

“What the hell did you do?”

“Talk to us!”

“Wake up!”

“Wake up.”

“Lux. Lux, what did you do?”

Lux, what did you do?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The support beam shook against the force of the body, hurled at it. Shudders rocked from the base to the top, threatening for the thousandth time the structural stability of the building.

And the structural stability of Lux’s ribs.

With several hoarse coughs, the hero struggled to hands and knees, joints wobbling as though the ground they were braced against were the epicenter of an earthquake.

They could taste it.

They could taste what they had been inflicted with, more than they could feel it. The wound upon their side had long since gone numb-- at the very least, the poison had that benefit to it. Now, the sensation had migrated to Lux’s tongue. A bitter flavor of burnt coffee.

Even if they had the chance, they had no desire at all to examine the gash that had been torn across their side. They’d heard the stories, seen the headlines.

Lux knew what happened to Mercury’s victims.

That was why they were here, after all.

“Had enough yet, kid?”

The voice was booming, sounding from the other side of the half-toppled warehouse. In their weakened state, Lux could barely raise their head high enough to meet the eyes of their foe.

Mercury’s height was unimportant, as was their general stature. After all, it was hard to focus on his body. It was hard to focus on anything but the claws-- terrible, wicked things curling outwards from his knuckles.

A single slash from them, and flesh would begin to curl away, to rot. To necrose.

The wound they had been inflicted with was already a death sentence. But, not an immediate one-- Lux had a bit of time left on death row.

A bit of time to make this right.

Shivering, the hero stood to their feet, facing their opponent from a hundred foot’s distance. It was the most ridiculous of match-ups. A chihuahua against a pit bull. A garden snake against a cobra.

That didn’t mean that Lux couldn’t try.

“Firefly wants another round, then?” The villain’s voice curled, almost as venomous as their blades. “Try me, kid.”

And try they did.

Hands balled to fists at their side, Lux took one, single step forth, stomping onto the warehouse’s concrete floor with a decisive strike.

It was as though a bomb had gone off.

The world was swallowed, all at once, by white. Light engulfed each shadow, each color, until the universe was as blank as unexposed photo paper.

It was merely a distraction, a smokescreen. But they needed time to recover. Time to catch their breath.

Time to remember why they were doing this.

In the world of heroes, Mercury had a particular nickname-- “The Untouchable.” He was the lion in the zoo. No one dared get near him, much less touch him. It was a death sentence, to be slashed by his claws. The heroes were terrified of him, and that gave him a free license to tear the world to shreds.

It was from one of their villainous informants that Lux had heard of the plan initially. The water supply. Mercury had found a way to distill the poison held within their claws, and they intended to release it into the city water supply.

To kill every last citizen of Metropolis.

But the others turned merely a blind eye. No one would touch the villain. They had resigned themselves to dealing with the aftermath.

That would mean deaths. That would mean ‘acceptable causalities.’

To Lux, there was no such thing as an acceptable causality. Only a problem that needed to be solved.

Their teammates had insisted, begged, nearly, that they not be so careless. But, when had Lux even been known as the careful one?

Not once in their life.

“Stop this, Mercury!” The hero snapped into the expanse of white. “Just-”

Lux did not so much as see the fist before it connected. Did not so much as feel the claws, raking their neck.

Not before the world went from black to white.

Lux, what did you do?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You did it.”

Those were the first words that Lux heard clearly, after escaping from their haze. Consciousness teased them as the world above turned from colors to shapes to vision.

White tiles, spotless and all in a row. Their perfect nature was threatened only by an out-of-place beeping that nearly forced the hero to once more fall to sleep.

But, they managed to cling to consciousness as they turned their head to the side, revealing a figure, interrupting their view of the tiles overhead.

A figure. A person. A-

“You did it, Lux.”

Nora. Nora, their friend, their teammate, their comrade. Not Mercury. Not a villain. If Nora was here, then they were safe. The hero had an almost supernaturally calming way about herself, located somewhere between her wispy tangle of black hair and the way her movements imitated the performance of a dancer.

But, wait- Why wasn’t she in uniform? No, now she bore only the clothes of a civilian.

No. No, of course she wasn’t wearing a uniform. Lux had gone on a mission, yes. But it hadn’t been with their team.

They’d tried to stop Mercury, and-

“The water’s safe.” Nora’s voice was only just as smooth as her movements. “Mercury’s been contained. You did it.”

“And by god, what were you thinking?!”

The shout sent a stabbing agony through the side of Lux’s skull. That was more so the reaction they had expected.

Nickel. The most paranoid superhero on planet Earth.

Lux struggled to open their lips, to bring forth an explanation. To state that they had been doing what was right. That they had been doing what a hero should have done.

And yet...

And yet, their lips refused to so much as twitch. Too, their tongue sat dead in their mouth, numb and useless.

The only muscle in their body that functioned was their heart, which in that moment began to race.

“You could’ve died!” Nickel’s tirade continued, despite the fact that the target was showing not a single reaction. “Or worse! You could’ve died, or worse, or both! That was so stupid.

Don’t give me the silent treatment, dammit. Explain yourself!”

Lux wanted so desperately to do so. Their heartbeat turned, now, to a pounding tattoo within their skull, the pedal of a bass drum, slamming against the inside of their cranium.

They couldn’t move.

A twitch of the head. A blink, maybe. That was all. That was all they had left.

Lux had saved the world.

Their vision began to swirl.

Lux had saved the world, but what had they given up in exchange?

Telling when the hero fell unconscious was nearly impossible. Yet, when their eyes at last drifted closed, it became clear that whatever wakefulness they had had was now extinguished.

That left two heroes, one proud and one paranoid, leaning over a hospital bed. Shivering both in their own rights, Nickel and Nora stood. It was with great care that the room’s entrance was pushed open. The doctor that did so walked backwards-- their hands were quite thoroughly occupied by a clipboard.

Nickel and Nora said not a word, as speechless as their teammate. They both knew that this was the bringing of news.

This doctor was the bearer of their friends fate.

“They’re going to live.”

That was what they started with.

“With medical care, Lux will survive this ordeal. However, they will need to stay under intensive care until their immediate symptoms subside.”

Nora stared blankly for a long moment, before whispering:

“They aren’t moving. They aren’t talking.”

The doctor could manage only the more sympathetic of nods. Again, they repeated themself, but, this time, with an addition:

“Lux is going to live. But, most likely, they will never be the same. The poison has taken its toll on their system. There’s no cure. No antidote.

One day, they may be able to move, or speak. But, they have a very, very long road ahead of them.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Very, very long was an understatement.

No, the doctor would have been better have describing Lux’s journey as a highway from Moscow to Las Vegas.

“The rains in Spain fall mainly on the plain.”

“Da ra’zz spa- ff mm a pla.”

“The rains in Spain fall mainly on the plain.”

“Za ree z’pa fa ma- play.”

“One more try. The rains in Spain-”

“Nnn- oh! No!”

The lab-coated doctor sitting before Lux set down their clipboard with a heavy sigh, sending only another bubble of rage rising in the hero’s chest. They balled their hands into fists, shaking them furiously before placing their open palms upon their temples.

Lux hated this. Lux hated every last minute, every last instant of this. They hated the doctor. They hated the doctor’s office they had to sit in, walls covered from floor to ceiling with charts of vowels and consonants. More than anything, they hated their exercises.

It should have been simple! Eight words. Eight simple words. If they could repeat them properly, then they would never have to go to one of these stupid appointments ever again.

But, they couldn’t. They couldn’t say eight simple words. In fact, they couldn’t even say one.

A month in the hospital, and Lux could not so much as speak. It made them want to tear their hair out! In fact, they would do that, had they had the motor control for it.

But, they didn’t. They didn’t have anything.

The last month had been the longest of the hero’s existence. Hell, those thirty days had felt to be longer than the rest of their entire life, put together! Thirty days and thirty nights of utter hell.

When they had gone off to face Mercury on their own, Lux had been very well prepared to die. They had not been prepared for this.

From the outside, the progress that the hero was making was undeniable. They had begun in a state of complete and utter paralysis, able to move their head, their eyes, and not a thing else. It was only with thrice-a-day physical therapy that they had begun to move. First, it was only moving their head. Then, their arms. Their legs. By the end, they could even sit up, with the help of a helping hand.

Every day, Lux’s teammates visited. And, every day, they congratulated their friend on their progress.

But, as far as Lux was concerned, it had been a month, and they hadn’t made an inch of progress. As hard as they tried, they were still laid up in a hospital. Still broken. Still useless.

They knew that their friends were trying. They knew-- it was evident on their expressions. Those constant, stupid looks of pity. They would never speak about their own lives, about their missions. The villainous plots they’d stopped, the battles they’d won. No. They focused only on the mundane: Where they’d gone for lunch, how they’d spent their evening.

It was out of pity. Lux knew that. It was all pity. But, in all truth, those were the only moments during which they ever felt, truly, like themself. Like Lux.

Like a hero.

So they’d heard, the media had praised them, lauded them for their victory. But they never spoke of the sacrifice it had taken.

Their friends’ visits were the only parts of the day that Lux had to get forward to. The rest of their life was filled with... this.

“Lux.” The doctor coaxed. “You need to do your exercises. You’re already getting so much better! But you won’t make any progress if you don’t try.”

“Don’ thwaa ex- thwaa ta.”

“Don’t want exercises, want talk?”

Lux narrowed their eyes. But, that had been what they were trying to say. The fact that it needed to be repeated, interpreted, however, made them feel sick.

“You need your exercises, Lux. How about we just try one more time? I know you can do it. You’re already doing so well!”

Eight simple words. Eight simple words, and Lux could be a hero again. Eight words, and they could be a person again.

“Okay, Lux. Repeat after me: The rains in Spain fall mainly on the plain.”

“Tha ran-”

Yet, that was all they could make out. Lux’s throat ran dry of words, void of syllables. They couldn’t speak before, and now, they couldn’t so much as make a sound.

They never cried in front of others. Never. Yet, that rule had been broken in the hospital already a dozen times. And, so it seems, this would make thirteen.

Lux’s chest was wracked with heavy sobs as they buried their face in their hands. Soon, tears leaked from beneath their shaking fingers.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“I’m right here for you, Lux. Lean on me all you need.”

Nora’s voice carried the same cadence as water, meandering through a stream. Too, of course, did her gestures. A gentle, yet firm hand took Lux by the wrist, wrapping their arm around their comrade’s shoulder.

“It’s going to be hard, okay? It’s going to be hard. It’s okay to get tired. And you don’t have to get it on your first try. Or your fifth. Or your hundredth.”

Lux stopped listening on the last part.

This was it. The final gauntlet. Nearly an entire season spent within hospital walls-- now came their test. Everything counted on it. As far as they were concerned, it was a matter of life or death.

If they succeeded, they were home free. They could be brought home by their teammates-- of course, while still attending outpatient physical therapy, but still! They would be home.

And, yet, if they failed? They would be placed back in their hospital room. They would continue to be useless, a burden on both doctor and friend alike.

Everything was riding on this. Lux took a deep breath, and opened their eyes to face their challenge:

A hallway.

They had studied it extensively. Seven feet in width, and perhaps twenty in length. A tiny little thing, used only to get between two particular rooms. It was in the very depths of the hospital; that was why they were using it. There was no chance of distraction, of interruption.

“Are you ready, Lux?”

“Yesthh.”

“Okay.”

Their weight was leaned, nearly entirely, upon Nora. But, that didn’t matter. It wasn’t a test of standing on their own. If that was the test, they’d never get out of this hellish place. All they had to do was make it to the end of the hallway, with help. They could go slowly. They could lean. They could rest.

They only had to make it to the end.

Nora placed one foot forward, waiting for Lux to do the same, which they did, slowly and shakily. It was in this manner that they moved. One foot, one foot, staying always in the slowest of locksteps.

For Nora, it was simple.

For Lux, it was agony. Their knees felt mere milliseconds away from buckling, legs straining under the weight of the rest of them, even as the vast majority of it was leaned onto their friend.

Five feet. Five tiny, minuscule steps. That was how far Lux made it.

And then they were falling.

They did not remember the fall, not really. One moment, their knees had given out. And, the next, they were on their side, on the carpet.

Shaking.

This had been it. This had been their chance. All they had to do was walk down a hallway, that was it! Then, they could have gone home. Then, they could have been with their friends.

Then, they could have finally been a hero again.

And they’d failed. They’d failed the simplest of tasks.

In that moment, a certainty struck Lux like a dagger to the chest: They were never going to get better. Never. It didn’t matter how many exercises they did, how many doctors they saw. This whole thing was pointless! They were going to be worthless until the end of time.

On the floor, Lux screamed. It was a babbling, incoherent thing, as most sounds they made were. Too, they began to thrash, slamming their fists into the floor as they howled in anguish.

Then, they weren’t thrashing anymore. They couldn’t.

Lux had no need to open their eyes to tell what was happening. They knew Nora’s footsteps, knew the sound of her racing over. The feeling of her, hauling them into her arms. Holding them close.

They knew, also, the sounds of doors opening. Of more footsteps, familiar footsteps. Of chattering voices. Their friends’ voices.

Their whole-

Lux’s breath caught in their throat.

In order to avoid distraction, it had only been them and Nora in the room. They had assumed that it was only Nora who had visited that day. And, yet, they knew these voices.

Their whole...

Their whole team. Their whole team had come to watch. They counted every voice, every pair of footsteps. Every last one of their friends had come to watch them succeed.

But, they’d only watched them fail. Lux expected heckling, expected to be berated.

They did not expect the half-dozen pairs of arms, wrapped around them. They didn’t expect to be the center of a group hug.

“You’re doing so well.”

“You got so far!”

“Just a little more practice, and you’ll be back out there fighting crime in no time.”

“You’re almost there!”

“That’s the furthest you’ve been able to walk yet!”

“We’re proud of you.”

Lux’s tears did not stop.

And, yet, they realized something:

They were no longer tears of sorrow.

#hero whumpee #whump #whumper #whumpee #caretaker #whump community #hero x villain whump #hero villain prompt #hero x villain #hero villain scenario #hero villain whump #whumpblr #whump blog #whump scenario

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jessiebanethedragon · 3 years ago

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White Sands Warm the Cold Sea

Star Wars, The Bad Batch Pirate!au (Hunter x Reader

Summary: the reader, betrothed to a disgusting Coruscanti Lord flees her home world and lands herself in a plethora of trouble, a ship of clones, and one pirate captain whose cold exterior needs much more than the tropical seaside sun.

Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers dad and bothered are asses.

chapter one

Chapter two: The Stowaway

It is a disgusting day on Coruscant. Hot, humid and you can’t help but feel something sinister in the air. You feel hollow, and it is only partly due to the tightness of your dress. The yellow and green material wraps around you in layers. Your face is blank but your mind is racing, if you cannot convince your father to call off the marriage, how else can you put a stop to this?

Very few people talk about the war, and so how Lord Nython made his fortune is a mystery to you. What you have gathered from whispers of those in your household it was through a lengthy siege that devastated republic and seperatist forces alike.

“And the weather today is perfect for sailing, I bet those ships at the docks will be itching to set off.” Your handmaiden Seil says to you, and you frown, since when did she have an interest in the docks. But she continues playing with your hair.

“I'll get you the most expensive jewelry in the house,” She says with a smile you’ve grown up with. Perhaps carer was a more accurate term, considering she seemed to be the only person in the world that wanted the best for you. She returns with a pouch of all kinds of gold, silver and gems.

“There is a way to the docks, it is so lovely for a stroll. Away from the busy streets and such like.” You frown at her obsession with an area crawling with pirates.

“Seil what in the name-” You start saying, turning around to slip your flats on. And you stop, in her hands are your boots, made for riding as you had done so many times before.

“I thought these would be fitting, as they are your favourite.” She’s talking about all the times you told her how much you love how sturdy they feel around your feet. And how when you would run the fields, how powerful they made your legs feel.

And then it clicks. The docks, the boots. The tears in her eyes. While you were planning on an escape from this marriage, Seil had been planning an escape from every marriage your father would force on you. She ties the boots tightly, and places a hand on your cheek as you both take shaking breaths to compose yourselves.

And with your father still passed out in bed, and the sun barely rising, you slip into the streets and into the areas less traveled, sprinting off towards the ocean.

The docks are infused with the smell of fish, and the workers barely turn a glance your way as you shift through the swarms of people. You come to a halt at a clearing in the crowd, and your brain catches up with itself. What are you going to do now? With no money, skills, or plan, you begin to second guess yourself. You have time to make it back to the household with no one being the wiser. But you remember meeting Lord Nython for the first time.

His hand latched to yours like a monster squid to its prey, you notice that unlike some men he doesn’t ask ‘may I’ before touching you, and you briefly wonder what about you invites his hand onto your own. But your fake smile remains plastered on as he looks you up and down like a farmer regards the sale of livestock.

Your gut had told you then that all he could bring you was bad news, confirmed by rumors and stories of his wartime expeditions, and when he told you about the war, and the pathetic Grand Army of the Republic he spared no detail in his murder of an entire army.

Of course it's not the same as killing someone like you or me, those kaminoans are devils, and those freaks are just the same. Like hunting the same dumb peigion over and over again. We surely must have downed hundreds of them that day, but they are rats you see, you have to kill every last one in order to rid yourself of the infestation.

Education had not taught you about the Kamino Clones, but experience had, every sepratist man who held power despised them. ‘Scum of the earth’ your father had said when you asked about them. Telling you they had their emotions removed, and blindly followed orders given by the highest bidder. And when the G.A.R had fallen, they scuttled into exile.

And now you stand on the docks of Coruscant, two paths in front of you. Surely if you left Nyhon would send someone after you, he never seemed to back away from a fight, and given his reputation for always getting what he wanted, you doubted he’d take to your absence kindly. So that left you with leaving the only home you’d ever known, and given that you cannot sail, nor pay for passage, stowing away was your only option.

You briefly wonder about the procedure of stowing away, does one pick a certain ship or choose at random?

“Can I help you miss?” A Togruta man asks you, only his blue face visible from underneath his hood and cloak, but the markings give him away, as well as the point in the fabric over his head.

“I...I…” you pause to gather yourself. “I’m fine, thank you.” and you quickly turn away from him, walking down the docks at a purposeful pace. There are so many ships all looking to either load or unload supplies, but none of them seem to be leaving shortly. You need escape now, and not later. The longer you dwell the more the bad feeling in your stomach grows. You must lose yourself again because before you know it a man is rushing past you and shouting

“Sorry miss!” as he goes, you catch the clanking of metal and a glimpse of eyeglasses as he disappears up the ramp of a large dark oak ship, the name Havoc Marauder painted in red at the back.

Perhaps you have found your escape after all.

You very quickly decide the ocean is terrifying. After having snuck up the ramp and into the depths of the ship, you found yourself in your current spot. Huddled behind stacks of crates sitting on the wooden floor and being violently rocked around as the water crashes into the side from all sides. More than once you’ve had to close your eyes in panic when something particularly bad happens, but you refuse to appear weak - even if you’re the only person to witness it.

And the footsteps, even though the men seldom come below decks but you can hear them step ferociously above you. They sound like an army and considering you didn’t get a good look at any of them, you had no idea how many people you were hiding from. They’re loud, and kept busy by the Sea, you have no idea where you’re headed, but as long as it’s far, far away from Coruscant you couldn’t care less. And there are no windows here, so you have no idea how long you’ve been traveling for.

Footsteps start to make their way to the set of stairs leading down into your hiding spot, the small nook of the ship that resides in the belly of the beast. The steps you hear aren't as heavy as others, but they seem to keep most of their weight on their toes, you never quite hear their heel make contact against the wood. And you press yourself tighter to the wall, a tall frame passes you by, lean and with ashen hair the man halls a crate away from the other end of the room, and turns to leave. Your panicked eyes can do nothing but stare back at him through the gaps in the boxes, and they watch him squint for a moment, before he turns and heads back up the stairs. Crate in hand, and your heart in your chest. He cannot have seen you, if he had, why turn away? Panic consumes you.

☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠

“Sarge,” Crosshair says, thumping the crate of bread and dried meat down in front of him. Hunter simply raises an eyebrow at his vod, and it confirms Crosshair's hypothesis. The captain is in one of his moods again, when shaking off the nightmares is impossible and the hate inside him grows and simmers at fantastical measures.

“There’s a woman on board.” He tells him, casually popping a pick into his mouth. And watching as Tech’s and Wrecker’s heads snap up.

“A woman?” Tech asks with judgement. Crosshair rolls his eyes.

“Yes a woman, you know, the things that look almost like you except for their b-”

“I know what a woman is!” Tech cuts him off before things get graphic. His brother never having the politeness nor the decency to hold his tongue.

“There’s a woman aboard the Murader?” Wrecker tries to confirm, and underneath his wide captains hat, Hunter’s eyes darken.

“Listen very carefully.” He growls, the midday sun shining its way onto an unforgiving face. “If there is a stowaway. I do not care if you have to drag her to me with her intestines hanging out. Get. Her. Off. My. Ship.”

“But…” Wrecker starts, taken aback by the aggressive imagery.

“But what?” Hunter snaps, standing up and seeming small compared to his brother, but nonetheless intimidating. “I want her found and I want her off my kriffing ship.” He demands one last time before stalking back to the captains quarters.

Below deck you hear the slamming of a heavy wooden door, the sound makes your skin jump crawl with dread. Something has gone very wrong indeed, and it is not long before you see boots standing at the top of the steps down into the hold where you thought you were hidden. It is difficult to tell how many, two for certain, the change in foot size tells you that much. None of them talk, making it even harder for you to mask your panicked breaths. But just as one foot begins to descend the stairs, a voice from afar distracts it.

“Ship off the starboard bow!” it’s enough to get the men turning away from your concealment, and towards the voice.

“What does she fly?” Another voice shouts, much closer to you.

“Looks Weequay to me!” comes the response, which causes someone else to grumble something about eyesight and crowsnest. Frankly it’s all gibberish to you, starboard could be another hyper-ocean speedway let alone a part of the ship, and while you are sure you’ve heard the term Weequay before, you can’t place where or in what context you heard it. Laughter breaks you from your thoughts.

“That’ll be Hondo’s ship then!” A loud shout settles in your bones. Not one in anger but perhaps more so simple loudness. And whoever or whatever a Hondo is, it is enough to carry the shoes away from you and rush to another, more pressing task. Which makes you think you just may owe this Hondo your life.

Taglist: @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @peacefulwizardfox @rex-meshla @s1st37 @and-claudia @kamino-mermaid @thelambandthewolffe @starwarsmeninhelmets

@bronvin @myeternalsin @sweetsunflowerkisses

comment to be added!

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acreepqueen · 4 years ago

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Inktober 2020 |Day 1: Fish|

Eek! Guess I’m doing Inktober this year! This isn’t the best thing I’ve ever written but, I really hope you guys enjoy this.

Word Count: 1,679

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You had never been much of a believer in anything you couldn’t see or prove. Even then, you were prone to doubt something you couldn’t explain. That was why, when the aquarium in town had announced it was revealing a newly discovered species, you were skeptical to say the least. The information they had released to the public was limited, but there was talk in the town of it being something monstrous. You’d scoffed at the idea but your curiosity was peaked. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to take a trip to the aquarium. You knew you’d enjoy the species they for sure had even if this new thing turned out to be a bust.

The crowds at the exhibit’s debut were surprisingly large, though not entirely unexpected. After all, it had been the talk of the town since it was announced. You slipped through the hoard with only slight difficulty. Before long, you were able to see the exhibit. It was odd that there was a barrier put up to keep people away from the glass. The enclosure itself was rather ominous. It wasn’t as well lit as the other tanks and it was huge. You were pretty sure it could comfortably house a whale. Still, it was unnerving that you didn’t see anything but a couple small fish and a manta ray. You eyes scanned the crowd around you for any workers, but you didn’t have time to find anyone.

Murmurs from the people around you suddenly quieted and you glanced back at the tank in slight confusion. You gasped as your eyes met a pair startlingly similar to yours. Although, with a start, you realized that the face of what ever you were looking at was much bigger than yours. You froze unsure what to do or feel as you watched the creature. Never had you seen something quite like it. It looked humanoid, the biggest difference being the giant fish tail in place of legs. On the tail, the scales were a murky black and sharp looking spines ran down it. What at first you had thought was hair you soon realized was a mass of tentacles on the creature’s head. Its eyes were pitch black voids which made it impossible to tell where, if at all, it was looking. Though, the your main concern lay with the creature’s mouth. Teeth that made shards of broken glass look soft sat in its mouth. You gulped slightly as you watched the thing move. It looked agitated to say the least.

Within moments the silence of the crowd was broken by jeering and the sounds of cameras clicking. Many had neglected to see or follow the many posted signs stating to turn off your camera flash. You winced as the creature bared its teeth. Something in your gut churned as people continued to ignore the rules. One young girl ducked under the banister and walked up to the glass. She stood about a foot away and turned her back to the tank. She smiled, posing briefly for a picture.

You saw what was going to happen moments before it did. Without thinking you slid under the banister and pushed the girl often the side as it slammed into the glass baring its teeth once more. No one in the crowd behind you missed the loud smash, but with the blood rushing in your ears you didn’t hear it at first. You turned to the tank only to see two huge cracks stretching out from the places where the creatures hands had smacked into the glass. You felt a chill run through you. The glass was a couple of inches thick and it had been cracked as if it were nothing.

Most everyone had run away by now, but you couldn’t make your legs move. You stood frozen in place making direct eye contact with a humanoid sea monster twice your size. Okay, yeah. This is not how you had planned your day to go. To your surprise it didn’t continue breaking the glass, instead it put its hands on it looking at you in a way you could only describe as curious. Still, you didn’t trust the look in its eyes. It blinked and that was all you needed to snap out of it. You slipped back behind the banister but continued to watch the creature. It was still watching you with interest, hands pressed up against the glass. You took some time to study it more closely. Its skin was a dark greyish blue hue that reminded you vaguely of the deep deep ocean. The more you looked at it the more it looked emaciated and even a bit sickly. Though, maybe that was just how this species typically looked. Afterall, this was the first time you’d ever seen one.

Hesitantly you waved at the creature. With its sharp, boney fingers it waved back mimicking you. You couldn’t help the smile that slipped onto your face. It once again copied you, smiling back. Feeling more than a little amused you stretched backwards with your arms behind your head and it copied you again. You were getting ready to try something else when a voice behind you caused you to jump.

“Amazing. I’ve never seen em’ do that. Typically he’s pretty damn mean, that one,” a worker stated, looking at you incredulously. You weren’t sure what to say but the creature bared its fangs at the worker beside you and swam away. Only peeking out at you briefly from behind a large piece of coral behind ducking down again.

“He don’t like me one bit, I tell ya. Won’t take nothin’ I give em’. Spiteful lil’ retch would rather starve to death than eat the food I’ve got!” He ranted. You grimaced but listened on politely. So you were right about the creature looking unhealthy.

“We’re gettin’ real desperate now. Everyone’s had a go at takin’ care of em’ but he’s just hateful. Ricky had to get stitched up after he got a little too close to em’.”

You weren’t sure you liked where this conversation was going. If you were about to be asked to do what you thought you were going to, you weren’t sure if you could refuse. You didn’t want the creature to starve to death and it would probably be a once in a lifetime opportunity. Although, you didn’t really have a death wish either.

“Maybe you’d like to give it a go?” the worker asked hopefully. You frowned slightly and he piped up.

“I’m sure they’d pay ya good money if they know he’ll take food from ya!” he encouraged. You glanced back at the tank, more specifically the large cracks in the glass. Looking back towards the coral your eyes locked with a pair of sunken black ones. To hell with it.

“Okay, fine. But I’ll for sure sue if I get seriously hurt,” you agreed staring down the worker. He clapped his hands excitedly and thanked you, before he practically dragged you along.

The nerves hit you like a trainwreck the moment a bucket of dead fish was placed at your feet. You stood a couple of feet away from the open tank absolute terrified. This was such a bad idea and you were totally going to get yourself killed.

“Now, just scootch a lil bit closer to the tank and call for em’,” the man instructed. You inched forward on trembling legs with the bucket in your hand. Dead fish was certainly not a pleasant smell.

“H-hey,” you called softly. Your voice was barely above a whisper.

“He’s not gonna hear ya if-” the man cut himself off when a head peeked out of the water. God, up close he seemed so much bigger. You wanted nothing more than to bolt in that moment but you kept your feet planted firmly.

“Hi, I have food,” you stately lamely gesturing towards the fish. The creature upturned his nose at the bucket and you couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh.

“M-maybe something fresher would be better...?” you inquired towards the worker. He shook his head.

“Nah, his kind clean off carcasses normally. We can’t feed em’ rotten fish though, they’re afraid it might hurt em’,” the worker explained. Your eyes widened a smidge, but that would certainly explain the teeth. You picked up a fish from the bucket and took a step towards the creature.

“I know it’s not what you normally eat, but you have to eat something. I don’t want you to die...” you trailed off, unsure why you were trying to converse with it in the first place. To your surprise it placed its hands onto the side and laid its head down on top of it. It still watched you warily but it didn’t seem malicious. Slowly, you set the bucket down and pulled out a fish watching it all the while for any sort of sign it might want to hurt you. You cautiously walked over to it and held out the fish. It snarled and you flinched, but stayed rooted in place. With what sounded like a heavy sigh it took the fish and plunged back into the tank with it. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding and turned back to look at the caretaker. His mouth was agape and he looked stunned.

Finally, he asked, “Why didn’t you just throw the fish!? The hell were you thinking!? Why was he so gentle?! He won’t let anyone get within a foot of that tank!” he didn’t seem like he knew whether he should scold or applaud you. You just grimaced and let the man talk your ear off for a moment. Eventually, you swapped contact information and he said that he’d set up a time for you to be interviewed tomorrow. You weren’t sure the legality of all this, but you’d been meaning to find a new job for a while now. If it meant working at an aquarium with a potentially dangerous sea monster, so be it.

#inktober #inktober 2020 #exophilia #monster lover #merman #mermaid #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #writing #acreepqueen #I may or may not have drawn this

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andypantsx3 · 4 years ago

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conspire | 3 | practice

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 13,307 words / 5 chapters

summary: Shouto Todoroki had definitely only asked you out in order to ward off his horde of interested suitors. So why does he keep actually taking you out on suspiciously realistic dates?

tags: romance, reader-insert, fake dating, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

Fake dating Shouto Todoroki was an absolute whirlwind, but it certainly came with its benefits.

As weeks passed, you found yourself with a compliant test subject and plenty of data for the work you were doing on his support item. You’d confirmed that you could use this work as your submission for your senior project -- developing a support item without any input, direction, or critique from a professor -- and you’d set to the task with enthusiasm after that.

Shouto caved easily enough to the tests you’d put to him on your first “date” and you’d had way too much fun getting him to freeze and heat things for you, strapping him up in all the nodules and wires as you’d promised. Over the course of a few weeks, you’d analyzed the absolute crap out of the cryogenic structure of his ice crystals and tested the limits of his temperature control to your heart’s content, pleased that the amount of time you were spending together also played into your cover story.

It turned out his quirk worked as you’d suspected, which was incredible. Shouto’s power allowed his body to work like a heat pump, directing thermal energy against the current in which it naturally flowed at will. He used the energy from one side of his body to alternately push energy into or draw energy from the other side of his body, in order to create a temperature gradient strong enough to induce ice or flames.

He was basically like a really good looking, high-powered air conditioner.

The discovery was overwhelming and gave you limitless possibilities as to what kind of support item you could build for him.

The problem was, there were maybe too many options.

“You can watch my quirk training, if you need more direction,” Shouto had suggested one night when you were tucked up doing homework together. He’d really taken to the role of doting boyfriend and put in appearances often, taking you out on a series of other mind-bendingly good dates and showing up to your dorm on school nights with homework and small, thoughtful gifts like bottles of tea.

Through his efforts, he’d become something like a close friend.

You’d discovered over the course of your time together that Shouto wasn’t as quiet and serious as you’d initially suspected him to be, and you quite liked the sides of himself that he chose to unveil. He had a tendency to be blunt and was strangely oblivious given how observant he could be, and he had a little bit of a short fuse when the match was properly lit. He was still kind and thoughtful for the most part, but as he grew more comfortable with you it was like a flip sometimes switched and out crawled an inner gremlin, eager to tease and fluster you.

To your eternal mortification, he’d most definitely caught on to the fact that kissing you was the fastest way to fluster you, though in your defense, being kissed by a man who had no romantic interest in you was certainly a mind-boggling concept in and of itself. He’d thankfully only kissed you a few other times--once, weirdly, when you’d been almost sure no one else was around--though he sometimes watched you with a look in his eye like he was scheming up ways to make it happen again.

He was a very convincing fake boyfriend.

You had agreed to follow him to quirk training the following evening, and showed up to take your place on the sidelines of beta field that afternoon in a thick coat with a thermos of warm tea. Deep in your bag, you’d embarrassingly stowed an extra for Shouto, a habit formed by all of your time spent together.

He was there when you got there, clearly having come straight from class, and huge walls of ice already dotted the field, one or two twisted into melting spires. Slick trails of water ran down their sides where he’d blasted them with his fire, pooling into the cracks of the earth at their bases, and singe marks scored the grass around them.

Shouto seemed to brighten when he caught sight of you, and he came padding over to where you were making yourself comfortable on the cold ground.

“Anything in particular you want me to test out?” he asked, but you shook your head, unearthing a notebook and a pen from your bag.

“No, just do your thing,” you said, uncapping your pen. “I’m just looking to observe how you usually move around and channel your quirk. I rewatched all the sports festival footage from the last couple years but your style changes wildly between them, so I want to get a feel for how you currently do things.”

He looked somewhat embarrassed. “You watched those?”

You let a teasing smile flit across your lips, curious to see what kind of mood he was in today. “Oh yeah. Loved the one where you got totally stomped by Bakugou.”

To your amusement, his eyebrow twitched. “I let him win.”

Men and their fragile egos. You suppressed a smirk and stretched leisurely like a cat in the sun, tipping your face back to look up at him. “Sure you did.”

A look of annoyance passed over his handsome features, and he huffed, taking a threatening step closer to you. Something glinted in his eye, and that was all the warning you had before he leaned down and pressed his mouth over yours.

You instantly dropped your pen, fisting a hand in the jacket of his uniform to pull him closer. It briefly crossed your mind that no one was around to observe the two of you, and that this kiss was perhaps wasted effort on his part, but then he did that thing with his tongue you liked and all rational thought fled from your brain.

Shouto kissed all the sass straight out of your mouth before drawing back, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

“I’ll thank you to keep quiet,” he said, and you could only stare at him dumbly as he smirked and made his way back onto the field.

Confusion eventually washed over you as he set about practicing with his quirk, and you could only pay half a mind to what he was doing.

What had that been about? You checked your periphery to confirm that no one else was around to have witnessed his assault on your good sense, confusion only mounting when there was no one in sight. You knew he wasn’t actually interested in you, but that kiss had felt like something a real boyfriend would do to shut a mouthy girlfriend up. Was he getting so used to your little charade that he hardly minded? Did it affect him so little that it hardly troubled him at all?

You pushed your thoughts down for examination at a later time, forcing yourself to keep your mind on Shouto’s quirk training.

You took careful note of the graceful way he moved, the raw power with which he released both sides of his quirk. He was faster than almost anything, able to maneuver around the field with deadly precision, unbelievable power called to his fingertips within seconds and wielded with brutal efficiency. He was, much like his quirk, two halves of some contradictory whole, combining incredible strength with unexpected elegance to create a combat style that had quite likely never been seen before.

You sketched out several notes on his movements and jotted down a couple vague ideas for support items that came to mind as you watched him.

After a while, Shouto seemed to come to the conclusion that you’d had enough time to observe him and started messing around instead, creating enormous ice waves to slide down for your amusement, looking like a very strange surfer on some still mass of ocean. You laughed as he shot down a slope faster than he’d clearly expected, throwing up another hill of ice to slow his descent.

He came sliding over to you, huffing a little after hours of exertion. “You’re acting like you’ve seen better.”

You smiled. “You just looked funny.”

That wry twist at the corner of his mouth was back. “You do it, then.”

You stared at him. “What?”

He held out a hand, wiggling his long fingers. “You’ve had your fun judging me from over here. You do it if you’ve got opinions.”

A stab of panic shot through you. “Absolutely not.”

Something like a challenge glinted in his eye and he surged forward, scooping you up into his arms easily. You panicked, instantly trying to twist out of his hold and get him to drop you, but he just walked back onto the training field, one arm barred across yours in a steely hold. You tried to get a foot against his hip but his grip was too tight to allow you movement enough to do it.

“Shouto, you had better drop me or I will straight up murder you,” you grit out, gripping his sleeve in terror as a crackling noise started where his feet met the ground.

“You had better hope I don’t,” he tossed back as a platform of ice formed under his boots, carrying you up to the top of one icy wave. Your rise was horrifyingly quick, and you were torn between being absolutely terrified and impressed that this is how he maneuvered around all the time. You gripped him in horror.

“I will never forgive you if you do this,” you threatened, staring down the steep drop hundreds of feet to the ground. “Nothing you could ever do will make up for a betrayal like this.”

“I have some ideas,” he said. Then he took a step off the top.

You became aware of a piercing scream and realized it was coming from you. You wanted to press your face into Shouto’s chest and close your eyes but you were too terrified to even look away from what was happening as the two of you slid down the ice at hundreds of feet per second, hurtling at the ground like a rocket. You couldn’t believe you had laughed at him if this is what it felt like to do what he did.

You felt Shouto tense underneath you, and the arm under your legs flashed notably colder, before another layer of ice formed, evening out the wave into a less precipitous curve, slowing your slide and carrying you easily to the field. Gravity seemed to catch up to you again and you slid down a little in his arms. Your heartbeat pounded in your chest and your hands clenched in the fabric of his costume, even as you slid to a stop, soft grass rustling underneath his boots as he stepped off the ice.

“You’re a dead man, Shouto Todoroki,” you promised, hands still fisted at his sleeve. And he was, just as soon as you could let go of him.

Another smirk crossed his infuriatingly handsome features and you found yourself a little mesmerized by the sight of him.

He hefted you higher in his arms. “But if I was dead, how would I do this?” he asked, then pressed his mouth to yours again.

Well, he certainly had your number. Your plans for murder were instantly wiped from your brain like notes from a whiteboard, and you moved a hand to his collar to pull him down to you. His mouth was hot and he was excruciatingly gentle, working you over thoroughly, until you could hardly remember your words, never mind a flawless plot for murder.

Shouto shifted carefully and you became aware of grass under your back. Then he was moving over you, pressing you into the field with the solid weight of his body. His mouth left yours to pepper a trail of kisses in a slow line down your neck, and those long fingers tugged down the zipper of your jacket, coming up to pull down the collar of your sweater to allow him better access.

You squirmed mindlessly under him, letting out surprised little gasps whenever he found a spot that you particularly liked. The chill of the evening washed over you and you pressed yourself into him for warmth, sighing when his left side flared hotly. He bit down carefully over your pulse where it beat wildly in your throat.

“Y/N,” he groaned, and a vague thought came to you like this was somehow strange for the two of you to be doing, some reason why you shouldn’t be. You couldn’t remember why. “Tell me if I should stop.”

He pressed his mouth back to yours again, a calloused hand making its way up the side of your sweater and disconnecting your thoughts again. This felt too good to be wrong, why shouldn’t you do this? A thumb brushed under the fabric of your bra, catching a nipple, and you jerked under him, letting out an embarrassing noise. He made a noise low in his throat and did it again, tensing when you shuddered under him again.

He let out a harsh breath, then your sweater was torn upwards and your bra quickly followed, a warm mouth closing over one nipple. You swore, the heat of his mouth so unbelievably good against the cold air, arching into him as he swirled his tongue.

“Oh my god,” you managed, fingers tangling desperately in his hair. You hooked a leg over his hip, anchoring him against you harder. Your own hips raised without any input from your brain, and you swore again when one of his thighs pressed tightly to your core.

He moved to your other breast, laving over the hardened peak, two toned eyes watching your face with undisguised interest.

“Shouto,” you gasped out, drawing him back up to you to kiss him. His chest pressed into yours, the strong line of his body pinning you down everywhere, and the weight of him was unbelievably wonderful over you. Why had you ever thought you shouldn’t do this?

A blinding light suddenly flickered on over you, searing even through your eyelids where they’d fluttered closed. You jerked apart in shock. Blinking blearily, you realized it had grown dark and the field lighting system had just kicked in.

Shouto sighed and crawled off of you, leaning back on his knees to stare down at you. You blushed, the implications of what you’d just done pressing down on you, realizing your entire chest was exposed to him in the harsh light. You yanked your sweater back over you, struggling a little bit to get the band of your bra back down. Shouto placed a hand on your hip.

“Uh,” he said, something like a flush rising to his own cheeks, “That’s what you get for laughing.”

You choked out a shocked laugh, staring up at him. “That’s what I get for laughing?”

He smiled again, climbing to his feet and pulling you up with him. “I imagined my girlfriend would be more supportive.”

You gathered up your bag, hardly daring to look at him. “You picked the wrong one then, I think.”

His smile turned soft, something almost private. “I think I did okay.”

Warmth flashed through you again and you had to push down the well of thoughts that bubbled up inside you like a spring. You tried to ignore the niggling at the back of your brain as bid your goodnights and went separate ways to your dorm buildings. One thought refused to be pushed aside, however, following you as you made your way to your room, lingering as you readied for bed and turned out the light. You couldn't sleep for a long time as you tried to dredge up an answer.

What the hell had that been?

#bnha #bnha x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #fanfic #todoroki x reader #boku no hero academia #todoroki shouto #smut

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emcscared-whumps · 2 years ago

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WiJ 2022 - 18: "Make Me" (1/9)

WiJ 2022 Navigation Post

This is the bitch that refused to let me write Rebellion before it. Point your finger and blame this piece lol

CONTENT and WARNINGS: mer/shifter whumpee (in hooman form!), uhh... I genuinely don't know what you call it when some asshole falsely accuses someone of the Thirsty Gaze(TM) when he wasn't, the asshole knows it, and the asshole uses it as an excuse to beat the shit out of Pete, the... vague sexual allusions are vague, it's fine >.> , vaguer allusions of abuse mother to (adult) child

wc: ~0.6k

Pete’s nerves nibbled at his mind and body; the clouds were getting heavy that afternoon. A storm was the last thing he wanted to be caught in. For someone like him, being in a storm with little more than a bike was a death sentence. And today, he had special cargo.

Buried in Pete’s satchel, wrapped in a spare towel, was a savoury, puff pastry swirl, and a few small tarts. They were still warm, but much longer in this blustery ride, and it would be a waste—pastries were never as good re-heated.

They were from a reputable bakery, one he always passed on the way home. He always eyed each mouth-watering morsel, but every time, he had to say no. Their goods cost more than he usually allowed himself—one gorgeous, dainty pastry from the display case cost the same as a sizable pie from his regular stop. Given his… dietary requirements, he more often than not had to put his needs above is wants, but given the miserable week, both weather and otherwise, Pete decided to give in.

He’d scraped together as much of his meagre spare change as he could to boost up this week’s allowance to afford him such a luxury. He knew he’d never be allowed more. He was lucky to even have one after what happened. But what was the point of saving left-overs, if not for this?

The wheels of the bicycle clicked as Pete stopped pedalling, spying his usual shelter to rest and eat before continuing on the rest of his journey home.

It didn’t seem like much, with only one wall full wall, but the small shelter on the edge of town had offered him ample shelter from rain-laden clouds on many occasions. With weather as extreme and moody as Devonhurst’s, it was a requirement to place these around the long stretches of road and parks where there was no other shelter. No doubt, with the fixed tables, chairs, and electric hearth, it had saved countless lives, including his own.

His good leg ached from the strain of taking the load. Sighing, he came to a stop and dismounted, unhooking his cane from its holder. This shelter had a tree, and was near to the cliffside. When he could bear to look at the ocean it was a mesmerising, though terrifying sight. Today, he turned his back to it, focusing on moving his bike inside. He grimaced as his leg continued its protest in unison with the throb of his injured foot.

Finally, he could have his prize.

Rich, savoury flavours danced across his tongue with hints of herbs cutting through, followed by citrus, berry. He’d save the chocolate for later. They were well worth the trouble, and coupled with dinner, he’d have a full belly for the first time in weeks.

Pete sighed again, allowing himself a second to relax before he continued back ho—to Kate’s terrace.

The rustle of grass and clothing signalled the presence of a stranger. He sat bolt upright, twisting to see a woman enter the shelter.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, bitch?” she said, malice lacing her tone.

Pete stood too quickly, sending a sharp wave of agony from his foot shooting up his leg. His breath caught in his chest, heart-rate picking up. He would’ve dropped his cane and the baggie if not for his frightened, white-knuckled grip. “Exc-c—wh-what?” he stammered. The package crinkled as he clutched it close to his chest.

“You think I’m a piece of meat, huh? Quit gawkin’ ya pathetic tadger.”

“I—I wasn’t, it-t—p-please, miss—” his hands and voice shook, and his mouth dried. “Please g-go away.” She stepped toward him, prompting Pete to falter backward, “Make me.”

If you read and enjoyed this, please consider a reblog ^-^

Taglist:

@whumpmasinjuly

@dang-i-like-whump

@whump-cravings

If you would like to be added or removed from my taglist (general prompts or canon), please feel free to dm/let me know :)

#wij #wij day 18 #wij 2022 #whumpmas in july #whumpmas in july 2022 #whump #whump propmt #whump writing #Pete Spencer #emc's writing

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chaseatinydream · 4 years ago

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pirate king epilogue: wooyoung || atz

There’s a girl.

She stands in the surf, the waves lapping over bare feet, strands of her hair flying with the sea breeze. Softened by the light of the sun just as it peeks over the horizon, burning orange sets the silhouette of her aflame, it’s as if she’s the sun herself, bringing with her warmth that seeps into cold fingers, gentle light that slowly fills his entire night even before he notices.

There’s a girl, and she’s out of reach.

He tries to take a step forward, to call her name, one hand reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear. His lips move and nothing passes his ears, drowned out by the sea wind. But she hears and begins to turn around, and he just wants to see that radiant smile on her face one more time-

There’s a girl, and it’s a dream.

He wakes up.

Wooyoung’s disoriented for a moment, the sea fading away in his eyes to be replaced by the ceiling of the room. The sounds of Yunho’s noisy snores in the bed opposite him bring him back to reality, slowly but surely, and he sits up, one hand rubbing at his eyes while the other drags through his hair in an attempt to tame his messy bedhead.

Light and chain free.

Letting out a yawn, he turns his head to glance at bed next to his and finds it empty, the sheets already neatly folded and pillow fluffed. It’s barely the crack of dawn.

He shifts to the side of his bed and looks out of the window, the familiar smell of sea salt on the air and soft amber light striking the blue aquamarine gem on his bedside table, throwing soft blue and orange flecks of light everywhere in the room.

He watches the sun rise until it lifts away from the sea into the sky, before he gets to his feet and changes into a simple shirt and trousers, slipping the silver hairpin into his belt.

It’s a new day today.

“Oh, you’re finally awake.” Yeosang greets him as Wooyoung slips down into the living area of the house. Wooyoung cocks an eyebrow at him. “You’re up early.”

“I had some strange dreams and couldn’t fall back asleep, so I came down here to read for a bit.” Yeosang points at the book sitting in front of him on their dining table, a cup of coffee beside him. “Jongho got us breakfast from Seonghwa’s before he went fishing this morning.“

The fragrance of Seonghwa’s beef stew fills his nose and he sniffs appreciatively, glancing around Yeosang to see the pot hanging over their hearth fire. “It looks good.”

“Hurry, eat and wake Yunho up so we can go. We have a lot of things to prepare today.”

“Isn’t your turn to wake Yunho today?” Wooyoung reaches for a bowl and ladles some beef stew into it, perching himself on the table and legs dangling over the side. Even after leaving the ocean for three years, he still can’t get used to the feeling of sitting down on a chair. “And Jongho’s out early. What for?”

“He says there’s been strange sightings of a giant squid monster further out and wants to check it out for himself, the brave soul.” Yeosang chuckles as he flips a page, and Wooyoung catches sight of an ink drawing of a tentacles monster on the paper. “And as for Yunho, you offered to wake him up this morning yesterday in exchange for me doing the dinner dishes.”

The memory is hazy at best, but Wooyoung remembers stumbling into the house late at night, completely exhausted and on the brink of falling asleep on the doorstep if it hadn’t been for Jongho dragging him into his bed by the scruff of his neck. “Ah, shit. You sholdn’t let me make regretable decisions when I’m clearly not in the right state of mind.”

Yeosang shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee. “Well, it benefitted me, so of course I’d agree.” Wooyoung makes a face at that, sticking his spoon into his mouth. The familiar taste of Seonghwa’s food instantly brightens his mood and chases away some of the fear that accompanies his later task.

All too soon, the bowl grows empty while his trepedition grows. When it is scraped clean, Wooyoung looks down at it with a sigh before turning to Yeosang. “How about we make this a team effort?”

Yeosang shakes his head, eyes shining with amusement. “You’re on your own.” He makes a shooing motion with his fingers. “Remember to dodge if he starts snorting, being kicked by him hurts.”

Wooyoung sighs, rising to his feet. “Yes sir.”

>>>

A few swung fists, a near encounter with a black eye and an apologetic Yunho later, the three of them head out to their usual place, Yunho and Wooyoung trailing after Yeosang with their arms laden with books. The second they near the familiar iron wrought gates, they hear delighted shouting from one of the upper floor windows.

“It’s Yeosang-oppa!”

“Yeosang and his two slaves!”

At the title, Wooyoung laughs loudly, amused. “Even the kids know how much we’re worked to the bone because of him.” Wooyoung jokes and Yunho lets out a snort as he raises a hand to wave to the kids. “Now, if only they would call us by name instead of ‘Yeosang’s lackeys’... I understand how Captain feels.”

“Well, he’s the teacher and we’re just his assistants.” Yunho replies, the three of them stepping into the orphanage compound. The bright faces from the second floor window quickly vanish, and Wooyoung hears the pitter patter of small feet before the front door is thrown open and excited children spill out of the small building.

“Teacher Yeosang!”

“Look, look! I made a drawing of three of you!”

“Teacher Yeosang, read us that pirate story again!”

“Teacher Yeosang, could you help me solve this mathematics problem...”

“Ahh ahh, no need to be impatient, all of you.” Yeosang chides and the children instantly fall silent, all of them vibrating on the spot with excitement. Wooyoung can’t help but snicker at the sight, they’re quite adorable. “Let me head in and get the room set up first, alright? I brought new books for all of you today.”

“You mean we brought the books.” Yunho says loudly from behind him, waving the stack of hardbacks in his hands for extra effect. Some of the children burst out into little giggles, and Yeosang rolls his eyes goodnaturedly.

“The specifics aren’t important.” He retorts, before he leans down to whisper to the children. “If all of you behave, I’ll read the story of ‘Pirate King’ for all of you, alright?”

Their faces light up instantly, before their little hands grab at Yeosang’s clothes and they begin to pull him into the orphanage, chattering excitedly. “Hurry up! I wanna hear the pirate story again!”

“Pirate story! The pirate king!”

Yeosang casts a helpless look back over his shoulder as the children practically manhandle him into the building.

Save me.

Wooyoung and Yunho exchange looks, before they both give him serene smiles and wave simultaneously.

Good luck.

Yeosang’s glare burns into them the entire way, much to their amusement.

In the lesson room, a small dining space cleared of its usual tables and chairs save for one, Yeosang sits before the group of excited children, his book in his hands as he begins to read aloud.

“Legends say that out there, sailing across the ocean somewhere, is a pirate ship called the Treasure that has plundered every land of its gold and jewels.” Sitting at the back of the room, Yunho and Wooyoung watch as Yeosang slips on his reading glasses. The expression on his face is one of calm focus even though the story he’s reading is nothing but a simple tale, and his audience merely a group of young children even though he’s held debates before scholars and distinguished men.

“The kids never get tired of this story, do they?” Wooyoung says out of the corner of his mouth. Yunho stifles his own laughter, his head leaning back to rest against the wall with a quiet thump.

“Well, the writers did make it very dramatic.” He says softly, so as to not disturb the kids. “It was a lot more boring, the way we lived it. From how they tell it, it’s as if we got into battle every week. They completely missed out the most important, boring thing that happened on board, which was-”

“- lookout duty.” Both of them echo at the same time, and Wooyoung snickers.

“The mizzenmast is still better.”

“Even in a pile of ashes, the main mast is still of more substance that yours.”

Wooyoung covers his mouth with both hands and tries not to laugh too hard.

Across the room, Yeosang levels a glare at the two of them and they shut up instantly, Wooyoung miming locking up his lips and throwing the key over his shoulder.

“The pirate king was a terrible, fearsome man with a reputation that stretched across the oceans-” Yeosang’s barely a few seconds into the story when he’s interrupted.

A young boy throws his hand up, eyes shining with excitement. “Was the pirate king huge?” Yeosang pauses, brows furrowed. “Uhh...”

“He must have been really big and strong if he was so scary!” Another girl pipes up, and Yeosang glances back at the two of them for help. Upon finding none, he nods slowly, a slight grimace on his face. “Oh, yes. He was uhh... very big and scary, almost a head taller than Yunho back there and the size of two men across.”

Yunho coughs loudly into his palm, and Wooyoung can see him struggling to keep the smile off his face. The thought of their captain in the proportions that Yeosang described makes Wooyoung want to laugh till his sides hurt.

“The pirate king and his pirate band ATEEZ crossed the oceans and raided several towns, terrifying townspeople and Royal Navy alike. He would catch misbehaving kids... and steal them away!”

The children jump in their seats, eyes wide. “Steal misbehaving children?” One of the more boisterous boys calls out from the back, looking slightly nervous. Yunho grins from behind, rising to his feet silently and taking quiet, silent steps towards him. Yeosang nods seriously, his eyes flickering towards the creeping battlemaster at the back for a brief moment before returning his attention to the children.

“Oh, yes.” He says, voice dropping to a low whisper. “The pirate king would steal around in the middle of the night, when the lamps burn low and the shadows seem to watch you from the foot of the bed.” The children seem to be completely enraptured by his words, eyes huge like dinner plates and their mouths hanging open, Yunho going completely unnoticed behind them as he sneaks up on that child. “If you misbehaved, he would climb in through your windows or sneak into your house, and then-”

“Ah!”

The boy at the back screams as Yunho pounces on him, and Wooyoung erupts into laughter at the sight. Panicking, the boy’s arms flail for a second and he ends up smacking Yunho straight in the gut. With a loud, dramatic groan, Yunho sinks to his knees, keeling over onto the floor.

“Ahh... you got me good...”

Wooyoung’s laughing so hard now he can barely keep the tears from the corners of his eyes. “You defeated the pirate king!” The boy cheers, and Yunho gets up from the floor, eyes shining with amusement.

Yeosang shakes his head, but Wooyoung can see the slightest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he flips a page. “Now, what adventure shall I read?”

“The one where he raided a town for chocolate instead of gold!”

“Oh, oh! The story when he had to run away from the Royal Navy!”

“When he faced the sirens!”

“Alright, I got it.” Yeosang’s face is gentle, and he turns the pages of his book once more. “I’ll read all the stories that you want today.”

The children cheer.

The morning passes peacefully, with Yeosang wrapping up his storytelling session with one or two (or a whole lot more untruths about their captain). After that, Yunho and Wooyoung take some of the older boys to the backyard to play some sword fighting, while Yeosang teaches the younger ones their letters.

“What do you intend to do for the rest of the day?” Yunho asks Wooyoung as the two of them finish up arranging the books that they’d brought on the shelves. Wooyoung frowns, pondering this for a second.

“Well, I’m supposed to do quite a lot of deliveries for San and Seonghwa today, so I’ll probably be busy till evening.” He says, shrugging before he slips another book into the shelf. “What about you? Training the recruits at the Royal Navy has got to easy as pie for you, isn’t it? You come home before the sun sets every day.”

Yunho shakes his head, laughing. “Oh, no. They’re all talented, that’s it. I’m just teaching them the basics and they catch on fast. Still,” he glances at Wooyoung, eyes twinkling. “It’s funny that we’ve come to this, isn’t it? Two legendary pirates from the story of the Pirate King, one working as an odd job man and the other training the Royal Navy, of all things.”

Wooyoung nods, fingers stilling on the spine of a book. “Yeah. It’s not something any of us would have seem coming.” He says softly.

After the incident three years ago, the Treasure had been turned to matchwood and the crew returned to normal lives for the first time in years. Learning to get used to walking on flat, unmoving ground once again, smelling flowers and grass instead of the familiar scent of sea salt in the air, sleeping in a bed instead of on a hammock, all these were like taking baby steps back to normalcy, one at a time.

“But I like it, you know.” Yunho says suddenly, voice quiet. Wooyoung blinks at him, prompting him to elaborate further. “No more running, no more fighting, just peace and quiet and an honest living.” He turns and grins at Wooyoung, eyes bright. “I think I’ve had quite enough adventure for a lifetime.”

Wooyoung smiles, turning away to put the books left in his hands on the topmost shelf. “Yeah.” He agrees. “It really was the adventure of a lifetime.”

>>>

San’s apothecary is tucked away from the hustle and bustle of town, right at the foot of a small hill some distance from the port. Barely anyone takes the time to head out there, so Seonghwa’s eatery ended up becoming the place for the townspeople to place orders for medicines and cures. Peace and quiet, San had joked when he’d turned down living with the rest of the crew in town.

Well, it’s certainly a bit too quiet now.

“Oi, San, don’t tell me you’re still sleeping.” Wooyoung calls, banging the door with his fist. No one replies. “San! If you’re not going to let me in, I’m going to break in through your window.”

“You’re going to what now?”

Wooyoung turns around to see San standing behind him, one hand cocked on his hip and a bunch of lavender sprays under one arm. “I was only joking.” Wooyoung shrugs with an easy smile, stepping aside for San to unlock the front door. “You’re the one who wasn’t home when you said you would be.”

San rolls his eyes good naturedly. “I was out gathering these.” He tosses them into Wooyoung’s hands before he rummages about in his apron pocket for the keys. “How were the kids today?”

“They’re filling up nicely, quite a few can read, and now all of them think that Hongjoong is a monster who sneaks about in the middle of the night and kidnaps children.”

San pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “He’s a what?”

Wooyoung shrugs, grinning. “Yeah.”

“Hongjoong’s going to have a fit when he finds out.” San ushers Wooyoung in through the open door. The apothecary is a small redbrick affair, a simple kitchen and living space connected to his far more sizeable workroom. San says he’s used to it after living on the Treasure for so long. Wooyoung shakes his head.

“He might like it. Yeosang made him sound tall.”

San snickers at Wooyoung’s words, tucking the lavender onto one of his shelves before he points to the many vials and bottles on the table. “Here, all the deliveries for today.” Wooyoung peers at the two empty coffee cups left out on the table.

“Someone came by earlier?”

San nods. “If you had just come earlier, you would have run into Hongjoong. His expedition should be starting anytime soon.” He grins at Wooyoung, eyes bright. “How does it feel heading back to sea again after three years?”

“I don’t know.” Wooyoung says, stepping around San to pack the medicines into his bag. The scent of lavender and ylang ylang are soothing, but nothing can quite beat the smell of the ocean. “Good, I suppose. I’ve been having strange dreams about the ocean anyway. Maybe it’s a sign.”

San pauses slightly, eyes glancing over at Wooyoung. “Strange dreams?” He repeats.

“Yeah, of a girl and the ocean. Weird, I know.” Wooyoung explains, hoping the dreams don’t sound too ridiculous. “I can never see her face, but whenever I see her, my chest feels warm. Light. Calm.” Then he chuckles, fingers wrapping tightly around the neck of a bottle. “The chains around my wrists, they just disappeared when I woke up on that island with Captain and Yeosang three years ago. I don’t know what happened, and I still can’t remember.”

Sudden, slight pain pulses through his heart and he grunts, one hand thumping his chest and San rushes to sit him down on a chair. “Don’t force yourself too hard.” San says quietly, handing Wooyoung a honey covered sweet. “Maybe it’ll take time.”

“I thought I’d get the urge to go to a brothel or something, but I just can’t bear the idea of chasing after a woman other than her.” Wooyoung struggles to explain. “I feel like I’m waiting for someone every time I walk past the ocean. And she doesn’t... she doesn’t even exist.”

San watches as Wooyoung runs a heavy hand through his hair, pressing his lips together in a thin line. “I told her you’d never be able to forget her, whether you remember her or not.” San murmurs under his breath, his heart breaking for his best friend. “When I see how much you’re hurting, though, I sometimes wish I was wrong.”

Wooyoung blinks up at him, confused, as he pops the sweet into his mouth. “Huh?”

San shakes his head. “Oh, no, nothing. Just thinking that Hongjoong came by this morning complaining of weird dreams too.”

Wooyoung gives him a half hearted glare, punching him lightly in the arm. “See, you could have just given the two of us check ups so much more easily if you’d just chosen to live with us. You could share a room with Jongho, you know. There’s no point to having two beds in your cramped bedroom.” He points at the two small beds on opposite sides of the house, and San hesitates for a moment.

He can’t very well say he’s clinging onto a hope, dreaming, waiting for a day someone no one else remembers will come home. He can’t say that it hurts when he wakes up into life of normalcy with the rest of the crew but without her there with them. He can’t say that if she’s not there, he’d rather be alone, where the rest of the crew isn’t there to remind him that he’s the only one who holds on to a past no one else remembers.

So instead, he replies casually, “Well, I got used to having two beds on the Treasure. Besides, it’s a good place to dry extra herbs when it happens to rain outside.”

“You like your space, I got it.” Wooyoung chuckles, rising to his feet. He turns back for a moment just as he’s stepping out of the door. “You’re coming by tonight to Seonghwa’s eatery for dinner?”

San nods seriously. “Of course! How could I miss a chance to look at baby Hwaseong... he called me ‘bubu’ on Monday!” The healer clasps his hands together, shaking his head at just how adorable that little angel is. “It reminds me of the days when Jongho was an cute baby too. Now he hasn’t even visited me for two days. That kid’s growing up the wrong way.”

Wooyoung laughs. “I heard from Yeosang that Jongho has been sailing out further these days hoping to catch sight of a giant squid monster locals have been talking about.” San pauses, fingers stilling on a spray of lavender at Jongho’s words.

“A... sea monster?”

“No need to be scared, you’re living all the way inland anyway.” Wooyoung teases, completely mistaking San’s anticipation for fear. “We might hear some of Jongho’s tales tonight if he catches sight of it. Well then,” he waves his bag of deliveries in one hand. “See you later.”

When Wooyoung leaves the house, San catches sight of the silver hairpin tucked into his belt just as the door closes behind him.

“He can’t remember you, yet he can’t let it go either.” San murmurs softly under his breath as he sits down on the bed opposite his, fingers gently brushing linen sheets. Waiting for someone to come home.

“Chin Hae, please... hurry home soon.”

>>>

The sun is just beginning to set when Wooyoung makes his last delivery for the day.

Making his way to Seonghwa’s eatery by the docks, he avoids the red light district and instead chooses to take the long way round by the sea shore. Footsteps quick and light, he’s hurrying along the beach just as his heart begin to throb once more.

“Ahh, ouch.” Wooyoung winces, face screwing up against the pain. Taking a seat in the sand, he quickly unwraps a painkiller that San had given him earlier and pops it into his mouth, biting down hard on it. The bitter taste spreads through his mouth and he gags. “Couldn’t he have made them a little sweeter?”

With a sigh, he lies back in the sand and waits for the pain to abate. They’ve been getting more acute and serious lately, along with the dreams.

Reaching down, he pulls out the silver hairpin in his belt and holds it up to the light of the setting sun. Orange fragments the second it strikes the aquamarine blue surface, the silver petals catching its light. At a single glance, Wooyoung can tell that it’s a beautiful, expensive piece.

But why would he have something like this?

Three years ago, right after they had been released from the Royal Navy after Hongjoong had signed that contract with them... San had given it to him with tears in his eyes, begging him to keep it with him at all times. For no reason at all, Wooyoung couldn’t understand either why he felt so much pain when he looked at it, and yet couldn’t bear to throw it away.

Up till now, Wooyoung still doesn’t know why.

With a sigh, Wooyoung tosses the hairpin up into the air, making to catch it again. All of a sudden, however, a seagull swoops down and grabs it away with its beak, before flying off towards the ocean.

“Hey!” Wooyoung shouts, scrambling to his feet. But the bird is already halfway out to sea, and all Wooyoung catches sight of is a glint of silver as it drops the hairpin into the ocean.

Wooyoung doesn’t know why he’s so furious. It’s just a hairpin, just a stick of metal, that’s all. And yet his heart throbs even more painfully than before, and he simply looks out over the ocean, feeling despondent. What is he going to do now?

Just as he’s thinking that, however, the tide shifts.

Confused, Wooyoung takes a step back as water washes over the tip of his boots. Is it natural for the tide to just rise suddenly like this? Frowning, he takes another step back, until he hears it.

At first, he thinks that his ears must be playing tricks on him. It sounds like a heartbeat from within the ocean, drums in the deep, every wave that rushes towards the shore keeping its slow rhythm. He looks up.

And sees a girl who was definitely not there less than a few seconds ago standing in the surf, reddish brown tentacles slowly slipping away from her form, sliding back into the sea and vanishing from sight. Wooyoung only stares.

She’s dressed in robes spun from sea silk, the fabric shining gold in the light of the setting sun. There’s a silver hairpin in her hand.

“I believe this belongs to you.” She says softly, and memories surge into his head like a tidal wave crashing onto shore.

Him pressing that hairpin in to her hand the day she got her name. Sitting on the yardam with her head resting on his shoulder. Her fingers wrapped around his in the warmth of his pocket. The chains falling from his wrists, falling free away from their hold on his heart.

“When you come back, I promise I’ll tell you how I feel about you.”

“No, it’s yours.” Wooyoung manages to choke out, as he looks at her... no, you. He feels like if he says any more than that, he’ll break down into sobs. You smile at him, taking a step forward.

It’s another dream, isn’t it? He’s just fallen asleep on that beach and now he’s having the most beautiful dream in his life - that you’re back, that he remembers you, that you’re alive.

“Why are you crying? Not happy to see me?” Your voice is slightly teasing as you draw closer, and Wooyoung startles to feel hot tears sliding down his cheeks.

“No, no, I just... the opposite.” He chokes on a sob. One of your hands reach out to cup his cheeks, gently brushing the tears away from them. “I... I just... I... how...”

“Shh, you don’t need to say anything.” You smile, pressing the hairpin into his palm, where he grips it tight. “Can you do my hair again for me?”

He nods wordlessly, unable to speak. You turn around and he takes a few strands of your hair with trembling fingers, lifting it to his lips in a silent, reverent kiss before he starts braiding it back. With every slide of his fingers, the warmth pressing against him starts to sink in bit by bit.

This is real.

You are real.

He’s crying again when he slides the hairpin into the updo to hold it in place. Upon hearing his soft sniffling, you turn around and take his face in your hands gently, prompting him to look into your eyes.

“I’ll keep my promise with you.” You say softly, smiling slightly. Wooyoung only cries louder, unable to find words to speak. “Wooyoung-ah, I love-”

He kisses you hard.

His lips move frantically against yours, deep and hard, as if he’s trying to confirm your existence, that you’re really here with him. He crushes you against him so tight he can feel your heart beat against his chest - you’re real.

There’s a girl, and she’s home.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #jongho #ateez pirate king #w; ot8 #w; pirate king #w; fanfiction

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untaemedqueen · 4 years ago

Text

SandB Series

Alpha Werewolf!Taehyung x Mate!Reader

Chapter 10.

Genre: Werewolf!AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff

Tag-List: @jvcqneliue, @gooplibrary, @imaforeigner, @wickizer, @mychemical-friendship, @justmewondering, @stories1907, @stressedinmedschool247, @taeslittletiger, @claireelise19

A/N: Yall have waited a while for answers to your questions huh? lmfao Always a shout out to the squad @ladyartemesia, @xjoonchildx, @ppersonna

Everything moved so fast in your eyes. You couldn’t begin to understand how you ended up here. You pull at the chains that keep you bound to the wall before whining.

The sound earns a multitude of eyes on you and Taehyung is quick to check on you before running his hands through his hair.

You were strung up naked against the wolframite wall, your body shaking like a leaf as he fixes the blindfold on your eyes. Your body was still running hot, your skin feeling like you were in the presence of the sun at this point.

“Tae, unchain me!” You cry out, warm tears coasting over your cheekbones as you tug harshly against the chains that bind you.

His hand presses to his mouth as he flinches.

“I can’t baby. I’m sorry. We don’t know how to fix you, yet.” He whispers and the sound of his voice brings a deep based growl from the base of your throat surprising even yourself.

He feels at a loss. This has never happened before, or not that he’s heard of anyway. Gold eyes were normal upon entering these hallowed grounds. It happens to human mates that are the only one for their counterpart. The symptoms of heat were also normal, he expected it. He was excited for it even, but this- the blood red eyes like you had the Parvovirus was something completely new and terrifying.

He can’t begin to understand the strength you gained. It took six werewolves that could lift over a ton to even pull you off of him.

He stomps his foot angrily as he covers his face with his hands.

He doesn’t understand the science behind it, he doesn’t understand anything and it frustrates him to his core.

“So you’re saying this began after she took the Axelite?” The royal physician asks for the fifth time.

Arms wrap around your mate’s chest, holding him back as he bares his teeth at the question.

“If I say my answer again, I will rip out your jugular and feed it to the wild beasts in the forest.” He seethes through clench teeth as his nails begin to sharpen themselves.

The physician seems calm at the sudden aggression thrown at him but it’s no surprise seeing as how he has taken care of werewolves and lived to tell the tale many times over.

“Fix my fiance, she’s fucking dying over there. Our pups need her!” Taehyung says as he balls the doctors shirt up in his fists.

Jeongguk and Jimin pull him back as the doctor approaches you again. You can smell him, which is shocking because your senses were never the best. You can smell his fear and his inquisitiveness. It’s astounding you can even tell how he feels from a simple scent.

Above all you can hear everything so clearly. You know whenever Taehyung takes a step or when Yoongi taps his fingers to his knee. You can hear the pups clothes rustling as they flail their arms or legs.

“What hurts the most?” The doctor asks as he presses his hand to your shoulder.

The touch of someone other than Tae makes your stomach violently ill, the queasiness coursing through you as you press your head back to the wall.

Your chest rumbles with a low growl and Taehyung pulls the doctor away from you before biting his bottom lip nervously.

“Everything hurts. My cunt, my head, my skin.” You mumble as you squeeze your eyes shut.

The royal physician looks over at Taehyung’s aunt who sits passively on the chaise lounge holding one of the recently born girls. He tilts his head to outside of the room and she nods before following him out of your bedroom.

“Baby. I’m so sorry.” Taehyung whispers to you, his shoulders are deflated at a loss of what to do.

You tug harder on the restraints at the sound of his voice, your tongue licks at your lips before baring your teeth almost viciously.

“I want to hold my babies.” You growl and he whimpers gently before nodding.

“I know, baby girl. I’m so sorry.” He whispers before looking at his pack.

The others don’t meet his eyes, staring at the floor as he goes through the bouts of hopelessness and anger. How could they fix you if this has never happened before?

You can hear the physician whispering to your mate's aunt. You hear him tell her that there might not be a cure. It might be something you’re stuck with if they can’t come up with a solution and even through all of these mind muddling feelings, you feel yourself deflating at those words.

Taehyung hears them too and he kicks the wooden chest at the end of the bed, creating a hole in the now splintered wood.

The bedroom door reopens and you hear unfamiliar footsteps that accompany the others as they enter.

Tae’s head lifts up at the intrusion before raising an eyebrow as an older woman with stark white hair follows behind the physician.

Without a second thought, he lifts the blindfold off of you.

“Are you crazy?!” Taehyung yells as your eyes snap open.

Your blood red eyes dance around the room before finding purchase on your mate and you pull so harshly at the restraints, the wall groans almost giving way to your tugs. You growl at him, the sides of your mouth foaming before snapping your teeth hard in his direction.

He swallows thickly, his eyes beginning to well up with tears as Jeongguk and Jimin press you into the wall with their shoulders.

“Ah.” The voice is melodic and you pry your eyes away from your fiance before being met with amethyst colored irises.

The woman before you was so breathtaking and so shrouded in her own white glow, your eyes squinted as if you’re looking head on into the sun.

“My Lady.” She whispers and you feel yourself relaxing at her gentle voice. She sounds of wind chimes and bird songs and your head tilts as she approaches you.

“This is the leader of the Fae, Raeuna.” Soojae announces and Taehyung steps forward protectively as she runs her hand over your cheek. Whether it was to protect you or her, he still couldn’t begin to understand.

“I see.” She murmurs as she curls her hand before a glass vial appears within her palm.

“Do you feel pain, My Lady?” She asks as you feel your body molding into the wall and the werewolves before you.

Her question begins to bring back your troubles and your skin flares with pain as you groan. She begins to frown as one of your newborn daughters begins to cry. Your head snaps up and you pull your hands so hard against the metal that it snaps into shards.

“Oh Jesus!” Jimin yells as the rest of the pack charge to keep you still.

Your growl emanates throughout the room, the sound shaking Taehyung’s heart as he picks up your daughter and places her to his chest shushing her all the while.

He eyes you nervously as you kick and thrash at the men as they dig you deeper into the wall, their heels skidding against the floor as you battle them.

“Let me go. She needs me!” You scream before grabbing on to Namjoon’s hair. He groans at the tug, his jaw clenching to withstand the pain. You barrel your forehead to his and he whimpers at the pain before passing out, his body slipping through the countless others as he falls to the floor.

You crack your neck before zoning in on your fiance as he ushers his aunt out of the room with two of the pups in tow.

“Can you help her?” The royal physician asks Raeuna as she cups your cheek lovingly.

Your fiance stares at you with pleading eyes as he backs up farther into the room with your daughter to his chest.

“Baby.” He whispers sullenly and above all the screaming and commotion from the werewolves holding you down, you can still hear him.

“I can.” The Fae says and once more your body begins to shut down at the voice of her. She sounds so ethereal, so absolutely entrancing.

“Wolf Prince.” She beckons him forward and you growl as he steps closer to you.

He lays your daughter down on the bed before flinching as you snap your teeth at him.

“She became this way after taking the Axelite?” Taehyung can almost vomit at the question as he hears it now for the sixth time. His nerves were shot to shit and it rattles him to the core to see you so fucking vicious.

“Yes.” He mumbles as you growl at him.

“Please help her, I-I don’t know what to do.” He begs the Fae as she smiles sweetly at you.

The lit fire in the room crackles loudly as you begin to zone out into her amethyst irises, watching them swirl and sway with ease. It’s like watching a purple ocean, with low tides and misting horizons.

“I can help her. But, I have one question for you.” He feels himself teetering on the edge of psychosis. She speaks so slowly, so calmly he begins to think that she can’t grasp the bloodcurdling situation at hand.

If his pack lose control over you, who knows what could fucking happen? Who knows how damaging the results could be?

“Anything.” He says quickly as he watches your body go lax against the wall.

“Eyes on me, My Lady. That’s right.” She whispers before caressing your cheekbone with her thumb.

“Is she always fertile?” Raeuna asks and Taehyung does a double take of her face, seemingly shocked at the question.

“Y-Yes.” He replies and that answer seems to appease her as she opens the vile in the palm of her hand. The liquid is pearlescent and shimmering as it swirls on its own within the confines of the glass.

“Are you sure this will help her?” He asks quickly as she brings the vile to your lips.

“Oh yes. This will help out My Lady in ways you could never imagine.” She replies as you part your lips for the viscous liquid.

A sweet taste lingers on your tongue as she tips the bottle upwards. The liquid is icy cold as it careens down your throat. Your eyes squeeze shut and there’s a lapse in your thinking, your mind going completely blank before collapsing into the arms of the pack.

“Y/N?!” Taehyung calls loudly to you as he pulls you from Jin’s arms.

“When she wakes, she’ll be her old self again. Maybe even better than before-”

“Who are you to tell me how she should be?!” Taehyung barks out to the ethereal woman as he lays you down on the bed beside Rina.

She hums at his words before sitting down on the chaise lounge his aunt was sat in previously.

“When she wakes I must speak with her.” Raeuna says before fixing her dress as it pools at her feet.

Your fiance runs his hand over your cheek before pressing his lips to your forehead. His lips linger for a while as he hugs you to his body. He was frightened, so completely lost throughout that time. And, he realizes he would be a shell without you.

The pack leave quietly as they whisper to one another at the strange events that have just taken place.

“Can you please explain why this happened?” The physician asks as he pulls out a leather bound book and a fountain pen.

Raeuna looks away from you before laughing gently, the sound is like water bubbling to a surface before breaking.

“This will never happen again.” She says, putting her hand on his wrist stopping his hand from inscribing.

Taehyung’s eyes falter to the woman before sitting up straighter.

“And why is that?” He asks as he pulls the covers over your naked body.

She smiles sweetly at him before looking at your sleeping figure.

“Because she’s one of a kind. She is unlike everyone and yet, she is above everyone.” The Fae Elder says before crossing her legs demurely.

An eyebrow raises on your fiance as he crosses his arms.

“I’m sorry. I don’t quite understand.” The physician whispers as he closes the leather book.

“Everything will be explained when My Lady wakes from her slumber.” Raeuna says before producing a glass of purple water and taking a sip as her eyes narrow at your sleeping form.

You wake with a jump, your body springing up in the large bed.

“Hi.” Taehyung whispers to your right and you turn your body quickly to him. You scramble to hug him and he chuckles as he presses your head to the base of his neck. His large hand runs comforting swipes over your back, his lips pressing to your temple repeatedly as he rocks you against him.

You whine in his arms, hugging him so tightly he groans with a chuckle.

“I guess you kept some of that strength, huh?” He asks as he pushes some of your hair behind your eye. He kisses your lips sweetly, his plush warm lips pouring out his emotions as he holds you close.

“So you’ve awoken.” Raeuna says as she enters the room.

You smile at her before bowing your head, your thoughts subconsciously drifting to how calming and serene her eyes were as she helped you.

“My Lady.” She whispers before approaching the bed. She sits on the wooden bench at the end before extending her hands and you take them happily as Taehyung runs his lips over your mate mark.

“Thank you for helping, I-I don’t know how you helped me but I’m so appreciative.” You say earnestly as you squeeze her hands.

She hums happily before her smile widens.

“Anything for royalty.” She replies before patting the back of your hand.

You nod before looking at your fiance and smiling, “He told me he was something of royalty.”

The Fae Elder laughs before tilting her head, her wavy white hair falling into her eyes as she giggles.

“Not the Wolf Prince. You. The Lady.” She says before sitting up straighter.

Your breath catches in your throat before leaning into her touch.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” You whisper as his lips stop caressing your skin to pay attention to her words.

“You come from a long line of Fae Royalty, I can see it in your skin and your eyes. I can hear it in your voice and see it in the aura around you.” She says as you clutch onto her hands harder. You swallow before widening your eyes at her.

“So...You’re saying that she’s one of the Fae? She’s a magical creature?” Taehyung clarifies as he puts his hand on the small of your back.

Raeuna nods before wrinkling her nose at your hopelessly confused expression.

“Shall I explain, My Lady?” She asks as you pull the sheets around your naked form tighter.

“Please.” You say before looking to your right as your mate gives her his full attention.

“When the world was dawning and brand new, there were lines of Fae Royalty that held precedence over many others. Some Fae lines tied to the land, to the fertility of soil . Some Fae lines were tied to the waters, instilling life in the vast oceans and lakes of the world. Some lines were tied to the fertility of the people- your people. The blood of the Fae in your line has been muddied over the years, breeding with all sorts of humans or hybrids but your blood still sings of times gone past. Your blood still sings of royalty even in this human body. This is why the Axelite did not work on you, for you’re not just human. You’re royalty and Fae Royalty at that.”

Your jaw drops open at her admission and your hand presses to your mouth as you gasp.

“Wow.” Your mate whispers before crossing his legs and listening intently.

“You probably have untapped potential coursing through you that you don’t know that you have. But, the Water of Life I have given you will bring some of those gifts to the surface over time. Of this I have no doubt.” She says before producing a small vile, the same as before.

“Does that mean our pups are royalty?” Taehyung asks as he brushes your hair over your shoulder.

She smiles widely, her eyes closing tightly as she nods.

“Yes. All of the Fae are praying for their safety. We are behind you My Lady, in everything. You can count on your line.” Raeuna says, bowing her head to you.

You can barely understand the situation but you bow back before clearing your throat. Is it hot in this room or is it just you?

“Come to the Amaranth Forest when you have time, we would love to have you sit in with the Council.” She says before standing.

You take in the crystals that cascade from her white hair. They shimmer and glint as she stands tall, her hands clutch together before giving you a heart warming smile that makes you feel comforted.

“My Lady.” She says.

She is gone with the wind before your very eyes. With wide eyed you look over at your mate as he whistles loudly.

“Who knew I was marrying a royal fertility fairy.” He mumbles, earning a laugh from you.

He tackles you to the bed before chuckling and kissing you gently.

“We’re going to need to talk with the pack.” He whispers against your lips as you hook your arms around his neck.

“Later?” You ask as you spread your legs. He situates himself between them before smirking.

“Later.”

#sandb series #thebtswritersclub #btswriterscorner #btscreatorscorner #werewolf!au #werewolf!taehyung #alpha werewolf!Taehyung #kim taehyung #bts #bts story #bts series

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years ago

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Earth is A Deathwrold, “The Forest.”

Wrote a little something to start your day off or maybe finish it, who knows. Have a great day everyone :)

“My family has lived in these mountains for more than three thousand years.”

“How can you be sure of that.”

“Because we have records going back two thousand years and then records of my family's tribe before that. For that reason, no one knows these mountains better than I do, and even then, I still don’t know everything there is to know. Every time I go out in the woods, I feel something new.” Krill glanced over at Sunny. If he could raise an eyebrow he would have.

OF all the places they could go on their weekend, and she had decided to go on a guided hike. This would be just like something Adam would do.

He thought of all the people he wouldn’t have to remind Sunny how dangerous Earth forests were with their trees, and animals, and poisonous plants, and, well, pretty much everything.

“Don’t give me that look, Krill. You know if Adam was here he would take us out to do the same thing, and you needed to quit moping anyway. He’s going to be back soon.”

Krill crossed his arms emphatically, “I am not moping.”

“You are too moping, and it’s honestly kind of pathetic. You get all cranky when Adam isn’t around.”

“That's because I worry about his health and safety.”

“He’s a grown man.”

“He's a man child.”

She sighed and turned back to look at their guide who was staring on in mild amusement. This human had dark tan skin, deep brown eyes and long dark hair pulled back from his face. He wore a green ranger’s uniform, but she knew for a fact he was off duty, “We’re ready.”

He smiled, and motioned them to follow him.

Krill held onto Sunny's shoulder as they followed the human into the woods.

“Aren't we going to take a trail?”

“You don’t need a trail when you have me.”

“I definitely think a trail would-.”

“Is your mind ever still?”

Sunny shoo her head, “No, never, not even a little bit.”

“Well try. I can’t show you anything if you don’t also listen.”

“Now that just makes no sense.”

Sunny huffed and the ranger sighed, “There is more in these woods to hear that there is to see. The wind leaves the animals.” Then past over soggy earth and into a meadow filled with bright wildflowers. Krill was about to ask another question, but the ranger held up a hand despite not looking at him, “Shhh, just listen, to the silence.”

Krill turned to glower at Sunny, and she smirked at him, but he angrily did as told focusing away from his eyes and towards his ears. He could hear the wind in the trees, the distant chirp of birds, rustling in the underbrush, their feet as it moved over packed earth. In the silence there was also a strange rushing. A sort of white noise that you expect to find at the ocean but comes from deep within the mountains.

He watched their new human friend from the corner of his eye as it led them deeper into the mountains. For all sunny knew this creature was more interested in killing them and eating them.

How did she even know him?

With his usual paranoia, krill continued to watch as the green clad human lead them through patches of shadow, over rocks and through little mountain gullies. He used no trail, but it seemed as if all of his senses were alive, following something into the forest. He used his hands to trace over rough packed dirt He scanned his eyes through the underbrush and lifted his head eyes closed allowing little gusts of air to sweep hair about his face.

He listened, and occasionally, krill thought he saw the human smelling at the air.

And as they went they were led deeper and deeper into the forest, krill had to admit that there was something peaceful about it, almost surreal, like being removed from one’s own head and being surrounded by the quiet.

A couple of times, he thought he saw the human smiling over his shoulder at him.

They had made it a good hour or two into the woods when they broke into a nearby clearing. Sunny was about to step out with him, but right at the edge of the treeline, she was stopped by the human, who had pulled back into the shadows.

Sunny blinked and looked around. Krill did as well.

The ranger shook his head.

Krill looked over Sunny’s shoulder, but in the clearing, he saw nothing, nothing except for a strangely geometric circle of wildflowers, in the middle of which there was nothing but a barren patch of dirt.

That was strange, there seemed to be nothing growing inside that circle.

“We go around.” he muttered

“Why?”

“Because, we don’t want to trespass.”

“Trespass on what exactly?” Krill found himself whispering.

“Well, the fey, of course.” The human smiled at him, and he wasn’t entirely sure if the creature was pulling his leg or not.”

“What are the fey?”

The human smiled again slowly motioning him to follow as he led them around the open circle, “The fey or fairies, are a group of mystical creatures known to make mischief. Most of the time if you trespass on their land you forfeit your rights as human, and the laws of the fey world become absolute. If you take anything from a fey, you are immediately required to stay with them for the rest of eternity. There are many rules governing the world of the fey, so it is best just to avoid team.”

Krill snorted, “Ah yes…. fairies .”

“You laugh, but through all these years as a ranger, I have seen things I cannot explain.”

“Like what.”

“Like the time someone went missing in the forest. He was lost on a relatively well traveled hiking trail. We didn’t find him for over six months. The search party was called off after those first few weeks. Six months later I am hiking in an unrelated part of the forest forty miles away n the other side of a mountain, and I find this man’s decomposing corpse hanging from a forty-foot tall tree with impact wounds that looked like he had been dropped from a great height. There were no cliffs in the area, and it appeared as if the man had died three months earlier.”

Rill frowned. The math on that didn’t particularly add up.

“Then a year ago we went looking for a missing child. His parents turned around for five seconds and when they turned back he was gone. I found his body forty feet up a sheer cliff-face stuffed into a crevice five months later. He had been dead only two hours, and was wearing the same clothes he had been lost in.”

Sunny’s eyes widened and Krill snorted.

He was expected to believe that?

The ranger waved at him, “Say what you will, but the forest is a dangerous and unusual place if you don’t know how to respect her.”

“Would you say you are superstitious then?”

“Very. Look, I can’t explain everything in the world, and I have no desire to do so. I see no harm in giving things the respect they deserve even if, later, it turns out I was wrong”

The human was not particularly kidding about him being superstitious. More than a few times, he leads them around strange objects or formations. There was at one point, a time when they were heading towards another low gully in the middle of the woods, and all of a sudden their entire party grew very uneasy.

The woods seemed darker to Krill than they had before.

But he shook it off.

Sunny seemed to be behaving similarly.

But the ranger, he looked downright terrified, grabbed the two of them by the arm and pulled them away quick time setting them to a low jog in the opposite direction.

Sunny and Krill stared at him in confusion not entirely sure what to make of it.

“What was that all about.”

The human just shook his head, “We were not welcome?”

“From what.”

“Does it matter. When you are not welcome somewhere, you do not question it.”

“What are you worried about angering the wendigo.”

It was at that moment that Krill was pretty sure he had made a huge mistake, as the human grabbed him and had a hand pressed over his mouth in under a millisecond flat. Even sunny looked shocked, “We do not joke about those ind of things here.”

He let Krill go, and Krill stared on in confusion and mild terror.

“I come from a line of people who believe you can attract things to you based off the kind of energy you put off. Now I don’t know if it’s true or not, but joking about something’s existence is bound to piss it off enough to test its patience.” he took a deep breath and adjusted his shirt, ‘now there are a few other things it could have been. It could have been the den of a mountain lion, or a bear. It could have been a subliminal sense of danger, an incorrect smell, or the way the rocks looked. Or it could simply have been us all getting paranoid at once, but whatever it is, I would rather be safe than sorry. Now come on, let’s take you back.”

Krill stayed quiet and tried not to joke more about the supernatural things. Apparently humans tended to take that sort of thing seriously. They heard more stories form the strange ranger, about finding people in places they shouldn't be, staircases in strange places, the sudden loss of time.

“There was one point, when I was doing some training out in the field. We were on top of a mountain, and I went off to go to the bathroom. It was so weird, after I was finished, it was like time seemed to slow down. I got starving, and I was looking around in the forest thinking I might be able to find something to eat. I was so hungry. It was all I could think about, and then suddenly I see one of the other rangers, sort of snaps me out of how hungry I was.” He shrugged, “I raise my hand to him and this guy looks terrified, he runs up to me, and he’s going off about where was I and what was I doing, what is going on we have been looking for you Of course, I am super confused and as what he’s on about, and this guy looks at me, and he’s all like you have been missing for three days.”

Krill and sunny stared at him

“I know, strange isn’t it. To me it almost seemed like hours. But it was three days and almost twenty miles over to the next mountain ridge. I don’t remember any of it.”

“Sounds like a dissociative fugue.”

“Maybe, whatever i was it was strange.” Behind them, the sun was just beginning to fall and the undergrowth was heading towards a deep black. They could see the parking lot just ahead of them, and it was at that moment, a blood curling shriek echoed up from the trees at their back.

Sunny leaped nearly a foot.

Krill squealed

The ranger jumped.

The scream came again.

It sounded like a woman’s voice in absolute gut wrenching agony. Like she was being eviscerated from the inside moving out.

The ranger turned back towards the trees his chin down his eyes up, “Get back to the car, but don’t run.”

“Don’t run! Don’t run.”

“Yes don’t run. It’s a mountain lion.” he stared hard into the trees, “It is a mountain lion and if you run it will have no other choice than to chase you. They don’t like to attack from the front and running will trigger her hunting instincts. Walk backwards towards the car very slowly and do not take your eyes off the treeline.”

Off to his side, krill heard a sharp metallic snik and watched as Sunny’s spear suddenly appeared in hand.

Of course, she wasn’t worried.

But together they backed towards the truck and got in.

As their headlights turned on, the high beams broke over a body hunched up against the treeline.

Sunny cursed in Drev.

The ranger nodded, “See, mountain lion.”

Krill stared in paralyzed horror at the massive cat as it stalked back into the trees. “Going to have to call that in. She is way to close to the trails for comfort, someone is going to get hurt.”

As they were driving away, Krill glanced back towards he woods, and did a double take as he thought he saw a tall willowy figure standing at the edge of the treeline in almost the same spot as the mountain lion with glittering red eyes, but when he looked again it was gone.

He sat back in his seat eyes straight forward.

He had a greater appreciation for the woods now because, for some reason, on earth nature is connected to something strange an unexplainable, and whatever it is krill was not interested in finding out.

#earth is a deathworld #Earth is space Ausralia #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #HUMANS ARE WEIRD

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hysterialevi · 3 years ago

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Hjarta | Chapter 15

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

A FEW HOURS LATER

THE COAST OF BJORNHEIMR

The clouds rumbled with the drums of distant thunder, sending a subtle flash of lightning throughout the sky. Sea mist broke free from the restraints of its majestic waves, and gently tickled the skin of the warriors who sailed across its arctic tides. Meanwhile, the ocean rose and fell underneath their feet like the chest of a sleeping giant, and calmly guided the longship back to its home.

Life solemnly carried on with its infinite cycle despite the numerous souls that had just slipped free from its grasp, and offered no comfort to those left behind. The world remained entangled with the threads of endless stories that had yet to unfold, but even then... Eivor felt as if everything had come to a pause.

In his arms, Thora lay motionless beneath a layer of cloth, wrapped in her brother’s cloak to protect her from the elements. Her body was no more than an empty husk awaiting the fires of a ceremonial pyre, and yet, part of Eivor kept hoping that she wasn’t truly gone.

His mind still couldn’t quite fathom the idea that he would never see his sister again. He had gotten so used to having her company, that a world without her felt completely foreign to him. A fraction of Eivor even tried to convince himself that this was all a dream that would eventually come to an end, but in reality, he knew better. Thora would forever roam the halls of Valhalla from now on, and he’d have to accept it.

He just dreaded delivering the news to his father. Arngeir was already stressed enough due to Thora’s absence, and Eivor didn’t know if he carried the strength to inform him of what happened. His father was one of the most steadfast men in their clan, but even then, Eivor had seen the loss of a child break those he once believed to be invincible.

“...Eivor.” Sigurd whispered, lightly nudging the young man with his elbow. He waited until the Wolf-Kissed broke out of his thoughts, and then pointed to the land before them. “We’re home.”

Eivor peered at the battle-worn village with a deadpan expression on his face, barely shifting his body.

“Eivor?” Sigurd repeated, quickly taking note of the man’s empty nature. He leaned closer to his lover, wrestling with the urge to pull him into a hug. “Are you listening?”

The lifeless viking kept his gaze nailed on the village, swaying softly with the longship’s rhythmic motion. He hadn’t uttered a single word ever since their departure from Kjotve’s Fortress, and yet, Sigurd felt as if he could see his very thoughts etched into his eyes.

“...What am I going to tell my father, Sigurd?” Eivor finally replied. “Or Randvi? What do I do?”

The prince bowed his head in sympathy, unsure of how to answer the question. “I... I wish I knew, Eivor.”

The younger man glanced down at his sister’s veiled body, placing a hand on her arm.

“Thora’s death will destroy them. There’s not much in this world that can rattle my family, but... I have no clue what they’ll do once they realize she’s gone. I don’t even know if I can tell them.”

Sigurd offered his help. “I could do it in your stead, if you wish.”

Eivor shook his head. “No. It should be a family member. I found Thora’s body, so I should be the one to deliver the news. But thank you.”

The older man nodded in understanding. “Of course. You know I’m here for you. I certainly don’t envy your position, though. You bear the burden of a lifetime. But don’t cast away your hope just yet...” Sigurd took a glimpse over his shoulder, glaring at the new captive sitting on their ship, “...we have Gorm now. And he will tell us what we need to know.”

Gorm struggled in his binds and let out a few muffled grunts, attempting to speak through the cloth that had been tied around his mouth.

“Be still, Kjotvesson!” The prince barked, his voice rough with spite. “Or I’ll hurl you over the edge and leave you to drown. Your cries mean nothing to the men here.”

Ulfar chimed in from the head of the ship, sharing Sigurd’s hostility towards the man.

“Indeed,” he added. “Normally, I’d say you’re fortunate to be alive, Gorm, but after everything you did to Thora, I imagine you’d be better off being swallowed by the ocean. Consider yourself lucky if the jarl doesn’t fashion wings out of your bones.”

The restrained viking tried to reply again, causing Ulfar to become even more irate than he already was.

“Osmund,” he said to one of his men, “silence this yapping dog, will you?”

The raider wasted no time in following Ulfar’s command and turned to Gorm, slapping him with a firm backhand across the cheek. The prisoner instantly fell silent upon the strike, and reluctantly complied with his captors’ wishes.

“...Anyway,” Ulfar said with a fatigued sigh, “we’re finally home, men. I know this has been an onerous journey for everyone, but you lot can rest for now. Tomorrow, we’ll bid farewell to those who have fallen, and raise a horn in their name. In the meantime, tend to your families. Odin knows they’ll need all the support they can get.”

Bringing his attention to the surrounding scenery, Ulfar remained quiet for the rest of their journey and leaned against the ship’s figurehead, doing his best not to linger on the thought of Thora’s death. He hadn’t felt this awful since Linnea first fell to Kjotve’s axe, and he grew increasingly restless as he pondered what to do with the rat hiding amongst them. He was more than positive that he knew who the traitor was by now, but the method he’d use to deal with them was a little less clear.

In the meantime, his men steadily shut the sails and lowered the mast, taking a hold of the oars as they brought the ship to land. Their bodies ached due to hours of huddling in the vessel’s cramped space, and their palms grew callused from the continuous toil of rowing the ship. They were eager to finally set foot on solid ground, and they longed for the warmth of a soft bed.

Eivor, on the other hand, dreaded their upcoming arrival. Much to his dismay, he spotted Arngeir waiting at the docks with Ingrida by his side as they anticipated their return, anxious to hear any news pertaining to Thora’s rescue. A glimmer of hope flickered in the jarl’s lost eyes, but the Wolf-Kissed knew it would soon be snuffed out. And it ruined him.

“Ulfar!” Arngeir called out, approaching the end of the pier. “You’ve returned safely, thank the gods. How do you fare, brother?”

The raider waited for the ship to come to a complete stop before hopping onto the docks, still somewhat wobbly from the ocean’s waves.

“I’m well, Arngeir,” he replied, “but I regret to inform you that Kjotve still lives. The bastard escaped.”

The jarl furrowed his brow in concern. “Escaped? How? Where is he now?”

Ulfar shrugged in annoyance. “No idea. He fled the fortress before we even arrived, the coward. I believe one of our own people warned him beforehand.”

Arngeir let out a breath. “...Is that so? Any ideas on how to track him?”

The other man glanced at the ship. “Yes, actually. Sigurd managed to capture Gorm alive. He claims to be unaware of Kjotve’s whereabouts, but with a blade to his throat, I’m sure he’ll sing soon enough. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Then there’s that, at least.” Arngeir paused for a second. “...And what of my daughter? Where is Thora? Is she with you?”

Ulfar’s expression dimmed at the question, and he found himself at a total loss for words. His silence alone was more than enough to plant a sickening fear in the jarl’s gut, but when the man saw Eivor stepping onto the pier with a blanketed body in his arms, his heart instantly froze inside his chest.

“Eivor...?” Arngeir said, mindlessly pushing Ulfar to the side as he strode towards the anguished boy. He looked down at the unidentified corpse and desperately waited for an answer, terrified by his own suspicion of who it was.

“Eivor,” he urged, gripping him by the shoulders. “Who... who is that?”

The boy met his father’s sturdy gaze, afraid to even speak. A million different thoughts swarmed his mind like voracious insects scouring a battlefield, and he stared at the jarl as if he were peering into the depths of Hel itself.

“...I’m sorry, father.” Eivor whispered plainly. “I couldn’t save her.”

Reaching down to grab his cloak, the young man slowly removed the sea-weathered fabric from Thora’s face and revealed who was hiding underneath, causing Arngeir to plummet into an abysmal pit of dolor. A sense of despair clouded his eyes like frost spreading across a lake, and his aura crumbled within a matter of moments.

It was clear that the jarl was one step away from completely breaking down, but for the sake of his clan’s morale, he simply reached out to Thora’s body and requested the solace of his daughter’s company, unable to fully process what was going on.

“...Give her here.” Arngeir said, gently taking Thora into his arms as if he were cradling a newborn infant. A single teardrop immediately streamed down his cheek upon touching her corpse, and he clenched his jaw in an attempt to stifle his agony.

“My daughter...” he lamented, “my sweet, sweet daughter.” The jarl glanced at his son. “What... happened, Eivor? How did she die? Did she die with an axe in her hand?”

The young man shook his head without saying a word.

Arngeir shut his eyes in disappointment and sighed, already overwhelmed by grief.

“...I see. Then may her journey across the Gjallarbrú be swift, and may she find her way into her mother’s embrace.” He pulled the cloak back over Thora’s face, bidding his daughter farewell. “Rest easy, skǫrungr. Your battles are over. We shall meet again someday.”

Trying to offer the mournful father some comfort, Ingrida quietly walked over to the man and placed a hand on his shoulder, beckoning him to follow her to the temple. The seeress’ appearance had changed significantly compared to when Eivor last saw her, and it was as if twenty years had been added onto the woman’s face.

“Come, Arngeir,” Ingrida said softly. “Let us bring Thora to the temple. I shall say a final prayer for her, and prepare her body for the funeral. She will not venture the Gjallarbrú alone.”

“...Thank you, my friend.”

Guiding Arngeir away from the docks, the seeress led the melancholic jarl through the village as the rest of his clan settled into their homes, practically falling into the laps of the nearest benches they could find. The ocean’s wintry chill had seeped into the marrow of their battered bones, and their movements had become sluggish with fatigue.

As for Ulfar, the raider simply stayed in place and watched the jarl vanish in the distance, heartbroken to see his old friend in such a state. He couldn’t imagine the man ever being the same again after a loss as great as this, and for the first time in years, even Ulfar himself felt helpless.

What would they do when they found Kjotve? If they found him? Would the strength of their alliance finally bring them the advantage they needed to win this war, or would they just end up sending more men to their deaths, and darken the shadow that already hung over Bjornheimr?

At this point, Ulfar no longer knew what to think. His ultimate dream was to witness Kjotve draw his dying breath, but he had also grown tired of ordering people into battle, only to never see them return. He may not have been directly responsible for their untimely demise, but he couldn’t deny that the casualties were starting to take a toll on him.

He just wanted this godforsaken war to end, and he knew exactly where to start.

Diverting his focus to Dag, Ulfar watched the man like a lion waiting to pounce and followed him off the docks, finally deciding to put this damned charade to rest. He hadn’t the faintest idea how this confrontation was going to unfold, but he was sick of keeping silent about his thoughts. Even if he didn’t get the outcome he desired, he simply wanted the people of Bjornheimr to be aware of the wolf hiding among their sheep -- and it all started now.

“Dag!” Ulfar blurted out, approaching the warrior as he wandered away from the longship. “Hold a moment.”

Despite having no intentions of doing so, the raider turned a few heads with his thunderous voice and attracted the attention of nearby onlookers, including Eivor and Sigurd themselves. They all stopped what they were doing to see what the commotion was about, and paused out of curiosity.

“Yes, Ulfar?” Dag responded, clearly not reflecting the man’s antagonistic mood. “What is it?”

Ulfar prowled towards the viking, unable to hide the glower now plastered on his face.

“The jarl’s daughter lies dead in a pool of cold blood... and you have the audacity to feign ignorance?”

Dag scoffed in a bewildered tone, shrugging innocently. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The older man halted in his tracks, keeping no more than a couple meters between them. “Do you think me blind and deaf, Dag? You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Ulfar began grumbling under his breath, pacing back and forth. “Damn it. I’ve been doubtful of you for a while now, but I never had anything to confirm my suspicions until today. I should’ve done something sooner.”

Dag rested his hands on his hips, growing impatient with their conversation.

“What is this about, old man? What are you getting at?”

Ulfar shot a glare at him. “You’re the rat. You’re the one who’s been feeding Kjotve our secrets, and you’re the one who told him to flee. You betrayed us.”

The blunt accusation caused a wave of murmurs to rush through the crowd around them, igniting a sudden spark of worry among the villagers.

“Is that truly what you think?” Dag questioned casually. “I know you’re short one eye, Ulfar, but even you can see how ridiculous that statement is.”

The raider refused to back down. “Give me one good reason why I should believe you. You sailed with me during the assault, Dag. I sent you as one of the scouts. Your job was to pave the way for us, and then give us the opening we needed to ambush Kjotve’s clan. But instead, you ran off to cower behind the fortress’ walls before our warriors could even reach the shore, and you lit the beacon far before we were ready. You forced what few men we had in the settlement to attack alone, and we lost a handful of people because of it.”

Ulfar’s nose crinkled in anger. “At first, I merely planned to berate you for your incompetence, but now it’s clear to me that you knew exactly what you were doing. You wanted the plan to fail.”

Dag did nothing but chuckle in response to the overwhelming accusations and waved a dismissive hand, reluctant to entertain the other man’s skepticism.

“You’re delusional, Ulfar. There is no traitor. We’ve simply been experiencing the horrible realities of war. People are going to die. Not everything is going to make sense. That’s just how it is, I’m afraid.”

Ulfar’s stare sharpened with wrath. “Oh, no. It all makes sense now. I stood idly by whilst you condemned our men to the pits of Hel because I wanted to find irrefutable evidence, but after what happened today, I’m done waiting for evidence. I’ll not allow you to endanger our clan anymore.”

Yanking out his axe, Ulfar brandished the weapon and raised it high in the air, making sure that everyone could hear his words loud and clear.

“I call a holmgang!” He announced. “Here, against the Raven Prince’s right-hand man.”

Sigurd froze upon hearing the challenge, and a stir of panic awakened inside his heart. Was this what Ingrida warned him about so long ago? Was this the betrayal his vision tried to convey?

The prince made haste to the front of the crowd with Eivor in tow, both of them now frightened to see how this would play out.

“You wish to duel me?” Dag asked. “Are you certain that’s wise?”

The raider aimed the blade at his opponent. “This is no longer something I can take back. I’ve made the challenge. What happens next depends entirely on you. So, either pick up your axe and face me with what little honor you have left, or scurry off to the snake hissing in your ear.”

Dag laughed at the absurdity of the situation and drew his blade, bowing in a smug manner. “...Very well, Ulfar. If that’s what you wish. You’ve made a foolish choice, but I will accept your challenge. We fight to the death.”

Eivor automatically lurched forward, reaching a hand out for the older man. “Ulfar--!”

Sigurd instantly grabbed his arm and held him back, preventing him from interfering.

“Eivor...” he said in a hushed tone, “there’s nothing we can do now. The holmgang is set in place. They must go through with it.”

The younger man hesitated, flicking his eyes back and forth between Sigurd and the warriors. Out of honor, he knew that Ulfar was compelled to cross swords with Dag in a fight to the death, but he also did not wish to see the man risk his life so soon after their return.

Eivor was already struggling to cope with the loss of his sister. If Ulfar were to perish as well... he didn’t know what he would do.

“I can’t risk losing him too,” he murmured. “Not after Thora’s just been killed. He’s my family. Sigurd, please.”

The prince kept his grip firm, giving him an apologetic look. “...I’m sorry, my love. But we can’t interfere. You know this.”

Eivor remained silent in response to Sigurd’s words and simply shifted his gaze back to the holmgang, uncertain of whether or not to heed his lover’s advice. Part of him wanted to throw himself between the two warriors and force them apart, but the other half knew that Ulfar’s honor would suffer if he did. The man would be relentlessly shamed if he backed down from his own challenge, and to some, that was a fate worse than death.

“...O-Okay, Sigurd.” He said, sighing in defeat. “I won’t interfere.”

Sigurd gently pulled him back into the crowd, trying to ease his nerves. “Thank you, Eivor. I’m sorry it has to be this way.”

Slinking into the prince’s arms, the Wolf-Kissed watched the holmgang from a distance as more villagers gathered around the scene, intrigued by the deadly spectacle. At this point, Ulfar and Dag were circling around each other like a pair of wolves and patiently waiting for the smallest sign of weakness, hoping to catch their foe off-guard.

Within a few moments though, Ulfar was already leaping at his enemy like a bear charging out of the shadows and swinging his axe with the strength of Fenrir himself, causing Dag to stumble backwards in an attempt to dodge the strike.

Regaining his footing, the bulky warrior countered the initial attack with a slice to the shoulder and thrust his blade forward, only to be blocked when Ulfar swatted it away with his axe. The older man whirled around Dag like a flame dancing in the wind and slammed his weapon downwards, aiming directly for the back of his foe’s skull.

Practically hurling himself out of the way, Dag evaded Ulfar’s attack just in time to save the skin on his scalp and sacrificed no more than a few strands of hair, giving him a second to catch his breath.

Dag had to admit -- he didn’t expect the old raider to be so agile after all these years. He assumed that Ulfar’s bones would have stiffened over time, but the man moved faster than many people half his age. It was clear to Dag that he had underestimated him, and now, he was starting to question just how big his chance of winning this really was.

But still, the man had to have a vulnerability. No one was invincible, after all. There had to be something that he could take advantage of. Something that could give him the upper hand.

Dag paused out of realization, suddenly noticing that Ulfar’s weakness was quite literally staring him in the face.

His wounded eye.

The raider’s vision had been cut in half thanks to his old injury, and Dag imagined that he would be able to slip out of his line of sight if he stayed at the right angle. He just had to be fast.

Flanking his opponent from the left, the dark-haired warrior crept into Ulfar’s blind spot and landed a strike on his upper arm, cutting straight through the sliver of fabric that sat between his layers of armor. Fresh blood instantly soaked the plain cloth hiding underneath, and for just a brief moment, Ulfar lost track of where his enemy had gone.

But a moment was all Dag needed.

In the blink of an eye, the larger warrior had bashed the hilt of his blade into Ulfar’s cheekbone and sent him tumbling to the ground, allowing him to shake the balance of the fight.

He relentlessly battered his way through the raider’s defenses and continued to pummel his weapon against Ulfar’s axe, fervently trying to disarm him before he could return to his feet.

Meanwhile, the older man backed away from Dag and slid across the dirt, desperately trying to put some distance between them before even attempting to get up. His arm was growing increasingly sore from having to endure the sheer impact of his opponent’s strikes, and soon enough, Ulfar found himself on the losing side of the battle.

Skirting around the edge of Dag’s blade, Ulfar just barely missed the last of his attacks and scurried back up to his feet, holding his axe out in front of him in a protective stance. By now, blood had leaked all the way down to his wrist, and a number of droplets even started to trail down his fingers. He was admittedly drained from deflecting the brute strength behind Dag’s swings, and with each passing minute, he could feel the energy fleeing from his body.

Still, in spite of the exhaustion now overtaking his mind, Ulfar refused to give up. This was his only chance to eliminate the rat hiding in their clan, and he had no intentions of wasting it.

Lifting his axe in the air, Ulfar steeled himself and prepared to send a vertical slice down on Dag’s forehead, doing his best to ignore the fatigue now hindering his movements. Before he could do anything however, the other man suddenly swerved to his left again and escaped his field of view, attacking him from the same angle. He heaved his blade into the side of Ulfar’s abdomen, and within seconds, the raider had fallen still.

Coming to an abrupt halt, the old warrior simply stared into the space ahead of him and drifted off into silence, unable to suppress the terror that was now swelling in his chest. His entire mind seemed to be paralyzed with an unfamiliar type of fear, and before he knew it, Dag had buried the axe in his torso.

“Ulfar!” Eivor cried, still struggling against Sigurd’s hold.

The raider let out a pained gasp and clutched his chest in shock, horrified by the numbness that was starting to petrify his limbs. The only thing he could hear was the rasp of his own breath scratching against his throat, and by now, the metallic taste of blood had started to envelop his tongue.

Yet, in spite of all this, Ulfar soon felt his fear fading away from him. The ethereal voices of the Valkyries called to him like the gaze of the moon, and in the bleak grey sky standing above him, he could almost see the feathery strips of the aurora forming a bridge to the Corpse Hall.

He had been chosen by the winged maidens, and would soon join Linnea’s side.

The final challenge he had to face now, was saying farewell.

Collapsing to the ground with a thud, Ulfar fell in the center of the arena and landed on his back, sparking a series of gasps in the spectating crowd. Dag’s blade still protruded from his chest like an axe lodged in a pile of timber, and most of the color had vanished from his skin.

As for Eivor, the young man finally broke free from Sigurd’s grip and rushed over to the fallen warrior, kneeling down by his side as the prince solemnly trailed after him.

“Ulfar!” Eivor exclaimed, reaching for his hand. “Ulfar, can you hear me?”

The other man looked up at him, uttering no more than a few words due to his lack of strength.

“...Oh, forgive me, little cub,” he whispered. “...I’ve been a damned fool.”

Eivor examined the raider’s wounds, knotting his brow in distress. “Shit...! Why did you do it? Why did you have to call a holmgang? We just lost Thora, and now you’re dying too? We need you.”

Ulfar felt a pang of guilt prodding him in the heart. “...I know, Eivor. I know. I never meant to leave you so soon. I’m sorry.”

Catching some movement in the corner of his eye, the old warrior turned away from the young man for just a second when he noticed Sigurd joining them, gazing down in a sorrowful manner. He appeared to share Eivor’s grief over the death of his new friend, and his expression was laden with desolation.

“Sigurd...” Ulfar said, beckoning him with a weak wave of the hand. “Come here.”

The prince knelt down, leaning closer to the man. “Yes?”

Ulfar gestured to Dag with a subtle flick of the eyes, giving Sigurd a regretful look.

“...I hate to pass this burden onto you... but you and I both know what needs to be done.”

Sigurd lowered his head in understanding, reluctant to face the horrid reality of the new task he’d just obtained. He despised the idea of finishing what Ulfar started, but he knew it was necessary to keep the clan safe.

“Yes. I do.”

“...Good. I know Dag is like a brother to you, but I need you to promise me you’ll do everything you can to protect these people.” Ulfar reached out his arm, awaiting Sigurd’s response. “Promise me.”

The prince clenched his jaw in an attempt to maintain his composure, admittedly heartbroken by the idea of turning against his childhood friend. Even though their lifelong relationship had reached the point of war, Sigurd would’ve been lying if he said he was willing to kill Dag.

In fact, part of him had even hoped that Ulfar would’ve done the job for him. He secretly wished that the raider would’ve emerged victorious from the holmgang, and he wanted nothing more than to spare his axe from Dag’s blood. But it seemed the gods felt different.

“Alright,” Sigurd assured, shaking the man’s hand. “I’ll do it. You have my word.

Ulfar nodded in satisfaction, barely clinging on to life at this point. “Then my death will not have been in vain. Thank you.”

Letting go of Sigurd’s arm, the dying vikingr finally decided to let the Valkyries whisk him away and closed his eyes in peace, drawing his last few breaths. The environment around him had become nothing more than a massive haze by now, but even then, he could still recognize the muffled sounds of Eivor’s mournful voice.

Ulfar felt terrible for leaving the boy behind. He didn’t wish to abandon him in his time of need, but alas, the Nornir clearly had other plans.

Fortunately though, Eivor would not be entirely alone. He still had many people in his life who cared for him, and now, Ulfar would just have to trust that they would stay by his side. He hadn’t forgotten about Sigurd’s affection for the young man, and unlike before, he prayed that the prince wouldn’t shy away from it any longer.

As for Sigurd himself, he had become preoccupied with the new path the gods had lain out in front of him. For the first time in years, the road ahead was not obscured by uncertainty, or hesitance, or even fear. It remained clear as day, and yet, it would be the most difficult one for him to venture in his life thus far.

And so, with a heavy heart, Sigurd stood up from the ground and sulked away from Ulfar’s corpse, making a beeline straight for Dag. He laid a hand on the warrior’s shoulder and ushered him to a more secluded area, ensuring that their conversation stayed private.

“Dag,” he said quietly, “join me for a walk.”

The other man threw him a wary look, confused as to what the prince could want at this time.

“A walk? Now? Where are we going?”

Sigurd pointed to the waterfall in the distance. “The Tears of Ymir. Come with me. We’ll be back shortly.”

Dag clearly wasn’t interested. “Can this not wait, Sigurd? We’ve only--”

“--Just come.” The prince insisted, his tone hardening. “...We need to talk.”

Deciding not to question his friend any further, Dag simply went along with Sigurd’s mysterious plan and followed him into the surrounding wilderness, curious to see what the prince had in mind.

In the meantime, the rest of Bjornheimr’s villagers dispersed from the scene of the holmgang and left Eivor alone with Ulfar’s body, giving him space to grieve on his own. Neither Arngeir nor Randvi had returned to see what had become of their old friend just yet, but he dreaded the moment when he’d have to show them.

How could this be happening? It wasn’t that long ago that Eivor was holding his deceased sister in his arms, and now, Ulfar had taken her place. Just within a day, they had already lost two of the most important souls in Bjornheimr, and gained nothing in return.

Kjotve was alive. Gorm was alive. But somehow, the gods had deemed it necessary to rob Midgard of its benevolent warriors, and leave no more than a grave of ashes in their name.

They always preached about living a life of honor, and yet, they had stolen it from the few who were willing to try.

Well, no matter what happened in the future, Eivor didn’t plan on watching anymore of his loved ones die. He didn’t care what it took to get Gorm to speak, or how long the interrogation would last. He would find the answers he needed, and track Kjotve down before the bastard had a chance to flee.

He promised himself he would kill the man for good this time, and he wavered not at the thought of death.

#hjarta #assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #eivor wolfsmal #eivor wolfkissed #eivor varinsson #male eivor #sigurd styrbjornson #sigurd x male eivor #ac valhalla fanfic

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wakaoujisenhime · 4 years ago

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Down below - Kirishima x reader

Synopsys: During your daily walk alongside the shore you come across a peculiar looking man. Suddenly everything around you changes and the beautiful paradise becomes a nightmare. There is but one man who can wake you up from it. Will you manage to open your eyes? What awaits you if you open them?

tags/warnings: Kirishima x reader ✅ slight Bakugou x reader ✅ SFW ✅ fluff ✅ fantasy ✅ slight horror/violence ✅

word count: 6.6k

prompts used: “It’s all right, come here.” and “Wow. You’re even prettier up close.”

A/N: This is my contribution to the Mermay event the BNHA bookclub organized! Please mind that this is my very first attempt at such a long story! A BIG thanks to all the people from the club who continuously cheered me on and sprinted with me until the very end of this piece ( ´ ∀ ` ) Enjoy and thank you for picking this work up! ❤️

━━━━☆ ━━━━☆ ━━━━☆

The wind caressed your cheeks while the sun warmed your whole face. You took a deep breath and smiled at the familiar salty scent of the ocean. With your flippers in one hand you began the daily ritual you had set up for yourself.

‘One early beach walk per day’ was your motto.

Some months ago you had moved into a small apartment that was close to a small but beautiful beach. The first time you had set foot on the same golden sand you were standing on right now, it had felt like a warm but slightly rough blanket was being wrapped around your feet. The scent that now puts you at ease had bothered you a little in the beginning. The only thing that didn’t change though was the fact that you enjoyed the sound of the splashing waves just as much as you had enjoyed them the first time around.

It saddened you that almost no one of the local residents appreciated the view as much as you did, so you always made sure to savor that alone time you had with your entire body and mind.

Having a whole beach for yourself every morning always gave you the impression of being the last person on earth and that filled you with unbelievable pride.

You walked alongside the shore while the slightly cold ocean water enveloped your warm feet for a brief number of seconds, only to retreat back not short after. The change of warm and cold always made you shudder, but not in a bad way, it was more like a bittersweet kiss from nature so you always made sure to accept it gratefully with the best smile you could muster.

Some minutes passed and you had finally reached your favorite spot on this entire beach.

The stone valley...or at least that’s what you had decided to call it.

This small section of the beach was covered by various stones and rocks, all varying in sizes.

With a small smile, you began climbing some of the bigger rocks until you reached your favorite place.

Every time you climb up to this spot you were greeted by a breathtaking view of the horizon. The way the sun rises and causes the water to glisten in many different colors every day was just plainly beautiful.

You sat down on the hard surface and took a deep breath. The moment your eyes had caught a glimpse of the ocean, your heart rate immediately went up. The splashing of the waves was somehow different from up here, you couldn’t explain how or why, but that’s how you personally perceived it.

Another set of minutes passed during which you had closed your eyes in order to sharpen your remaining senses.

Suddenly you heard someone walking on your left side, their steps gradually grew louder and louder the closer they came. At first you refused to open your eyes, figuring that it might have been one of your neighbors who came out on a whim just to tease you. Surprisingly the person remained silent, even after their footsteps had stopped.

Curiosity got the best of you so you opened your eyes slowly, allowing them to adjust to the now brighter sunlight and glanced to your left.

Much to your surprise the man who was some meters away from you was dressed in a very peculiar and unfitting way for a mere beach walk.

A black suit, black leather shoes and a black fedora that successfully covered his eyes.

His hands were casually tucked in his trousers’ pockets. Under his fedora you could clearly see the blond strands of hair.

The man turned his head in your direction and sharp red eyes met your own [e/c] colored ones. His eyes alone caused your muscles to tense up involuntarily.

At first it seemed like he was constantly glaring at you, but upon a closer look you noticed his gentle and relaxed facial features.

“You need something?”

His voice sounded like a deep rumble, commanding and sharp at once, no softness whatsoever...nevertheless it appeared soothing to you.

Instead of answering, you just shook your head and whispered a barely hearable ‘sorry’, which was most likely swallowed by the splashing of the waves.

You turned your attention back to the horizon, but out of your peripheral vision you could still see and feel his gaze resting on you.

When he finally looked away your whole body relaxed as if a huge burden had been taken off your shoulders. You hadn’t realized just how big of an impact his glance alone had on you.

As if to reinforce your worries a sudden and cold gust of wind blew past you. Goosebumps ran through your entire body causing it to shake due to the abrupt change in temperature, that’s when you noticed how cloudy it had suddenly gotten.

Thick clouds were swallowing the sun and its warm light, obscuring the horizon and bringing cold winds, which then enraged the waves, with them.

Your paradise had turned into a nightmare you’ve never seen before.

How was it possible for the weather to change so abruptly?

Sure, bad weather happened from time to time, but never to this extent.

While you were trying to find a logical explanation for this phenomenon, you failed to notice how the black-suited man had stepped closer to the shore.

His shoes alongside his socks were splashed and drenched by the water.

Another strong gust of wind blew past you, but this time you had almost lost your balance and fallen of the rocks.

You were slowly getting worried and your quick heartbeat didn’t help out at all.

I need to get home, now!

As carefully as you possibly could, you tucked your slippers under your arm and held onto some of the smaller rocks for support.

Wait..!

Your feet were so close to touching the sand, but something held you back from taking that one crucial step.

With one swift movement you turned your head, your eyes focused on the man standing by the shore.

His posture hadn’t changed one bit from before.

Just as you opened your mouth and called out to him another strong wind blew past you, erasing your scream, making sure that it never reached his ears. You squint your eyes, making sure to protect them from the sand that was flying around and just before you had completely closed them a small black object flew past you.

Your mind was telling you to look back and identify the object, but your body did otherwise.

Fluttering black jacket, hair that was being caressed by the wind and fierce red eyes that adorned the sharp facial features of the man standing in front of you.

How…? H-How is he so calm about this…?

As if he had read your mind, the pair of eyes that were so focused on the raging waves slowly shifted their attention to you.

His face had kept the same calmness from before and if anything had changed, then it seemed to you that he looked more melancholic than before.

The right hand that had been hidden in his pockets was now slowly extended towards you.

A silent invitation.

A wordless request.

Once again your body acted against your mind’s will, your feet tread the path you had just escaped from, your eyes were once again opened and were fixated on the mysterious man. It was as if he was the only one existing for you at the moment. Whoever this man was, he was stealing your entire attention and was directing it towards him and himself only.

And before you had even noticed, you were standing next to him. His hand was still waiting for your own to grasp it and no matter how loud your mind was screaming and warning you, your hand moved completely on its own...it was as if strings were attached to every limb of your body.

You were this man’s marionette and he was the puppet master, controlling and making you act just the way he wanted you to.

His hand was colder than anything you’ve ever touched before, but thanks to its size it managed to envelop your own - in comparison - small hand, warming a small part of it in the process.

It felt comfortable at first, but then his grip suddenly tightened, up to the point that it hurt so badly you thought he’d break a bone or two and no matter how strong your desire to push him away was, the invisible strings made sure to shut down any resistance you had.

The man pulled you towards him, looked you in the eyes and held your body close to his with such an enormous strength that you were literally too petrified to even attempt any movement whatsoever.

“L-Let me go..”, you stuttered.

On one hand you felt a sense of relief that you even managed to say a word while being under this man’s intense and intimidating gaze, but on the other hand the slight tremble in your voice only made your statement less convincing.

He didn’t react at first, but it was only a matter of seconds for him to expose his unexpectedly sharp teeth. The nostalgic look on his face was replaced by a horrific and broad grin.

“So you finally decided to step up to me, huh..?”

The man let his slender fingers run from your cheek down to your chin, with every millimeter they passed his smile only widened until it contorted his handsome face into a terrifying grimace.

He began pulling you by your hand while slowly stomping into the ocean, the fact that both of you were still completely dressed apparently didn’t bother him even one bit. You on the other hand were a tad thankful that he dragged you into the cold water, because thanks to its low temperature you managed to come back to your senses, now fully intending on stopping his selfish antics.

“What are you doing? Let me go!”

Finally feeling freed from the marionette role he had assigned you, you instantly began thrashing your body around, desperate to get away from his grip. But even a man like him had his limits...

When you showed no sign of giving up, he simply stopped dead in his tracks and before you were even able to even look into his eyes, his palm was already on your head, suddenly pushing you down with such brutal force that even your reflexes couldn’t have braced you for what was about to transpire.

Your entire head was pushed down into the water, the shock of its coldness widened your eyes, allowing the salty water to come in contact with your sensitive eyes and slowly begin to burn them. You wanted to scream, but if you had opened your mouth right now, the water would’ve probably flooded your lungs.

After what felt like several minutes, the hand resting on your head took a fistful of your hair and yanked you back up.

The moment you were back to the surface your body didn’t know what to do first. Should you start by freeing your lungs from the water that had managed to enter your body in the beginning or should you rub your eyes to ease the burning pain? It was all so overwhelming that for a second you thought you might lose consciousness right then and there.

With his free hand the man lifted your chin and looked you deep into your eyes, secretly admiring just how red your conjunctiva had become. He couldn’t help but snicker at your pathetic appearance.

“Wow...you’re prettier up close.”

You weren’t sure if that statement was to be taken seriously and you didn’t care since all you wanted right now, was to punch this man’s handsome face. All you wanted now, was to scream at him, ask him why he would do that, but for some reason you couldn’t form any word let alone a whole sentence...your throat felt constricted.

His red eyes were still glued to your face, observing the small tears that were rolling down your face and admiring the way they mixed in with the small droplets of ocean water that decorated your soft skin.

“You’re absolutely stunning.”, he whispered in a raspy voice while both of his hands slowly moved to the back of your head, grasping onto your hair and tangling his fingers into it.

The blond man slowly brought his face closer to yours, entirely ignoring the fact that you glared at him with such hatred and distaste. You knew what he intended to do and you wanted to stop him at all cost, but his pushiness overpowered your reaction time by far.

“N-No, stop! I don’t want this...I already have someone I-”

The lips that were now connected to yours, were as cold as every other limb of his body and maybe even colder. Your resistance proved to be futile in the end, all of your attempts to escape were nullified the moment his slightly chapped lips came in contact with your in comparison softer ones...you were back to being his puppet.

The waves around you had calmed down a little, but only so much that they didn’t swallow you two and take you down with them...down to the depths of the ocean.

That’s when you suddenly noticed that for some reason the water level around you seemed to be rising.

No wait...a-are we...sinking?

His kiss had deluded you so much, that you failed to notice how he had slowly begun dragging you down with him underwater and all of that while he was still kissing you.

This time though you knew better so you closed your eyes and inhaled deeply through your nose for the last time before the both of you submerged.

While you were underwater he never even once separated from you, the man even began to gently push his tongue against your lips as if asking for permission which you successfully managed to refuse. Unfortunately for you, the refusal didn’t sit well with the black-suited man.

The grip he had on your hair tightened, he even went as far as to actually bite and pull on your lower lip in order for him to satisfy his desires. Much to his dismay, you managed to stand your ground despite the fact that the slight taste of iron began spreading around your mouth’s insides. The satisfaction of that small victory was short-lived and what followed was far worse.

One of his hands finally let go of your hair and slowly crept up your neck, causing countless goosebumps to spread across your entire body.

If you learned something about this man in that short amount of time you’d known him, then the fact that he isn’t the type to bluff.

“Come on my sweet pearl. Part your lips for me.”

You absolutely didn’t want to, but the soft tone in his voice emptied your mind to such an extent that you couldn’t even question how he was able to talk underwater...so with no option whatsoever you complied with his request, the fear of what he might do to you if you had refused yet again paralyzing you.

The way his tongue caressed yours was somewhat pleasant considering his brute behavior some seconds ago, but nevertheless you felt awful.

To someone standing at the sidelines, it may have looked like you enjoyed the kiss, but all you were concentrated on at the moment was on how to not let any more water inside of your body.

Suddenly you felt a tight grip around your neck, strong enough to crush your windpipe. Your first two reflexes were to open your eyes and instantly take a hold of his hand.

Your vision was blurry, your surroundings dark, the man’s outlines unrecognizable and the salty water burned your eyes like acid.

Screaming would be futile. Thrashing your body around...useless.

With all the power you could muster, you tried to remove his hands from your neck by scratching them, up until the point you left bloody nail marks behind.

Completely unfazed by your desperate attempt to save yourself and stop him, he continued kissing your lips. You on the other hand slowly felt your vision growing darker by each passing second.

He stopped kissing you and looked into your eyes with perhaps the most gentle expression he could muster, but you were too far gone to even notice that change.

Your entire body felt numb and all you wanted right now was to close your eyes and fall into the dark depths of the ocean…

“(Y/N)...”

Your eyes shot open and an absolutely ear-piercing scream escaped your throat.

“What’s going on?! What happened?!”

The red-haired man almost tripped on his way to your shared bedroom, causing him to crash against the wooden door so hard that it almost broke its frame.

The moment he saw the terrified look which contorted your normally calm features, he didn’t even hesitate to run up to your side and take your small hand in his own.

He decided to calm you down at first before showering you with countless questions.

When your breathing had finally calmed down, the muscular man sat down on the bed next to you and as gently as he possibly could, wrapped his strong arms around your shivering body.

“Shh, everything’s alright sweetie...everything’s alright.”

He continued whispering sweet and comforting lines next to your ear while his hand softly caressed your back in steady circular motions. You finally let out a sigh of relief, signalizing him that you’ve come to the conclusion that all of this was just a bad dream. The muscular man immediately used this chance and began peppering your skin with kisses. Your face, your neck, your shoulders, your arms, your hands, your fingers...no place was left unkissed.

Thanks to that sweet treatment you finally felt yourself relax in his arms, so you reluctantly tried to return the favor.

“It’s alright, come here.”, he said in a silent but deep voice. These were all the words you needed to engulf him in a tight bearhug that might’ve crushed any other man, but not him.

Kirishima Eijirou. A man like no other. He was the man who made you felt special every single day. He was the only one who understood the pain you went through and he was the one sharing the burden of your mutual secret.

Kirishima Eijirou. A man like no other. Truly...then he was a merman.

The countless stories and movies about mermaids were all true, but their existence had always remained a mystery to the humankind.

Only underwater people could decide when to show themselves, so even if countless submarines and divers had passed the breathtaking underwater city, they weren’t allowed to see it.

You were a part of that underwater kingdom as well, but you weren’t just another of those fancy mermaids or mermen that formed the majority of the city...no you were the king’s descendent.

Your father was none other than Aizawa Shoto, the most respected being in the depths of the ocean. If someone tried to compare him to any other being, humans were familiar with, then that one particular being would be the king of the animals - a lion.

Everyone loved and celebrated the black haired merman as if he was a god and the moment you were introduced to his worshipers, the life you called nightmare began...

As his child you were expected to be absolutely flawless in every single thing that you did or even attempted to do, if your ways of handling an issue even dared to slightly differ from your father’s way, you were instantly punished and talked down upon.

Wherever you went palace guards were following you and always made sure that you had no freedom whatsoever.

You liked a piece of clothing? Too bad...it’s not made from gold so it’s way below your status.

You found a seemingly interesting book? If it doesn’t deal with your ancestors’ or your father’s success, so it’s useless.

You saw a beautiful underwater park? There’s no merit for you to go there and furthermore...it’s unworthy of your mighty presence.

The same goes for the people you hung out with. They just weren’t worthy, no matter how great you portrayed them to be.

You of course went ahead and continued meeting up with them. Thanks to the combined efforts of the whole group, you guys managed to set up multiple secret meetings outside of the castle during which you were finally able to enjoy this thing called ‘life’.

Unfortunately all good things have an end.

After some time your father found out about your secret meetups and took the liberty to actually prohibit you any further contact with the only people who understood and actually tried to help you.

As if I’d let that happen..!

The two of you had quite the argument about it afterwards.

Countless screams, insults, accusations echoed throughout the whole castle, silencing anyone or anything that even thought about going between the two of you.

Neither you nor he backed down and after what felt like hours you were too emotionally drained to continue this pointless fight, so you decided to leave without saying another word.

On your way out of the castle the hurtful words of your father still echoed in your head, haunting you like some malicious ghosts wherever you went.

Your entire life has been controlled by your father like this and finally, you had enough.

There has always been one thing you never dared to go against.

“Never go beyond the city gates.”, he had ordered after the 5-year-old you had asked him what lied beyond them.

The tone in which he had uttered those words was so intimidating and absolute that it had sent shivers down your spine, causing you to never mention that subject ever again...up until now.

Was it curiosity or just the simple urge to take revenge on your old man?

You didn’t know, but you still left the castle and began swimming as far as your fin could take you.

Leaving the castle premises was a new experience for you and it was absolutely breathtaking.

The wildlife was beyond beautiful.

The way the sun shone through the water and onto the sand was the most gorgeous sight you had ever witnessed.

The vast variety of fish out there was incomparable to that of the palace.

Everything you saw and experienced in that small timeframe you had swum around left you with such a satisfying feeling that you even considered the thought of never going back to the palace ever again.

“I don’t get him, it’s all so beautiful. Why would he hide all of this from me?”

You continued exploring your surroundings, interacting with some of the small fish that swam your way.

And that’s when you saw something absolutely heartwarming…

A single round but massive rock was standing at the center surrounded by almost nothing but sand and algas, the water around it glistened like small diamonds thanks to the sunlight that shone almost like a spotlight upon it.

But that wasn’t what had your heart thump so hard against your chest, no...it was the young man who sat on that rock.

His gorgeous and long black hair was beautifully braided into a low but loose ponytail and the way it floated about it seemed to you as if the water itself was caressing and playing with it.

The expression he wore was one of pure pain and suffering...an expression you knew to well.

It didn’t take him long to notice your presence, he was actually so startled by it that he almost slipped off the stone he was sitting on.

“W-Who are you?! Did my parents send you? I told you guys already, give it up! I’m never going back home again!”

Those sentences alone spoke volumes about him.

The sad expression he wore very much reminded you of your own and now he had even revealed some of the reasons behind it.

You were sad...so unbelievably sad for that young man. The urge to cry for both him and yourself was slowly consuming your entire body and all you could muster to say was:

I’m sorry…

——

“You should’ve seen your face!”

“Stop it (Y/N), it’s not funny! I was genuinely worried about you! I-I even thought that you’d cry the moment I turned my back to you!”

No matter how hard you tried to stop yourself from laughing, you just couldn’t. This rock of a man who was also your boyfriend was way more innocent and precious than you originally gave him credit for.

Almost an hour had passed since you had woken up from that terrible nightmare.

Kirishima had stayed by your side until you had completely calmed down. He knew that you weren’t ready to talk about your dream yet, so he decided to let the subject rest for a while until you initiated the conversation.

While you were sleeping he had prepared some pancakes for the two of you, so the moment you got out of bed he pretended to be a butler accompanying his mistress to the breakfast table. Of course the characteristic traits of a real butler didn’t quite suit him that much, but you were so thankful for his consideration that you couldn’t care less about the small details.

After a breakfast filled with immense joy and countless jokes, you asked Kirishima if he’d be interested in a walk alongside the shore.

“Say no more.”, he’d said. This was the first time you actually witnessed him getting ready to leave your house in under a minute...you were flabbergasted, but the wide grin he gave you warmed your heart to such a degree that you simply kissed his lips with such vigor, hoping that your feeling would reach him.

And here you were...walking on the lukewarm sand, listening to the calm crashing of the waves and reminiscing about your shared past.

Kirishima held onto your hand for the entire walk and whenever he saw any sign of worry or anything of that sort, he’d immediately change the subject or just try to lighten up the mood in general.

What have I done to deserve this man…?

He kept on talking in that same cheerful voice as ever, until you had to stop him with the same sad smile you gave him on your first encounter.

Your eyes were fixated on the ‘stone valley’ from your dreams.

“That’s where he was standing…”

A pair of red eyes followed your slender finger which pointed towards a small spot just a few steps away from the shore.

Your boyfriend had to bite his lip in order to hold the countless questions he was about to ask you back, but luckily he wasn’t the only one able to judge your expression.

Over those countless years you guys had spent together, you’ve learned to see past his constantly smiling face and look at was lies beneath it.

“In my nightmare...there was a fair haired young man in a black suit standing right by the shore.”

You proceeded to tell the boy next to you everything that had occurred in your dream, leaving no detail out.

He just had to know everything...that was one of his small character flaws you got introduced to.

Kirishima proved to be a man who insisted on knowing every single detail no matter how small or unimportant it may seem to you, it was essential to him.

The reason for that was simple. For him it it’s those small things that paint the bigger picture and even if that blond man’s fedora had been swept away by that strong wind, there must’ve been a meaning behind it...that’s what his instincts were telling him at least.

“...and that’s when I woke up.”

Strong arms wrapped around your body and pulled you wordlessly into the muscular but soft chest of your boyfriend. You embraced him, the warmth of his body making you melt in his arms.

“Thanks to that nightmare, I think I came to hate the ocean...”

Kirishima twitched and even if you couldn’t see his face, you knew that he was most likely completely shocked by what you’ve just said. You couldn’t hold it against him really...after all, the ocean is where you guys had first met and it was the place the two of you had escaped from together.

As expected the redhead didn’t like that at all. Your dream had apparently left quite a big scar behind and the fact that he had underestimated that, disappointed him.

He abruptly put an end to your embrace, firmly gripped your hands instead and focused his big red orbs onto your [e/c] colored ones.

“There’s something I’d like to show you...may I?”

The way his eyes glistened always made you weak and unable to refuse whatever offer he had made...and this time was no different.

With a small nod you squeezed his hands, hoping that this small gesture would show him just how much trust you actually have in his plans, until…

“N-No Kirishima, wait! I d-don’t think I can do this...”

“Please (Y/N)..you already put your trust in me, didn’t you?”

“I-I did...yes, but I didn’t think t-that we’d do this!”

Kirishima started dragging you into the water while the both of you were still dressed. The scene had given you such a heavy déjà-vu that you actually got a tad scared of what was about to happen.

The man stopped walking when the water level reached your guys’ hips and simply smiled at you.

“In order for me to show you that thing I well...intended to show you, we need to go...down there.”

Oh no...he did not just say that…

“Kirishima...you know we can do that.”

The reason you both actually managed to live in a world you didn’t belong to, was because you were banned from the underwater world, by your own people.

After getting to know Kirishima it was a big shock to both of you that each of you had belonged to a different kingdom. Neither you nor him knew about the other and guess whose fault it actually was...that of your parents of course. They had been so invested in drilling the greatness of your home’s history and success into your guys’ brain that there was absolutely no way they’d even mention another kingdom. So imagine their reaction when they found out that each of you met with the other.

Had the both of you not agreed on an escape plan beforehand, you guys might have actually been locked in your castles with no hope of escape, but luckily that wasn’t the case.

It cost you guys a lot of mental as well as physical strength to make your escape a success...you even needed to do something really forbidden and even if it was frightening for you, you just had to do it in order to ensure the both of you a future filled with nothing but happiness.

As if he sensed that you were overthinking things again, you felt Kirishima’s warm hand caressing your cheek.

“(Y/N)...this is really important to me, so please. I know that it’s going to be dangerous and if someone were to find us- ...forget it, I don’t want to even think about it, but ple-”

“Alright...”

It took him a few seconds to process the fact that you’d actually agreed with it. You on the other hand returned his gesture from before, a sad smile adorning your lips.

“I am going to do it for you Kirishima. I can clearly see how important this is to you, so I am willing to take any risk...even if it means that we might get caught. And just in case that happens...we’ll just outswim them, right?”

Kirishima could have sworn that your normally soft voice had a hint of cockiness with it, but he wasn’t mad at it, if anything he was absolutely overjoyed.

As soon as he felt himself tear up a little, his lips were immediately connected to yours, passionately kissing you.

You buried your hands in his red hair, gently caressing his scalp, remembering the time back when he used to have long black hairs. The thought that in order for the two of you to live a peaceful life he had to color his hair a bright crimson red saddened you to no end, but much to your surprise he didn’t seem to mind it at all...in fact he even loved his new looks.

——

“These two idiots are really unbelievable. What are they even thinking, kissing while swimming in the ocean? On top of that their even dre-“

“Come now Kacchan...there’s no point in being mad about something you just did yourself.”

Two men wearing black colored suits and an equally dark fedora to match stood by a cliff not to far away from the couple, watching them.

“O-Oh look! They actually transformed! That looks amazing, I think I have to write that down...the way their gills appeared on their necks resembled...small cuts? Yeah definitely small cuts! B-But no-...maybe that’s too brutal of a description...what do you think?”

While the man on the left continued murmuring to himself and writing everything he could witness in a small notebook, the other just shook his head obviously annoyed.

The moment the two of you disappeared under the water the blond just turned his back on the ocean and began walking away.

His partner noticed the missing presence of him a tad too late and almost tripped and fell on the floor in order to catch up to him.

“Why are you leaving so soon?”

“Shut it you damn nerd! As if I’d stay behind and watch these two dumbasses behaving all lovey dovey in my presence.”

The young boy tightened his grip on the notebook and smiled mischievously.

“Are you perhaps jeal-”

“Say that word and see what happens, I dare you!”

The man whose name was apparently ‘Kacchan’, waited for the other to apologize before letting the collar of his dark suit go and continue his walk.

Due to the rough treatment the other boy had received, his hat had fallen off his head, revealing his dark green hair and a very young face, marked by countless freckles under his big equally green eyes.

“You’re so dishonest with yourself Kacchan...”

——

A lot had changed since the last time you had been underwater.

The variety in plants had decreased quite a bit and the amount of fish that swam around was way less than you remember.

“Alright...we’ve arrived.”

You had been so occupied with comparing the scenery before your eyes with the one from your memory that you failed to notice where you guys were actually at.

“Kirishima, is this...n-no way, is this really..?”

Now it was your turn to tear up and even if you guys were surrounded by water, your boyfriend didn’t miss the small tears that formed at the corner of your eyes.

Behind him was a perfectly round shaped rock, standing in a central position, it was surrounded by so many different types of plants that the minimal amount of sand that sticks out from underneath captured the most of your attention, the water around the scenery shone in many different colors thanks to the small amount of sun rays that managed to reach that deep into the ocean.

The red haired man didn’t give you any time to process the whole situation you were in, he decided to just follow his gut and continue with everything he intended to do.

“(Y/N)...”

He once again took your hands in his own slightly trembling ones and began talking:

“The first time I saw you I got really anxious that you were someone sent by my parents, but the moment you apologized to me with such a sad face I knew...I knew that I was wrong. You can’t imagine just how much I regretted making a person I had just met so unbelievably sad and believe me when I say that I am still regretting it. No matter how many times you’ll try to reassure me that it’s all in the past and that I couldn’t be blamed for it...I’d still feel bad. When we had our first real conversation, I was in awe as I saw how beautiful your smile actually was and that only fueled my feelings of guilt, up until the point where I swore to myself that I’d make you laugh every single day to make up for my mistake.”

Kirishima took a short break to calm his nerves down and when he felt ready to resume his confession he let go of one of your hands.

“Do you remember the time you wished for a way for us to become humans? After that you laughed and told me to not think too deep about it, but when I went back home I just couldn’t stop thinking about it and tried to look for a way...I’ll never forget the expression you made when I gave you the details of my results. Your smile...was angelic back then and now that I’ve lived all those years by your side I came to a conclusion.”

You suddenly felt something surprisingly cold envelop your finger...your ring finger to be exact.

Without even looking at it you managed to count two and two together, the puzzle pieces finally clicked and Kirishima’s peculiar behavior some minutes ago made perfect sense to you now.

Your mouth was opening and closing, but you couldn’t manage to get even a word out of it.

“(Y/N), the smile that lit up my day when we realized that our plan to become humans had worked was almost as beautiful as the one from back then, but what if I told you that there is a smile even more beautiful than every single one I’ve seen so far...would you believe me?”

“Kirishima I...”

“Can you make me the happiest man alive by answering the next question I’m about to ask you as truthfully as you possibly can?”

The young man in front of you brought your hand to his lips and gave your ring finger a gentle kiss.

That’s when you saw the gorgeous ring he had put on you, it shimmered even brighter than the gentle sunlight from above.

“Will you marry me?”

He hadn’t even finished his question and you were already tightly wrapping your arms around his muscular body.

The tears you held back from before were finally able to leave your eyes and in between your sobs you thanked him countless of times. Your honest reaction made him so emotional that he almost cried himself and the moment he saw your smile Kirishima’s heart exploded from happiness.

The place down below where the two of you had spent the most despicable times of your lives had now become the place down below which marked the first day of the rest of your joint life.

#bnhabookclub #bnha x reader #mha x reader #kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha fluff #mha fluff #mermay #━𝙱𝙽𝙷𝙰 #━𝙼𝙷𝙰

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