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osleeplessflowero · 2 months ago

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Hello! I was wondering if you could write a UT sans x reader (preferably fem but up to you!) where it's like a first kiss scenario? It's ok if you can't I don't mean to bother you, either way have a great day!

I absolutely can, thank you so much for sending in a request, Anon! I hope you enjoy :]

oneshot masterpost🩵

* Request Specifics: ❣️ Fem!Reader

first kiss🌨️ words: 2,256

Snow crunches beneath your boots as you walk, lightly tightening the scarf around your neck to keep warm. Winter has finally arrived, and with it comes various clouds releasing snow into the world and covering everywhere you can look with blankets of white. As you shift the earmuffs on your head slightly, you can't help but smile as you think of where you're going. Well, maybe not the location, but..who you're going to see.

Lightly sliding over a puddle of ice (and nearly tripping, but if there are no witnesses that totally didn't just happen), you come to a stop right outside of the colorfully decorated home you'd grown so fondly familiar with. A tall muscular snowskeleton shaped like Papyrus is visible in the front yard, and beside it lies a small mound of snow with "sans" written on it in marker. Never gets old.

You spot the front door opening, picking up your speed as you travel through their yard a bit to make it onto the front porch. Almost immediately, you're greeted with the sound of an energetic voice you'd grown to know and love.

"And So I'll Be Out For A While To Go Shopping With Mettaton! He Insists He Knows A Very Good Spot To Find Decorations, So It'll Be Good For The House! This Year I Refuse To Let Kathy From Down The Street Best Me- With Her Over The Top Inflatables.." Papyrus balls a hand into a fist, a determined look crossing his face before he stands back up. Looks like he'd been putting on his boots to head out. Once he turns and notices you, he perks up with a grin.

"Ah, Welcome! You've Arrived Just On Time!" He cheerfully greets you, gently ushering you inside out of the cold so you can warm up a bit. "Here, Stand By The Fire A Moment. I'll Call My Brother Down." He wiggles his browbones, earning a light flush from you that crosses your cheeks.

"Ah..thanks, Paps." You smile sheepishly, holding your gloved hands out towards the fireplace to warm up. With some quick thumps of his boots against the stairs, you listen as Papyrus tells Sans of your arrival (quite enthusiastically). After a few moments, the taller brother heads right back down to grab his phone from the kitchen. He heads over to the front door to pull it open soon after, turning to you.

"Don't Have Too Much Fun Out There, Lovebirds." He grins smugly.

You feel your face burn, knitting your brows together. "Paps!" ..Well, you can't exactly deny it now. You and Sans have been in a relationship for a few months now, taking things slow and steady. It seems like it was forever ago when you'd befriended the skeleton once monsters had finally surfaced..

"Farewell, I Expect Details This Evening!" He waves goodbye, before closing the door behind himself. You huff in amusement, turning a bit when you hear a warm chuckle by the stairs. A small smile crosses your face when you see him, lowering your warmed hands to your sides.

There the familiar lazy skeleton stands, hands stuffed in the pockets of his favorite blue jacket. He smiles as he looks at the door where his brother had just left, before turning to you. A light blue flush crosses his cheekbones for a moment as he walks over to join your side.

"hey, i'm glad you could make it. i know the cold's a lot harder on humans than it is for us. since, y'know.." He taps his skull, emphasizing the fact he has bones rather than skin. "it's good to see you."

"I'm really glad to see you too, Sans. I've been wanting to spend time with you for a while, and..well.. this is a good opportunity to, right?" You smile, giving his shoulder a gentle nudge. He chuckles, giving you a nod in reply.

"yeah, we can spend some time outside. oh yeah, that reminds me- hold up." He walks into the kitchen for a moment. You tilt your head in reply, curious to see what he's doing. He heads back out shortly after, handing you a thermos. "made some hot chocolate for ya. it'll help keep you a little warmer while we're out."

"Oh, thanks Sans. I've been wanting some for a while..did you read my mind?" You narrow your eyes at him, smiling a bit. He chuckles in reply.

"what can i say? i know you pretty well." He grins.

"Fair enough, you have a knack for that." You smile, putting the thermos in your Inventory. "Okay, ready to head out?" You hold out a gloved hand for him, watching as his eyelights drift from your hand to your face.

"yeah, if you are." He holds out his own hand, and you retract yours for a moment. "..what? what's wrong?"

"Is there anything attached to your hand?" You deadpan, looking over him for any signs of mischievous intent. His grin stretches wide, and he shakes his head with a chuckle.

"you know me too well. though, this time, i don't actually have anything there. man, it would've been funny if i did, though.. maybe next time." He watches as you hold your hand back out, taking it gently with his own. Both of your faces seem to flush a bit at once, and you avert your eyes from each other a moment. You've been together for a while, yet some things still manage to get your hearts racing..

You both take a shortcut outside, before beginning to walk together through the snow-covered neighborhood. A few people decorating in their yards wave as you pass with friendly smiles, earning some waves back from the both of you. You look over some of the decoration choices in awe, glancing over various light displays.

"These guys really take the holidays seriously." You think aloud, continuing to glance around the both of you. Sans watches your admiring with a fond smile, before he remembers to reply.

"yeah, they've started to kick things up a notch. paps gets super motivated to be the "best in our neighborhood". has this whole rivalry going on with a few of the others. he gets so pumped over something as simple as stringing up some lights. pretty adamant about winning this year. we've already got plenty of lights, but he insists on getting more with mettaton.. i can already tell he's going to make something big that i'll definitely get tangled up in."

"The horrors of having to do a ton of decorating..ooooh.." You hold up your free hand as if you were going to scare someone, earning another chuckle from the skeleton.

"look at you, being humerus." A giggle from you makes his grin stretch before he continues. "though, that's not the whole reason. i mean literally tangled up. like, getting stuck in lights and dangling until he can get me down. happens a lot."

"I can see it now.. maybe I could help you guys with additional decorating? I could prevent something like that from happening." You offer, earning a hum of contemplation from Sans.

"could be pretty fun with you around. i'm all for it." He winks, earning a light blush from you as you nudge his shoulder. The two of you focus again on the path ahead, making your way along the sidewalk and heading down a specific path. It's peacefully quiet for a moment, the two you enjoy the comfortable silence as snow lightly falls from the sky to add onto the various white blankets of snow on the ground.

"..it reminds me a lot of snowdin." You turn to look at him. "y'know, the place we lived in underground? down there it was always snowy. always cold. only times it really changed were for holidays, and even then..snow still stuck. climate was pretty weird down there." He looks up at the sky. The sun had started to set, making the sky a mix of various different colors where the clouds weren't covering it. Your eyes grow soft as you look over him.

"..Do you..miss it?" You ask, continuing to move along with him.

"well..sometimes i do. but that's how i imagine anyone with fond memories would be about a place where they grew up. though, at the same time.. i'm..really glad to be out of there. and up here, where there's..infinite possibilities. we're not just confined under the mountain anymore. all thanks to a little human kid who somehow managed to change everything.. it's wild, how things like that can happen." He's quiet for a moment. "..i think.."

He turns to you.

"i prefer being up here. it feels right to be. to be with you here, on the surface. ..maybe i was always meant to meet you. ..i wouldn't want things any other way, to tell you the truth.." You feel your breath hitch when his smile grows warm, causing you to feel warm inside. Your face quickly flushes before you turn away, earning another chuckle from him. Grasping at the thermos with your free hand to pull it from your Inventory, you hold it up to take a sip. You could just blame it on the cold, but..he probably knows the real reason..

As the sky grows darker, the area begins to glow more and more as you pass areas where lights had been strung up along a path. You glance behind yourself at the contrasting prints in the snow, smiling a bit before turning back. You move your hand away from his for a moment, before wrapping your arms around his that's next to you as you walk. One normally would consider skeletons to be cold, seeing as their bones typically are. But thanks to some additional magic on Sans' part, you'd found his body to be quite warm most of the time..

"i, uh..i heard about this from some people i passed on the way back from the library. sorry, librarby-" You snicker, before urging him to go on. "they said it'd be pretty nice to look at, and since we're a bit early it won't be too crowded. figured you might like it."

"I can't wait to see." You smile kindly at him, following his lead through a lights-covered archway. As the sun finally sets and the moon begins to rise, the area grows much darker than it had been a few moments prior. You glance around in confusion, before various lights finally begin to glow.

Eyes widening in awe, you look around the space. Various different displays cover the area, glowing with all sorts of different colors. You smile wide as you look over each of them, pointing out unique shapes to your datemate. Sans nods and looks when you point, cracking a few jokes about some of them.

"Aren't they beautiful? This is amazing!" You ask, looking at the tall tree made exclusively out of the lights. Sure, Sans could admit it's a beautiful and well crafted display. But in truth, he couldn't care less about that right now. A fond smile crosses his face, a light blue blush from his magic crossing his cheekbones as he admires your expressions. In a space filled with color..all he can seem to want to look at is you.

"..yeah.. beautiful."

You glance over once you hear the almost dreamy tone in his voice, feeling your face begin to burn when you realize what he means. Letting go of his arm, you turn to face him directly. He raises a browbone at you, before holding out his arms and pulling you a little closer to him.

"..Sans..we've..we've been together a while, and.. I was kinda..sorta..wondering if we could maybe?.." His smile shifts to one of reassurance as you struggle to find the right way to ask, before he lifts up a hand to press it against your cheek to get you to stop talking. Surely enough, it works.

"..i think this is a good spot for it..don't you?" He grins, and you can feel your heart rate pick up. Taking a breath, you quickly nod in response. "well, then what are we waiting for?"

Doing your best to calm your nerves, you lean forwards a bit and lean your forehead against his own. ..You'd been wanting to do this for a while, but..well..you weren't too sure when the right time to would be. Or..if Sans would even want to. But right now? ..Right now feels..right.

"..Being with you..has made me the happiest I've ever been, Sans. ..I want to stay with you forever."

"..well..you're stuck with me now that i've gotten attached, so..i don't think you have to worry about being too far from me."

You both share a soft laugh, before you lean forwards a bit more to press your lips against his teeth. The various colors around you all seem to just..blur together, the sounds of your surroundings growing muffled. You find yourself wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him a bit closer, him sharing the sentiment by keeping his arms around your waist. Snow gently continues to fall from the sky, decorating your clothes with bits of white.

A part of you wishes you could stop time, to be trapped in a moment like this forever. ..Even if things don't quite work like that..you can't say you'd ever forget today. It'll live on in your memory.. forever.

#sleeplessflower's oneshots #sans x reader #sans undertale x reader #requests💜🩵#undertale x reader

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swanpyart · 1 year ago

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Prepare For My Most Deranged Slay The Princess Theory That Makes Sense The More You Think About It - The Narrator IS Another Voice

I'm a bit jumbled so bear with me, but I realized a lot of odd things that give me the idea that the Narrator is actually another Voice and another facet of the Long Quiet.

The game goes out of its way to make it clear that the Narrator is different from the Voices; he has a degree of power over the Player that the other Voices initially lack, he has info about the world that the Player does not, and his authoritative nature puts him (and us by default) in opposition with the Princess. Because of this, none of the other Voices treat him as an equal or even as a friend: They are all either opposed to him, treat him as someone who can be listened to but ultimately ignored, or outright dismiss him. In the Thorn Route, Hero even points out that the Narrator "doesn't count" as one of them.

Another difference is that the Narrator never learns new info from previous chapters; we essentially get a new Narrator each one, while literally EVERYONE else remembers what happened before. This alone feels like the game pointing out the disconnect between the Narrator and the rest of the Long Quiet.

Now, for what my theory hinges upon.... the Start Over Ending, where the Princess wipes the Long Quiet's memories and causes the entire game to start over from scratch. The interesting part of this is that both the Long Quiet AND the Princess remark that there's a chance that they'd done this before, possibly countless times, because they were unable to make a permanent decision the previous times.

If this is actually true, and the Long Quiet and the Shifting Mound have been in this perpetual cycle of the Long Quiet finding five vessels, the Narrator's Echo fading away, both gods realizing their true natures but being unable to compromise, and the Princess wiping both of their memories and forcing a restart.... then what becomes of the Narrator? How does he come back for things to restart?

"Well, obviously he's resurrected," You might say, but we're not given any reason to believe that the Long Quiet can resurrect an actual mortal person, right? The entire point of the game is the inevitability of death, and that "even in rebirth, things can't be the same." Not only that, Nary is an Echo, not an actual person, so his presence as a living being is one that's even more precarious than an actual human life; focusing too much on him makes him fade away. The Long Quiet and the Princess can come back from death, but those two are literally GODS.

So, my main theory is this: The Narrator we hear throughout the game is no longer the Narrator the Long Quiet may have originally started with in the VERY first loop with the Shifting Mound, right after the Creator killed himself and split the Gods in half. The original Narrator is actually long dead, along with his original Echos, and now he is merely another Voice of the Long Quiet assuming His role. Perhaps at one point, the Narrator was actually a person who wanted to rid the world of death, and created an Echo of himself to do it, but the Echo of that human has long since faded away, only to be replaced by the Long Quiet to maintain the illusion of the loop.

In this light, it's entirely possible that every version of the Narrator and the Creator we meet is merely an extension of the Long Quiet playing the role of an omniscient storyteller. This could be part of why the Narrator struggles to answer in-depth questions, and why the Creator never goes into detail about his true identity as a human. The Long Quiet doesn't actually know much about the one who created him, and gives the same recycled lines he heard long ago from the voice of a long-dead man.

So, why does the Narrator never remember previous Chapters? That's his role. Every Voice has specific skills and abilities, and the Narrator's role, as a Voice, is to maintain a status quo. With no storyteller, there is no path in the woods, there is no cabin, there is no Pristine Blade, and there is no basement. There's no vehicle through which the Long Quiet and the Shifting Mound can reach an agreement of some kind.

The irony, then, that, if this idea is true, that the Narrator, hellbent on destroying the Shifting Mound, then becomes a vehicle through which her love for the Long Quiet facilitates. It's no wonder that, Like the Voice of the Hero, the Narrator is ALWAYS with us, and if Hero represents our agency, then Nary represents the scenario through which to exercise that agency.

Let me know if I sound like a madman lmao

#slay the princess #slay the princess game #narrator #stp the narrator #stp the long quiet #stp the princess #voice of the hero #the voices #stp voices #theory #slay the princess theory

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evolutionsvoid · 2 months ago

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For the centuries that the Church of Divine Wealth has existed, its growth has been a thing of legend. From the simple four who started it all, to the thriving empire that now rules this land. It has grown, shifted, changed and consumed over the years, spreading its influence and assimilating other groups into its own mass. And from all this time and conquest, it has gained much. Be it wealth, power or followers, the Church has certainly amassed quite the hoard. But not all of it is treasure and faith, as from it comes one of the most valuable blessings of all: knowledge. Be it discovered in ancient ruins, gained from a master swearing allegiance or the raiding of a foe's library, the Church of Divine Wealth has accumulated an incredible amount of knowledge and information. While they do boast vast libraries, and great golden tomes sharing these gifts to the faithful, there is still simply too much to put in temples. If one were to try and cram every scrap of information the Church had into its shrines, then there wouldn't be room for even a drop of humor to fit. Thus, only a sampling of their wondrous knowledge is put on display for the public, while the rest is stored away in safety. However, where this massive library is is no secret, as any person could tell you. It is common knowledge within the Church where to find the answers to any question. Look upon the horizon, and see the great black spires that practically pierce the heavens. It is there, within the place known as Akavedah, the Towering Archives. And within its dizzying heights works one of the four pillars of the Church: The Scholars of the Black.

The Towering Archives of Akavedah is where all knowledge and information of the Church is stored, every detail and tidbit eventually winding up within their Black Bile crystals. There is simply so much of it, that it must be consolidated somewhere, and in a way where it is actually feasible to find. It is a never-ending task, of taking in new information, distilling it, comparing it to current records, updating it and storing it away within the countless spires. While many would find such a mission maddening, the Scholars of the Black take on this role with silent fervor. Their sect is one that loves only two things: knowledge and termites. The holy animal tied to Black Bile, the humor of knowledge, is one that inspires them. It is said that the obsidian spires created by this insects is what inspired the use of Black Bile crystals for storing information, as folk witnessed the intricate carvings of their tunnels and nests. The Scholars have taken this fact and built it into their entire culture, which is made obvious by Akavedah's cathedral of spires and mounds. And within this great black castle, are countless libraries, study rooms, crystal chambers and vaults. These archives hold such an insane amount of books, scrolls and crystals that it is said if someone devoted their entire life to reading every single one, they would pass away from old age before they even got out of the foyer.

And amongst all these pages and shards work the Scholars, always on the move and always working. It would seem their love of termites has crept into their own work ethic, as they never seem to stop. Outsiders who catch a glimpse of them in action would certainly see the comparison between these Scholars and the river of termites that flow within their tunnels. Information is constantly trickling into Akavedah, from Church messengers, copied tomes, found scrolls and returning intel gatherers. It is said that every piece of paper that finds its way into the Church's hands is copied and sent immediately to the Towering Archives. And once it reaches these obsidian halls, the Scholars get right to work assimilating it into their own expansive system. They strive to keep their institution up to date, perfectly organized and easily accessible. Which can be a challenge with so many papers and shards, but that is what the Scholars aim to fix.

The major task of Akavedah is to convert and condense all the knowledge they possess into smaller denser forms. Their rooms filled with tomes and manuscripts is impressive, containing more paper than an entire forest could make, but highly impractical for those who want all the info. Without consulting a Scholar to guide you through their labyrinthine archives, outsiders could get lost looking for a single book. Humorous tales even claim that somewhere in this endless crystalline castle is a tiny civilization of lost students and guests who somehow fell so deep into the archives that they can never find their way out again. So with the desire to condense it all, the Scholars work to convert all their information into Black Bile crystals. This is done by filtering the knowledge through their bodies and into a crystal, typically done through reading. And with so many books and only so many Scholars, their task is seemingly without end. Some say that even without their masks, one would never be able to see the face of a Scholar because it is always buried in a thick tome. They seem to always have a book in one of their hands, and have the incredible ability to do everything else while still reading and converting the pages. Scholars and their workers are capable of moving through their halls with such speed and coordination, while absorbed by their books, that it is very much like a bustling termite colony. They don't run into each other, they don't miss their their turns and they always wind up precisely where they want to be, all while still going through the current manuscript. Foolish guests have learned long ago not to even try walking through such busy sections, as the Scholars move so quickly and tightly that you would be crushed and no one would even stop to notice.

While they convert information into Black Bile crystals, the other major duty they have is researching into purer strains of such structures. Black Bile can only hold so much depending on its purity, design and density. Crude crystals are good for holding maybe a few pages, while the finer stuff can hold multiple books worth within. But we are talking thousands of tomes and scrolls, and information that is in the mind rather than the page. Even when they seek to condense it all, the result calls for so much Black Bile and such big spires that it adds a new impracticality to it. Their special carved slabs can contain a lifetime's worth of knowledge, but it isn't good enough. Thus they must continue in their research to find better designs for these archival crystals, all while dealing with a ceaseless flow of new information to sift through. Yet they soldier on, even more so now that the war has broken out. Because now this preservation has become more crucial than ever before...

When the civil war within the Church grew beyond brief skirmishes and protests, the Towering Archives of Akavedah quietly closed their doors and fortified their walls. Without declaration, they divested themselves from this violence, as such war of emotions was pure nonsense to them. They would not take part in such idiotic fighting, it went against all logic. Instead, they would follow the belief they had held since the beginning: knowledge must be preserved at all cost. Thus the walls must be impenetrable, the gates sealed tight and those within ready to fight off any invaders. The knowledge within these spires is priceless, and the war has already destroyed so much. Thankfully, the Church had equipped the Towering Archives with incredible defenses, fearing this day as well. Unfortunately, the Church didn't imagine their Scholars using these very same weapons against them. Because in a great war of many factions and countless foes, the Scholars have no choice but to see everyone as an invader. Anyone capable of scaling their walls or sneaking in will be treated as an enemy, and the soldiers of this great colony will make short work of them.

While the world burns down outside their walls, the Scholars work even faster than ever before. Their devotion to the cause has become obsession. Protect the knowledge and ensure its survival. This has practically turned them into the very insects they adore, as they go about with an almost mindless sense of duty. Protecting, converting, condensing. All of it done for their new ultimate goal: the Microcosmic Star. A theoretical form of pure Black Bile crystal that has been refined and constructed in such a perfect way that all the knowledge of the world could fit in a obsidian jewel that could sit in your hand. Achieving such a perfect condensed state seems utterly impossible, as the Scholars have come nowhere close to even a fraction of such a thing. Yet, their research and theories claim that it can be done, and thus they work for this great belief. Before the war broke out, they wanted to create such a thing to make the archives portable and thus everlasting. With only a few of these black stars, the information of all civilization would be preserved forever, able to be transfered to all. But now, as the war rages on and society crumbles around them, the Microcosmic Star has become the final word of all of humanity. For the Scholars wish to create these jewels and launch them into the cosmos, where the entire record of mankind can survive as all perish in this doomed world. Knowledge must be preserved at all cost, and that is what they will do.

However, for the people still very much alive and fighting for this maddened land, they would really prefer if the Scholars didn't act like they were already dead.

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

"Scholars of the Towering Archives"

Another pillar of the Church revealed! Termite inspired mages who love reading! And I will say right off the bat: yeah, I don't have all the castes drawn up yet. So you'll be waiting a bit for the full line up! It is just that I can't hold this back any longer!

#mage #wizard #scholar #black bile #termite #crystal #art #drawing #fall of ichor #trypophobia #just in case

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hulloitsdani · 2 months ago

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Related to the subject of Alfonse/Kiran's brave alt, what was the inspo for Kiran's fallen alt, out of curiosity? And by any chance, was Slay the Princess a part of it at all? 👀 I'm sorry too about potential Slay the Princess spoilers (it's a very "you can mention the tiniest detail and spoil a chunk of a route on the spot" subject), just I'm super intrigued of how Kiran's fallen alt reflects on Kiran's duo-brave with Brave Alfonse, if, say, fallen Kiran had aspects of The Stranger, or more, The Shifting Mound.

The two bonding in intense, almost horrifying degrees, would make them entwined in a way that blurs the line of where one of them ends, and the other begins.

But then the fallen Kiran is a soul of what used to be, and Lif is a husk of a person that no longer is.

"I made sure that the tear was rough. You carry a part of what should be them [Kiran], and they carry a part of what should be you [Lif/Alfonse]. Things won't be as they are now, but they won't be nothing, either."

I just find the parallel between both extremes of 'fundamentally changed to the point they could no longer go back to what they used to be', and then the far-opposite 'so close together they become something that's both, but not quite'.

OKAY SO BEFORE WE CONTINUE THERES SOME IN STARS AND TIME SPOILERS IN HERE. THERE WILL BE SOME RED TEXT BEFORE HAND BUT BE WARNED.

Anyway.

I am so sorry to report that I wasn’t actively thinking about Slay the Princess while making either the fallen Kiran alt or what I’m going to call the Chosen Consort alt. However, DAMN BRO YOU SO RIGHT. LIKE OH THAT GOES CRAZY.

Slay the Princess and I have a funny relationship, because it’s such a me-coded piece of media. To give you an idea, I have posted mainly fanworks on this blog, right? But if we take a tiny peek into what some of my more personal sketches can look like:

…I think you can see what I mean. Slay the Princess haunts me in the most wonderful little ways. Love that game. The comparisons you have drawn are so god damn right. It was not intentional, but a lot of my work tends to be in a similar vein. That’s DEFINITELY the vibe and I am delighted by the comparison.

I’m also loving the comparison of the two alts! And what you’ve brought up is getting very close at what I was aiming for. See, how I think about it, the Chosen Consort alt is the result of a moral failing. Kiran’s core principles about how they chose to wield power has been compromised and they’re suffering the consequences. Their loneliness got the better of them. They caved. To satisfy their own selfish need to never be alone again, they used their immense power to control the people around them in body and mind. Kiran has become no better than a lot of the gods they’ve killed, and now their body reflects this. However, this failing is mutual. Alfonse also failed to overcome his own loneliness. We don’t know how these two got here, but… Alfonse’s willingness is extremely telling. We know, deep down, that he didn’t fight this for a god damn second. No, instead he fights to keep Kiran on his back just as hard as Kiran fights to keep him. They won’t leave each other. They can’t. Everything may be worse now, but they’ll both be damned if they let the other go alone. Through heaven and hell, for better or for worst, they’ll go together.

The fallen alt is a bit different. It is a failure of a different kind. See, upon working with Kiran (especially for books 3 and 4) I’ve come to the realization that this is not a character who is… well? Like, despite their sunny disposition, they’re doing bad mentally. Life has thrown a lot at them at once and they can only withstand so much.

Now, this doesn’t become obvious until book 3, because it’s there where Kiran comes under threat of losing EVERYTHING. TWICE. For a second time, everyone they know and love is at risk of slipping through their fingers thanks to forces outside of their control. They’re not taking it well. Kiran agrees to walk straight into a potential suicide mission into the realm of the dead, because they know deep down that they don’t have it in them to start from square one again. They can’t do it. It would break them. Kiran doesn’t technically have to die in Askr at any point during book 3. If they had the self preservation, they could run into another world and let their friends shut the door behind them. But they can’t. That’s still a death sentence. For them, it’s Askr or nothing at all. You must understand, Kiran has already experienced Líf’s level of loss. But unlike him, they didn’t have to face it by themself. The Order was there and CAUGHT them before the worst could happen. But this runs the risk of exactly that, and they know they wouldn’t survive it without the Order.

So, pretell, what happens to that mentality once it becomes clear that the only way to defeat Hel is to activate the blood rite?

See, Kiran dying to Hel would be a worst case scenario. Giving Hel the ability to potentially summon and artificially add more the dead, similar to how she had done with Eir, would be inconceivably bad. Might genuinely become unstoppable. So they’re not allowed to die in a way that would add them to the ranks of Hel’s forces. No easy out. But as they sit there, alone in this blood temple with hoards of the dead clambering at the doors, they contemplate this. There’s only one choice, isn’t there?

There is only one way out.

This how we get the fallen alt, who is not simply a Kiran who activated the blood rite, but who failed to find the will to keep going and destroyed themself. Then, to add salt to the wound, they have to watch another version of themself get the happy ending built off their sacrifices. It’s INFURIATING in ways they don’t have the words for. God, can they imagine how this feels? To know some copy of them won, and yet they’re left with nothing?

BEFORE WE CONTINUE: If you have not played In Stars and Time, maybe don’t read this next bit? It’s kinda major spoilers. Play it yourself. It’s a wonderful little game. You won’t regret it.

Got it?

Cool.

THATS THE MOST LOOP CODED SHIT IVE EVER SEEN. Had JelloApocalypse’s play through and performance of Loop on screen to give me vibes. Had an animatic of said performance by the lovely artist Str8 Rät also on screen for even more vibes. How Can You Help Me, Stardust? Was on repeat and made it to 14 on my end of year wrapped playlist. Loop my beloved! Hits Kiran with the Loop beam!!! Slay the Princess might not have been the direct inspo but In Stars and Time 100% was!

SPOILERS OVER: Anyway, this compliments how you phrased all these dualities in fun ways. Kiran fallen alt and Líf, even in this state, are still two halves of a whole. Soul of what once was and the husk of what no longer is still have a shared braincell and agree that throwing hands with an alternate self will definitely solve something (it won’t.) It’s fascinating how their separation is what partially lead them down this road, while the refusal to be separated is what creates the Chosen Consort. They won’t let each other go and that’s what has damned them both. Two halves have become a whole and are loosing the individuals along the way.

In looping back a little to the Slay The Princess comparison, these two remain reflective of each other. No matter what. The fingerprints of the other cannot be washed away. How can they be? With loneliness haunting the narrative in the way that it does? Loneliness is the question, through each other they find an answer, but it turns out that’s not always a simple good thing. Apparently you and your friend having very complimentary issues can either make you a lot better or infinitely worse. Sometimes both. And hot damn that’s fun to dig into.

Needless to say, I think these two are neat. There’s multiple ways for their story to go catastrophically wrong and I love that for them. They deserve to be a little doomed. For fun and enrichment. And someone should definitely make a Slay the Princess AU that would be cool.

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lewkwoodnco · 1 year ago

Text

August (Lockwood x reader)

A/N: inspired by the tsitp version of august (which you can listen to here on Spotify) but also works for the regular version of August too! Spoilers for the ending of the third book of the series! Angst, but not in a depressing way ish? Idk (wc: 1.3k) read the sequel here

The first few nights after were the hardest. The image of that Changer who took the shape of Lockwood with a hole blasted through his chest was burned into her retinas. The Changer had threatened her, or warned her, that it had been her doing, and it was only a matter of time before it actually happened. The guilt sat in her stomach for six days, cementing her to her bed, barely coming down to eat or drink, but on the sixth day she was as well as she could be. She didn’t have a renewed sense of vigour or sudden clarity in her life’s purpose, but she had something that occupied her well enough.

The four them were going for a small trip to the seaside where they had rented a cosy house by the beach, for a little break after one of the toughest cases they had in a while. Lucy was still feeling loopy from the Poltergeist and George had been a little quieter than usual. Lockwood…she couldn’t bring herself to look at him, or think too long about him, before slipping into despair. If Lockwood had noticed her distance from him, he showed no sign of it, not that she would have noticed. Except for the fact that even in times like now, she couldn’t help but notice every little detail about him. Whatever it was, a bit of fresh air was exactly what they needed to lift their spirits, so she decided to wait until the end of their trip to tell them.

And so they left for their weekend getaway. The air was pleasantly balmy and the warmth melted the last vestiges of cold trapped in their bones. It was so peaceful, and bright, with a sea of possibility stretched out ahead of them. For the next day-and-a-half, she ate, drank, swam and laughed just as hard as the rest of them. There was no reason to dampen their spirits just yet. Maybe she wouldn’t even have to tell them.

Of all their games and activities her favourite by far was just sitting on the beach, watching the foamy waves roll in. She could feel the freedom in the best of the seagulls wings, who called out to her, urging her toward a realm of possibilities. The sand playfully shifted around her ankles when she dug her feet in deep enough, and the wind whipped her hair with a salty sting, pushing her, propelling her, towards the rest of her life. And during sunset, an intense orange glow outlined all the cracks and crevices in them and the house, a light almost bright enough to consider life outside of Lockwood & co. That’s where Lockwood found her on Sunday evening, the night before they were supposed to leave. Lucy had somehow managed to scatter all her belongings throughout the house and George was making an upside-down pineapple cake. When she left, Lockwood had been uncharacteristically engrossed in some case report. They hadn’t talked much since Lockwood had pulled her to safety, seconds before certain death, and though she knew it was impossible for him to have seen what she did, a part of her felt embarrassed, or clumsy, to have been so careless.

The wind was quite loud in her ears, so she hadn’t noticed him until he sat down beside her. Besides his coat, most of Lockwood’s normal attire apparently doubled as beach-wear, as long as his sleeves and trousers were rolled up. She unsuccessfully tried to stand up, panickedly scrabbling at the mound she had absent-mindedly packed onto her feet, but it was too late. She awkwardly clasped her hands around her shins, staring straight into the gentle sea lapping at the shore, listening to Lockwood breathe just a tiny bit more agitated than normal.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” In her nervousness, her voice had become a little too high pitched, but she hoped the wind has swallowed up most of it anyway.

“Did you have fun?”

Did she have fun? Maybe it was the shadow of what she was about to do looming over her, but everything had somehow felt extra funny in this trip. They played Charades until they laughed themselves blue in the face, ate so many biscuits until it was too much of an effort to trudge back to the house after their picnics, and fell over each other laughing as they watched George insistently yank at the front door that was mostly rusted shut. Even as she looked at Lockwood now, eyelashes bleached by the fading daylight, she felt a peace that had nothing to do with the sea, wind, or seagulls. It was the feeling of having so little, and yet having everything she could ever dream of needing.

But she couldn’t say all that. “Yeah. Nice change of scenery.”

He smiled, and her heart thumped crazily. It was so easy to get swept up in the grim of things and forget how young she was, with her whole life ahead of her to have all these firsts - first butterflies, first crush, first love, or even just the first delusion of being in love. Before the Poltergeist, she even remembered this one quiet night in, when she was lying on her bed with her legs up the wall, staring at the ceiling and seeing all these images of Lockwood, and it wasn’t until much later that she remembered they weren’t actually anything more than friends. It just felt so natural, so easy to want and to want him, the curve of his shoulders, the curve of his face… And she only felt that way with Lockwood. He made her feel giggly and as warm as the beach, and maybe it was unprofessional, irrational and irresponsible, but he brought out the worst - and the best - of her. She would do anything for him, even if it meant breaking her heart. Even if it meant breaking his heart.

“I know you’re planning something. And I know it’s something big.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve been exhausted before, but not like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like your mind is somewhere else. Like you’re plotting. And I’m going to find out eventually, somehow.”

Her butterflies crumbled into nausea, and the hitch in her breath was anxious rather than coincidental. It was going so wrong so fast. She could feel her lips moving and hear the words coming out of them, but she wasn’t the one talking.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“I know I am.”

“You will find out, eventually.”

“Exactly.”

“Like right now.”

“Like - what?”

“I’m leaving Lockwood & co.”

She didn’t expect herself to sound so calm, her tone to be so even. And from the looks of it, neither did Lockwood. Maybe replaying this instant for days in her head made her more prepared than she realised. Lockwood stared at the shore, unblinking, until she began to wonder if she had really even said it at all.

“Lockwood?”

But it was too late, and he was already up and swiftly walking back to their villa. She could only walk so fast, kicking the uncomfortable wet sand off her feet, her pleas for him to slow down or wait painfully hanging in the still air. He walked into the house and went straight to his room, closing the door shut while she stood helplessly in the doorway to the kitchen.

George was just finishing up the icing on his cake and Lucy was eating some of the leftover pineapple. She didn’t see the point in keeping it from them either. George was properly put off his cake and Lucy looked like she might cry.

The air in the house was too tense to have dinner that night, and so she went to bed after giving Lucy a quick hug. As she lay on her bed, she looked out the window through the reflection on her mirror, and watched the stars come up and go down. She and her packed bags had left before the sun came up.

She only lasted a summer.

#lockwood and co netflix #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood imagine #lockwood x reader #lockwood x y/n #lockwood x reader oneshot #august #the summer i turned pretty #tsitp #taylor swift #fanfic #anthony lockwood x you

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liminalpebble · 1 year ago

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Hi, lovely! 💕 I’d like to request a drabble featuring Magnus. Perhaps a smutty one? I’ll leave all the details up to you.

(You cannot convince me that boy isn’t a freak! He’s likely got some tricks that would make even Blanche Devereaux herself blush.)

Hello my love! Thank you for being a friend!

By sheer luck I did a raunchy as fuck Magnus fic not too long ago based on a brilliant prompt from @muddyorbs.

Her request was to put Magnus and OFC on a mission together and he finds a little vibe in her suitcase and things get spicy. It's a very hostile fucky situation and I imagine our girl as a Lisbeth Salander type because my queer little heart is in love with her too. Anyway, I hope this pleases your inner Blanche as you reach for the cheesecake.

Much love, '

Peb

Magnus Martinsson fanfic, Magnus Martinsson x OFC, smut!, one shot, enemies to lovers (well...fuckers?), hostile but very consensual fucking, Minors DNI

Word count: about 3000 (sorry...bit of a honker. Worth it. I promise).

Bullets

Mara rolled her black-lined eyes when the call from Wallander came in. “Mara, are you still freelancing? We really need a tech wizard on this one.”

“Cute euphemism, Kurt...points for flattery. You need a hacker who will do the dirty work so your little lapdog techie can keep his hands clean while micromanaging me.”

Wallander sighed, and quipped sarcastically, “Why, yes, Mara, I'm doing very well, thanks. How are you today? Still your charming self, I see. By the way, you're on speaker. ” He looked across the conference table to where Martinsson (said lapdog techie) was glaring at his superior for putting him in this situation yet again.

Mara's eyes scanned around her tiny apartment full of computer equipment and old band tee shirts piled in an ever-increasing mound of black cotton. In her own mind, she'd named it Mount Doom. “Oh you know, Kurt, living that rich girl high life,” she replied in a prickly tone, toking on the remains of a joint from the night before. “And whose fault is it that I'm on speaker, hm? Really. You should know better by now.” She blew smoke out in a resigned exhale, “Alright Wallander, tell that minion of yours I'm in. I'm sure he'll be delighted.”

Kurt raised his voice. “His name is Magnus, or Detective Martinsson and I'd appreciate it if you stop calling him 'lapdog' or 'minion' especially to his face as you seem rather fond of doing...”

“Alright Kurt, see you tomorrow,” she said interrupting his lecture to end the conversation.

“Charming,” Magnus groaned.

--------

“The same room?” Mara said, with an air of annoyance, hauling her bags up the hill to the rundown Motorlodge.

Martinsson sighed and said with an edge of frustration, “Yes Mara, the same room. We can't work together from different rooms.”

“Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot, minion! I know that, but I thought that at least when we're taking shifts we'd have our own space to rest. It could be days! It would have been nice if the police department had sprung at least for adjoining rooms. I'd even tolerate sharing a bathroom with you if...”

Magnus stopped in his tracks, putting a hand up so she nearly stumbled directly into him. “Can you please, please not do this? I'm just here to do my job, just like you are. Can we try not to be at each other's throats?” As he said it she couldn't help looking at his throat, that pretty pale neck and sharp jawline she'd love to suck on and bite and make him moan while...

“Mara!” he barked, snapping her out of her lurid daydream.

“Okay...fucking hell. Okay,” she said, shouldering past him to enter the little 70's time capsule of a room. He fortified himself with a deep breath, stepping into her wake.

-----

“Well,” she said, between sips from the paper cup, “At least the Bates Motel has a pretty decent coffee machine.”

They both laughed and smiled to each other, faces bathed in the blue glow of computer screens; a rare truce. They had set up efficiently, both very good at their jobs and surprisingly good at working together despite the personality clashes.

“See?”

“See what?” Mara asked, sitting forward to scan the screen.

Magnus put a finger on her chin to turn her face towards him instead. “See how nice it can be when we actually just have a pleasant cup of coffee together and work?”, he elaborated. It was adorable, she had to admit...those big innocent blue eyes and golden curls making him look like a particularly naive, hopeful and, possibly stupid, angel. But from his work and credentials, she knew he was far from idiotic; just sweet, gullible, optimistic. And as he was staring at her with that sweet dumb incredibly handsome face, it just made her inexplicably angry, like his kindness was some kind of trick.

She shrugged, and took a sip to avoid looking at him, then stated, “Their hard drives will take hours to clone. It's a waiting game for now.” She yawned and cracked her knuckles, stretching up from the uncomfortable chair to flop onto the tacky paisley comforter. A sliver of orange glow from the setting sun slid between the heavy curtains, illuminating her body, and Magnus couldn't help but notice that like that, in this wash of golden hour light, she really was very pretty. Yet, for some inexplicable reason Mara seemed almost determined not to be, with her prickly personality and tent-like clothes hiding her rather nice curves. What a shame he thought.

Magnus took the opportunity to move too, rising to his feet and stretching his long arms over his head. Mara peeked at him with one surreptitiously open eye to drink in the sharp dips and muscle of his lower belly and hips as his shirt raised, ever so slightly, to show skin. Why does he have to have the body of a fucking Greek god? Jesus Christ. Eyes wondering south, hoping to catch a glimpse of the rather generous outline in his pants, she saw where his service revolver was strapped to him in a shocking interruption of black metal and leather. It didn't suit such a soft, posh, pretty boy to be toting around a gun like some cowboy. Having come from a wealthy suburb, Martinsson could never understand the grip of fear firearms held on poor neighborhoods like hers. She didn't like guns, and she didn't like the criminals or the cops who didn't seem to mind using them liberally in her childhood neighborhood while everyone else was caught in the crossfire.

“Do you have to wear that thing?” Mara asked, gesturing to the holster. “It's only me. I'm like a foot shorter than you and you could probably kill me with your bare hands if you wanted. Are there bullets in it now?”

Magnus turned to her, eyes soft and considerate. “Well, yes. It's part of the job. We have to wear them at all times on the clock and they have to be loaded. And it's not you I'm afraid of, Mara,” he said, sitting beside her on the bed, looking at his hands. “It's you I need to be ready to protect if things go south.”

Mara turned to perch on her elbow and look up at him, genuinely swooning for a second before she recovered hastily, coating it with sarcasm. “Awww...my hero. This is why they call you The Prince Charming of Ystad? And I know damn well you're afraid of me.”

“Not afraid...annoyed. Are you allergic to having a single genuine moment of humanity between us? What have I ever done to you?” he huffed sounding wounded, and standing up again to pace.

She groaned, standing up to face him, admitting to herself that she had been especially hard on him, and she couldn't even be entirely sure why (or at least, she wouldn't admit why, not even to herself). “Look, Magnus, I'm sorry, really.”

“Really?” he said cautiously, distrustful and surprised.

“Yeah..yeah, really. I've been such a bitch to you.”

As Magnus spotted the unprecedented chink in her armor, it set off the explosion of a tirade. It finally released itself from his mouth after brewing for months and he was powerless to stop it. “Listen. I don't know why you're like this, Mara, really I don't. I haven't done a bloody thing to deserve this, neither has Kurt.”

Mara felt a little fizzle of fear at the mounting growl in his voice, and she felt a little ashamed, but also aroused. It was deeply confusing.

“I wasn't socialized enough as a puppy. Why the fuck do you think, pretty boy? You're cops. I don't like cops. I don't like what you stand for...your mindless conformity...”

Magnus' voice rose, “Did it occur to you that some of them, Kurt and I for example, chose this life to protect people? Because we care about people, even people like you who hate us. And I'm not saying you don't have a good reason to hate the police, but you don't have to hate us. We're on your bloody side. And...and you think you're so clever and rebellious with your bitch act and your black hair dye....and and...your edgy jewelry,” he continued, reaching down to her open bag where there was an unusual silver necklace, with a heavy bullet for a pendant. He lifted it saying, “Oh so you don't like guns and bullets, but you'll wear them to look oh so cool and fashionable? What a fucking hypocrite...”

Mara was thunderstruck (and frankly excited) by his anger but the end of his little speech made her want to laugh hysterically. He had no idea that what he was holding was a state-of-the-art vibrator, beautifully designed to multitask as a piece of jewelry styled after an actual bullet. She thwarted her chuckle to say simply, “Please put that back. It was expensive.”

Magnus blinked in confusion, as if slapped by her unexpected response. As he moved to put it back, one of his long fingers fumbled around it, accidentally pressing a hidden button. As he dropped it back on top of her bag of toiletries, it began to buzz. The detective narrowed his eyes, mouth agape as the gears turned in his lovely head. “Is...is your necklace...vibrating. Holy shit...is that a...”. His broad Cheshire cat smile unfurled across his face, as he began to chuckled in long breathy laughs.

Now it was her turn to be angry...not to mention mortified. She darted her hand out to switch it off, crossed her arms, and stormed to the other side of the room. “Oh this is rich,” he purred out in his deep delicious voice. “Why did you bring that? And when on earth did you expect to have the time and privacy to use it?”

She yelled, “That's none of your business! And I thought we'd have separate rooms.”

He moved closer, now standing directly in front of her. She felt that looking into his bright eyes might sear her like a laser, so she settled for looking forward at his chest. Then his long soft fingers, tucked themselves under her chin, raising her eyes to his, as he asked in a deep intimidating voice, “Mara, why did you really bring that with you?”

Fuck. She could see why he was so good at interrogations. This is the kind of man it was no use lying to. She sputtered, “Be...because I know it might be a few days and...”

“And?” he prompted, taking a step closer.

She fumbled nervously, “And...and...because I knew I'd be trapped with you strutting around with your perfect fucking body and your pretty fucking face and your sweet fucking disposition, and I'd have to take care of myself if I wanted to think straight...okay?”

His smile dropped even as the heat of excitement coursed through his body. Magnus could see she was flustered, defenses down, nearly to the point of tears. Finally it occurred to him; so this is why she was so mean, so prickly and defensive towards him... because she liked him so much. She was harboring a hopeless school girl crush and assumed all of his kindness towards her...his goodness...was some kind of joke to mock her. She ignored the reality that he paid attention to her because he liked her too. She excited and intrigued him, but that all turned to bitter frustration that she would never let him near her. He just kept encountering all that barbed wire around her and finally quit trying to breach it...until now.

“Mara,” he said her name reverently like a prayer, in a low gentle whisper, full of empathy and kindness. He moved his hand from where it still was propped under her chin, to cradle her face. Neither of them could say who moved first as they crashed together, but before they knew it they were latched onto each other's hot mouths, kissing, licking, biting, barely able to breathe and neither of them minded.

He moved to her neck, sucking it hungrily then growled into her ear, “You think that little gadget could hold a fucking candle to me?”. She moaned in response, sliding her shaking fingers to begin unbuttoning his shirt while he worked at his pants and his holster. He was peeled out in moments, looking absolutely mouthwatering in nothing but his underwear. Mara tore her shirt and bra off over her head, then pressed the swell of her breasts against his firm torso, while her lips rejoined his. Her leg swung around his waist as she licked up his throat, bit his earlobe playfully and said, “Pull my hair. Call me a bitch again...”

He was panting as he said, “I...didn't call you a bitch...I said it was a 'bitch act'...”.

She gathered his curls between her fingers and tugged while she bit at his lovely throat, drawing a nearly-pornographic moan from the young cop. “I said, call me a bitch, you pedant.”

It was adorable, how he struggled to get the word out. He was the type of well-bred man who had trouble calling a woman anything other than “Miss”, which made it even hotter when his eyes darkened and his mouth twisted as he growled out, “You delicious bitch” and wrapped his big hand around her ponytail, yanking sharply. She was grinding against he thick erection, teasing him, desperate for him, until he stopped her with a bruising grip on her hips and met her eyes. “You called me a lapdog, huh? Well, there's only one lap I'm interested in being in,” he said in a velvety purr as he tugged her pants and panties off of her, pushing her onto the bed completely naked, as he snaked between her legs, biting and sucking ravenously at the soft flesh of her inner thighs, breath ghosting against her soaked pussy. She wove her fingers into his hair with surprising gentleness as she sighed and writhed while he kissed his way up.

When he licked the first firm line up her slit she arched her back and gasped out, “Holy fuck,” while he chuckled against her skin and she could feel his smile.

“Mmmm...you're even more delicious than I imagined,” he confessed, and the idea of him jacking off, thinking about this only aroused her more.

He began to suck delicately on her clit and swirl his tongue, bringing her close to the brink in mere moments. She lifted his head gently and said, “Wait...wait.”

His big, bright eyes met hers, solicitous and concerned as he panted out, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah...yeah amazing,” she said, smiling, “I just want to come on your cock. I want to feel you inside.”

“Oh darling...” he purred as he crawled farther up the bed to kiss her, sharing her own taste with her. He stood up for a moment to slide his boxers off, revealing his cock (which was just as gorgeous as the rest of him), stroking it lightly in one big hand. “Jesus Christ,” she gasped when she saw it, big and flushed with a tantalizing drip of precum. She crawled over to him and taking it into her mouth hastily, dying to savor it. He groaned in ecstatic surprise at the feeling of her hot mouth around him, her clever tongue caressing the hard length. He combed his hand through her hair, chuckling softly, teasing, “eager, are we darling?”

“Shut up and fuck me you cocky little shit,” she barked out playfully, making them both smile. “Prove to me that that little trinket will never satisfy me again, detective.”

He pinned her on her back, caging her between his strong arms, “Cocky, yes....little...well, my dear, I think we both know that's just a bit inaccurate.” His tone changed as he settled between her legs, and his hand stroked her cheek gently. He asked, “You're okay? This is okay?”

“Yes...please...just go in slowly?”

He nodded.

Magnus eased in gently, as they both gasped at the decadent feeling of his cock inside her slick, warm walls, adjusting to each other. “Mmmm. God...yes,” she purred, stroking his sharp cheekbone with her soft little hand. Meeting his eyes she said, “Magnus?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Now, please, fuck me like a whore.”

It rough and relentless as Magnus drove into her again and again while her legs clamped tight around him, calves bouncing on the muscular curve of his ass as he moved. The wave of both of their orgasms crashed quickly and simultaneously as they rode it out, making a mess of the old duvet, and collapsing naked against each other, spent and smiling. Mara massaged Mangus' head as he rested it against her breasts. He trailed little pecks along the soft skin, sighing contentedly. She peeked over his lovely golden fleece to see where the blue-glowing monitors were still reporting their downloads in progress with lots of time to go. Idly she said, “Looks like this is going to take longer than we thought.”

“Oh no, whatever shall we do in the meantime,” Magnus chimed in from where he had begun lapping his tongue over her tits, as they both laughed in an all encompassing high of relief.

@smolvenger @goblingirlsarah I can't think who else might like this one, but feel free to share!

#magnus martinsson oneshot #magnus martinsson smut #lovely asks #lovely mutuals #lovely fanfic friends #sas

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randomwriteronline · 1 year ago

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Vakama's hands were warm, awfully so. He moved them carefully across the Ice warrior's new face, with a gentle feathery touch, flexing his fingers ever so slightly so that the other would shift it in the direction the Turaga wanted without having to press too hard and risk ripping the skin apart as he intently picked up every detail with his scrutinizing gaze.

Had he still been a Toa, Kopaka would have responded to his careful movements with harsh ones, to show he did not need to be treated as though he was made of fine glass.

But now (for some time now) he was a something, and he had just watched as the bandages where Pohatu had pierced himself by simply hugging Onua too tight were changed, the not at all shallow cuts already struggling to scar, and how their Earth brother had been horrified at what a simple contact between such different bodies could cause; so, wary of the frailty of the form he had been forced into and for the sake of the Turaga's peace of mind, he tolerated the cautious approach with which he was treated.

It did not mean he had to like it. Especially not that look.

What was the former mask maker trying to find? A piece of his self? He knew he did not look like himself, he knew he was unrecognizable. He knew he was a disgusting, soft, malleable mound of abhorrent flesh, filled with nauseating sacks and tubes and hairline conducts and shapeless things pulsing erratically every second, covered in veins and fat and muscle, with no way to defend himself, no way to be helpful, no way to do anything. He had made the mistake of looking at himself, back when his Akaku still fit on his face (before his new one had grown in, agonizingly, and he had had to rip the mask off of himself before it killed him because the organic matter could not close around the joints and nubs with which his body used to hold it still) and he still had nightmares about it. Not even Tren Krom's remains had looked so horrible, so parasitic and alien - they hadn't been lodged inside him.

He knew whatever he was could no longer be called Kopaka, the Toa Mata Nuva of Ice. He knew it from the second he'd changed. Was the Turaga hoping the cold warrior was still there, somewhere beneath the malleable matter? Was he looking to be disappointed? Was he going to desert him, appaled, when his search inevitably turned vain?

Vakama's palm cupped his cheek gently.

It was warm, and kind, and his glowing eyes held nothing but care.

Kopaka leaned into it despite himself, bitter expression softening, turning saddened, in need of comfort. The metal thumb brushed against him as though to clear away a few tears. He wasn't crying, of course; he wouldn't have dared being caught dead doing so, especially before a Turaga.

But the motion brought him solace nonetheless.

Onewa came in second, much more loudly than his Fire brother: he clamored to know where his Toa was, shoving aside anybody in his way with the good manners of a Manas crab on a warpath.

Pohatu would have all but leaped directly at him and likely trampled him in his excitement if the Agori had not forcibly bound him to the beds he and Kopaka had been stationed in since they'd been brought to New Atero. He still tried their patience, crawling hurriedly across the cots and laying on them so that his torso could extend as far towards the door as possible: as soon as the Turaga emerged he gave a joyful strangled sound, arms outstretched to be caught in a gruff, delicate embrace attempting to keep some distance between the two beings so that the former Toa could not fall into the temptation of squeezing new wounds open on himself again.

The carver's hands were smooth despite it all, like pebbles of a river, and carried the comfortable heat of sunny days. He looked over the creature, once the warrior he had welcomed into his Koro, with the apprehension of a father whose child has scraped their knees and elbows; then, as a bout of frustrated helplessness burst from within him and demanded release, he jerked his head away from the being still holding him sweetly to shoot a glare at his silent peer.

"Well then! Look at this!" he barked, harsh, rough, vitriolic. "Such a good job of protecting him you did, didn't you!"

His interlocutor tightened his fists and looked away, biting his lip.

"Is the shame keeping your from talking, now?"

"Onewa," Vakama began sternly.

His brother glared at him, screaming to shut his mouth and stay out of this without a single word - but before he could continue lashing out accusations and vitriol, his tongue was stopped by a weakened punch to the top of his shoulder, not hard enough for the skin to break upon it yet still so intense that it made him wobble.

He searched for the face that had delivered it, but it was gone already: Pohatu had pressed it against his peer's hair, hiding it from view, and was wrapping his arms tight around him, as tight as he wanted, without fear of a pain that a softer body could not deliver.

He swayed his brother a tad and kept adjusting his grip. Maybe, if he kept pressing, the guilt would ooze out of him like liquid from a blister, like pus from an infection. Maybe, if he kept pressing, he would manage to squeeze out of him the stupid belief that this had been his fault, and that he was responsible for their misery.

Did his brother think he didn't know? Did he think that just because they had changed so drastically he could not tell what he was thinking, what he was feeling? No, not at all, not at all - if anything it had made it so, so painfully easy.

Pohatu had learned to read him, of course he had; he had learned every inflection and minute tic, every silent little word the other refused to voice, because he had stuck to him like a Makuta fish biting its terrible teeth into a larger prey and refusing to let go even as the mightier Rahi convulses to get rid of the little stubborn pest with minimal success. And now - now that they had no armor, no still masks, now that their faces moved with such frightening fluidity, so strange and different and unfamiliar but screaming their thoughts so loud it hurt his ears (that was what his audio receptors had become, and they felt so much, so much, to the point where evereything he saw made a sound even if it didn't) it had taken him nothing to learn that language by just looking, and now he could read everything in his mind with the ease of a Suletu, of a Toa of Psyonics, and it was strange and terrible and it hurt, it hurt, it hurt, and all he could do was hold tight.

Onewa called for him. Pohatu refused to turn to look at him.

They'd been through so much. It had hurt, horribly, terribly, to grow these bodies against their will. He had insisted on coming along; he hadn't managed to dissuade him; it was nobody's fault but his own if they were both like this.

He should have protected him.

The Turaga's hand laid warm and gentle on his back.

Pohatu shuddered it away, tucking himself tighter around his brother. Kopaka's spine was cold against his chest, but he did not mind.

He'd failed him once.

He'd make up for it now.

Nuju did not visit.

Nokama did not mention it as she tried in vain to translate what sounds Pohatu was least uncomfortable making (he could feel the air in his throat hit a block, he could feel it opening and closing with each vowel, and it felt so wrong that he would hold his neck to try and still the movement), surrendering at last. Her kind touch felt fresh, and humid, like dew on a leaf.

Whenua did not mention it, maybe too caught up in trying to pretend he wasn't taking notes on them, studying them, like they were a pair of very rare Rahi he wouldn't have dreamed of ever managing to get his hands on. His fingers, like Onua's, were rough and scratchy as he prodded their limbs, studied their joints, tested the texture of their hair between his digits.

Matau did not mention it, and that was it. He was unnaturally quiet, observing his Turaga siblings try to find something, anything to give them some sort of answer to what had happened to the former Toa, trying to understand them in the ways they were most familiar with. He grazed them curiously, and they barely noticed - he was light even when applying pressure, as if he were a spirit.

"Keetongu could sparelend us a helphand," he offered at last.

"If this were the work of a venom, certainly," replied Whenua: "But I see no bites or punctures like the ones left by Visorak."

Pohatu shook his head to convey an agreement with the Turaga's statement: no, it had not been a poison. That would have been merciful, and maybe they would have even had a better chance of going back to normal.

"It might still be a good idea to seek his guidance." Nokama noted. Her hand lingered on the once-Toa of Stone; the watery feeling did not disturb him as much as it could have.

She turned to the two of them, her eyes gentle, her mask immoble. Something about the stillness of its features bothered them for a single second, made them nervous - they'd gotten too used to looking at each other, at the Agori's expressive visages. The realization worsened their unease.

"Hopefully he will be allowed here," the Turaga told them so sweetly. "If you'd like that, of course."

He faced Kopaka. His brother merely shrugged.

If Nuju's absence was bothering him (and the other was not going to divulge that information to anybody), he did not care to point it out.

Pohatu resolved to nodding for the both of them.

He'd never seen Tahu look scared.

He had, by all means, even though his Fire brother refused to admit it and did everything in his power to dissimulate how he was feeling. Truly, in that regard, he was the same as his Ice brother - and like him, he would have hated that fact if it were ever voiced to him.

He'd never seen this specific type of scared on him, though.

A cautious type of scared.

It would have almost been funny: since when was Tahu cautious?, they could have joked, and if he tried to argue they would have reminded him of his awful plan against the Rahi Nui, or the first course of action that came to him before the Bohrok nests, and he would have gotten so mad that his armor would have turned scalding hot enough to glow, and he would have tried to swat at them with his boiling hand in revenge, because he was still hot-tempered Tahu despite it all.

It wasn't as funny when he flinched at the sound of a voice calling for him with a shining gaze and a strained noise struggling to leave a throat.

Onua didn't flinch, but the bed-bound patient could read in his eyes the same apprehension.

"Hello, brother," the Toa of Earth greeted him sweetly. He held up his hand in a fist for the fraction of a second before closing his other palm around it. He couldn't ask him for a Toa salute, not in the way they'd grown accustomed to anymore: they would have clanged knuckles as hard as they could have been able to, and the fragile organic mixture that was the hand of meat would have turned to a limp mass of shredded flesh and broken bone. "Hope we're not intruding. You don't seem to be doing too bad, eh?"

The other smiled, much more confidently than he had at first. He'd been practicing. Getting the hang of this 'lips' thing.

The Toa of Fire remained silent, staring at him. A kind nudge from Onua reminded him that, unlike their brother, he could not feel somewhere around a good dozen organs shifting with each word in a manner so wrong and nauseating that he couldn't stand to articulate a single syllable.

"Hello," he only said, lamely.

A ghastly sound responded. An attempt at a 'hi'.

The two Toa approached the cot.

"Where is...?" Onua braved to ask.

The answer came in the turning of a head to a corner of the room, one that opened into a smaller nook of sorts. His peer could walk just fine, unlike him, as both his legs were healthy enough; being nothing but perfectly coherent with himself, he had begun using that advantage to hide away from any visitors that tried to get a hold of him. Including if it was their siblings, of course.

Especially if it was their siblings.

The Toa of Earth followed his former brother's gaze for a moment and gave up on it immediately. Better not to bother a sleeping Kane Ra.

Beside him, Tahu looked at the hair.

It started where his brain should have been and went down, down, all the way to his shoulders, all the way past them. In smaller bouts it grew from his arms, his legs, his chest, his pelvis, like grass or moss of sorts. At times it curled tighter, into springs, at times in a more relaxed way, into waves or strands of kelp. In some cases it grew straight, like softened pine needles or something like that.

It looked unnatural.

Like some sick joke.

This was not his brother. This was something else. Something that responded to his brother's name, that tried to sound like his brother's voice, that existed in an approximation of his brother's shape.

He felt his hands tremble.

Another step, and before he knew it something soft and frail and too tender was wrapped around him so hard he could feel his joints seep into it with the ease of a burning blade into a pane of ice. His fingers wrapped around it as well, stumbling as it found bumps and sunken lines upon an otherwise flat surface, getting caught and tangled in the somewhat matted mass of minuscule keratin wires, pulling a few in the hurry of trying not to do just that. The squeezing continued, and he could feel the skin giving in against metal the more pressure was applied; he hastily patted the bumpy spine and reached up to the shoulders, managing to convince the grappling hug to loosen just in time before the flesh was torn.

His heartlight pulsed erratically as he slowly forced his breathing down once more. He held back with all the careful worry in the world.

Muffled words reached him, a few gentle knocks against what sounded like a force field. He looked up: Onua looked back from behind the softly shimmering spherical shield summoned by his glowing Hau.

Oh.

Sorry, he did not say.

Don't apologize, his brother did not reply as he was allowed to step in before the barrier returned to divide the three of them from the rest of the world again.

He sat next to him on the cot, leaning a little closer to place a hand of his own on the bundle of meat and skin essentially sitting on the Toa of Fire's lap. It was warm like a desert rock; it seemed to perfectly soak in the heat Tahu gave off.

An arm reached out, wrapped around Onua's neck, pulled him closer. The soft face laid against their joined shoulders.

Pohatu shook a little.

His brothers closed around him.

He could feel Akamai through their hold: he could feel it, steady, warm, strong, coursing through the veins overtaking his body.

He listened to its breathing, their breathing, the familiar comfort of their dangerous forms.

He felt his skin's fear of being pierced.

Pohatu tried to hold tighter, to let the metal sink all the way into him, to feel no pain against them like he would have had so little time ago.

Tahu and Onua pried him off gently just enough so that he wouldn't hurt himself.

The Hau's shield shimmered brighter.

Their hands were rough and warm on his back.

It was nice to know he was loved.

Despite it all.

From the moment the green Miru made its appearance, he dreaded the words that were bound to reach him eventually.

Because of course, he would have said something.

How could he not? They hadn't seen each other in so long, with all the concerned thoughts that came with that, and now that they were all back together he was treated to an unsightly creature that he should have somehow recognized. A single glance and he would have realized the gravity of the situation. It would have sunk in quickly, unstopped and unstoppable, like a blade into muscle; he would have shouted something like Mata Nui!, and stumbled back as he bristled visibly, appalled, and would have asked him what in the world had happened to mess him like that.

Instead, Lewa surprised him.

He just looked.

In perfect silence, he just looked.

The object of his attention retreated into himself, into his gross form sitting angrily on the barren floor now unbound by bandages as his cuts had healed all but completely, scowling at the Toa of Air while the glowing green eyes simply took him in.

Had his brother ever been so quiet? Was he really that ghastly?

No; he would have jumped back if he'd been so disgusted, would have floated right up to the ceiling and rushed away. Lewa wasn't a fan of retreats, but he knew how to make one quite well.

Instead, the familiar mass of thin tendons and metal armor lowered itself slowly, carefully, until it was more or less at the same level as the thing he was staring so intently at. Behaving like he would before a frightened Rahi which hisses and growls terribly as it is cornered, for it fears its wounded leg will turn it into a larger beast's meal, he took care to slide closer in the least threatening way possible, all gentle movements and steady gaze.

He considered it a success, since the other did not react.

Lewa held his hand out expectantly with his palm pointing upwards.

After a moment or two, very carefully, a frailer one laid on it.

The Toa's touch was strangely soft, strangely rough. It was barely there, thin and ethereal, yet felt almost like a fern's caress as one passes through them, too. His fingers traced the scars running thin regular rings around the fingers, lightening the skin where the new patches had finally healed above the cuts.

He reached along the back, along the bones hidden beneath muscle; he stopped at the wrist. He looked.

A sudden gentle 'thunk' by his side made the other jump.

"Sorry," Gali whispered in a lulling tone.

He had been so absorbed by the tactile feeling that he hadn't even noticed her arrival. She sat on her knees next to him, not reaching out, not trying to touch him, not trying to impose comfort on him until his shoulders lowered again.

She, too, only looked.

The former wounds might have seemed to trace nonsensical patterns to most - shapes without meaning, mirrored carvings hetched without rhyme or reason.

Gali winced.

Their armor, the very thing designed to shield them - all that was left of it, aside from the scraps in the wreck, were the signs of its damage on the beings it needed to protect. Painful trenches dug into flesh, born of good intentions.

Her fingertips, caked in brine and jagged with wet salt, laid on the arm so lightly she wasn't even sure she was touching it.

She wasn't shrugged off.

Their sister ventured towards the back, meeting the scapula, tracing its shape as carefully as she could; her Air brother inched along the remains of a cut across a forearm.

Can I still call you brother?, they all thought without saying a single thing. Now that I am so profoundly different from you, will you still let me use such a word? Will you still let me recognize you as my sibling, my friend, my kin? Are you still mine? Am I still yours? Do I still feel to you like you used to know me as, or have I become a total stranger? Can you still call me brother?

"Am I hurting you?" Lewa asked quietly.

The former Toa shook his head.

Gali exhaled a sigh of relief; her palm rubbed long swathes across his peeking ribs.

Kopaka shut his eyes and breathed.

Deep. In. Out.

He could feel Wairuha's presence wash over him - its ever-shifting, ever-soothing, ever-cooling form passing through his limbs as it rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell within him, following his siblings' careful exploration, their kindness given motion, submitting a pace for his shivering inhales to walk after, step after step after step.

He could feel them mapping out the body he'd grown, so careful in fear he'd break, so curious and uneasy yet sparing him a disgust they couldn't bring themselves to feel about him.

He could feel their affection seep into him, as if to try healing an invincible ache.

He could feel himself wanting to cry.

I love you, he wanted to say.

I love you, truly, he wanted to say.

I love you, truly, really, he wanted to say.

I'm glad you're here. I'm glad you're still here. I'm glad you didn't abandon me. I'm glad. I'm really glad. I'm so very, very, very glad.

Lewa was humming.

Gali brushed his hair.

I'm really glad, he wanted to say.

I'm so very, very, very glad, he wanted to say.

I love you so very, truly, really much, he wanted to say.

Deep. In. Out.

Kopaka fell asleep on his sister's shoulder, unplagued by nightmares of seeing horrid bloodied snakes make a nest in his gut.

Gali held his other hand.

Lewa kept humming.

He'd planned to whistle him awake with a midday birdsong. No ward of his wouldn't have recognized how out of place that was, in the middle of the night; the strangeness of such an mistimed call would have certainly caused some wariness in him, but it would have been the quickest way to stir him back to consciousness. He'd hoped the sleepiness would have made things easier.

Kopaka, sitting on his cot since another horrid dream had forced his eyes open again about an hour ago, squinted towards the little lights near the doorway. Pohatu slept curled around his hand, still injured leg outstretched.

Nuju chirped a greeting again.

No response.

The Turaga tried his luck, and stepped forward.

No response.

Only a dark silent stare, immoble, freezing cold, sizing him up as he approached, closer and closer, until he too was sitting on the somewhat stiff mattress.

Kopaka made no sound nor movement.

Silence hung between them.

Nuju waited before meeting his gaze, so exhausted, a little ashamed. He wondered if the former Toa could have understood.

If he could have forgiven his weakness.

They were too similar for the Turaga's liking, sometimes. So quick at jumping to conclusions, so hasty in scurrying into isolation as soon as something threatened to overwhelm them, so insistent in hiding away into themselves instead of seeking comfort, convinced they knew how to handle their own pain best. It was quite incredible how despite their influence Matoro had turned out so sweet, so kind - although more than once he'd regretted dooming him to abide to their shared painful silence.

His hands balled into fists, his heartlight stuttered. He struggled to calm his shaking form.

They hadn't even had the time to mourn him.

Everything had been so hectic.

So dangerous and chaotic.

It had been like being a Toa all over again, but worse.

Somehow so, so, so much worse.

They hadn't had a moment to breathe, to let themselves feel in a time when what they needed was to keep their sense sharp and alert, to think of anything other than surviving and resisting and planning and escaping and, and, and...

And so they'd never mourned him.

And so he'd only had time to do that now.

And then...

And then, now...

He breathed in, deeply. He turned.

Such dark eyes, his Toa had. Nuju's glowing ones reflected in them, creating specks of light on the humid surface like sunshine on water.

Kopaka did not speak in stars, bright riddles to be decoded, hints and suggestions leading to undisputable if at times nebulous answers; he spoke in snowflakes, small details, carefully constructed structures of meaning compressed into minuscule pieces.

The Turaga watched his neck contract and shift as he swallowed. He was certain the action felt as foreign and disturbing to the poor creature as it looked.

Pohatu shifted in distress when the soft hand slipped away from his grip; his alarmed whines waned as fingers combed through his hair, slowly, sweetly, until he was calm once more. The former Toa pulled himself into a kneel, facing his guide, tension bubbling and twitching beneath his skin: he leaned forward, forward, forward, until his face laid against the metal chest, and wrapped his arms around the smaller frame so tenderly cold.

The iron fingertips grazed his back and cheek, cupped the alien body within them. It shuddered under the kind grasp.

Then came heaving breaths, heavy, hissing through dull teeth, struggling against themselves; and finally, with a horrible whimper, came the water, rivulets from melting icicles, cold, so cold, seizing the flesh with horrible shivers as strangled sobs tore his throat apart, as useless nails tried to sink deeper into the Turaga's armor, searching for something familiar, known, loved to grab onto.

Kopaka cried, as hard as he could.

Robotic hands held him a little closer and brushed away his tears.

One ward lost forever; one changed so drastically he was convinced his true self was just as gone.

Destiny hated what he loved, it seemed.

Nuju tightened his embrace around his Toa, brushing through the long hair he allowed his mask to sink into, swaying him gently as he listened to his anguish.

#bionicle #kopaka #pohatu #vakama #onewa #nokama #whenua #matau #tahu #onua #lewa #gali #nuju #random writing #hellooooooo its my au of 'pohatu and kopaka got turned more organic due to being on the red star'#now with: more of their loved ones reacting to that #and kopaka discovering incredible layers of self hatred #i hope i wrote them all in characterrrrrr aaaaaaa #onewa doesnt hate kopaka btw. hes just unable to do anything abt the situation and so he takes it out on him instead #the turaga are the mata nuva's legal guardians to me. these are their collective very large kids whom they love #blame it on the hordika insticts if you want but by god these six bastards will take care of small and large creatures that resemble them #also tahu WILL activate his hau on instinct to protect his loved ones without even realizing and you KNOW i am RIGHT

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scarybagel · 3 years ago

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just a little more

Pairing: marc spector x reader, with some steven grant x reader

Warnings: explicit, smut, oral sex, overstimulation

A/N: this is just a drabble. i’ve never posted smut before, but these boys do something to me and i am trying to exorcise some horny demons.

Marc wants to consume you. He wants every part of you, all the time, with the kind of urgency that has broken bed frames and ripped too many nice pairs of underwear.

He doesn’t explain it. That’s not really his thing. Steven is the one who harps on the details, who’s always worrying over the what and why.

Marc just wants.

He wants to touch you and taste you, wants to runs his hands and tongue over every inch of skin. He’s insatiable. Whatever you give (and you’d give him everything, gladly, eagerly) he only wants more.

And you can’t help getting a little drunk off it. The desire. The lust. The way that he looks up from between your thighs, eyes hooded and mouth shining with your slick. You’ve never been wanted so much, so completely.

And it drives you a little crazy.

You’ve already come twice. Steven had gone first, his hand slipping beneath your sleep shorts as you watched a documentary. Well, he was watching — you were starting to fall asleep.

Until you felt the gentle glide of his fingers over your mound, the soft scrape of his teeth over your collarbone. He’d made you come just like that, your face pressed into his shoulder, his fingers toying with your clit until you gasped and arched into him.

“That’s it, darling. So gorgeous. So lovely for me,” he’d murmured.

And then it was Marc who scooped you up and carried you into the bedroom. He’d pressed you into the mattress, that look burning in his eyes, and buried his face between your legs. You’d come again, thighs shaking around his head, his arm braced across your stomach, holding you down.

But he doesn’t let up. His tongue flicks hard against your sensitive clit, and a shockwave radiates through your body.

You squirm in his grasp, needy, desperate. You’re flushed and dripping, but you still want more. The way he’s looking at you, the way his mouth is moving hungrily against your cunt — the lust is catching, contagious. It burns up your spine, a live-wire of desire.

“Please,” you pant, grinding your hips against his face, “Please, Marc, more.”

He pulls away slightly, and there’s that look again. That burning. Like he would eat you raw, swallow you whole. In the haze of your last orgasm, you think that you wouldn’t mind so much.

“More?” he asks, his voice low and rasping, “Does my baby need more?”

You whine softly, canting your hips up, chasing his mouth. He just chuckles and leans further away.

He taps your hip and mutters, “Over.”

He says it simply, as a command, and you’re almost too eager to follow it.

You can feel his eyes on you as you turn for him, bracing your elbows against the tangled sheets.

His hand strokes gently over your ass, down to your soaked and swollen pussy, gently dipping his fingers into your wanton, fluttering hole.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, “Such a messy girl. So fucking wet for me. And you still want more. Is that right, baby?”

You whimper, every nerve on fire. You can feel him shift closer, his warm breath raising goosebumps on your skin.

#i've literally never posted smut before so we'll see how this goes #this is indecent #and it's only going to get worse #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #marc spector imagine #marc spector smut #moon knight smut #panicking before i press post

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rocorambles · 4 years ago

Text

Set My Heart Ablaze

Pairing: Matsukawa x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Non-Con/Dub-Con, Creepy Matsukawa, Obsessive Behavior, Public Train Sex

Prompt: Chikan/Trains/Public Sex

Summary: Neither of you can deny the mutual spark of interest between the two of you, but Matsukawa takes the matter of turning that spark into a fire into his own hands. Only time will tell if that fire will provide you warmth and comfort or burn you alive.

A/N: This is my submission for the HQHQ NSFW Collab! Masterlist can be found here. Be sure to check everyone’s content once the masterlist goes live tomorrow night~

The train doors open and Matsukawa briefly glances up, smiling to himself as you step onboard, looking left and right for an open spot despite how you always end up in the same corner of the moving vehicle. He doesn’t know anything about you, not even your name. Yet he finds himself drawn to the normalcy you bring, the comfort of knowing you’re a clockwork fixture of his everyday life.

It hadn’t always been like this.

Matsukawa is just a man at the end of the day and he doesn’t deny that he took note of you long before you became so ingrained in his life. But it had been no more than a man observing an attractive woman and he doesn’t give you another passing thought as he returns to gazing out the train windows.

But working with death on a daily basis makes you look at life differently.

He prides himself on being a practical and level-headed man and despite the heavy nature of his profession, he never thought he’d get too bogged down by the environment, by the grimness of his business. Sure, maybe someone like Oikawa would freak out within hours, if not minutes, of being in a funeral home surrounded by corpses and coffins. But he’s not Oikawa (thank God for that). It’s just a job to help keep a roof over his head and food on the table.

But the longer he’s surrounded by caskets, the more grieving and sobbing families and friends he has to comfort yet professionally guide through catalogs and brochures and price tags, he can slowly but surely feel the weight of his daily work resting heavy on his shoulders, digging deeper into him with every corpse and tragic story he reluctantly becomes privy to. Matsukawa finds a new appreciation for life, for every tiny and minute detail, and suddenly you aren’t just another stranger who happens to share his train route.

You’re a reminder that he’s still alive, that despite the curveballs life throws at some, he’s still blessed to enjoy the routine and monotony of it. Life looks different, clearer, as he begins to really pay attention, appreciating every moment he has.

Maybe he’s paying too much attention. He doesn’t know when he begins to focus so intently on you, shocking himself with the realization that he’s observed you so closely when he nonchalantly notices that you’re using a different tote bag than your usual one. When did Matsukawa Issei become someone who notices the details of a woman’s outfit and accessories?

He knows it’s not right, knows even Hanamaki would crinkle his nose in distaste if he found out Matsukawa was creepily studying a random unknown female on a daily basis. But he can’t help himself, his realization only seeming to make him unconsciously focus on you even more. He notices what hand you use to hold your phone. He memorizes every expression you make as your mind drifts off, lulled by the machinery of the train.

But looking from afar only satisfies him for so long and he finds himself creeping closer to you, adjusting where he sits to be closer to your preferred corner of the train. He always tells himself just a little closer, but it’s never enough. And although he’s now standing right beside you, close enough to see every eyelash, every pore of your skin, it’s still not enough. He needs to hear your voice, feel your body against his, know everything about you inside and out.

He understands the irony of the situation he’s found himself in, reminiscing on how Hanamaki and him had gagged at how disgusting men could be as they watched older businessmen grope and grab at poor unwilling female passengers on their way to and from school. He knows how wrong it is, how like an uninspired porno this is, but when the train conveniently rattles, he jostles his body into yours, “accidentally” bumping into you.

Acting isn’t Matsukawa’s forte, but he thinks he damn well deserves an award for the performance he’s putting on as he profusely apologizes to you, hiding the groan of satisfaction he feels from the brief contact he’d had with you, from the way your attention is solely focused on him, from the way your voice seeps into his ears like the loveliest melody he’s ever heard. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying, meaningless small and polite talk leaving his lips as his mind focuses on what’s more important, mentally recording every syllable and movement you make as you continue conversing with him. But whatever words are spilling out of him seem to be working and something hungry and possessive stirs in him when your face lights up as you board the train the next day, making a beeline towards where he stands as you cheerfully greet him.

Maybe it’s foolish of you to so easily trust and warm up to a complete stranger. But he’s tall, attractive, and interesting, which is more than you can say for most of the men you’ve met and your friends and family are always telling you to put yourself out there more. Is there really much of a difference between finding a random stranger on the countless dating apps you’ve installed versus connecting with one in person? You’d even argue that there’s something whimsically romantic about how the two of you met, even though you don’t know for sure if this is really going to lead to anything. But at the very least, your daily commute becomes more exciting.

You’re everything and more compared to what Matsukawa had imagined and if he thought he was infatuated with you before, he’s completely and utterly obsessed with you now. You’re all he can think of, all he can see in his mind’s eye, even hours after you’ve parted ways on your morning commute, even as he lays in bed in the middle of the night. And as his hand slips underneath the hem of his boxers, wrapping around his aching cock to his imaginations of what you’d look like writhing underneath him, how you’d sound moaning his name, he knows he needs to have you.

After all, as pretty as a meal can be, it’s ultimate purpose is to be devoured.

You giggle when the train shakes and you feel a long toned body shift into yours, squishing you against the wall you’re leaning against, sighing in bliss at how right, how good it feels to be in Matsukawa’s embrace even if it is just for a fleeting moment, a little accident all too common on jam packed trains. But your face heats when you continue feeling his warmth, when his body seems to press even further into you until you can feel the expanse of his body against yours, not even an inch of space left between you.

“Matsukawa-”

Your words are caught off by a gasp as Matsukawa buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, lips and tongue mouthing and licking the sensitive skin there. You’re confused, scared, and aroused, hands reaching up to clutch at the lapels of Matsukawa’s suit, unsure whether to hold him tight to you or push him away. And your humiliation only increases when a nearby elderly couple scowls at the two of you in disdain, clearly unamused by the scandalous gestures of what they believe to be a young couple in love.

Yet you can’t help how your heart beats faster, wondering if this is proof of Matsukawa’s attraction to you, wondering if your hidden feelings for him are returned. But this isn’t the time or place for that conversation and you fervently whisper in his ear, begging him to stop, telling him people are watching.

“Is that the only reason you want me to stop? Because people are watching?”

You grow flustered at the implied meaning of his words, shame filling you at how much you’re enjoying this, hating how your neck arches for more attention as he straightens up once more, his body hiding yours from view as he stands in front of you, still pinning you to the wall.

“Better be as still and quiet as you can, sweetheart.”

You don’t have time to register his words before your mouth opens in a pathetic whine as a calloused hand trails under the hem of your shirt, sliding across the stretch of your stomach, mapping your torso before finally shoving your bra above the swell of your breasts, kneading one of your mounds, tweaking and swirling around your hardening nipple. It feels so good and you almost succumb right then and there, lost in the predatory lustful gaze he pins you with.

But when the train makes its next stop, the conductor’s voice jars you from your trance and you clutch at Matsukawa’s forearm, silently pleading for him to stop with desperate eyes despite the way you quietly mewl when he just quirks an eyebrow and pinches your nipple in retaliation.

“We can’t- We shouldn’t-”

Your hand trembles, jaw going slack when he slides one thigh between your legs, digging his hard muscles into that already dripping hole only protected by the fabric of your pants.

“You’re not very convincing. How about we play a game? If you can tell me you don’t want this without moaning like a bitch in heat, I’ll stop.”

There’s no room for disagreement as he abruptly begins grinding his thigh into your aching cunt, flexing and relaxing his muscle in a pattern and rhythm you can’t keep up with. It takes every last bit of will power in you to not wantonly ride his leg and hump against him like the lewd slut he had just accused you of being.

“I don’t want-”

You cry out in agonized pleasure as his fingers still hovering near your breasts begin to roll your nipples between calloused tips, his thigh never losing its momentum. And under the dual points of attack, your resistance crumbles. Matsukawa’s eyes widen in awe as you bounce and roll your hips against his leg, hiding your face in his chest as you try to muffle the lewd sounds slipping past your lips in the fabric of his jacket.

You’re gorgeous like this, a needy, lustful mess. But as much as he loves to see you suffer so beautifully, there’s only so much time before your stop and he decides to have mercy on you, to reward you for being so honest, so good for him. Your face snaps up to stare at him with pupils blown wide as his hand reaches underneath the waistband of your pants and panties. He groans when his fingers are instantly soaked in your arousal, your panties sticky with your fluids and his digits slip inside of your tight wet heat with no resistance at all.

He wants nothing more than to push the pesky fabric out of the way and lay you bare for his viewing pleasure, to have easy access to thrust in and out of you. But he’ll save that for another day. Instead his fingers slip out of you, tips circling your swollen clit, rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves as you resume humping his leg, body trembling, drool beginning to trickle from your lips as you frantically chase your end. And as the train stops once more, passengers trickling in and out, you silently scream, body convulsing as he brings you over the edge, pleasure washing over you and leaving you exhausted as you shiver and slump in his arms that are quick to embrace you and hold you steady as the train begins to move again.

You submissively let his fingers coated in your essence enter your mouth, obediently sucking and licking him clean, finding strange comfort in the action as you remain rested against him. But you keen in confusion, cheeks still hollowed as you mindlessly continue sucking while he guides one of your hands to the bulge in his pants.

But although Matsukawa is a man of few words, his desire is clear despite the silence and your face heats in embarrassment as he unbuttons his trousers, bringing your hand to the waistband of his boxers, dark eyes expectantly staring down at you. You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. Not when you can literally hear the other passengers surrounding the two of you, only Matsukawa’s tall frame hiding your illicit activity. But your body has a mind of its own and you greedily slip under the fabric barrier, moaning around his fingers at how large, hot, and heavy he is in your hands.

You hate how badly you want to see it, to feel it inside you, splitting you apart. Your pussy clenches, leaking in interest once again despite having just found blissful release mere minutes ago as your hands curiously trail up and down the shaft, trying to memorize how every bit of it feels against your skin, trying to visualize what it looks like. But you whimper as Matsukawa finally pulls his fingers free from your mouth, squeezing your jaw and giving you a warning look.

“Don’t tease me, doll.”

Your fingers wrap around the length and it’s your turn to stare up at Matsukawa with eyes full of hunger and awe as you watch his Adam’s apple swallow, as you feel a pleased groan reverberate in his chest with every stroke of your hand. Up and down. Up and down. Your hands are slick with pre-cum and you know it’s just your imagination, but you swear you can hear the lewd wet sounds of his sticky essence coating his shaft with every movement of your palm against the velvety skin. You’re so mesmerized, so lost in the experience that you startle when something hot and thick spurts onto your hand, mixing with his pre-cum, making an even bigger mess of his boxers and you.

You stare stunned at the hand you pull out from between his legs, gazing at the white and transparent fluids that coat your flesh. But before you can even think about wiping it off or scavenging around for a spare napkin or paper in your bag, a large hand grabs your wrist and brings your stained fingers to your mouth. You try to resist him, the spell he had you under broken now that the haze of lust isn’t blinding you. But his grip tightens until you wince and finally relent, stomach churning in disgust and shame as you tentatively lick at the bitter liquid.

He doesn’t release you, not until every last drop is coating the inside of your mouth, his taste heavy in your mouth, seemingly in every crevice of your orifice, your hand completely clean and void of your sinful interaction.

You want to hate him. You want to wipe the smug satisfied look clean off his face. But as you readjust your disheveled clothing, you’re reminded of your own body’s betrayal, your own carnal desire and pleasure, by the uncomfortable mess in between your legs. And all you can do is silently stand there and pretend that nothing has happened as Matsukawa nonchalantly tucks himself in and checks his phone.

There’s an uncomfortable silence as you wait for him to acknowledge what has just happened, only to be disappointed as he doesn’t even spare you another glance, too observed in the glowing screen in his hand. You wonder if this was just a one time thing, if he had been stringing you along all this time for one quick public tryst. And you hate the way that thought makes your chest hurt, hate how much you dislike the idea of never seeing him again, never talking to him again, never feeling and tasting him again.

But as the train pulls into his stop, your eyes widen when his face hovers by your ear, lips grazing your lobe as his voice melts into your soul.

“Wear a dress or skirt tomorrow. No panties or bra.”

He laughs as surprise turns into an endearing scowl that barely hides the apparent relief in your eyes and he just casually waves farewell as you send him on his way with a tirade of angry words about his fucking audacity. But it’s all empty heat and he chuckles at the self-conscious embarrassment written all over your face when he sees you the next morning, a pretty dress fluttering around your knees.

There’s no preamble, no pretense of what’s about to happen and he smirks in appreciation at the unobstructed feeling of skin against skin as he slips his hand under your skirt, not an inch of fabric covering the treasure at the apex of your thighs.

#haikyuu smut #matsukawa smut #yandere matsukawa #yandere haikyuu #matsukawa x reader #haikyuu x reader #tw: yandere #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon

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nagipops · 4 years ago

Note

hii I love your blogs sooo much you're really talented (I just needed to say it sorry) so straight to the point, I already made 2 requests to you and I really enjoyed your writing so I would like to make another again. As I'm clueless about what to request I'll just ask for random hcs for konoha 11, idk if it's too much but if so then you can do with Neji (I love him so much), Kakashi and Naruto. Thank you in advance and sorry anything ^^

RANDOM KONOHA 11 HEADCANONS!

FEATURING: naruto, sakura, shikamaru, ino, choji, neji, rock lee, tenten, kiba, hinata, and shino

WARNINGS: mentions alcohol, drugs, food, bugs, and the tiniest nsfw mention if you get the joke. hehe

A/N: AHHHH ANONN this seriously made my day, im so so glad you enjoy my work!! 💖

NARUTO

you know how we all have “the chair”, where we throw all of our dirty clothes onto?

yeah, imagine that, but from the seat to the fricking ceiling

its just a GINORMOUS MOUND of clothes, you wonder how he even goes through that many clothes so quickly???

definitely shoves it under his bed whenever guests come over (somehow)

holds chopsticks really weirdly. but it works.

asked tenten to put his hair into space buns to mimic his sexy jutsu and went around flirting with the village

jiraiya was so proud of him T-T

comes up with the WORST pickup lines

they’re so bad, its almost charming. almost

has gone AWOL multiple times, disappearing from everywhere, just everywhere

it scared you a little, so you searched the entire village for him

you finally found him sitting on the ledge of a cliff, gazing out at the vast sea

concerned and panicked, you cried out to ask him what was wrong

he turned to you with a crestfallen, devastated look on his face and said,

“i bought shrimp ramen instead of chicken ramen.”

you’ve never searched for him after his disappearance ever again.

SAKURA

100% makes origami shurikens and chucks them at you

they are deathly precise and deathly sharp. seriously, how are these not illegal weapons yet???

writes threatening motivational notes to herself on the mirror

“u got this!” “make sure to smack naruto today!” “ino sucks!”

her backpack would always be way too high up on her back. idk why but. it would

does her hair all nice and pretty before she goes out but once she arrives to her destination SHE KEEP. TAKING. IT OUT. and redoing it over and over and over again

like it’s impossible to make eye contact with her because she’s holding a bobby pin between her teeth while braiding her hair

her guilty pleasure would be hostess treats

ding dongs are her favorite. don’t ask me how i know, i just know.

eats the yellow starbursts just to spite naruto and all her haters

loves small lap dogs, she think’s they’re so cute and cuddly

but she especially loves chihuahuas

they’re so feisty and naruto HATES them, so of course she had to go and get one for herself

dresses the poor dog up in little bonnets and jackets and ties its tiny fuzzy hairs into pigtails

she and the chihuahua are not that much unlike <3

SHIKAMARU

this man is a god at shogi but he absolutely SUCKSSSS at cup pong.

is this an ick? idk. but he is absolute trash at this game.

it gets even worse when he’s got a couple drinks in him

tries to calculate the velocity and acceleration and angle and shit but his shot is always a good two feet off BYE 😭

just mutters an “aw, shit” before awaiting his turn again

hates checkers, loves chess

“checkers is for WUSSIES” - shikamaru nara

i said this in another post, but he is Very Good at whistling

like that’s his hidden talent

can copy any tune with the perfect pitch and rhythm

speaking of, he can do really cool tricks with his tongue

like making a four leaf clover, touching the bridge of his nose with it, flipping it upside down, you name it

he has slanted, scrawled handwriting, to the point where it’s almost illegible

wbk he cheats in school SO OFTEN. but he never gets caught. he’s not stupid, he just couldn’t care less about his classes.

thinks weed and e-cigs are stupid, cigarettes are where it’s at

you just can’t replicate the feeling of taking a drag from a cig after a long, tiring day

plus he looks hella cool while doing it B)

INO

teaches the boyz™️ how to braid their hair

like they all gather in a circle around this feisty fashionista and fail attempt to braid their hair

sakura was just fuming in the sidelines

“OI, INO-PIG, THAT’S A DUTCH BRAID, NOT A FRENCH BRAID!!”

yeah, ino 🙄

the only one that can actually do it is neji because a) this man is talented af and b) he’s got the long hairrr

ino probably envies his thick, sleek hair because hE’S a bOy

also asks everyone for their blood type and zodiac signs and tells them if they’re compatible with her or not

and definitely judges you for your sign 😣

“oh, you’re a gemini? hmm, what a shame...”

makes bouquets for her favorite people and kin assigns everyone a flower

only assigns the pretty nice ones to the people she likes (sorry sakura, you’re out of luck)

one of her favorite hobbies is crafting! she’s really good with details and small things so she loves making those miniature dollhouses and stuff

also really good at watercoloring. especially painting flowers and landscapes

also i feel like she would be really good at playing any instrument because of her skilled hands

can play a badass flute solo. period.

CHOJI

would honestly rather die than get anywhere NEAR an asparagus

he just thinks they’re so gross and bitter and NOT SALTY

he always eats his yakiniku a little bit undercooked because he’s way too impatient to wait for it to cook fully. who do you think he is??

whenever he cloud gazes with shikamaru, when asked what he thinks a cloud looks like, he just says some sort of food

“oi, choji, what does that one look like to you?”

“a... yakiniku grill... with... pineapple rings on it! ooh, and a wagyu steak right there!”

he thinks pringles are an abomination to society. where’s the crisp? where’s the grease? where’s the saltiness?!!!

asks ino to teach him how to do his hair all fancy and the two of them devote an entire day learning different hairstyles

it’s his new favorite thing to do now :D

he really likes crayons!!!!

like he’ll write with them, draw with them, color with them, do everything with them

he’s even tried to eat them. he said they tasted good.

definitely had the 128 crayon pack WITH THE BUILT-IN SHARPENER, and everyone thought he was the coolest kid in town

he ate it UP, he even scored some bbq dates with the ladies

i also feel like he loves basketball, and he has a MEAN slam dunk

like his vertical isn’t that high, but the man can REACH

he loves when people laugh at him when he challenges them to a 1v1 and then proceeds to absolutely destroy them <3

NEJI

he seems like a cucumber kind of guy.

just cucumber

like i feel like he puts it in everything; soba, salads, sandwiches, his face, yeah

it’s mellow and cool, just like him!

speaking of, i feel like he lives for spa days and facials

it just lets him be alone in his little cucumber scented world for an hour or two and he gets damn clear skin from it as well

seriously he has PERFECT skin. flawless. not a single blemish. his cheeks feel like baby butts they’re so smooth.

i feel like he’d be a god at solving rubik’s cubes, don’t ask me why

like if anyone scrambled theirs on accident they would just take it to neji and he’d solve it in the blink of an eye

CAT PERSON!!! loves the little meow meows

who are we kidding, neji basically is a cat; agile, aloof, does silly things without trying to, very cute

he just feels akin to the little fuzzballs and he thinks petting cats are extremely therapeutic. good for the soul

he is a golf man. he would take his juniors golfing and everyone thinks he’s uncool. cmon neji let them go to the skate park at least T-T

also very good at karaoke, definitely surprised everyone once he got a few drinks in him since he started serenading you

LIGHTWEIGHT!!! do not get more than one shot of alcohol in him. he will go berserk.

i also feel like he’d really love photography; not taking pictures of people, but of nature

he loves taking a quiet stroll through a pretty forest and snapping pictures of all the unique flora and fauna

it’s so serene ︶ ‿ ︶

ROCK LEE

100% milly rocks everywhere

gai got in on it too once he asked what lee was doing

“is that what all the youthful cool kids do these days!”

they also dab together. a lot

DO NOT BE SEEN WITH THESE TWO!!! you are not associated with them.

definitely is the one breakdancing in the middle of the dance circle at a high school party

he’s mad skilled at it too

headspins and windmills galore

challenged naruto to a dance-off and completely OBLITERATED him

lee then asked if naruto wanted a rematch, this time with one hand tied behind lee’s back

naruto obliged, and he STILL lost

RIP naruto and his fangirls, they all scrambled to lee afterwards T-T

i feel like his favorite subject is science

not the boring physics equations and laws and theories but the fun EXPERIMENTS

definitely has singed all of his hair off one time and he went to gai blubbering to help him grow back his precious hair

but he loves experimenting with different combinations and chemicals to get different reactions each time

created a potent love potion and carried it around with him all day one day

and it was actually working

girls were flocking to him left and right, staring at his lips and his face

he was so abashed at the sudden attention

heck, it even worked on sakura

“oi, lee-san!”

“hehe, yes, sakura-san?”

her eyes shifted downwards to his lips and his heart thumped harder

“hey... lee-san?”

“what is it?”

“you have something on your lip. we’ve been trying to tell you all day but you just winked and blew kisses at us.”

legend has it lee has still not recovered to this day.

TENTEN

has THE prettiest handwriting. and she can write SUPER fast

it’s like a superpower

like she transcribed five pages of a report in less than two minutes with perfect handwriting

naruto is so jealous.

she is also super good at origami! those diligent, accurate hands aren’t just for throwing things

taught sakura how to make shurikens but does NOT endorse any violent uses of them

she can replicate all of her weapons with paper and they can actually function, it’s so cool

made paper kunai knives one day and the wholeee village wanted to get their hands on them

i feel like she’d listen to mitski. idk i just get those vibes

LOVES BIG DOGS!! especially fluffy wuffy samoyeds

like man’s best friend?? no, GIRL’S BEST FRIEND!!

hugs and cuddles and squishes all the big dogs

she thinks small dogs are spawns of satan

sakura and her have definitely quarreled over this

but at the end of the day, all dogs are adorable fur babies, so she lets it slide :,)

KIBA

kiba always looks SO GOOD in photos you take of him, candid or not

like you could just whip out a camera and snap a photo of him at any given moment and he would look perfect

you framed a picture of him yelling at akamaru for peeing inside the house

it’s pure artwork

i feel like he tries to swagger around with his hands shoved in his pockets but it fails MISERABLY and the girls are wondering if he broke his leg or something 😭

kiba just walk normally. for the love of god please just walk normally.

he tries to slump back in his chair really low but one time he slouched way too low so he slipped off of his chair and onto the ground LMFAOOOO

he just wallowed there... in shame...

also.. he LOVES when the girls put makeup on him!!

he tries to act like he hates it. but it secretly gives him so much confidence

not to mention the girls hyping him up are a huge ego boost

okay the inside of his jacket hood is the warmest. thing. EVER!!!

seriously, no wonder this dude is so happy-go-lucky all the time, he’s living in literal heaven 24/7

it’s like you’re sleeping on a cloud inside a warm, cozy bed during a cold winter morning

10/10 would recommend letting him give you his sweatshirt when you’re chillin with a hair tie ❤️

HINATA

always smells like lavender soap. always

also has the cutest pencil pouches with little puppy faces and kawaii things

oH and she has those mini yoobi highlighters, she thinks they’re so cute (and functional!)

everyone flocks to her to try them out and marvel at the cute tiny highlighters

and they try to steal them from her but she doesn’t even stop them because she’s too timid to 😭

naruto goes BALLISTIC over them

she lets him have all of them <3

tennis girl!!! tennis girl.

all of her opponents always underestimate her because she’s so timid and shy and quiet

but she has a KILLER serve

and then she takes her opponents to the slaughterhouse with a complete shutout ;)

she’s really athletic believe it or not, she can beat most of the boys in a mile run and she has incredible endurance

i feel like she really loves velvet scrunchies

she just thinks they’re so pretty and they keep her hair soft so they’re cute and functional

also takes the PRETTIEST notes!!

color codes, dividers, headers, you name it, it’s all super readable too its insane

everyone asks her for her notes, not to study but just to appreciate the pure artwork that it is ^w^

SHINO

shino is SO easy to prank

“how do you catch an eyemaster?” *cue naruto and kiba snickering*

“eyemaster bait. that is because—”

even when everyone’s laughing their asses off, he still continues to explain his answer since he does NOT GET THE JOKE

tried his hand at writing haikus

here’s his best one so far:

“Bugs are amazing. That is because they are bugs. Bugs are very nice.” - Shino Aburame

VERY proud of it, since it took him weeks to perfect

praise it, pls

had one of those ant farms and bug-catching kits as a kid

and he would fill the kit TO THE BRIM. LIKE IT WAS HEAVY BECAUSE THERE WERE SO MANY BUGS.

he loves the little chitters of the different bugs

he had jars of different bugs all lined up on a wall shelf in his room

collects silkworms off of trees and sticks them into his pockets (no i definitely did not do this as a kid...)

HELP I FEEL LIKE he would record a timelapse of his ant farm growing and upload it to youtube with a movie maker title screen that says

“my ants”

if you enjoyed this post, likes and reblogs are much appreciated :) feel free to request here, and make sure to read the rules first! have a lovely day everyone <3

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yinses · 4 years ago

Text

—hawks ft. established relationship + dom!keigo + exhibition + overstim

rating: 18+ a/n: thank you so much to @ultimate-astridwriting for allowing me to be part of this collab !! it was the shove i needed to get back into the fandom. hawks has always been my favorite hero so i hope to do him justice.

➳ impatient collab masterlist

fist pressed against his cheek, he browsed over the sight before him, taking it all in without considering really any details. fighting a smirk, he cocked an eyebrow.

“i’m not feeling the color. change it for the other one.”

to be frank, he had no particular preferences for color, design, texture or any of that shit–though, he did have a weakness for anything with a pretty flare to it, the air of innocence that he loved to bathe you in with all the frills and fluff. however, it didn’t mean that he wasn’t fond of deciding which palettes suited you best. but he had a specific reason as to why he voiced that particular opinion of his.

sale’s representatives, all mascara-lined eyes and glossy lips, held your hands by your side in a surrendering position as they paraded you in front of your boyfriend as though this was his own private fashion show. and in a way it was, he’d spent good hard earned money renting out the area for a few hours. enjoying it all from his throne placed perfectly in front of the changing rooms, watching how you were dragged in and out by the forceful employees with him picking out what items you wore.

the clatter of the sale’s girls dragging you back in the changing room again, drew him from his thoughts. you were a flushed mess, struggling to wriggle away from their sharp nails while insisting that you could walk on your own. overall, you'd have been rather accommodating to his whims. but you always were. and as such a good girl, he would reward you for it. for now though, he couldn’t resist giving you a mocking smirk when you tried to grab him and failed miserably at that.

back to the prison of hands again, he noted, as they closed the door behind them and made a fuss over what you disliked and what he wanted. as more girls pecked at you to stay still while they taught you how to wear the clothing properly. outside, keigo waited patiently for them to be done as his eyes travelled from one end of the store to the other, looking at the fancy lingerie and wondering what would actually be perfect for you. but then again, to be painfully honest, you made anything here look good.

and then there's also another fact that he had to come to terms with.

he liked you best without anything on.

with only your bare skin, lying amidst the fluffy pillow with silken sheets tangled around your body. legs demurely spread, hands placed above your head and looking as though you were begging to be dominated. that was certainly the very image of excellence that any man could ever ask for. wanton eyes, warm cheeks, slightly parted lips, panting–ah, but you would gasp wordlessly as he’d stolen your voice many rounds prior. keeping his eyes peeled on the floor, the man shuddered briefly and rolled his shoulders back to remind himself that he was in a store and any further acts of indecency would totally be out of the question. especially when he remembered how you straddled him last night, thighs over his torso. sinking in inch by inch, throwing your head back when he bucked up a bit too hard on you–

"mr. hawks, what do you think of this?"

there you stood, with your hands still raised again, eyes watering under the torment of these awful ladies. biting your lips with warmth tainting your cheeks, hair cascading over your shoulders and meeting the body that was hugged by a pair of lingerie. strapless and curvaceous mounds of yours, covered with a brassiere. a matching panty, complete with small laces forming gathers on the hems as they trailed invitingly towards to garter at your thighs.

he stared.

and blinked.

only once.

"sir?" one of the older females repeated, raising her eyebrows. "…what do you think?"

trying to cover up the fact that his awkward silence was making the room uncomfortable with anticipation, keigo casually leaned backwards and crossed his legs together. his wings fluttered in reflection of his thoughts, rising and falling with each new epiphany. dark eyes walked all over your body, drinking in how your breasts were perfectly pressed together and how your legs trembled when his eyes stopped at the ribbons of the panty. finally hovering over your face, where when eyes met, your blush darkened and you immediately dropped your gaze to your bare feet. he smirked at that sinfully innocent reaction of yours.

coy today, were you not?

without skipping a beat, keigo drew out a card and threw it over to one of the sale’s girls, who fumbled as she tried to catch it with her clammy fingers. eyes still locked at your face, knowing that with his stare alone he was making you feel uncomfortable. and damn, he still loved seeing you squirm around like a virgin on her wedding night.

"i'm taking everything that she tried on just now," he answered loftily, still seated on the cushiony sofa, leaning his head against one arm and letting the other one tap rhythmically on the armrest. when the employees all squeaked out a pathetic noise of agreement, keigo allowed his lips to curve upwards in a smirk as he drawled out the next order; "charge what you need on it, i don't give a shit. and oh, and don't forget to charge what it takes to buy this section for another hour. turn off the surveillance too while you're at it because this area's mine from the time being."

needless to say, their faces instantly decolorized. but they wouldn’t challenge his demands. the brief raise of his massive scarlet wings was an unnecessary reminder as they stretch languidly without threat. he was a hero after all. who were they to challenge a frivolous form of stress relief?

he had no doubt that they had an inkling of what would occur over the next hour or so. but he was certain the gossip would get lost in the rumor mill.

hawks was a rather eccentric individual. what isn’t he up to these days?

keigo had never saw the staff evaporating and clearing the area within less than a minute as they closed off the doors behind them, leaving this particular section untouched for the next event that was about to take place.

it really did not make you feel any better though.

"little dove."

he watched as you jumped, realizing his attention was solely on you now. you raised your eyes to his again, locking eyes with deviously glinting ones. right now, at this moment, keigo knew how much power he held over you, and damn well he was about to abuse his privileges to no end. leaning snugly against the soft backing of the sofa, he cupped his chin with his palm and arrogantly raised an eyebrow when you shuddered under his disturbing gaze. you looked much as though you were lost and backed into a corner with nowhere else to go. keigo smirked; haughty, superior, dominating you single-handedly, and his other hand rose slightly from the armrest.

a single finger curled inwardly.

a low voice

commanding.

"come here, now"

you knew what came from that tone, but the words didn’t ignite the same spark as it did within the safe space of your home.

you only hesitated briefly, but it was still a second to long for his tastes as his lips already began curling down in disappointment. your heart rapped heedlessly against your ribcage, sent spiraling into an off-beat staccato as you quickly tried to alleviate the shift in mood.

never in your relationship had you considered denying keigo. not the man who laid out everything you could have asked for on a silver platter. it's just that-

your feet crossed the minimal distance necessary to appear agreeable though your face still twists in concern.

“really? …. you want to have sex …. here?”

fingertips grapple anxiously while your eyes dart across the empty but still very publicly accessible room.

“now?”

keigo already look bored with the exchange, digits curling once more with something just outside of patience.

“yes, now.”

his wings flex in consideration, yet he doesn’t move to rise form his seat. instead he changes tactics.

“i just want to show a bit of appreciation for all the pretty things i just bought you.’’

it sounds backwards … as if those should be the words coming out of your mouth not his. but the hint doesn’t come any stronger than the easy grin that spreads across his lips. he even makes a show of lounging back against the cushioned seat, body open in invitation should you dare.

and bite you did, teeth nibbling at the bait as you approach. keigo remains still, though his eyes dance with barely contained excitement as you gingerly crawl into his lap, fancy garments already rubbing enticingly against his thighs?.

the flap of his wings welcome gusts of winds and gratitude as his arms curl around you. the hand at your cheek tilts your head up to meet his gaze. it was always so easy for you to get lost in those specks of liquid gold. but now there was hardly any left to admire with the way his pupils were blown wide with lunch.

a shiver tickles your spine and you’re vaguely away that he’s kissing the line of your jaw, whispering soft words of encouragement as his hips raise to rock subtlety. it all left you shuddering in peaked anticipation as your worries melted into the recesses of your mind.

the hand cupping the roundness of your face stops you before you can lean in for more, the nose brushing against the tip of your nuzzling there in brief affection as he garnered the fraying tips of your attention. “yes?”

the fog of arousal abated a little at the question as your conscious thoughts swam back into the surface to input the code that would spiral you into your deepest desires.

“yes,” you verbally consented as you leaned up into him for a needy kiss. keigo swept his tongue out, meeting the the soft upper palate of your mouth with languid strokes. a rumbling trill greets you when you nibble in response. keigo eagerly chases you into a fevor of song and dance, building your body up to the inevitable fall he plans to send you crashing down in.

when he breaks the kiss, his eyes drop to the price tag still resting innocently against the swell of your bosom. he snaps it away from the fabric, uncaring of the threat against its delicacy as he tosses the flimsy paper to the side.

there were plenty more where it came from. and he was yearning to get the real show on the road.

“now then. how could i possibly show my thanks?”

nails dig into his shoulders for purchase as you rock traction into the firmness of his lap. keigo meets the upward curve of your hips with a sneaky dive of his hand between your thighs where his hand warms the skin there.

you expect him to dip right in, cognitive of the spare time the two of you had to play. but as a dangerous smile twists at his mouth, you realize this is hawks time, a reality that flows differently than everyone else’s.

“trying to decide if i want you to keep these on or not. “ he contemplates aloud, fingers plucking at the elastic.” i mean it would be a shame to leave them out.”

you nod mutely, ready to agree with whatever favored progression. keigo’s gaze narrowed at the silent insinuation “what? you want to make this into a quickie? but we have so many outfits to try.”

you already knew that, acutely aware of each and every article of clothing that had been zipped, tied or squeezed around your body. and you were grateful of each and every addition, would even gladly spend the next few weeks letting him fuck you in each variation against your shared mattress at home.

what you wanted now was for him to come so that you could start that private show within your own walls.

keigo chooses to go for an adorable pout, lips pulling on aged heart strings, yet managing to make them go taut all the same. he waits until your body soften from the tension, aiding the transition with slow strokes against your back and inner leg.

“one pair.”

it’s your back that losses his touch in order for him to bring a single finger in front of your face.

“let me ruin one pair with my come and we can call it quits.”

and you say okay. brining your pelvis back into an enticing dance as you meld that pout into an eager kiss. you were already dressed for the occasion and had all the tips and tricks in your inventory to help him reach his goal. one easy step and you could be on your way.

how naive you still were.

eight pair now. he’d brought you near completion just as many times before halting the grind of your hips with a frown. he mad for a rather convincing curator, inspecting each and every pair of to the finest thread.

‘too blue.’

‘too much lace.’

‘it just doesn’t feel right. ‘

‘why don’t we try something else?’

true to his word, keigo had been determined to find the perfect pair to meet him at the edge of nirvana, and dragged you from one painstakingly near orgasm to the next along the way.

"stop."

you whimpered desperately, pressing your forehead against his shoulder as you forced yourself to remain seated with him throbbing deeply within you. pulsing, hot, too hot. scorching you inwardly and causing strange sensations to sear through your veins. his hands were still on the armrest, they were not on you, they were not driving you crazy with their constant teasing and whatnot this time. because he was not doing anything to make you this crazy when you were already this crazy for him.

his lips smirked against the shell of your ear, a moist tongue peeking out to leave a wet trail. you fought every inch of yourself to stop your hips from moving again. because of his command, you could not move. you could not bring yourself to move. simply because it was his desire and you could not deny him.

"close?" he murmured darkly into your ear, wispy breath tickling your neck. making a sharp sensation run down your spine, forcing you to arch against him and pressing your bare breasts against his chest. he knew it, he knew that he drove you this wanton for him, all desperate and wanting more.

and yes, you were too close.

too close until one more move, he could make you topple over the chasm of ecstasy without even doing anything to you.

"hmm," he whispered this time, continuing his words with a foreboding edge as his lips brushed against your neck, against your ear, over your cheeks and teeth lightly nipping at your bottom lip. making you try to kiss him, but he pulled away just like that and watched in sadistic satisfaction when you gave an exasperated groan. "i was too. and then i saw a pretty olive green peeking out of that pile over there."

there was hardly any vigor left in you to groan.

you pressed your forehead against his slick neck, letting your warm gasps leave his skin, as your head desperately twisted in pinpricks of denied pleasure at his command. it was all a game, one that you could end with a single uttered word from your lips. but you’d never been a quitter, something keigo admired in you. his desires took you on erotic journeys you would have never dared to attempt in prior relationships. perhaps you were becoming just as debauched as he was.

there probably wasn’t even fabric of that color lying around and if there was it they weren’t within his eyesight. keigo was painfully teasing you with this, building up your desire to the most desperate extent because you could not stand anymore. and he knew it too. he throbbed against your walls, the sporadic pulsing sending shrapnel of lust into your loins, and you told yourself that if you were compliant to his orders, then he would surely reward you afterwards.

he would.

he always did.

"okay," he spoke up again, pressing his cheek against yours because he knew that you had if he didn’t end it now, then he wouldn’t get out of it what he wanted. bright eyes were still glowing deviously under the chandeliers of the store, making him appear feral. it provided a visual desire for you to nip his ear, to lick his neck and to kiss his lips.

"you can move now, dove. let’s finish this and go home."

what an alluring goal that was, twinkling encouragingly from finish-line.

you gulped harshly, feeling your legs too weak to push you upwards again. because he stopped you countless times and made a pleasure overload overrun in your body, turning your limbs to jelly.

a simple shake of your head was all the answer that you could muster.

it was either that or you would faint from the sheer ecstasy.

that made him smirk devilishly again when he looked at you, taut cheeks, lust-darkened blue eyes, a trickle of sweat running down his temple from the amount of restraint he was putting on himself. you felt as though you were opened, taken, torn from within by this man alone when he chuckled, pressing those sinful-stained lips to your forehead.

"maybe if you would beg just right, i’d bother to move."

whining, you shake your head as every cry you knew spilled past your lips. you begged, to pleaded keigo to move so that he would put you out of this torture. so that he could make you reach that blinding bliss, that your nerves would tighten and your toes would curl. so that you would clench around him tightly, that he could come together with you in this passionate endeavor.

too desperate, nerves tingling with his every wicked command, your shaking hands slowly rose and cupped his cheeks, feeling his soft, flushed skin under your touch and forcing him to look at you in the face. your lashes falling part way over your gaze. plump, bitten lips drawing closer and closer and closer to him and closer and closer and closer with every second. him slowly moving forward to join his mouth with yours in a desperate kiss, and you suddenly paused, letting only your lips brush against his, not moving forward anymore.

his eyes hardened when he felt your words form at his lips.

please.

it seemed as though playtime was finally over, for now.

keigo adopted a fast and hard pace, thighs jerking up to meet your earnestly with each slap of skin. the force of his thrust jolted you into a haphazard bounce as you fumbled desperately for traction and stability. each pull and push of your joined bodies was accompanied by a tremulous whimper as you gasped and groaned against the shell of his ear. keigo knew the sweet vocalizations weren’t completely for his sake, but more of the aftershocks of the broken damn as they spilled through the cracks of your lips.

he still hummed, pleased as his mouth latched onto a pebbled nipple protruding from the fine silk still managing to encase your breast. it was a combination of the gyration of your hips and his own weakening resolve that triggered his own orgasm as he finally let go with broken explicative.

your own pleasure was brought to you without chase, almost a reward for your efforts as you withered through it. keigo’s quiet praises wash over you like aloe, softening the worst of the burnings sensations as your thighs quake in protest. he nuzzles his face into the side of your neck as his arms encircle you and drag you down with him.

the already too small chaise had to be uncomfortable for his wings with your additional weight but he never voiced a complaint as the rose and fell over your sweaty skin. neither did you, despite the sticky resistance of his spent coating the inside of your thighs. at least you wouldn’t have to walk home in this particular pair. not that you planned on walking period as you grumbled a demands that he would be flying you both home.

he snickers all while peppering a series of kisses against your nose,” anything you want, little dove.”

#hawks x reader #hawks bnha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha hawks #keigo takami x reader #keigo takami #hawks smut

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gusu-emilu · 4 years ago

Text

Ship: Wei Wuxian / Wen Ning

Summary: Wei Wuxian gives Wen Ning a heartbeat, but not in the way either of them expected.

Rated T, No Warnings Apply

POV Wen Ning, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, references to WWX's poor health, First Kiss, Pining, Cuddling, Presumably Unrequited Love, or more accurately: whatever these two have going on, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, and the inherent homoeroticism of necromancy

Ch. 1/2, 6k, read on AO3 above or on Tumblr below

Wen Ning has always known that Wei Wuxian is not someone to hesitate.

The moment Wen Ning enters the Demon Subdue Palace after packing up the last sack of turnips, Wei Wuxian grabs his wrist.

“Come look!” He tugs Wen Ning deeper into the cave, slender fingers wrapped around Wen Ning’s wrist. He grins at Wen Ning over his shoulder. “I’ve made some more demonic devices, probably my best batch yet. I’d like to see the impersonators down in the town copy these!”

Wen Ning steadies his balance, not fully recovered from Wei Wuxian suddenly whisking him away.

Wei Wuxian has never hesitated to touch him. Wen Ning still isn’t quite used to it, having grown up in a family of doctors whose every touch felt calculated, and among clansmen more focused on war and strength than friendship. Clansmen who rarely respected him, never mind showed him affection.

Even now, he exists in a constant state of volatility due to his outbursts of resentful energy. Every family member in the Burial Mounds is careful around him, even A-Yuan at times.

But not Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian is entirely different. Has always been different.

The first time they spoke, Wei Wuxian had already been comfortable with casual touch. Wei Wuxian hadn’t hesitated to lay hands on him to adjust his archery posture—steady hands he can still imagine on his upper arm and around the side of his ribs, friendly pressure like a heavy quilt, as Wei Wuxian comforted and praised him.

Then the war began, and Wei Wuxian choked him in Lotus Pier—furious, merciless hands like paws of a frightened animal. Wei Wuxian hadn’t hesitated then, either. He would’ve fully choked Wen Ning had he not held back enough to let him speak.

Then the war ended. Now Wei Wuxian uses him as an armrest, fixes his hair, arranges talismans on him, even once tried to pick him up and carry him as a joke. (He'd been a bit too weak to manage it for long. Wen Ning hadn’t thought that part was funny.) Now he drags Wen Ning around by the hand, all without hesitation.

Had Wei Wuxian hesitated before raising him from the dead?

Wen Ning isn’t sure which answer would comfort him.

“Take a look at this one,” Wei Wuxian says as he places a stone tablet in Wen Ning’s hand. A faint black cloud winds around the tablet, the smoke’s path tracing the red fulu writings carved into its surface. “Still pretty weak, but I’m getting closer to replicating yin iron with just regular stone.”

Wen Ning glances back and forth between the tablet and Wei Wuxian’s tired but enthusiastic smile. His eyes are bright with joy, but dark circles frame them. He hasn’t eaten much in the past few days, instead focusing relentlessly on his experiments, despite needing to save energy to heal the stab wound from Jiang Wanyin.

But Wen Ning still hasn’t figured out how to make him rest. Maybe admiring the new batch of demonic devices will help calm his inventive frenzy.

He nods, giving a small smile at Wei Wuxian. “That’s good.”

“Weak yin iron will be much easier to use. Better for small applications here and there, less dangerous…” Wei Wuxian squats by the scattered piles of demonic cultivation tools and notes, rummaging through to find another invention, the tablet already forgotten.

The black cloud around the tablet continues to swirl, small wisps seeping into Wen Ning’s skin. The tablet feels more like a block of dust than like stone, but despite his dulled senses, he notices…something else. A second sensation.

A throb.

“Wei-gongzi?”

“Yeah?” Wei Wuxian says, squinting at a page of especially messy notes.

“Does…does this have a pulse?” The stone continues to throb weakly, more of a resonance than a physical sensation, its aura cold like resentful energy.

Wei Wuxian looks up from the papers, one eyebrow raised. “It’s still doing that?” He stands and takes the tablet, examines it. “Hm. This might be good! I’ll have to find out what flow pattern of resentful energy caused this.”

Wen Ning closes his hand. Strangely, he wishes for the tablet to still be pulsing against his palm. It had felt kind of pleasant, if disturbing. “Resentful energy can create a heartbeat?”

“Well, it’s not exactly a heartbeat. But yes, if channeled the right way.”

“…Does that mean I have one?” Behind his back to prevent Wei Wuxian from noticing, he presses three fingers to the inside of his wrist, where years ago Jiejie had taught him how to read the flow of his blood. A black vein of resentful energy now covers those lifeless pulse points. “I’ve never felt it.”

Wei Wuxian turns the tablet between his hands thoughtfully. “No…you don’t have a heartbeat.” Then he grins, one of those sly grins that crosses his handsome face slowly, as if an idea has rushed into him so quickly that he needs to pace his smile just to contain it. Wen Ning doesn’t like those grins, because they make something flutter inside him.

“At least, not yet!” Wei Wuxian adds. “Do you want one? I could figure something out—”

“No, it’s okay. I’m fine without one.” The last thing Wei Wuxian needs is another project to stay up all night for—least of all an unnecessary project that Wen Ning requested by accident. Wei Wuxian has done enough for him already.

“I’m serious!” Wei Wuxian says. “It shouldn’t be too hard. I can test it right now.” He trails a finger over the blood-red writing on the tablet and mutters a few words under his breath. The black smoke around it thickens. “Just something temporary, to see if the idea works.” He steps closer.

Nervousness immediately jolts through Wen Ning. It’s unfortunate that death has muted the nerve endings in Wen Ning’s skin but has done nothing to quiet his anxious mind, which is always at both its most overactive and sluggish around Wei Wuxian.

Wen Ning watches the tablet’s red markings begin to glow, watches Wei Wuxian’s expression harden to a chiseled concentration.

“Come here,” Wei Wuxian says.

If Wei Wuxian’s hunch works, Wei Wuxian will ignore his health until he finishes developing the method to give Wen Ning a permanent heartbeat. If it fails, Wei Wuxian will still ignore his health, this time trying until he finds a different method.

It’s best to not let him try. To give him a firm “no.”

But Wen Ning has never been good at those. Especially when it comes to Wei Wuxian.

He has also never been good at lying to Wei Wuxian. Although he must do so for the sake of Wei Wuxian’s health, it’s hard to admit that he doesn’t miss his heartbeat.

He misses many small details of his body. Jiejie had taught him the ways of Dafan Wen medicine, made him attuned to the evidence of life in himself. He knows how fast his heart rate is supposed to be while lying in bed, knows which pressure points she once worked at to calm his anxiety, knows the irregularities of the breaths he no longer takes.

He used to like his heartbeat, his breath, their soothing rhythm as he fell asleep. It was comforting to understand that much about himself, to follow this evidence of life, when in childhood a piece of his soul had been snatched and left the rest of him a puzzle.

Now the lack of this evidence of life feels like a testimony against him.

Wei Wuxian could return some illusion of life to him. Would be happy to do so.

Selfishly, Wen Ning wants him to try. Being a walking experiment has its unsettling moments—more accurately, a constant hum of discomfort—but there is something morbidly enchanting about letting Wei Wuxian mold him into whatever he envisions. Into the magnum opus of a genius.

An even more selfish part of him wants to beg Wei Wuxian to try, because how symbolic would it be for Wei Wuxian to restore his heart, of all things…

“Wen Ning?” Wei Wuxian asks softly.

“Okay,” he answers, and instantly regrets it.

Wei Wuxian smiles again, this time the smile he saves for when he is about to tinker with the Ghost General. Wen Ning has learned all of his smiles by now, and he still doesn’t believe that there is one specially for him. But Wei Wuxian gives him that reassuring nod, the warm curve of his lips, the eager yet slightly rueful glint in his eyes, and Wen Ning can only recall seeing that expression the previous times Wei Wuxian rewrote pieces of him.

Wei Wuxian explains exactly what he’s going to do and how the resentful energy will flow. Wen Ning nods, and Wei Wuxian rests a hand on Wen Ning’s chest—casually, moving without hesitation, like always. “It won’t actually restart your heart. Just give the illusion of a pulse for a few minutes.” He furrows his brow as his focus intensifies. “That is, if it works.”

The feeling of Wei Wuxian’s hand on the center of his chest is stabilizing, yet it sets Wen Ning’s mind into disarray, despite how many times he has felt this before.

Wei Wuxian closes his eyes, preparing to reroute the resentful energy inside Wen Ning.

A cool stream of energy enters Wen Ning. Growing colder, gushing rapidly—

Freezing—

Then over almost instantly.

Wei Wuxian opens his eyes. “Feel any different?”

Wen Ning feels a bit dizzy, which is new. He hasn’t experienced vertigo since becoming a fierce corpse. But that fades quickly, and soon he is left with only the feeling of thick fabric pressing against his chest where Wei Wuxian’s hand rests.

He shakes his head. “Do…do you feel anything?”

Wei Wuxian shifts his hand, presses harder against Wen Ning’s chest. Waits, then sticks three fingers in the groove of Wen Ning’s neck, and that feels nice. Wen Ning almost wants to hold his hand there—

“No. I guess it didn’t work.” Wei Wuxian sounds much more tired than before. He removes his hand.

“That’s okay. I don’t need a heartbeat.”

“You want one though, yeah?” Wei Wuxian begins sifting through the inventions scattered across the cave, perhaps looking for another device, perhaps just hunting for kindling to spark an idea.

Wen Ning had been too selfish by agreeing to this. Who knows how long Wei Wuxian will research this now?

“I don’t want you to start another project,” Wen Ning says, and the faint thread of anger in his voice is stronger than he intended, even though that anger is mostly directed at himself. It's been harder to control his emotions since resentful energy began feeding them.

Wei Wuxian looks up, startled. Then he grins and gives a small laugh. “Are you turning into your jiejie now? Bossing me around…”

The joke only strengthens Wen Ning’s resolve. It reminds him that he can invoke Jiejie’s authoritativeness. He has never been good at following in his sister’s footsteps, but calling upon her immovability is almost as effective at steeling him as resentful energy. “You should sleep or come help us outside instead of always working in here.”

Wei Wuxian rubs his eyes. “I know, I know. You’ve all told me many times.” He seems to regret the slight bite in his tone. He tends to snap once in a while, the effect of stress lashing out from behind his mask, but it always dissolves as quickly as it appears.

“I’ll listen to you,” Wei Wuxian says, gently this time. Wen Ning feels a wave of relief. But then Wei Wuxian smirks and adds, “For now. I really do have some theories I want to test.”

“But—Wei-gongzi—”

Wei Wuxian rises to his feet and walks over to him. Stands and looks at him for a while, then says, almost murmurs, “I have enough projects for myself.” He tucks a strand of hair behind Wen Ning’s ear, and Wen Ning nearly melts. “Let me do something that’ll make you happy.”

This is bad. Very bad.

Wei Wuxian isn’t even telling the truth. His projects are all for the protection of Wen Ning’s family, not for himself. But the fond touch, combined with the sweetness in Wei Wuxian’s voice, is already enough to make Wen Ning bend.

He would much rather take care of Wei Wuxian than be taken care of. But if he weren’t worried about being a bother, he would tangle his hair just for Wei Wuxian to run his fingers through it, to twirl and comb and braid it the way he unravels and reorders the resentful energy inside Wen Ning.

“You really don’t need to. Getting a heartbeat was just an idea,” Wen Ning mumbles.

“And a good idea! We all need more comforts around here, don’t we?” Wei Wuxian nestles three fingers in the groove of Wen Ning’s neck to search for a pulse again, his brow knit in thought. Despite himself, Wen Ning can’t help but be glad that he can feel that touch a second time.

When Wei Wuxian experiments on him, the tugs and surges of resentful energy don’t exactly feel good. It’s like ice cracking under his skin, leaving shards that poke out of him. Or like the bony hand of a skeleton yanking at his insides, ripping him apart and rattling the pieces around.

The pain and discomfort frighten him. Remind him of what Wei Wuxian is capable of. What Wen Ning is capable of.

Yet he finds enjoyment in the fear, in the icy fingers of resentful energy, because those are the shadows of Wei Wuxian’s hands on him, reshaping him.

And before Wei Wuxian experiments on him…that feels too good. The doting—almost loving—attention, the careful examination, mumbled words, soft touches…

Wei Wuxian pulls his hand away and brings it to his own throat. His glance darts around the cave as he seems to calculate something in his mind.

Then he grabs Wen Ning’s hand and presses Wen Ning’s fingers into his neck. The sensation comes delayed, but Wen Ning feels it.

A pulse. Wei Wuxian’s pulse.

Wei Wuxian continues looking around the cave and thinking, as if this is just another ordinary step in a routine. But to Wen Ning, this is—this is—have they ever done something this intimate? How can Wei Wuxian let him feel the rhythm of his pulse, of his life force, and act like it’s nothing?

Somehow that makes it even more intimate, that Wei Wuxian doesn’t seem to mind…

Wen Ning counts the beats to himself.

Too slow. Not by much, but Wei Wuxian’s heart rate is too slow for his age, his size.

Wen Ning would make a mental note to tell Jiejie, but he knows she’s already aware. Wei Wuxian’s health has been deteriorating since he stepped back into the Burial Mounds.

“Wei-gongzi?”

“Mn?”

“I…I have a different idea.”

Wei Wuxian lifts Wen Ning’s hand from his neck, but doesn’t let go. He smiles. “What’s that?”

“You can just give me the tablet.” Wen Ning looks down at the slab of stone, thin black wisps of smoke swirling around it. “I can feel its heartbeat.”

“You don’t want your own?”

He shakes his head.

Wei Wuxian playfully taps the back of Wen Ning’s hand a few times. Four times, to be exact. Wen Ning can’t help counting. “That heartbeat isn’t very human, though.”

Neither am I, Wen Ning wants to say, but he knows Wei Wuxian will scold him if he does. “It would be more than enough,” he says instead.

“You’re going to make the Yiling Laozu feel like a fraud if you let him give you scraps and call it ‘more than enough.’” He sighs and glances down at the tablet. “But you can take it until I come up with something better.”

“Then…is there something that you don’t think is a scrap?”

Wei Wuxian brings Wen Ning’s fingers to his neck again, and the warm pulse hums through his fingertips. “Well, there’s my heartbeat.” He winks. “I’d still call that a scrap, though.”

“No it isn’t,” Wen Ning blurts.

Wei Wuxian raises his eyebrows. Then his expression turns thoughtful. “Would you rather keep feeling mine?”

Wen Ning doesn’t reply, but he knows his face says everything. Not even rigor mortis can hide the answer.

“Forget about that useless rock, then.” Wei Wuxian pats his chest. “I’ll be your heartbeat for now.”

Wen Ning is sure that if he still had blood flow, he would be flushed. Panicked energy begins to twitch inside him. “N-No, it’s okay—”

“You don’t want my finest craftsmanship, and you don’t want my scraps! What am I going to do with you?”

“Nothing,” Wen Ning answers quietly.

“Yes, something.” He takes Wen Ning’s hand and tugs him toward the slab of stone he uses as a bed. “Hm. How should we do this? Maybe—”

“Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning says, exasperated. He likes that Wei Wuxian never hesitates, never slows down—it’s attractive, in a frustrating kind of way—but it often leaves Wen Ning in the dust with his mind still sputtering and struggling to function.

“Alright, sit here.” Wei Wuxian gestures toward the bed. “If you want to,” he adds.

It’s pointless to ask if Wen Ning wants to. He wonders if Wei Wuxian knows that he doesn’t need Chenqing or yin iron to make him do just about anything.

Suddenly filled with dread, a dread that he is going to like this too much, he steps forward and awkwardly sits down on the edge of the bed.

“Perfect,” Wei Wuxian murmurs. He taps Wen Ning’s knee twice. “Spread your legs.”

Now Wen Ning is certain that he would be flushed if he were alive. “S-S-Spr—what?”

“Hey.” He smirks and points a finger at Wen Ning. “Who taught you to have thoughts like that? Don’t worry. I just need you to make room for me.”

Wen Ning gets out some garbled form of “okay” and spreads his legs, creating enough space for Wei Wuxian to sit on one of his knees.

Which Wei Wuxian does.

Sit on his knee.

He also wraps his arms around Wen Ning’s neck and pulls him closer until his cheek touches Wei Wuxian’s chest.

“I can’t do all the work myself.” He cups Wen Ning’s chin. “You have to move too.”

Wen Ning swallows—by habit, since he doesn’t really need to do that anymore—and positions himself so his ear rests over Wei Wuxian’s heart. He can’t feel Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat through the robes, but the gentle sound of thum, thum seeps into him right away.

Warmth, too. A lot of warmth.

“Good?” Wei Wuxian hums.

Wen Ning makes a small noise of contentment in the back of his throat. He fiddles with his hands in his lap, trying and failing to find a good place for them that isn’t Wei Wuxian’s legs. “I hear it.”

“Only hear it?”

He opens his mouth to object, but he knows that Wei Wuxian will spot the lie before it leaves his lips.

Wei Wuxian opens the collar of his dark outer robes and lets Wen Ning rest his head on the thin red inner garment.

Even warmer. Softer.

He can feel Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat.

He hasn’t felt something like this since he was a child. It’s…not what he expects.

Jiejie had taught him how to take a person’s pulse. How to place three fingers on each wrist and find the six pulse positions corresponding to the meridians of the body, to identify the different types of pulses—their depth, width, length, strength. How sometimes the pulse feels like beads rolling along a table, while other times it feels like the crisp pluck of a guqin string, and so on, each revealing secrets of the body, guiding how to best heal the patient.

All that knowledge had once been exciting. It seems mundane, now.

The medical analogies for a pulse at the wrist, Wen Ning realizes, don’t work to describe what a heartbeat from the chest feels like when it’s pressed against his cheek.

It’s like wading in a warm stream, sunshine beating on him. The gentle lap of current, its smooth rhythm—thum, thum—like the most natural and simple form of expression.

Wen Ning wishes Jiejie had instead taught him how to decipher a person’s soul by listening to their heartbeat, because with this strange, steady language reverberating in his ear, it almost seems possible.

“Now?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Wen Ning doesn’t make a sound this time.

He counts Wei Wuxian’s heartbeats and tries to guess how many fit into a minute. They remain like that, long after Wen Ning loses count, with Wei Wuxian’s warm body in his lap. They both relax, and Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat eventually fades into Wen Ning, like it’s his own.

His awareness returns when he notices Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat slowing even more. He pulls away, immediately missing the comforting solidness of Wei Wuxian’s chest, and looks up to see a calm, drowsy expression on Wei Wuxian’s face. His eyes are heavy-lidded and almost fully closed.

“We’ve been telling you,” Wen Ning says softly. “You don’t sleep enough.”

Wei Wuxian rubs his eyes. “You really are becoming bossy.”

“I just want you to take care of yourself.”

“You and your jiejie are like a pair of vultures. Circling me when I’m weak and picking at me!” He gives a wan smile and reaches around Wen Ning’s back to rub his shoulder. “But I appreciate that you care about me.”

Wen Ning absorbs the feeling of Wei Wuxian stroking his shoulder, the thrum of Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat still lingering in his ear. “I appreciate that you care about me, too,” he mumbles.

He’s not sure if Wei Wuxian hears, but figures he knows anyway.

* * *

The next day, Wei Wuxian lets Wen Ning listen again.

And the day after.

And the day after that.

It becomes a pattern, as reliable as the beat of Wei Wuxian’s heart. Wei Wuxian is more likely to skip a meal or lose a night of sleep than he is to shirk his self-proclaimed “heartbeat duty,” and Wen Ning begins to wonder if Wei Wuxian likes it as much as he does.

Then Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli show up in Yiling.

That night, Wei Wuxian drinks like he wants to waterboard himself.

He forgets about heartbeat duty after that. Wen Ning lets him.

* * *

Two weeks later, Wen Ning brings a medicinal draught Jiejie prepared to the Demon Subdue Palace. The sun outside sank long ago, leaving behind deep blues and browns that bleed into the entrance of the cave. A single candle flickers on a rock shelf in the cave wall, illuminating the craggy wall and the floor strewn with bits of metal and wood and crumpled talismans.

Astoundingly, Wei Wuxian is not hunched in the corner scribbling away. He’s in bed scribbling away, his sleeves rolled up and his tied-back hair slightly disheveled the way they are when he digs in the mud pond for the lotus pods that won’t grow.

He hadn’t come out to farm since the day before. Wen Ning wonders if he’s fixed his sleeves or his hair since then.

Wen Ning steps over as quietly as he can manage with his clumsy feet and waits beside the bed, holding the draught with both hands and feeling a faint sensation of its warmth. “Wei-gongzi?”

Wei Wuxian presses the wooden end of his brush into the corner of his mouth. “Do you know how to make a Spirit-Attraction Flag attract only ghosts of a certain age?”

“…No.”

“Mn. I—wait—” He cuts off and draws what looks like disjointed pieces of an array scribbled in the margins around rejected brushstrokes.

Wen Ning lets him write for a while, then says, “My jiejie made this for you to drink.”

“And why,” Wei Wuxian asks without a pause in his writing, “is she spending resources on me instead of saving them for A-Yuan and the others?”

“You need medicine, too. Because your stab wound still hasn't healed, and—and Jiejie says your body still isn’t used to not having a gold—”

Wei Wuxian abruptly stops writing. Wen Ning clamps his mouth shut, and wishes he hadn’t said anything.

With a lack of pleasure that he fails to hide, Wei Wuxian scribbles a few more things, then stands up, slices a cut in his finger, and begins trailing red lines on a Spirit-Attraction Flag. “I’m going down the mountain to test this.” He looks over at Wen Ning with a softened expression and walks out of the cave.

Wen Ning doesn’t need him to say that it’s an invitation to follow. He always accompanies Wei Wuxian down the mountain. He’d rather Wei Wuxian sleep, but at least leaving the Burial Mounds always puts him in a better mood.

After they pass through the final protective array and the forest around the path begins to change from grim black leafless trees to green trees shaded blue by moonlight, Wei Wuxian seems to relax. But instead of testing the flag in the clearing where he usually does, he continues walking.

They reach the edge of the forest. A few clouds in the sky hide some of the stars, but the moon is out, a bright half of a silver coin. They pass the town from a distance, still close enough to see amber dots of light from the few lanterns lit at this time of night, but far enough that even Wen Ning’s sharp vision can’t discern clear shapes of the buildings. Wei Wuxian stares at the town once in a while, as if he can see something in the muddied blocks of light.

They enter a different patch of forest and stray just far enough inside for tree branches to reach across the sky again.

Wei Wuxian holds up the flag and examines it.

He lowers the flag to his side.

“Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning says quietly.

“Yes?”

“Did you…”

He trails off when Wei Wuxian begins slowly rolling up the thin canvas. “I think I just wanted to go for a walk,” he says. “I’ll let the spirits rest today.” He sets the folded flag on a large rock and sits on the ground, his back against the stone, looking out at the plains and town from the recesses of the forest.

“I like walking with you,” Wen Ning says, and sits beside him.

Wei Wuxian usually buries his sorrow in his projects, in the crop fields, in his games with A-Yuan. This aimlessness is the closest glimpse Wen Ning sees of Wei Wuxian’s true state of mind. Wei Wuxian ensures that he is alone whenever he truly lets in his sorrow, but Wen Ning accompanies him during the times when he comes close. As if Wei Wuxian wants him to see—wants someone to see—but refuses to reveal everything.

No one else but Wen Ning has sat next to Wei Wuxian while he draws portraits for no particular reason (he never shows them to Wen Ning, but Wen Ning can guess whom he draws), no one else has slept across the cave from him while he mumbles in his sleep, no one else has wandered down the mountain at night with him.

Wen Ning doesn’t know if he should feel privileged or worried that Wei Wuxian lets him see this much.

He doesn’t think he deserves to know Wei Wuxian’s deepest thoughts, but he wants Wei Wuxian to pass more sorrow onto him, let him shoulder some of the pain. Wen Ning’s heart is dead, he can take it.

“Wen Ning,” Wei Wuxian says. He smooths his robes, adjusts his fitted sleeves. “I haven’t done heartbeat duty in a while, have I?”

“You don’t need to.”

“Maybe I want to.”

Wen Ning looks down at his knees, but Wei Wuxian scoots closer.

With their backs against the rock, Wei Wuxian hugs him in, rests his hand on the side of Wen Ning’s head, cradling him against his chest. Wen Ning tucks his arms away, trying not to touch Wei Wuxian, but Wei Wuxian takes one of his hands.

“It’s okay,” Wei Wuxian says.

Wen Ning waits a moment, wishing he had proper breath to steady himself, then carefully wraps his arms around Wei Wuxian, nestling close to his slender frame.

It feels different this time. Not because their position is different, or because Wuxian’s heartbeat is any faster or slower, stronger or weaker.

There is no purpose this time. It isn’t for Wen Ning to experience sensations more fully. It isn’t for Wei Wuxian to find comfort.

They are just two bodies cast aside from life, bodies that struggled to catch each other during their fall until they landed in each other’s embrace.

Holding Wei Wuxian feels as natural as his heartbeat, as inevitable as each thrum beneath where Wen Ning rests his head.

And just as fleeting.

Wei Wuxian is more alive than any person he knows, yet is wasting away more each day, having given up everything to protect the Dafan Wen.

And Wei Wuxian is not his. Only one thing ties them together: they have each made the other into a member of the living dead.

With whom did it start? Was it Wei Wuxian, who brought Wen Ning back as a fierce corpse, or was it Wen Ning, who held Wei Wuxian down as his core was removed? Or was it the world that did this to both of them?

But despite the thread of shared death that ties them together, Wei Wuxian could break that connection if he wanted to.

Wen Ning is bound to his family, bound to this unnatural body, bound to Chenqing's laments. He can never reenter the world.

But Wei Wuxian...

One day, Wei Wuxian may have the chance to belong in the world again. With his shidi and shijie, with Lan Wangji.

Wen Ning will always be banished to the margins of the world.

“How long are you going to live with us?” Wen Ning finds himself asking.

Leaves rustle quietly in the forest, clouds disappearing above their heads to reveal more stars against the dark liquid sky. An owl hoots questioningly far behind them.

“Until tomorrow,” Wei Wuxian says. “Ask me again tomorrow, and I’ll tell you again.”

“I can’t ask you that every day.”

“Then don’t ask me at all.” He strokes Wen Ning’s hair, over the back of his head and down his back. “I’m not leaving.”

Wei Wuxian continues playing with Wen Ning’s hair, running his fingers through it, stopping occasionally to work out a tangle. Not for the first time, Wen Ning wishes he could feel touch more strongly. He had dreamt of moments like these as a teenager, gentle caresses from Wei Wuxian, impossible moments. He hadn’t realized he would receive them one day after they had given up their lives for each other.

“When do you think we’ll get our next visitor?” Wei Wuxian asks. “Think I can make that Spirit-Attraction Flag into a Guest-Attraction Flag?” He chuckles. “We can hang it at the ridge. People will be drawn from miles to come talk to us. Tell Uncle Four to get lots of fruit wine ready." He fiddles with the sleeve of Wen Ning's robe. "I’ll have you test out the flag. Wear it like a cloak, and go walk around Yiling to see how many friends you make.”

“I can barely get anyone to buy turnips from me.”

“Change of plans, then! I’ll make a Customer-Attraction Flag, and we’ll finally be rich.”

Wen Ning smiles. “What are we going to buy once we’re rich?”

“Toys for A-Yuan.” Wei Wuxian rubs across Wen Ning’s shoulders, back and forth. “Every toy in Yiling.”

“We should buy every toy in Lanling, too.”

“That’ll need a lot more money. We’ll have to grow bigger turnips.”

“A giant one.”

“A single giant turnip?” Now there is real laughter in Wei Wuxian’s voice. “I’ll have to plant you as the seed to grow something big enough. Don’t tell your jiejie. Although she might figure it out when you disappear, and meanwhile a turnip the size of the Burial Mounds takes over Yiling.”

“I still won’t tell her.”

Wei Wuxian makes a low humming sound. “I can always count on you.”

Wen Ning melts more into Wei Wuxian’s embrace, surrounded by his warmth.

“Too bad that no matter who we bury in the lotus pond,” Wei Wuxian says with a sigh, “those plants still don’t want to sprout.” This time he doesn’t rub Wen Ning’s back or fiddle with him while he talks.

He’s never said something like that about the lotus crop without following it up with a confident proclamation—But when have I ever not achieved the impossible?, They’ll poke their heads out soon!, My lotus flowers will be the biggest you’ve seen, just wait!

He’s never left hanging the chance that the lotus crop might not grow.

Wen Ning waits for the cocky remark, but it doesn’t come. “They’ll sprout if you’re the one growing them,” Wen Ning suggests, filling in the declaration that Wei Wuxian missed.

“…Yeah.”

Wen Ning’s stomach sinks. He looks up. Wei Wuxian smiles at him and guides him to rest against his chest again.

“It’s only been two weeks. They might take a while,” Wen Ning says, his face nearly turned into Wei Wuxian’s robes.

“I’ll just cheat and make a Lotus-Attraction Flag.”

“I’ll help you.”

“Of course you will. You’ll also help me with the flag for attracting guests to marvel at the beauty of our lotus pond!”

Guests again.

Wen Ning knows that Hanguang-Jun had visited on the day his consciousness returned. Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli had met with Wei Wuxian soon after. Both left marks on Wei Wuxian.

Is he thinking about them?

Wishing he had warmth of his own to give Wei Wuxian, Wen Ning hugs him tighter. He's not sure if they lower to the ground in one movement or slowly slide down, but eventually they lie on their sides, facing each other, arms tight around each other. Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat speaks, and Wen Ning listens.

I’m lonely, it whispers. I’m so lonely.

Who is there in the Burial Mounds for Wei Wuxian to feel the same affection toward as he feels about Hanguang-Jun? Or to provide the same comfort as the company of his siblings?

Everyone in the Burial Mounds has tried their best to provide the support of a new family for Wei Wuxian. He has even called them his family. But try as they might, how could the Dafan Wen replace his shidi and shijie?

The shidi and shijie Wen Ning helped Wei Wuxian save, only to steal him away from. He knows that it was Wei Wuxian’s choice to lead the Dafan Wen to the Burial Mounds and live with them, but would he have made that choice if he had never formed a relationship with Wen Ning and his sister? The thought makes guilt churn in his stomach.

“Wei-gongzi?”

Wei Wuxian runs his thumb in gentle circles over Wen Ning’s shoulder. “Yes?”

“Is that something you want?” He pulls away from Wei Wuxian’s chest to look up at him, though not quite into his eyes. “Guests?”

“Don’t take that all so seriously. If guests come, would they be as good of a drinking buddy as Uncle Four, or as good of a storyteller as Granny, or as energetic as A-Yuan? They couldn’t compete.”

“But you meant it,” Wen Ning says, surprised at the force in his own voice, quiet as it is. “I’ll help you bring guests here.”

Wei Wuxian smiles and brushes his thumb over Wen Ning’s cheek, the touch warm and soft like hushed words. “You’re already too good to me. Don’t worry about me.” He sighs and looks up at the sky. “Each of us will have things we want, but can’t have. It’s just part of living.”

Wen Ning, too, looks up at the star-studded sky through the dark silhouettes of trees. The full shapes of the constellations are broken up, but he can picture which stars are waiting behind the black hands of tree leaves.

As he follows the disjointed forms of the constellations, he decides that he will relieve Wei Wuxian’s burdens.

He is not sure at what moment he makes the decision, but it settles into his bones and becomes his purpose for the night.

Not just for the night. For as long as Wei Wuxian is by his side.

The day Wen Ning’s consciousness was restored, he had heard A-Yuan singing a song about walking the “single-log bridge.” Curious, Wen Ning had asked where A-Yuan learned the song.

“Xian-gege,” had been the answer. The song’s lyrics had been about Wei Wuxian walking alone into darkness.

Wen Ning will not let him walk alone.

If Wei Wuxian wants to walk the single-log bridge, Wen Ning will carry him across it.

“Will you tell me about them?” Wen Ning asks.

“About what?”

“The things you want, but can’t have.”

* * *

Thank you for reading! Next chapter is coming soon. If you enjoyed this fic, come visit me on AO3!

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