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tothemeadow · 4 years ago

Note

I haven't seen much people requesting for snake bby so obanai x demon reader pls?Reader is like a succubus type of demon and when sent on a mission to kill her he falls into her clutches and it ends with smut 👀

‘in my dreams’ / Iguro O. x Reader

PLEASE STOP SLEEPING ON THIS MAN

warnings: NSFW, Obanai is a boob man, dream fucking?

words: 2,793

(a/n): I might’ve gotten carried away a bit

He’s always heard that sharks can smell blood on the water.

He isn’t a stranger to blood himself, used to the sightly images of gore and the rancid odor. It’s simply another part of his hellish life, bearing witness to mutilated remains of bodies and hunting down their killer.

It’s all in a day’s work.

It’s strange, though, when there aren’t any bodies to be found. Rumors of disappearances plague the night, travel from lips to ears, slowly spreading throughout the small town.

Takahashi’s daughter disappeared last night.

The doctor’s oldest son? Haven’t you heard? He’s gone.

For such a large number of people to be suddenly up and vanishing, it’s no wonder concerns have risen. It’s why Obanai’s here in the first place, determined to sniff out the culprit and promptly execute them. He’s dealt with similar cases before – finding the missing persons, only to find their remains or couple of bones – but this time… Well, it’s weird, to say the least. Not one person in this town knows where anybody could be, no strange sightings or feelings, nothing.

And, if Obanai is going to be completely honest, it’s infuriating as hell.

He’s not a patient person in the slightest. Perhaps that’s his curse and the sole reason why this case isn’t going anywhere; still, with the lingering danger hanging over these poor people’s heads, he needs to end this quickly. And so, cooped up in a small room at the town’s inn, he pours over his scribbling of notes, wondering just what kind of force he’s dealing with.

A demon’s nature can vary, depending on what kind you encounter. Obanai’s had his fair share of strange interactions – whether it be demons with multiple arms, pygmies, the facial features of a fly - he's nearly seen at all. But to take victims without leaving a single trace? That's where things get complicated.

"Dammit," Obanai grumbles, dragging a hand over his face. Kaburamaru flicks his tongue in concern, sensing his owner's unease.

This isn't going anywhere. The amount of time or effort spent trying to figure out where everyone has vanished isn't amounting to anything. How could this be? Obanai isn't some low level slayer, for gods' sakes - he's a Pillar. It shouldn't be this hard to put two and two together, yet here he is, staring blankly at his collected information. The idea of sending his crow to summon for help crosses his mind, but he hastily throws away the thought. No, that's not how this is done. He isn't willing to give up so easily.

As the hours drag further into the night, Obanai grows restless, twitchy. His striped haori sits to the side, folded neatly along with the shirt and overcoat of his uniform. Kaburamaru is already fast asleep, coiled into a tight circle at the edge of the futon. The wooden hatches of the window hang open, the night breeze drifting into the room with the sound of a singular solemn cricket.

A long, ornate kiseru dangles between his spindly fingers; it’s a rare occasion whenever Obanai smokes, so much to the point that the ones closest to him don’t even know he possesses such a fine pipe. He takes a slow drag as his he stares up at the moonlit clouds, the chilled breeze whipping the choppy strands of his hair against his bared cheeks. He wonders, truly, just how the hell he’s supposed to get to the bottom of this case if he can’t find anything to work with.

Perhaps the gods heard his woes - or he’s finally lost his mind - for an intoxicatingly sweet scent fills his senses.

Jasmine.

As far as Obanai knows, he hasn’t seen any jasmine plants when he came into town. This had to mean something - it had to. Opting his kiseru for his blade instead, he easily slips out the window, feet hitting the ground without a sound. Taking off into the night, he races through the town’s streets, eyes darting back and forth for anything out of the usual.

He comes to an abrupt stop when the scent of jasmine grows even stronger. He’s sure now that whatever he’s been looking for is here. A slight shuffling catches his attention; whipping his head to the side, a wooden hatch to a window bangs against the side of a house, but there’s no one to be seen on the other side.

“Found you,” Obanai breathes.

Rushing over to the house, he drops into a crouch as he creeps closer to the window. Jasmine floods his senses, the irresistible aroma gripping onto his consciousness and practically demanding for him to come closer. Swallowing thickly, he ignores the sudden wave of heat flushing over his body as he peeks into the darkened room. A family of five lays on the floor, their bodies moving gently with the deepened breathing of a heavy slumber. Even now, Obanai has to resist the urge to shut his eyes and succumb to the flowery scent.

Although the room is dark, he can make out a strange pillar of smoke; ah, so that’s where the origin of the smell is coming from. Is it some type of mist demon? Flower? He isn’t entirely sure, but he doesn’t have the time to care. He needs to get rid of it now.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he unsheathes his blade, not wanting to attract attention to him yet. It’s a wish in vain, though; as soon as his blade is hanging in the air, the pillar of smoke rushes towards him, slamming into him and sending him flying. Obanai grunts as his back hits the ground, the sharp edge of rocks biting into the skin.

“Don’t you know that it’s rude to sneak up on others?” a low, creamy voice drawls. Goosebumps break out across the surface of Obanai’s skin and a shiver races down his back. The smoke dissipates, then, revealing a feminine figure.

Obanai’s breath catches in his throat. This demon - you - are unlike any other he’s encountered. Immediately, his eyes latch onto the pair of horns protruding from your skull, pearly at the tip and then fading into ebony. You’re strikingly beautiful, facial features soft yet demanding. Embarrassment warms Obanai’s face as his eyes drift across the curves of your body; your breasts swell over the tight, strappy top while the entirety of your legs and hips frame the long loincloth-like garment between your legs. Both your arms and legs have the same pearly sheen towards the end, just like your horns.

By the gods, you’re ethereal, even if the claws on your fingers could easily tear Obanai’s throat out.

“So is breaking into other’s homes,” Obanai manages to croak. Bringing himself to a stand, he takes a defensive stance, his blade held out before him. He feels strangely heavy, almost like his body craves to stay flat on his back.

Much to his surprise, you pout at him, arms crossing beneath your chest and pushing your breasts further up. “But it gets so lonely at night, you know?” you say, that seductive lilt in your voice deepening. At that, you make a show of sweeping your eyes over Obanai’s bare torso, and a slight smile grows on your pretty lips.

Obanai clears his throat. He can’t let himself fall for your tricks, no matter how incredible you smell or alluring you look. If these are the methods you rely on, chances are you’re a weaker demon.

“What did you do with the missing persons?” he asks, eyes narrowing.

“Missing persons? Is that what they’re calling them?” you say, a giggle following your words.

Obanai growls at your nonchalant confession. If there’s one thing he can’t stand about demons, it’s their inability of basic human emotion, the inability of compassion. Yeah, he decides that your head is going to look even better once it’s separated from your body.

“You see, pretty boy,” you purr, pressing a hand to your throat and dragging it downwards, brushing over a luscious breast and tracing over your exposed tummy, “in return for making their dreams come true, I get to have a snack.”

“Enough,” Obanai grunts, switching to an offensive stance. “Maybe I’ll be gracious enough to meet you in hell someday.”

Before you even have a chance to react, Obanai springs into action, launching himself off the group in a great leap, lungs tightening as he releases a breath form.

It doesn’t hit.

It doesn’t fucking hit.

In fact, you’re nowhere in sight. Instead of the dusty, moonlit road, Obanai finds himself in an onsen; a great bamboo pavilion stands tall above the pool of water, blocking the golden rays of sunshine from hitting him. Thin trees are scattered about the area, riddled with stone lanterns and garden rocks covered in moss. With a chorus of birds singing overhead, it’s like he’s in an entire new world.

Muttering to himself, Obanai scans his surroundings, wracking his brain and trying to figure just what the hell happened. One moment, he’s about to slice your head clean off and put an end to your terror - the next, he’s in broad daylight in some overt paradise.

“Your dreams are beautiful,” that wonderful, wonderful voice of yours speaks.

Whirling around, Obanai sends splashes of water flying. “What did you do to me?” he spits.

You flash him a sly smile. “Why, I merely put you to sleep, pretty boy. Can’t be much of a threat if you’re not wide awake, no?”

Obanai curses under his breath. Of course you’re a dream demon - no wonder why there hasn’t been any bodies turning up. If only he had acted faster, got here sooner, more lives could’ve been saved. With a huff, he slithers further away from you, sinking below the water until only his face can be seen. “So what now? You’re going to try to kill me in my sleep? That’s a low blow and you know it.”

Sucking air through your teeth, you shake your head. Now that the two of you are no longer shrouded by darkness, Obanai really gets a good look of how utterly stunning you are. Again, he curses himself out, calling himself a fool for thinking such things when he should be killing you instead.

“Your blade isn’t here, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you tell him, a look of mischief crossing your features. “Silly boy - this a time meant for the two of us, not for you to end my forsaken life. Allow me to help you... relax.”

As you step to the edge of the onsen, Obanai finally notices the feeling of water caressing his thighs, his bare buttocks. You just had to make him naked in his dream, huh? What are you trying to accomplish, anyway? His eyes widen incredulously as your hands find their place on your torso, slinking over the swell of your breasts and around your neck; with a simple tug, your top comes loose. You merely let the garment fall to the rocks below, a small ‘oops’ slipping from our mouth.

Heat immediately floods to Obanai’s face and his groin; his insides squeeze in on themselves and he swallows thickly, thankful for the hidden protection the water provides. The look on your face is simply irresistible. Hell, even your breasts are as pretty as he imagined-

Shit, he inwardly curses, I shouldn’t be thinking like that.

But oh, you’re just so tempting, your hands squeezing your breasts, fingers rolling your hardening nipples as you stare directly at his flushed face. “Pretty boy,” you purr, “what’s your name?”

“Obanai.”

It’s out before he even knows it.

“Obanai...”

He really likes the way it rolls off your tongue, the dark glint in your eyes as you say it. Perhaps you can tell by his reaction alone - or maybe you like saying it - but you repeat his name, once, twice, thrice, and fuck does it drive Obanai insane. And then you’re reaching down, unfastening your lower garment and dropping it unceremoniously to the ground. Obanai’s cock twitches at the sight of your glorious body, the soft curves and glowing skin.

“Naughty boy, my eyes are up here,” you say. Again, you squeeze those beautiful fucking tits, a soft groan spilling from your lips. Obanai nearly goes feral from the sound; without further thought, he wades over to where you are. Jasmine clings in his nostrils, clouds his mind in a delicious haze, and he loves it.

You’re all too willing to meet his touch, body slipping into the heated water as he wraps his arms around you possessively. His body kicks into autopilot, mind going blank as he presses his lips to your throat. He should rip your throat out with his teeth, but there’s something magical about the way you arch into his touch, breasts pushing lewdly against his chest.

“Fucking-”

“Yes.”

A breathy moan spills from your lips as Obanai kneads your pretty tits, long fingers gripping possessively, wantingly. It’s almost ridiculous how hard he already is, his cock sandwiched between your bodies. He jolts as your hands land on his face, thumbs brushing against the ragged scars lining either sides of his mouth.

“Don’t,” he grits, but it goes ignored. The air is sucked from his lungs as you brush your lips over his scars, murmuring something about how pretty he is before stopping at his mouth. You kiss him fervently, clawed fingers scratching his shoulders as you tongue the inside of his mouth. You swallow the husky groan that spills from his mouth, hand dropping down from his shoulder and wrapping around his hardening cock.

“Ah, shit,” Obanai murmurs into your mouth.

“Tell me what you want, pretty boy,” you whisper, hand slowly jerking on his cock. His breathing picks up as you quicken your pace, the water rippling with the movements of your wrists. “Your wish is my command.”

“Gods, you’re such a fucking tease,” he pants, eyes practically glowing against the pink hue of his face. Ducking his head, he sucks a nipple into his mouth, the wet warmth enveloping your breast and eliciting a delicious moan from you. Obanai wastes no more time, opting to prop you in his lap and pressing your back against a smooth stone. “I shouldn’t... but fuck...”

“It doesn’t seem like you’re angry with me anymore,” you husk in that damned sexy voice. A moan bubbles from your throat as Obanai starts rocking against you, cock slipping against your folds. It’ll only take a little push for him to fill that pretty cunt of yours, to stuff you full of his cock and fuck you raw. It’s what he wants.

“Shut up,” he grunts, mouth latching onto your nipple, his hand beginning to play with the other. A low, drawn out curse gets muffled by your chest as he finally slips his cock into you; it shouldn’t be physically possible, but your velvety walls seemingly clench around him and suck him in, your arousal making the slide impossibly easy. He hiccups on a breath, his entire body twitching as he pants.

“The thing about succubi,” you drawl, sharp nails tracing down his spine, over the muscles in his back, “is that we’re the demons of sex and dreams. Oh, pretty baby, how much I’ve lucked out. Everyone else seemed like an appetizer - and you...” You pause, suck air between your teeth. “You’re like the damn main course.”

A helpless little grunt graces your ear as you fuck yourself on Obanai’s cock. His hips match your movements, your sopping cunt eagerly sucking him back in and squeezing around him. You’re so damn wet that it’s infuriating; Obanai wants more, more of your touch, your voice, that sweet scent clogging his senses. He can’t bring himself to stop touching your breasts, whether if it’s his hands or mouth. They bounce with the erratic rhythm of your hips, way too beautiful and hypnotizing.

A breathless whine breaks through your cute little pants whenever Obanai smacks a hand against the ample flesh of your ass. “Is that you meant when you said you make others’ wishes come true? Have them fuck that tight pussy of yours? Huh?”

“Obanai, don’t be mean,” you pout.

“Says a fucking demon that eats people.”

You hiss as his cockhead hits against your g-spot. “I can eat you too, so don’t get cocky, pretty boy.”

Obanai clicks his tongue, his brows furrowing. “You better keep that promise,” he grunts, thumb grazing your bottom lip. “I won’t take no for an answer.” He growls as your walls clench around him.

“If that’s your wish, Master,” you purr, a slight chuckle following your words, “then it is my command.”

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #obanai iguro x reader #iguro obanai x reader #obanai iguro #iguro obanai #request

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corysmiles · 4 years ago

Note

Friendly Giant - Puffy and Foolish side of the story:

Would there ever be a moment where one of the crew members or Puffy fell into the water, and Foolish scoops them up, placing them back on board? (What if Puffy accidentally fell when trying to give Foolish some of the meat-?)

Tossed to the Sharks

——————————

Friendly Giant AU- Admiral Puffy Spinoff

Giant Foolish- Tiny Puffy

CW: language

Notes: I didn’t plan on writing an actual fic about Puffy but this ask was just too good to pass up

——————————

As soon as the crew disappeared into the lower parts of the ship to sleep Puffy got to work.

The twinkling stars above her lit up the deck in pinpricks of light while the steady rocking of the ocean tried desperately to knock her off her feet. Even so, she marched across the deck like a steady machine, throwing almost-spoiled meat from their food barrels onto the wooden floor. The smell was rancid and the sound of it slapping against the deck was disgusting, but she knew Foolish wouldn’t mind. And the crew mates wouldn’t notice the absence of a couple pieces of spoiled meat.

As the pile grew steadily she stretched her arms up in the air, taking a deep breath of the freezing air. The bristly feeling of fresh air in her throat was refreshing after so much time in the belly of the ship. Her crew always complained about the darkness of it but there wasn’t much she could do so far from their home.

They’d been out there for weeks with still no sign of land. But they’d stay out for at least a month more. She really hoped that this time they’d find the land they’d been searching for, and it didn’t hurt that this time they had a new “crewmate” following them along. Even if the crew wasn’t fully aware of their new giant “friend.”

Puffy stomped over to the edge of the ship and stared down into the dark churning water. A long winding shadow passed underneath which would scare any reasonable sailor.

But Puffy didn’t become admiral for being reasonable.

“Dinner time!” she whistled before chucking a large slab of beef into the water.

It didn’t even touch the surface before a flash of dark gray scales burst out from the water. All Puffy saw was the reflection of moonlight against jagged teeth before the leviathan disappeared again. The only sign he was still there was the occasional iridescent fin that popped up through the water.

“Still hungry?” Puffy called out as she hauled another large chunk of meat into her arms.

Almost immediately the tip of the giant’s massive tail poked out of the water. Even the tip was easily three times her height, and when it splashed down again small drops of water fell against Puffy’s skin.

The admiral grinned as she stumbled towards the edge with the meat tucked under her arm. When she got close enough she could just barely see the reflective gloss of Foolish’s eyes from under the water. It was weirdly cat-like but she didn’t really mind.

“Got a couple more for you big guy,” Puffy smiled as she pushed the meat up onto her shoulder. Slowly she trudged forward until her chest pressed against the railings. The harsh rocking of the ship didn’t help her catch her balance, but she thought she’d be fine. She was a sailor after all. She was used to it.

Except the storm above them didn’t seem to agree. The moment she felt the meat leave her hands a wave crashed into the ship. She frantically tried to grab onto the rails but the water slammed into her body and before she knew it she was tossed into the sea.

A loud scream left her mouth as water flooded her lungs. She tried to push herself to the surface but ever time she got close a wave would push her head back underwater.

She tried to scream for help but it only let more water into her throat.

She was going to die.

The thought crashed into her like a bomb. She clawed again at the surface, but there was no use. Every moment she spent under the water was a second closer to her death.

There was nothing she could do…And no one was awake.

Slowly, she felt her vision darken as she lost her last breaths of air. She couldn’t even feel her arms anymore, everything felt numb.

That’s when a weight slammed into her sending her flying into the air. She gasped like a fish out of water the moment she hit the surface, feeling the world come back to her like an explosion.

The heavy weight pressed into her chest as she fell back into the water, but this time her head stayed just above the surface. When she looked down she saw giant curved claws wrapped around her chest.

“Oh my- are you okay?” Foolish gasped as two giant eyes peered at Puffy.

The admiral blinked away her confusion as she recognized the person- well, giant- in front of her.

“You saved me,” Puffy breathed before she let herself relax into his massive hand.

“Yeah- yes of course,” Foolish hummed. The scales above his eyes scrunched down at her words.

Puffy smiled and pressed her face against the cold wet scales covering the giant’s fingers. She wouldn’t tell Foolish but part of her had feared that he would mistake her for another piece of meat…She doubted she’d feel much different to him in his mouth.

But even so the giant held her like she’d break at any moment as large concerned eyes bore into her own.

Carefully, she felt herself be lifted until she was dangling far over the water. Foolish nudged his face against her chest before dropping her back down onto the deck of the ship. The feeling of solid ground under her was like a breath of fresh air.

“Are you going to be okay?” the leviathan murmured nervously as his tail wrapped around the side of the boat keeping it steady.

“Mhm,” Puffy nodded. She knew the giant was worried but she was so exhausted she could barely finish her thoughts.

Nearly dying did that to a person she guessed.

“Alright uh okay,” Foolish mumbled, “I’ll stay here just sleep, okay?”

Puffy nodded again before letting her head fall back against the wood. It was nowhere near as comfortable as her bed below deck, but the thought of getting up made her feel sick. The floor would have to do.

Just before she drifted off to sleep she felt a heavy weight rest over body like a blanket. With blurred eyes she saw the smooth tip of Foolish’s tail rest on the deck beside her as it draped over her body.

She wrapped her arms around the thick muscle and within seconds she was out.

The leviathan only unwrapped it’s tail from the ship when the sun rose over the water again.

#friendly giant au #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #dreamstown #corywrites #g!foolish #t!puffy #fluff #anon ask

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vore-scientist · 4 years ago

Text

Like A Good Neighbor (sfw safe vore)

[M/nb vore with fearplay. safe soft oral non-sexual]

A tale of the Mystic Woods! Featuring Yonah HaEsh and Myran the Dwarf Witch and many other fun characters!

A story of bad first impressions and making new friends! Lots of GT, and a cute little adventure at a magical farmer’s market!

Warning: Careful there are references to Fa.tal! An example would be “ogres are far more likely to eat smallfolk than giants!” (implying that said actions are deadly). That is the extent of such references!

Other warning: mild harm during the immediate post-vore scene. Yonah just goes a little too far in scaring Myran.

——/——////——

“Did you hear?”

“Have you been told?”

“A new resident!”

“I haven’t checked it out myself! But Ms Zukkar told me-”

“A wizard!”

“Didn’t there used to be an old sorcerer there?”

“-new guy’s a witch!”

“So, hear about that new giant!”

“A giant wouldn’t fit in that tower! And wizards is all human!”

“A criminal, on the run they say”

“Maybe a magician? They like towers sometimes!”

“His Majesty wouldn’t hire a criminal!”

“-supposed to be evil?”

There were so many rumors being flung around that the dwarf witch Myran Gamadin decided to see for themselves and set out to investigate. Undoubtedly there was a new resident. The story was that he was a Mage, and a criminal, but also just expelled from The Academy of Wizardry. And a giant? That was strange, the old tower was much too small for a giant! Even if it was magic it was only 10ft taller than your average giant in the first place. However… they did hear about the trial of a giant recently… stuff that happened in the civilized court didn’t really concern those in the Woods.

“Why would you go to see a villain? You’re not evil!”

The World’s Largest™ Maine Coon cat trotted alongside the handsome young dwarf, looking more like an oddly fluffy pony than a cat.

“It’s important to know your neighbors! Even the evil ones!”

Siv flicked his tail up into his witch’s face.

“And he’s got to be just a young man! So young and the expectations on evil mages is so high! He will appreciate a friendly face!” Myran had done the math. If this Mage hadn’t even graduated from The Academy, he was at most 23. Unless he started his education late. But they doubted this.

“Why are we walking! You have your broom!” the cat complained.

“That’s for the tower, Siv. It’s one of those designed by assholes who think it’s clever to have the only entrance be the window at the top.”

“Hrfff,” said Siv.

“Do you think he will appreciate the house-warming gift? I didn’t really spend much time on it…”

“Fresh fish would be better.”

“Maybe if he were a cat. This is for a Mage.”

“Clippings of magical plants? Maybe for another witch. This is someone who was studying Wizardry.”

“Wizards use magical plants too!”

“Yeah, they buy them from witches!”

As the pair stepped out of the trees, they froze.

“I think he’ll like the gift,” Siv admitted as he And Myran stood in awe at the largest magical garden either of them had ever seen.

It wasn’t even finished yet! Plots of earth were freshly turned, and piles of wood, half built into beds that lay in patterns across the clearing. And massively spread apart. At least 3 meters between plots. And the finished ones. Well. They already had some amazing specimens. Even if they were just sprouting. Myran noticed the Twisted WyrmFern and harpy’s breath; delicate, but common magical plants that were being used to test out the soil. It was working great.

The garden did make Myran worry a bit.

Maybe this wasn’t a wizard at all! It could be a witch. And he could be very evil indeed. Even evil witches treated their gardens with the utmost care and attention.

But they had come this far. And the tower that looked over the garden was calling to them. Well. Not really. The green-black thorny vines screamed “STAY AWAY!” But when one had a flying broomstick, one didn’t need to heed such warnings.

Flipping their broom around like a baton, they sat side saddle and Siv hopped on the end, somehow managing to balance his prodigious fluff. They took off. And flew into the window.

“WOAAAHHH!”

It was like hitting an unexpected and large wave on a boogie board, but a magical one that flowed through the body! And Myran had never been to the ocean, so it made their brain swim.

The room, which from the outside looked normal, was anything but. The rumors of this being a giant were not just rumors.

This place was HUGE!

And yet, it was much too small.

Growing up, Myran had visited some giant villages with their family. They hadn’t been THAT much smaller then, but the houses and items in the village were definitely much larger. While giant mages certainly existed, they had their own traditions and made their own supplies.

This looked exactly like the workshop for a young wizard, with additions for the wizard being a giant. It was wild to see some of the common arcane tools at such an immense scale.

Flying over, Myran saw that the resident Mage had an ancient book under a magnifying glass, and had been translating it, with notes and commentary. Spell equations and diagrams were additionally copied in a dedicated smaller notebook.

While it was surely a fascinating read, they could tell at a glance the notes were somewhere in the middle of an involved spell, and they didn’t want to be the reason the Mage lost his place. The workbench had plenty of other diverting materials.

Siv had no interest in such things and curled up against the base of the magnifying glass. The sun hit the metal through the window, making it quite warm.

Myran put their broom down and explored the desk. There were several magical tombs! Rare ones! They flipped through and saw fresh handwritten notes tucked inside. Smart, this mage did not want to tarnish the original pages. There was also an open notebook and a few spell components laid out.

They stepped carefully back onto the notebook to get a better idea of what this wizard was up to. The notebook was written in giant, which Myran wasn’t fluent in but got the gist of. So this was indeed a giant wizard. Fascinating.

That’s what they were thinking until...

FEE FI FO FUM!

Myran nearly jumped out of their boots.

No longer fascinating. Very bad. Very dangerous! They’d heard stories that quoted these lines, classic, even amusing. However, hearing them bellowed by an actual giant nearly stopped their heart. These words were so loud and so immediately panic-inducing, especially when accompanied by thundering footsteps.

I SMELL THE BLOOD OF THE-

There was a pause and maybe a stutter

DWARVEN KIND!

The trap door off center in the room burst open and a giant with a mane of black hair, a trimmed goatee, and a wizard’s hat, climbed out. He was smiling, snarling, showing off impressive fangs.

USELESS TO FLEE, USELESS TO FIGHT, FOR YOU WILL BE MY MEAL TONIGHT!

Eat them!? Oh No. Myran scrambled to their feet as the giant advanced.

Siv had gone catatonic, or nearly, and fled behind the mirror. But Myran just stood there. The next thing they knew, they were in the giant's fist… AND THEN IN ITS MOUTH! There was a brief moment where they thought the giant was going to bite them in half… but no. Worse than that, the giant fulfilled his promise to make a meal of Myran by swallowing them whole.

Never had Myran imagined themselves in this predicament. Witches, as far as they knew, were not prone to being eaten by giants! Giants ate thieves, slayers, adventurers! Though... giants were known to occasionally eat random people that happened to be rude to them as they went about their business.

Myran had not been rude! They just hadn’t had a chance to be polite! This giant had no business eating them.

Not that any of this was actually going through Myran’s mind. Oh no. Myran’s thoughts were preoccupied with panicking about their impending doom!

First, they tried to stop the giant from swallowing. But the teeth threatened to crunch their limbs if they dared to try and find purchase! So, failing that, they tried to slow their progress down his esophagus.

The problem was the walls were too damn slippery! They knew that their slow progress was merely due to the tight fit, as they couldn’t stretch out. The flesh was too tough.

Right before they started to worry about suffocating, they were deposited into a large chamber, sliding into a puddle of nasty smelling fluid. They took a regretful breath of the rancid air.

Yonah sighed as the dwarf left his throat and settled into his stomach. Small yet still filling.

He patted his stomach lightly. “A bit disappointing. Dwarves don’t taste nearly as good as most other smallfolk, but I’m not complaining.” His prey thrashed and yelled but didn’t seem to be coherent.

YEOWCH!

Something bit his hand and he waved it violently. Whatever it was released and smacked into the wall that the desk was up against, crumpled into a motionless pile. Curious and momentarily forgetting his snack, Yonah investigated.

A cat!? And still alive but unconscious. Why had a cat attacked him? Then he saw the abandoned broom next to his notebook. And his stomach twisted.

“You’re— not a thief!” Technically, he could eat anyone he wanted, he wasn’t restricted to adventurers. He was still figuring out what kind of villain he wanted to be. Such self exploration would take time, time the person he ate didn’t have.

“I’m a witch!” He heard them squeak.

“A witch? Invading the lair of a wizard? Are you stupid!” He poked at them. They didn’t like that.

“Let me out!!”

So Yonah spat them up, sooner than he would have liked to, and leaned over them with a frown and glowing eyes.

The moment the witch hit the desk, the cat woke up and was between him and the witch as it hissed.

The witch was shaking and coughing, glancing at him with wide fearful eyes.

“If you’re a witch then what the fuck were you doing in my tower?” Yonah demanded.

The witch was still in shock but recovered enough to speak. “I’m… Myran! I wanted to introduce myself!”

“A likely story! Why would anyone want to introduce themselves to me?” Yonah wasn’t really in the mood for conversation, but figured he could use the practice at evil banter.

“You’re… new to the forest” they coughed.

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m your neighbor!” they said,

Yonah narrowed his eyes, “The forest is constantly moving, no such thing as neighbors.”

“I figured I’d try to be friendly!” they continued as if he hadn’t replied. “Everyone was talking about the new mage in the tower, but no one had any definitive stories.”

Another mistake. The giant snarled.

“You are a fool then! I don’t want any friends!” He hesitated briefly as he said it, not sure of the truth, but recovered fast. “But I don’t want you spreading rumors about my mercy either…” he picked them back up. Gripping them hard and getting their right arm between his teeth. He didn’t bite their arm off, but broke the skin with a fang and pinched their hand. They yelled.

“Stop! Stop! I won’t tell! I won’t tell!”

He dropped them and they sat, crying, holding their bleeding arm and hand which was turning a plum purple.

“Good,” he hissed steam in their face, scalding the skin red as his eyes glowed bright orange. “Now get the fuck out before I eat you for real!” He flicked the broom at them. “And if you ever show your face around here again, I will.”

Finally, they listened to him. They got onto the broom along with their cat and with a burst of magic kicked into the air and fled out the window. Yonah watched until they disappeared, then sat down. His hair hadn’t been smoking before but it was now. Additionally, his eyes still glowed.

His first visitor in months wasn't an adventurer and he’d eaten them without a second thought! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

Maybe this was his destiny. For years he’d trained himself to be restrained. Keep his anger in check, Keep his half giant identity a secret and become a wizard. But that had all gone to shit when he’d been discovered not as just a half giant, but as a half fire witch. Chased out of the academy but captured by the authorities of Orr.

Forced to sign a contract with King Ben to become his new pet monster! So why not be a monster!?

But he still wanted friends… his friends from the academy weren’t allowed to visit him. His tower of magic and wonder was so empty. He put his elbows on his desk and buried his face in his hands.

~chink~ his elbow brushed against something.

He looked down and saw a broken clay pot, the soup spilling out and a seedling now helpless and exposed on the desk.

Quickly yonah dipped his fingers into a pouch at his side and licked it, saying a spell. With a puff of smoke he stood on his desk, a mere 8ft tall, and he knelt down.

With his more appropriately sized hands he gathered the soil and with a wave of his hand and another mutter the pieces of the pot shook and flew back into their original places. The pot was… functionally repaired. The proper repair spell required materials to fuse the pieces properly. So it wouldn’t hold water, but it could hold soil.

As he scooped it back in, a piece of paper fell from the loose soil. Curious he dug it back out of the pot and cleaned it off enough to read:

“Welcome to the Mystical Woodlands new neighbor! This seedling is from my own garden. A special cultivation of Frozen Thyme.”

The moment he read it he was instantly planning where this would go in his garden. But… this gift. Did he deserve it? He’d eaten the one who brought it. He chased them away!

He couldn’t accept this gift but he couldn’t just let the seedling wither and die. It didn’t deserve that. And thus, his brain rationalized a way for him to keep the gift. So now what?

Yonah’s brain was too full of rage to do any proper work, so he decided to take it out on the garden, which was still in a state of construction. He’d already torn up old dead pieces of the overgrown mess left behind by the predecessor. Now he was digging spots for flower beds and what would hopefully be an orchard. There was even a designated spot for herbs.

The reason this was slow going was he refused to use magic. For the most part. Thankfully, being giant made digging and construction easier. Now that he had the thyme, he prioritized the herb beds. It was with a sour pride that he completed one as the sun started to go down.

A large wooden box that curved in a lovely arc close to the tower. The wood was specially imported from his The Blue Sky Mountain Giants Tribe in the Implausible Mountains, the smell of it reminding him of home. The frozen thyme seedling was given enough space to grow. He even gave it some friends that he knew would be compatible.

With his mind a little more at ease, he managed to get himself to sleep.

And awoke the next morning with an ache in his heart and a new plan in his brain.

For the first time since he arrived in this prison of a forest, he ventured beyond the boundaries of his clearing. Yonah knew he was allowed, a certain distance from his tower, to walk the forest. It had just seemed pointless. Not wanting to draw too much attention, he wore his gardening outfit: a pink plaid button up and light blue overalls. He had a straw hat that he recently wove to be a wizard hat, as well as his wizard staff. He couldn’t really leave that behind.

The trees in the forest were shorter than back home, but still very large. Thankfully he didn't have to duck so much to avoid branches. In his mind was a list of ingredients he needed to find. Foraging in the forest might seem like a fruitless endeavor, but when you have the keen nose of a giant, tracking down wildberries was a simple feat.

What a bounty! A huge patch of bramble with perfectly ripe berries. He didn’t need a giant’s amount and they would just get squashed if he tried to pick them at his normal size so once again he shrank down. He retrieved a basket from his hat and started to pick berries.

About ten minutes in, the bush began to shift! A section opened up and out ran a gnome with a garden spade. It smacked into his hand mid berry pick.

“Stop! Thief!”

SMACK SMACK!

Yonah was so startled he backed away and returned to his normal size, the basket of berries spilling over.

The gnome yelped. “Giant!” They dropped the spade. “Don’t eat me! Take berries! Don’t eat me or family!”

There was something satisfying about the gnome’s fear and Yonah grinned, “While you would make for a nice little snack,” he said, “I’m not in the mood for gnome today.”

The gnome shook and took up the spade again, pointing it at him as if that would help. From inside the bushes, Yonah heard rustling, and smelled more gnomes. This must cover their burrow.

“Put that away, or I might change my mind!” Yonah growled, showing his fangs. The gnome complied, tossing it aside.

“But you are also in luck. I am not interested in being a berry thief. I have more honor than that. If you would permit me to buy some of your berries, at a discount for me not making a meal of you and your family, I will leave you in peace”

The gnome gulped and nodded, “Am… sure we can make a deal.”

“Pick up the ones I already picked, will you?” Yonah ordered.

The gnome scrambled. “You will need more?”

Yonah nodded. The gnome whistled. And a troupe of younger gnomes carefully came out of the bramble.

“Kind giant has offered to buy some berries. Exchange for not eating us!”

The kids looked nervous and their fear didn’t spark the same kind of joy as the adults. But Yonah had a reputation to build! And he had to admit, it was still a bit fun.

He watched as the gnomes gathered berries until the basket was full and the adult gnome put it down in front of where Yonah had sat down. He picked it up and took off his hat, dropping it in and noticed the gnome’s eyes get wide. Storage space items were not uncommon, but storage hats were tools of professional mages, not common folk.

“That all?” the gnome asked.

Yonah stroked his beard thoughtfully, “Yes. I think so.” He reached into this hat. While he didn’t have a lot of money, Ben had supplied him with funds should he need them, and he had distributed the rings between his various pocket spaces. He got out a large wooden dowel upon which hung many metal rings. Small ones and large ones. With a pair of tweezers, yonah removed a few silver rings and one gold ring and put them into his palm, placing it up in front of the gnome.

Who did not take it.

“Do not insult me by refusing my payment,” Yonah insisted but the gnome did not move.

“More than we charge normally… You wanted discount: berries, a silver a pound!”

Yonah blinked. He still wasn’t good with smallfolk money. When purchasing as a giant, you purchased such large amounts it always cost at least a gold.

“Oh? Er-” he didn’t want to actually exploit these gnomes. “I'm not taking it back! Take the money Or I’ll eat you!” his voice faltered and the gnomes looked a little confused, and a little more relaxed.

“Leave us alone then, yes?” The gnome reached out a hand. Yonah nodded. The gnome finally took the money, giving each of the kids a silver ring. Any fear the kids had was gone as soon as they studied their rings and looked at Yonah with excitement. It was hard not to let the warmth in his heart at their expressions show on his own face.

“Actually!” Yonah announced as the gnomes started to back away into their burrow.

The adult stopped and looked nervous again. Yonah huffed. “I’m not going to eat you, I never was. I just have a question.”

The gnome ushered the kids away, not trusting Yonah, before turning back to the giant. “And if don’t have a good answer, you won’t eat… right?”

With a sigh Yonah shook his head, “No. I won't.”

“Then ask.”

Yonah took a breath, “I am... looking to get some ingredients. I… lashed out at someone recently and I very much regret it, and want to make some amends. I have giant ones back home but… giant sized ingredients do not taste as strong as small ones. Do you know where, or who, I might be able to look for?”

The gnome smiles, “Yes! Mystical Market. Sell our berries there. Open today, also gnome holiday.” They gave Yonah the instructions on how to find the market.

“Thank you- er…” Yonah put a hand to his chest and bowed.

“Kalle” said Kalle.

“Yonah,” said Yonah. The gnome bowed as well, “Don’t be flaunting riches, mysterious half giant. Marketeers take advantage”

Riches!? He did not have endless funds. He would have to be more careful with his spending.

“I am also looking for… Er... Shit!” he exclaimed and was glad the kids were no longer outside, “I don't know their name. Dwarf witch.”

Kalle considered, “Know them. Likes almond cookies. Sorry. Market easier find than people. That all?”

From their tone of voice, Yonah knew the gnome desperately wanted to get back to their family. It was a holiday after all. Yonah stood up and nodded, leaving without subjecting them to any more conversation.

Almond cookies? That changed things. He had only made almond cookies once! He needed a little more help. However, he did not backtrack to the tower. He knew that if he went back, he would lose motivation. Locating the market was his current task.

Unfortunately, it took some luck. According to the gnome, it was a special place that one happened to come across, just by wanting to be there. The more familiar you were with it, the better chance there was of that happening. Yonah really really wanted to be there. So he gathered his will and set off in a random direction.

After an hour of walking yonah felt a weird tingle all over his arms and legs. Like his hair was standing on end and all pointing in the same direction. Had he entered some magical field? No matter, he was fairly immune to passive magic.

Then he took another step and a jolt of magic electricity surged through his body, causing him to freeze up. Before he could collapse, he felt as if a giant hook had caught around his middle. There was no physical hook, but it still yanked him back, pulling in through the forest.

Eventually it stopped and finally Yonah fell over, breathing shallowly as his heart raced. He rolled onto his back and stared up into the trees.

“What’s the big idea!?” Someone kicked him in the side and he sat up. “You’re blocking the way!”

An elf!

Yonah frowned. “You’re so bold for someone I could crush with a finger!” To tease the elf, he poked them in the chest.

“YEOWCH!”

For the second time that day, Yonah got bitten. This time, it was the elf who sank their fangs into his finger, letting go before Yonah pulled away.

“Don’t get sassy with me! Messing with smallfolk isn’t allowed in the market, you'll be banned!”

Yonah looked around “The market?”

He had assumed it was the Mystical Market because it was in the Mystical Woodlands. But now he realized that the name was rather accurate. An entire marketplace incorporated into the forest itself. Stalls and restaurants built into the trees, with carts parked in between. The trees here were also… there was no other word for it: majestic. Larger and older and, compared to the forest he had been exploring before, more deliberate spacing. He couldn’t even see all of it. The forest stretched on for a while, and thus was obscured by the very trees that made up the shops.

There were even buildings in the branches so that ogres, trolls, and giants did not have to bend down to make transactions. He even spotted a few trolls. Amazing! Trolls (and ogres) were much more likely than giants to eat smallfolk. Giants mostly threatened unless the person in question did something really, really stupid.

And yet, there was a troll, large with brown fur and green spots, purchasing a roll of fabric from the elevated section of a gnome shop.

“Yes you idiot, the market! And my cart won't fit through any other path! Move your giant ass or I’ll get the guard to move it for you!”

His elation at having found the market was in conflict with his pride that was being so insulted by this little creature.

“Apologize for biting me, and I’ll consider it!”

The elf looked indignant. “You threatened to squash me! MAGEN!!” they yelled.

Thunderous footsteps were heard and Yonah turned as a proper, full blooded giant, made her way through the shoppers, somehow avoiding stepping on anyone. She was maybe 17, but full grown and taller than Yonah by at least ten feet. Her skin was a light greyish pink and her eyes were a dark red. She wore a lovely headpiece of woven flowers and vines to look like hair, which full giants do not have.

She knelt “This man bothering you?”

The elf nodded. Yonah threw his hands up, “Hey! I don’t mean any trouble!”

“He threatened to squash me!”

The giant glared at Yonah, who glared back.

“How largefolk deal with smalls outside of the market is their own business,” she said. “But inside the market we do not even threaten to squash, or kick, or stomp, or eat!”

“I did not intend to and I did not know I was in the market! I have never been before!” Yonah stood up so that he was not at such an extreme height disadvantage. Magen was a rather short mountain giant, only 35ft tall.

She nodded, “I can believe that.” She stood up. “I would have remembered you for sure.” She sniffed and said in implausible Giant: “You are from the blue sky tribe?”

“Yes! I am.” he answered, also in Giant. “I just moved to the forest. I was looking for the market but… I must have… hit something magic. I sort of fell into here”.

The elf took the opportunity to weave their cart around the giants’ feet, disappearing into the market.

“Ah, the seller seems to no longer push this issue. My name is Magen.” she introduced, bowing.

“Yonah HaEsh,” Yonah answered in return.

“HaEsh! I know the name. Fire man who helped save the Implausible Mountains from the Society of Wizards!”

“That’s my dad,” Yonah said, a little embarrassed.

“Mom told me the story! How exciting!”

Yonah brushed himself off and glanced around, “So... What are the rules here, then?”

Magen shrugged, “Just don’t start fights, alright? All sales are final, so don't go making a fuss if you haggled wrong or think you got cheated unless you believe your items are defective. There are ways to deal with fraudulent goods, but we cannot risk collateral damage.”

“Does that happen often?” Yonah asked, “I only mean to buy food, I can tell if that’s fresh”

“Oh, you have a giant’s nose then. Good. It does not happen often. Makes my job easier. And I usually manage to break up confrontations before they get out of hand.”

Knowing he could likely sniff out the stalls he needed, Yonah asked if Magen could show him around and help him find all the items on his list. She happily agreed. He had to walk behind her as there wasn’t room for two giants to be side by side.

As she carefully led him, she took glances back and down Yonah who was getting a little nervous. It had been a while since he encountered other giants. He was watching his feet to make sure he didn’t hurt anyone, and he was stopping constantly to look into the shops and stalls and carts.

“What is it like, being half giant?” Magen asked, who somehow managed to walk without looking at her feet very often at all. Maybe Yonah was being too careful and people here knew to stay out of the way of largefolk's feet… Still, he didn't want to take chances.

“Er… I have hair, I guess?” he said.

“I was wondering if that was natural or a wig.” Magen brushed the vines spilling from her head.

“But mostly, things were just a bit inconveniently large for me. I still managed.” Then he countered. “What’s it like being a guard in the market?”

“The shopkeepers pool money to have me stand around, mostly. Smallfolk behave when an angry giant is within earshot.” She grinned with all her fangs.

“I thought you said giants couldnt mess with smallfolk here?” Yonah inquired.

“You can’t. It’s my job to interfere,” Magen retorted. “I haven't hurt anyone… badly. I’ve only worked here for a year. But I know everyone and everyone knows me!”

They stopped at a stand selling nuts and Yonah purchased the almonds he needed. The seller seemed a bit disappointed that he bought so few.

“Shopping for someone small?” Magen asked.

“Er- yeah.” Yonah said. They both had to back between trees to let a trio of trolls go by. One was only 10 feet tall and barely came up to Yonah’s waist, but another was nearly 20 feet! They carried baskets and bags on their furry backs, and even had some tied to their tusks!

Before they continued, two elves leapt from the tree nearby and onto Yonah’s shoulders! He was about to brush them off when Magen stopped him.

“Don’t! They are just hitching rides!” At that, he spotted more elves on her head. “You need honey, yes? I know the best shop!”

He followed Magen around the market, which was much larger than he had realized. The elves had no qualms about leaping on and off him and other largefolk shoppers and eventually he ignored them. Magen even helped him avoid making a bad deal for oat flour, saying she couldn’t believe the nerve of the shopkeeper trying to take advantage of a new resident.

Before Yonah left, he wanted to properly thank Magen. “If there is anything I can do to show thanks. Perhaps er-” he looked around.

“You know, the juice stand behind that tree has new flavors I’ve wanted to try. How about you buy me a drink? You should get one too. It’s very refreshing!”

“They make them giant sized?” Yonah asked.

“Oh, they are made by ogres!” Magen replied, rounding the indicated tree.

Ogres, kin of trolls and even more dangerous due to their magical powers. Typically smaller than trolls, but that was not the way to tell them apart.

An entire family of ogres were operating a massive open storefront. Jugs hung from branches or were strapped to the trunks of trees and fruit swung in baskets. Behind the counter was an elaborate prep station operated by two large ogres. Around the entire display were platforms sticking out from the nearby trees. Smallfolk sat on stools enjoying drinks and food at an elevation that made it easy to be served by the ogres. Magen walked up to the counter, which was not at an ideal height for her but was easily manageable. She spoke to an ogre with straw colored fur, blue spots, and large horns.

“Edna! I’d like two passion fruit smoothies please! One giant sized and one…” She glanced back at Yonah. “Full Troll sized!” She stepped aside and pointed at Yonah. “He’s paying”

Edna nodded and passed on the order.

Yonah stepped forward. Bowing “Yonah HaEsh”. She bowed back, “Edna Baneclaw. That will be a gold bracelet for the giant and half for the full troll”

Yonah’s heart nearly stopped. A gold bracelet and a half !? He looked at Magen who flashed her fangs mischievously then back at Enda.

Edna smiled as well. “We don’t have enlarged passion fruit, not in high demand by largefolk.”

With another glare at Magen, Yonah fished into his hat. He didn’t have gold bracelets but he had rings. 10 silver to a gold. Rings to Rings. Bracelets to Bracelets… 10 gold rings to a silver bracelet… 10 silver bracelets to a gold ring. That’s 100 gold rings to a gold bracelet (he had really overpaid the gnomes for the berries... A holiday gift he supposed), but this was not money to spend on frivolous fruit drinks!

Too late, however. The drinks were ready, and he carefully removed golden rings from silver bracelets. 50 gold rings and 10 silver bracelets exchanged for two smoothies. They came in wooden cups with bamboo straws.

This better be fucking worth it. Yonah took a sip.

His eyes widened as the cool icy tart concoction hit his taste buds and he took a long drink. Finally, he looked at Magen and then Edna. “This is incredible!” he exclaimed. Magen grinned and sipped hers as well. “Yeah. Too bad we’re the last two to have some for at least a month!”

“What do you mean?”

“That took all the passion fruit we had,” Edna informed. “Won't get more for a while”

“Worth it! Suck it smallfolk!” Magen teased the people on the platforms, a few looked a bit annoyed, but most didn't seem to care. She didn't seem to care either.

“Well it was nice meeting you, Yonah. I hope to see you again. Oh, and by the way, you can return your mug to the ogres for a silver bracelet, even if you take it home today!”

Yonah glanced at his drink. “Oh! Thanks for letting me know. But where are you going?”

Magen sipped at her smoothie loudly before answering. “This was my break, silly, I need to go back on proper duty now, and you have all your things.” Magen held out her free hand and Yonah shook it, bidding her goodbye. It was getting late in the day now and he wanted to get to work on the almond cookies.

Wait… which way was back to the tower? How could he be so stupid wandering off like this!? His mom taught him better than that. Forest ranger rule number 1: DON’T GET LOST. ...okay, so that wasn’t really a rule. It was supposed to imply that you paid attention to where you were going so you could get back. This was not so easy in the Mystic Woods.

The moment he had walked far enough away from the market, he turned forward and then back, and it was already gone. He had nowhere to go but forward.

It was to his great surprise that only a minute later, he exited the dense trees and found himself in the clearing. The tower was on the opposite side. While he was elated to have made it back safely before dark, there was a distinct absence of any gladness to be home. This was not his home, after all. It was his prison.

Yonah HaEsh climbed up the tower and back into his prison. He took off his hat and sat down at his desk in the workshop, staring into the reflection on the large, ornate mirror that rested upon it.

To do this right, he needed help. Professional help. So he activated his mirror. Or at least… tried. He stared at his own reflection, then spoke. “Mirror Mirror on the desk,” he faltered, “Could you please connect me to Shoshana at the academy?”

The mirror snorted. “You think politeness will work after all this time? I don’t make exceptions. This is why your friends think you’ve forgotten about them! Put in the effort! Ask me properly or don't at all.”

“They’ve called me!!” Yonah insisted, but the mirror said nothing in response. Just like he would do when he got calls from his friends. Yonah growled and snorted back at the mirror, fogging it up. “Mirror Mirror, oh magical vanity, I wish to call Shoshana, at the wizard academy”

There was a whistle from the mirror. “Now that’s how you do it!” it praised. The fog cleared and for a brief moment, he saw his own face again before the reflective surface turned grey. Another moment and the face of his friend Shoshana emerged.

“Yonah!!!” she exclaimed. “You called! I cannot believe it!”

Yonah’s face turned a bit red. “I’ve… been distracted.”

Shoshana waved her hand, stopping any further excuses. “You’ve been through so much! I was worried! Since we graduated, you haven't called at all!”

/I never called before either... / Yonah thought. /It was always you.../ When Grand Master Sean reinstated him as a wizardling student, his friends would call regularly to work on homework and their theses, as he wasn’t allowed to actually attend the school in person. And while he attended the graduation…

That wasn’t a happy memory at all and he didn’t want to think about how he sat behind all the students in the amphitheater in magic chains looking more like a beast one of the adventuring tract students had wrangled for their final than a student.

“I need a recipe!” he said.

Shoshana raised her brows “That’s it!? First call in over a month, and it’s to get a recipe! You don’t want to catch up at all?!” Yonah’s eyes flickered and Shoshana backed off. “Alright, I can see you’re not in the mood. But please, we’re all missing you so much. We’d assumed you embraced the evil hermit wizard life.”

“I… haven’t meant to. But it’s surprisingly easy,” he admitted, grinning awkwardly. “I’d rather not go full hermit, of course.”

“Well, then dont go a month without calling your friends!” Shoshana chided. “Or make some new friends! The forest is full of interesting people, right?”

Yonah looked away, but his eyes were probably glowing orange now.

“This… is for that.”

“Oh!” Shoshana exclaimed, “I should have figured! Of course, I will give you whatever recipe you’d like.”

Yonah got out his ingredients to show Shoshana and explained what he wanted to bake. She nodded and made some suggestions for ingredients and spices to really make these cookies great. He did not have all the supplies she suggested, which led to some back-and-forth as Shoshana pointed out some substitutions for what Yonah bought or already had in his tower.

“Got that all down?” she asked, as she watched Yonah scribble out the final lines to the recipe.

“Yes!” Yonah exhaled in relief. “Thank you so much, Shosh!”

“Next time, we will catch up properly, but I had fun designing this recipe!” Shoshana chirped. “What a challenge. I wish you had called first, before just buying random ingredients.”

“I was already in the forest, Shosh.”

“I know, I know.” Shoshana blew Yonah a kiss and the mirror flickered back to his reflection.

It was time to bake! Which he did after shrinking down.

By the time he was done baking his jam print almond cookies, it was past midnight. He needed sleep and didn't think finding the witch at night was a particularly wise idea, especially since he was getting tired. That meant he was extra likely to be grumpy and irritable. So he placed the cookies in a special cooling rack to keep them magically fresh, then went to bed.

It was right after breakfast that Yonah HaEsh left the tower and, for the second time, entered the forest.

Once again, he had no direction, not that one could in the Mystic Woods. It wasn't even possible to have a map unless it was incredibly magical. Still, he was determined and willing to wander the forest for days if he must! But he’d do so at his full size, which would allow him to cover more ground.

That’s… That’s a witch’s hut! He hoped it was the correct one. It was more of a mound than a hut, with one side covered in rocks and moss and the other a more sheer side with windows, plus a flatter side with a door.

As he approached, a garden came into view and he heard a yelp before watching a small figure dart into the hut and close the curtains. The door opened briefly and a hand hung a sign that read “NO SOLICITORS”

That was the evil giant! Why was he here!? Why did the forest let him find the hut!? Was he here to eat them?! To finish the job!? Could they take on a giant fire witch?! Myran was a damn skilled witch, and at least 15 years the giant’s senior by their estimate, but they were quaking in their boots.

A knock sounded at their door. It didn’t sound forceful enough to be a giant. Siv was in front of them, hissing at the door. Thinking it better to be safe, they peeked out the window, then ran to open the door. Just a crack.

Red faced and holding a basket was… the giant. Only he wasn’t giant. Not exactly. He now stood at about twice Myran’s height. A little less actually. Right. Wizard. Giant wizard.

“May I come in?”

“Depends… what’s in the basket?” They narrowed their eyes. “I don’t want any nasty surprises.”

The wizard’s face got redder as he removed the cover. They opened the door and stood aside. They took the basket with their right hand… Yonah hesitated. Their arm had a massive scar from shoulder to elbow, but the hand was unbroken. The Dwarf noticed and gave him a hard look as he crouched low to get through the dwarf sized door, Siv still hissing at him in warning.

Myran put the basket on the kitchen table and motioned to the couch. “Please, sit.” Yonah did. The couch was small for him but it took his weight. “I’m going to be honest.” Myran leaned against the kitchen table and crossed their arms. “This is quite the unexpected visit.”

“Oh?” Yonah said. Of course, it made sense. He chased them out. Why would he then try to find them again?

“You bit me!” Myran reminded him harshly. “You broke my hand, and you said if you saw me again, you would eat me. Again. And kill me.”

/Ohhhh/

Yonah’s breath caught before managing to say. “I did… didn’t I?” He looked down at his feet.

Myran. sighed. “Yep. Though eating me at your current size would be an impressive feat. So... What the fuck are you doing here? Besides bringing me cookies to fatten me up.”

“I’m not-!” He looked back up to defend himself and saw their cheeky grin. “I didn’t come here to eat you…” They raised an eyebrow in sarcastic disbelief. “I want to apologize. For what I said… What I did. After I ate you. I was so angry. I still am, though mostly at myself. I shouldn't have hurt you. It wasn’t right.” He was almost crying. Dammit, he’d gone nearly a month without crying!

“And for eating me?”

“Huh?” Yonah was thoroughly confused.

“You’re sorry for what happened after you ate me, but what about eating me?”

Yonah bit his lip, “I’m… I’m not sorry about that.”

The witch raised both eyebrows now, genuinely curious as to the workings of this monster’s thoughts.

“I’m supposed to eat people! Especially those who enter my tower unannounced. It’s part of my job! And… And I like it!” He startled himself with that statement. He liked his job? He didn’t even want this job!! He was forcefully employed by the King under threat of death! Being evil had never been his plan and he didn’t want that. Did he?

The witch didn’t look completely satisfied with this answer. But they didn’t get to inquire further as Yonah’s curiosity got the better of him.

“Er- your hand…”

Myran smiled “It was rather mangled by your jaws yesterday. Luckily, I am a very good healer, and well-known in this forest. If you had killed me, you would have had a lot of angry forest residents after your head.” Myran began preparing a pot of tea as Yonah Processed that statement. “You’re a lucky giant aren’t you?”

“What?” Yonah voiced. “For not killing you and putting a target on my back?”

“Yes, exactly. And that was curious. It is rare that evil giants are merciful.”

Yonah looked away, “I’ve only been evil for a few months. I… you’re the third person I’ve eaten at all. And I dont… I haven’t yet… killed anyone.”

That surprised Myran. “I guess I do not know the frequency that giants normally encounter adventurers… but what I meant was you’re lucky that you even get to eat people. Most giants like the taste of smallfolk but they don't actually eat them. It’s rather rare.”

“You said it yourself. Evil Giants eat people,” Yonah pointed out. “Which I am one. I guess it’s… nice that I get to eat folks. But it comes with a cost… It’s only a matter of time before slayers come after me.”

“Most evil giants kill their victims, right?” Myran asked.

Yonah shrugged “I met another one once. Said it depended on his mood.”

“Fascinating… though if you keep up your more merciful streak, perhaps you are less likely to attract slayers?”

“Perhaps…” Yonah had not considered that. He just felt he wasn’t ready to kill anyone yet, but maybe there were other perks than just a clear conscience in continuing to let his snacks go.

“Cracked some sort of code then?” Myran inquired. “Getting to eat people without attracting too much attention? Not that this would stop all slayers,” they added. “I expect you would kill a slayer?”

Yonah nodded, sniffed, and wiped his nose. In that case… Guess he was lucky. Indeed, he’d gotten to taste plenty of smallfolk. Plenty of giants did. It was unique that he’d had his human dad while growing up. But all of the smallfolk in the village knew that when giants kissed their hands, the giants were getting little tastes. Sometimes giants would lick a friend playfully or freak someone out. He’d had a few elvish and human friends growing up, and they sometimes let him and the other giant kids lick them during games of Jacks and Giants. And his academy friends were quite amused by his affections. He very much missed them. It had not taken long for him to get used to living amongst human friends, not just because he got to taste them. And so quickly, that was taken away from him. Friends…

As tears welled in his eyes he couldn’t look at Myran any longer. He closed his eyes and turned his face away. Should he keep talking? Shit, how much of that had he said out loud!? The words continued to come out regardless.

“I know I said I didn’t want any friends. But I do! I need them. And I know I can’t be your friend. You came to me and I fucked it up. But I beseech you to not tell everyone else in the forest to avoid me. I already went to the mystical market and-“

“You… how did you find out that I liked almonds!”

Yonah looked up. They weren’t looking at him but reaching into the basket for another cookie. They munched on it thoughtfully, not a crumb falling into their beard. The tea was ready and Myran poured it with magic, leaving their hands free to hold more cookies. They walked over to Yonah, the tea cups floating with. He took the larger one out of mid air. It was very hot! And he drank. It was… It tasted like tea he’d had at home. His village had alway gotten various teas from the dwarves. New tears came to his eyes.

“You alright?” Myran asked, offering a handkerchief. “You’re a very emotional evil giant.”

Yonah took it and dried his eyes. “The tea is… really good.” That wasn’t the real reason but right now he couldn’t process all of his emotions.

“It’s my grandma’s blend,” Myran said. “I’ve tried to replicate it using my garden, but you just can’t replicate those tunnel grown fungi.”

They dipped one of the cookies into the tea. From their expression, it wasn’t really a mistake but likely didn’t improve the experience. Still they munched thoughtfully.

“I’ll be your friend.”

Yonah’s jaw nearly hit the floor and he almost dropped his tea. It was a few seconds before he managed to pick his jaw back up. Were they serious? They walked over to him, placing their much smaller hand over one of his. Then they smiled most disarmingly.

“Just don’t eat me again.”

Yonah smiled.

“I think I can manage that”

[FIN]

——

(You can imagine that Yonah got to hug Myran before he left, probably a little too tight but dwarves are tough!)

THANKS FOR READING! PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOYED MY STORY!

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[Thanks for reading! please reblog! Or message me telling me what you think! I crave feedback! For more mystic woods go to vore-scientist.tumblr.com/tagged/mystic+woods+story or search ‘mystic woods story’]

big thanks to my amazing editors @j0hnnymouse and @vixen525

#safe vore #soft vore #gt vore #g/t vore #extreme cuddling #nonfatal vore

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crescentsteel · 4 years ago

Text

Keeping a Secret - Prologue

plot: ehehe lemme leave this blank for now as this is only a prologue genre: fluff, crack, slow burn, eventual smut, sexual tension, angst at some point wc: 2.7k

[a/n]

I am reeling just from finishing this one because Tsukki is my boy (Kuroo ily too i swear)

Who writes 2.7k words of prologue? lol me

I’ll set up the masterlist when I’m done with the 1st Chapter.

Thank you so much @oii-sugasan and @haikyuu-is-for-lovers for the betaread! :)

Let me know if you wanna be tagged

Chapter 1 || masterlist

You aren’t just annoying. You’re a fucking menace. Every time he goes to the gym, your presence is like a plague. You're just a manager, but sometimes he thinks that you think you’re the assistant coach. There’s nothing he’d love more than to shower you with the nastiest, most off-handed comments, just to shut you up and wipe the cheery grin that taunts him every time he sees you.

Seriously, you’re all over the place -- you talk to all members of the team as if you’re a player yourself, you nag everyone to take care of themselves outside training like you’re their older sister, you hand out self-gathered information on upcoming matches as soon as matchups are announced, you scamper around the gym tossing balls, assembling the net, doing whatever the hell you can get your hands on, all the while wearing those stupid shorts that distract the majority of the team, especially the new members.

As his eyes follow you, you suddenly turn around to face him, breaking him from his reverie. Even when you’re halfway across the gymnasium, he can see the sharp playfulness that you always exude whenever you talk to him.

“Tsukishima!” You wave at him with that disgustingly sweet grin. “If you’re done staring at my sexy back, you can start your blocking drills, okay?!” you shout with a voice loud enough for everyone else in the gym to hear. Tsukishima feels multiple sets of eyes glance towards his direction and he ‘tsks’ in annoyance under his breath.

He immediately walks away. He refuses to hear more of the unnecessary and untrue prattles directed at him by you.

He hears footsteps follow him. Judging from its pace and heavy strides, he already knows its Kogane without even looking

“Oi, Tsukki. Do you like our manager?”

He doesn’t understand why Kogane is whispering when you’re half a court away from them. More than that, he doesn’t understand why Kogane assumes he likes you. For one, you were wrong: he wasn’t even staring at you. He was staring randomly at nothing while thinking about how irritating you are and you just happened to be at his line of sight.

“I don’t see anything to like about her,” he replies passively.

“What? Why? She’s super helpful -- and pretty too.” Kogane, just like the rest of the team, believes so. Even Kyoutani is fond of you because of that one time you received his spike on full force. You rolled on your back from the sheer power of it but you were able to receive it perfectly, making the whole team go wild when you did, with him as the only exception as he found it inane.

“If you think so, go confess or something then.”

“You know we can’t!” Pink stains begin to surface on his teammate’s cheeks, obviously infatuated with you. Then again, this is not new to him. It was a basic reaction from anyone whose dick is more functional than their brain. Maybe it’s because you’re the only female so close to everyone else. Honestly, he really doesn’t know. But one thing’s for sure. Kogane has 0 chances with you, and neither does every player of Sendai Frogs.

He remembers the conceitedness you displayed even in your first year as a manager. You two became part of the team almost at the same time. He was two months in when the former manager introduced you to the team. As she finished introducing you, you whispered to her to add something. It went something like ‘oh, umm. y/n-chan also said that no one from the team can’t date her.’ Even the former manager looked at you weirdly but you were just there beaming as you bowed to everybody.

They thought it was a joke, but when you became a full-pledged manager in less than six months, you announced it yourself.

‘I know I’m kind of cute, but I won’t ever consider dating anyone from the team. Okay?’

You announce it with a sickening smile every time there are new members, reminding everyone else that you’re untouchable.

It’s fucking atrocious, to him at least. Unlike the other players from his team, he’s not shallow enough to fancy you just because you’re not disgusting to look at, or that you did your managerial duties so exceedingly well.

He grits his teeth. He hates it. How can someone so chaotic as you be so effective in managing the team. What grinds him even more is that you go to the same university he does, and even there, your presence stinks. He once had a class with you only to find out that you’re not as dumb as you make yourself out to be.

It’s infuriating. He can’t wait for the day you mess up -- only then would he finally get the chance to diss you. He’ll turn that shit-eating smile of yours upside down.

Man, nothing boosts your mood better than bugging Tsukishima. When you felt his sinister stare boring at your back earlier, you just couldn’t waste the opportunity to say something about it. He just ignored you, but the scowl on his face was enough response to satisfy you.

The truth is, you have nothing against Tsukishima. Yeah, he has a sharp tongue and a vile attitude, but hey, he’s a good team player. He doesn’t speak much, but he gets shit done in matches. Despite his foul personality, he’s actually manageable: he listens to you and he rarely shows up late. He’s not particularly motivating to look at, but he still does what’s asked of him. For some reason that you don’t know, he still hasn’t spat out his usual, rancid remarks towards you. You know he’s itching to, and honestly, you’re kind of curious of what he’ll throw your way.

Still, for the last three years he kept his mouth shut even though he looks at you like you’re the most unpleasant being he’s ever laid eyes on.

“Y/n!”

You jog towards the team coach, Coach Mira. “Yes, Coach?”

“Do you like Tsukishima?” she asks curiously. The question is funny to you but you hold back the laughter and smile instead.

You like Coach Mira a lot. She’s more like an older sister than a coach to you. You’re free to share a few laughs with her, and she values your input to the team. Maybe it’s because you’re both women drowned in a sea of male athletes that you sort of have that innate connection.

“No, Coach. Why?”

“Cause you pay attention to him the most.”

“I don’t see what’s to like about him,” you veer your gaze towards his direction, watching his scowling face as he walks away, Koganegawa following closely behind him. You can’t hear them, but the sight is already amusing as it is. “I just like putting him in place whenever he’s being extra nasty,” you add.

“If you say so, y/n. Honestly, I don’t really care if you go out with one of them.”

You wave your hand back and forth like you’re swatting a fly. “No way, Coach. They’re like little boys I’m taking care of.”

She sweeps her gaze behind you, scanning all the players present in the court. “Can’t say they feel the same way though.” Then she looks at the same person you’re looking at. “Well, maybe except for Tsukishima.”

“That’s why I like messing around with him the most,” you admit with mirth as you watch Tsukishima get away from Kogane.

Everyone in the gymnasium is staring as they enter the arena. If there’s one thing opposing teams remember about the Sendai Frogs, it’s their female tandem of a stone-cold coach and a ‘hot,’ bubbly manager who walk side by side in front of the whole team, not the players.

It’s not really an issue for Tsukishima. He doesn’t really care. Shimizu had the same reputation back in high school. But you? You’re not Shimizu. You aren’t even close.

And you, being the chaotic mess that you are, you milked the attention. Whenever someone blatantly gapes at you, you’d wave at them. You’d even entertain those who openly flirted with you. In retrospect, he should find it despicable. Rather finds it entertaining. So does the rest of the team.

When the Sendai Frogs reach their spot, a guy wearing a Tamaden Elephants jersey approaches you shamelessly. A brave (maybe a little bit foolish) act, considering you’re with the whole team.

“Hi!”

You turn around and greet him just as enthusiastically, maybe even more.

“I just want to say, great game from last season, he says as he scratches the back of his head.

Liar.

If the guy really wants to acknowledge the team’s play from last season, he’d approach one of the players. He also wouldn’t have that stupid blush on his awe-struck face.

“Thank you! Great game indeed,” you return the compliment.

As soon as the guy starts fidgeting, Tsukishima can already guess what comes next: it’s either a date or your number.

“If you don’t mind, can I get your number?”

Tsukishima sneers at how predictable the scene is, and he can’t wait to see what comes next.

You beam at the guy. “Sure! It’s number 1.”

He still smiles even though he’s obviously dumb-founded. “Sorry, what?”

“My number, right? It’s 1. Cause we’re number 1 in the district,” You say with that fake innocence that isn’t really fooling anyone.

“...Uhh.”

“Go Sendai Frogs!” You cheer out of the blue and as if an automated response, the rest of the team, even Tsukishima (though lifelessly), answers.

“Sendai Frogs fight!”

The loud baritone of deep male voices drew the attention of other people in the area, brightening your face up even more as you focus on the guy in front of you again. He looks scandalized by what just happened.

“How about you? What’s your number?” you ask, pushing the guy to a mental corner as Tsukishima and his team glares at him while waiting for how he’ll answer. An embarrassed blush replaces the previously infatuated one as he realizes that he shouldn’t have made the mistake of hitting on you.

“I-I’m not really sure,” his voice loses any shred of confidence it once had.

“Oh. That’s too bad,” you feign sympathy.

“Yeah.” The guy looks down. “Guess I’ll see you around,” he adds before retreating defeatedly.

“Bye! Nice to meet you,” you wave cordially. ‘Whoever you are, newbie elephant,’ you say to yourself as you watch the unfamiliar member of the Elephants go back to his team, a team you wiped the floor with last season.

Until now, you don’t understand why people still even bother. You welcomed the flirtations, but never really went out with anybody. You’re not really opposed to getting in a relationship, but like -- Gooood! They’re all so uninteresting. Rejecting them is more fun than the mere prospect of dating them.

You feel a familiar touch on your shoulder.

“Good job boosting the team morale,” Coach Mari says in a volume that only you can hear as she pats you.

“Thanks, Coach!” You grin at her praise.

You turn around to check your players and your eyes instantly land on Tsukishima who had just put on his white headphones and began scrolling at his phone. Around him, everyone else has already started stretching.

You bounce your way to him, knowing that you’d instantly get his attention even without saying anything. But even with you ogling when you stopped in front of him, he still doesn’t budge.

“Tsukishima.”

No response.

‘Heh,’ you snicker internally. He never fails to amuse you when he tries to ignore you.

“Tsu~ ki~ shi~ ma~” You bob your head sideways, popping at the opposing sides of his phone so he’ll notice you.

You don’t miss the minute twitch of his eyes as he drags his phone closer to him in an attempt to shut you out.

Tsk tsk. He should know better by now that you're not the type to back away.

You go beside him instead, tiptoeing so you can see what he’s so busy looking at. As soon as your arms touch his, he puts down his phone and irritatedly removes his headphones.

He’s shooting daggers at you, making you giddy with excitement as he looks like he’s about to say something you. You hold his gaze with a raised eyebrow and subtle smirk that you couldn’t suppress. Did he get fed up already? Is he finally going to say something?

‘Do it. Do it. Do it,’ you chant in your head.

He takes in a painful deep breath instead. “What?” The single word contains so much disdain that you want to cackle so bad.

“Shouldn’t you be stretching?” you query.

“In a bit.”

You leisurely shake your head with disapproval. “I know you’re a lazy ass fucker sometimes,” you begin. “But you always help us win. You’re our meanest, tallest, best blocker.” Your gaze drops down to his ankles and travels up.

“So,” you continue, dropping your voice amusedly, “stretch those gorgeous, God-given, legs you have.” Your eyes linger on his thighs before landing up to his face to smile sweetly at him. “Will you?”

This is one of the moments you’re pretty sure he won’t dare talk back at you. Why? Because you’re one hundred percent right, and he knows that too.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t hate it.

He glares at you for one second and walks towards the rest of the team to join them.

Playing at the professional level, he always considers one match to be a big win already, even if it’s just the first match of the regular rounds. Ever since he became a starter for Sendai Frogs, he was not allowed to slack off even for one rally. He could take the lecture if it’s from Coach, but he couldn’t stomach it if it’s from you.

Even before the match started, you were already on his grill, pestering him just because he wasn’t warming up yet. He was pissed the whole game and put extra effort than usual to make sure that you won’t have anything to say after.

“Um, excuse me.” A girl from Red Rabbits blocks him on his way to the restroom. “Tsukishima, right?”

He can tell that she is trying her best to look nonchalant, but the familiar tint on her face is telling.

Tsukishima had never understood girls who approach him for anything remotely romantic. Does he look like he’s interested? It’s not that he’s not open to the idea of dating, but he finds it unpleasant when people go after him because they like how he plays. Worse, for some obtuse reason like him being ‘cute.’

“Yes. Why?”

She smiles at him bashfully with her arms crossed behind her. “I’m also a middle blocker. I was really inspired with how you read block so well. If it’s okay with you, can you teach me how you do it?”

Why would he do that? He’s already a senior college student who’s also a professional athlete. He has no reason to go out of his way to teach someone read blocking. Especially someone who’s already supposed to know it since (as she claims) she’s also a middle blocker. Judging from where they currently are, someone from Division 1 no less.

“Sorry. I’m really busy,” he says bluntly.

“Oh, okay. Sorry for bothering you.” She bows then takes off immediately.

He watches as the girl from Red Rabbits scampers off as quickly as humanly possible. Did she really think he’d agree to it?

He is too occupied to notice the faint sound of footsteps behind him, and only when you speak does he notice your presence.

“Aww, poor girl going out of her way to ask you out.”

He groans. Why are you even here? You’re supposed to be checking on the team since their match just ended.

You fall into step beside him as he brushes your comment off and continues heading for the rest rooms.

“I didn’t ask her to,” he calmly responds despite your irksome presence.

“How are you going to get a girlfriend like that?” you ask exaggeratedly as if not getting in a relationship will lead to his ruin.

“I don’t need one.”

You gasp. “Damn, Tsukishima. Men your age are all about raging hormones. Where do you put all that raging testosterone?”

He purses his lips in a corner, his jaw tensing at your remark. Men his age? You talk as if you’re older when you’re in the same year he is.

Also, what the fuck?

Now you’re nagging about his personal life too? You’re already aggravating as the team manager. Now you’re even sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.

His blatant irritation must have shown in his face because you suddenly let out a giggle. “My bad, my bad. Don’t look so scary. Geez. Where you get action is none of my business. I just followed you to let you know that we’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

You turn around, about to go back but stop before you make the first step. “Oh, and we have a meeting later. I did the stat sheets of the game and gave it to the coach already. Great blocking, Tsukishima!” You pat his shoulder twice with a proud smile, then saunter off back to the arena.

Damn it. If only you aren’t so good at being a manager, he would actually be able to dislike you to the fullest. Not only that, he wouldn’t feel that silly, tiny contentment he felt upon hearing you.

Chapter 1 || masterlist

Taglist:(those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem @akaashisslave @tsumurai @babythotshq

#tsukishima x reader #tsukishima x you #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima crack #haikyuu x reader #tsukishima angst #tsukisima series #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu crack

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methoxyethane · 4 years ago

Text

“Gather up all of the crew, it's time to ship out Bink's brew, sea wind blows, to where, who knows? The waves will be our guide…

“O'er across the ocean's tide, rays of sunshine far and wide, birds they sing of cheerful things, in circles passing by…”

Lance followed the sound of singing all the way to the beach. The sea shanty was farmilair in words, but the normally cheerful song was being sung in a slow minor key, turning it into something soft and beautiful to the ear.

“Bid farewell to weaver's town, say so long to port renowned. Sing a song, it won't be long, before we're casting off...”

Normally Lance wouldn’t feel any urge to randomly follow anyone’s voice to an unknown location, but there was something about this one that was… compelling. Alluring, even, and though Lance’s senses were on high alert and warning him of imminent danger, he couldn’t seem to stop his body from following the sound of that seductive voice all the way to the rocky ends of the shore.

When he finally arrived at the source of that enticing song, he saw someone sitting on a rock, half in and half out of the water. Long black hair spilled down their back like ink, and at the sound of footsteps approaching in the sand they turned around, revealing the most stunning pair of violet eyes Lance had ever laid his gaze on.

It took a second to even notice that it was a man, so caught up was Lance in the stranger’s beauty. But of course it was a man, he had the low beautiful voice that only a man would reasonably have, but Lance had been too bewitched by the song to even think of noticing that fact.

The stranger locked eyes with Lance, and slowly smiled. “Cross the gold and silver seas, the salty spray puts us at ease~” He continued to sing, and Lance, not sure why, found himself stepping closer still. “Day and night to our delight, the voyage never ends…”

It was, he realized as he rounded the rock to face the beauty he’d followed, a mermaid. That should have also been obvious much earlier, like, as in when he noticed the stranger was shirtless and sitting in the water, but. Well, Lance could be forgiven for not figuring it out until he saw the smooth shiny red tail leading down into the ocean.

“Yohohoho, yoho hoho… Yohohoho, yoho hoho…” The merman sang, locking eyes with Lance and smiling. Lance moved closer still, within reach of the beautiful creature, who was slowly reaching out a hand to Lance.

Lance put his hand in the merman’s, eyes never straying from that lovely violet gaze for even a moment. He was drawn closer still, close enough to be a breath away from the merman’s face, close enough to kiss…

And then the merman grinned, toothy and razor-sharp, and Lance had half a second to think “Whoops,” to himself before the merman was tilting his head and sinking his teeth directly into Lance’s neck.

He had jerked back in time to prevent any arteries from being hit, but not fast enough to prevent being bitten. Fortunately for him, that didn’t last long - after just a moment the merman - no, the siren’s eyes were blowing wide, and he reeled back, releasing Lance’s throat and spitting his blood into the water like he’d just tasted something rancid.

“What the fuck?” The siren coughed, glaring at Lance like he was the one who’d done something offensive. “What is that, why do you taste so... wrong?”

Lance stumbled back a few steps, clutching at his already-healing bitten neck. “What the fuck, dude! You just tried to EAT me!”

“Of course I did, that’s what sirens DO!” The siren defended hotly, still glaring daggers at Lance. “I’ve been singing here for two days waiting to lure someone in, I finally catch someone and you’re completely inedible! What is wrong with you that I can’t eat you, you freak?”

Lance bristled like an enraged cat, having heard the word ‘freak’ thrown in his direction many, many times in his life. “Well forgive me for only being half human! Maybe YOU’RE the freak for trying to eat a Fae to begin with!”

“Fae? Goddamn you and your cursed blood, too! Useless!” They were interrupted by the sound of the siren’s stomach growling, low and loud.

Then his words registered to Lance, and he asked, “Wait. You haven’t eaten in two days?”

The siren gestured out to the ocean, which was, on this part of the sea, enclosed by rocks on most sides and a low beach on the other. “It’s low tide. I’ve been stuck here for three days, and I already ate the few fish that were dumb enoguh to get caught in this spot with me.”

Lance looked out over the waters. “You can’t just climb over the rocks?”

The siren glared at him, turning back towards the ocean again. “That’s not your business,” he hissed, but instead of hiding his left arm he only brought attention to it’s mangled state.

Lance stepped forward again, turning the siren around by the shoulder to get a look at his left arm. It looked broken in at least one place and probably hurt like a bitch, and Lance winced in sympathy at the sight of it.

The siren jerked back out of Lance’s grip, slipping into the water and out of reach.

“Wait!” Lance called, wading into the water. “Let me help you,” he pleaded. “I can help you, I promise. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I just tried to EAT you,” the siren reminded him.

“Yeah, which means you owe me for the bite you just tried to take out of my neck. Now hold still and let me see your arm.”

The siren eyed Lance warily, but the water wasn’t deep enough for him to be able to swim out of Lance’s range and they both knew it. Hesitantly, but not welcomingly, he allowed Lance to wade close enough to see his arm, which looked like it had been bashed against the rocks and snapped in two places when he’d been washed onto this shallow beach.

“What happened to you?” Lance asked, activating the little magic his blood awarded him with to begin to ease the swelling and close the bloodied gashes on the siren’s arm.

Violet eyes widened as the siren watched, and more likely felt, the healing magic start to do its work. “I was chased here,” was all he said in reply, and honestly Lance could guess the rest. These shores were not friendly to those who were less than human.

“The bone isn’t going to heal unless I set it back into place. Will you let me do that?”

The siren glared at him, pouty bottom lip jutting out in displeasure, but after a moment he nodded.

“This is going to hurt,” Lance warned, feeling out where the three separate halves of his broken arm were so he’d know what direction he needed to realign them into.

Having figured out what he needed to do, Lance gave the siren no warning. With two quick movements he snapped the bone shards back into place, causing the siren’s pained hiss to turn into a yelp of surprised agony, reeling back and clutching at the arm Lance had just relocated.

“I’m not done yet,” Lance said carefully, beckoning the siren to come back towards him. “I have to heal the bone or you’ll never get out of here in one piece.”

The siren hissed at him again, but after a few moments of hiding in the water, he eventually swam back to Lance to offer his arm one more time.

Lance’s healing magic was not strong, so it took long minutes of the siren’s pained laboured breaths before the bones were knit back into place. Unfortunately for both of them, Lance couldn’t even finish the job before his magic was completely depleted, and he could help no more.

He let go of the siren’s arm, stepping away back towards the shore. “That’s as much as I can do for now. It won’t be enough for you to scale those rocks yet, but…”

Warily, the siren asked, “But what?”

“If you’ll let me, I’ll come back tomorrow and try and finish healing it. And… Maybe I can bring you some fish, too. So you don’t starve in the meantime.”

The siren still looked like Lance had two heads, and he wasn’t sure which one to trust. “And why would you do that for me? Why would you do any of this for me?”

Lance shrugged, and smiled. “Maybe because you’re cute? But probably… Probably because us freaks have to stick together, right?”

The siren sank down into the ocean again, only his eyes visible over the water.

“I’m Lance, by the way.” Lance finally offered, just as he was turning to wade back to shore. “I’ll see you again tomorrow?”

The siren popped his head up out of the water just long enough to utter one word. “Keith,” he said, almost too quietly to hear.

Lance grinned. “I’ll see you tomorrow… Keith.”

Keith ducked back under the water again, but not in time for Lance to miss the slight flush that reddened his cheeks at the sound of his name rolling off of Lance’s tongue.

Huh. So much for sirens being cold-blooded.

—

#klance #mermay

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whalesfallmoved · 4 years ago

Text

soft descent

Wedding vows for the dead. Neither of you ever had a chance.

chargestep. rated m. twisted memories and revenge and nightmares of all kinds and ricardo ortega, starring as sidestep’s poorly repressed self-doubt, in a manner of speaking.

or, sidestep sees nothing clearly, and her head has never been a pleasant place to be.

warnings: implications of suicide, slight body horror, violence, injury. hurt, without comfort, because of course.

ao3 link.

——

“Oof, that’s going to leave a mark.”

You’re standing next to the window in the dark the sun blistering overhead and the glass shattered underfoot. He’s looking down. You’re looking at him. It’s always been like that. When you look down you’ll see— no. You’re not going to look down. You’re going to look at him.

“It didn’t feel great.”

He smiles and it’s broken, one hand on the windowsill, one hand on his gut where Catastrofiend’s goodbye kiss drips slowly, wetly, a splash of violence against the cobalt blue skinsuit, Ranger-proud. You want to say you should get that looked at but it wouldn’t do any good, he’s already gotten blood all over the carpet.

Soft laugh and when he licks his lips you can see a hint of red, waiting to get coughed up, waiting to get expelled, the body killing itself to save itself—you remember the way it stuck between your fingers, the delirium—beg, the monster-thing demanded, and he laughed then too.

You look down at your hands. The way they curl up, clinging to air.

Are you bleeding? You must be.

“Yeah, I know all about that.”

“No,” you shake your head and your spine pops, “you don’t.”

“What, are we comparing jumps now?”

“Are we?” wouldn’t that be something. He never talked about this before, why start now? Trying to get you to forgive him? You won’t.

“It was a longer drop.”

“And there were people there to help you.”

“Depends on your definition of help.” Head jerk to the side, beckoning you to look, look down, look at them, look at you. “Technically, they helped you too.”

Bite down, taste blood and bile. Have you started choking yet down there? You remember the way it sluiced up your throat, the way you could feel the crack and splinter of your ribcage. His brows furrow a little and maybe he feels bad. You hope so. You hope it’s twisting him up inside.

“Wish they’d helped me to the morgue.”

Exhale, ragged and wet and torn.

“Yeah, those contracts are a bitch, huh? Nothing like a blood debt.”

“What, you want me to feel bad for you?” You taunt, vision hazy bones aching— pulse in your ribs, they must have picked you up by now, isn’t that nice. He’s still looking down, waiting for something to happen. “Poor Ricardo. The US government branded on his ass till the day he dies. Join the fucking club.”

“Hey—” he hisses, flashing his eyes to you finally, “you could pretend to sympathize.”

“I’m so sorry you have posters and trading cards and get invited to award ceremonies and—”

“Oh, I knew I have trading cards, but how did you know I have trading cards,” a wink, sly, charming and wrong, like a bone splitting the skin. “Collecting them, aren’t you?”

“You wish.”

You want to throw up. His neck is bruised.

He sighs, knocks his fist against the window. You both flinch. “They’re gonna keep you going till you’ve got nothing left to give, you know.”

And this time it’s your turn to laugh, bitter and cruel and serrated. You want to twist the knife in his gut you want to rake your nails down his skin, it’s the least- it’s the least you can do, god you are so angry you shake, but you’ve always been good at staying still. Hold your breath, don’t scream, fuck that hurts, and now he’s looking at you full on. “I’m already out. No thanks to you.”

Maybe he sees the way your hands are starting to twitch. The smile softens and you want to kiss-bite-punch it bruise blue to match his stupid fucking suit.

“Are you?”

Are.

You?

I am.

Am I?

A snake in your throat curling up ready to snap bite. Your lips twist, scene hazy at the edges, and when you get your hands around his neck (oh those are the bruises, they look like your hands) you’ll both be sorry—“fuck off.”

Magic words.

Ortega shrugs, pushes the window open like it doesn’t matter, like it didn’t matter, like he can just do that; he always had to make it about himself, can’t even leave you your death, can’t even leave you your place at the window.

You want to shove him away from it.

You want to shove him through it.

“If you insist.”

Close your eyes.

One.

Two.

Three.

—

Dr. Mortum does not smile, not until Angel flashes her a wicked grin and a bag of cash and a promise of more where that came from if— if— if—

She flips through the schematics, eyes brightening—the loose design, the necessities, the ideas—oh, you are going to do such great things together.

“It can be done, I assure you.”

“Excellent. My employer wants nothing but the best.”

—

The sound of waves takes the edge off the thump of a corpse hitting the ground, but you aren’t ready for it—you aren’t ready for the scent of rotting meat, rancid and cloying under the Los Diablos sun.

You open your eyes and when you look down, a dead girl is mangled, half gone. You think— she almost looks like your target.

Huh.

“That’s a bad idea, you know.”

Voice soft prying you know it and you groan, twist, turn, the sand uneven and blood-splattered.

He’s got that loose hold, hip jutted on a rock arms crossed, too casual for the teething gore surrounding them. Suit torn and eaten at, blood drip-drip-dripping down his arm where the skin is all gone, you keep waiting for them to crawl through the sand and eat you both alive. Maybe you won’t save him this time.

“Which one?” You ask, and when you look down you’re in the old suit, fitted like an infected wound. You yank at the collar, touch your cheek, your face— you’d covered your face here, hadn’t you? Yes.

He smiles. Shakes his head.

He hadn’t let them touch you, even when you collapsed, even when they wanted to help.

Not that it matters. None of it matters anymore.

“So you do care about my opinion?”

“No,” you murmur, choking down a gag—dead meat, food for the nanovores, food for the flies, “but that’s never stopped you before.”

“True,” he winks, running through the motions; what you remember, what you want to forget. Oh god you want to forget. You want to peel back this body and dig into the marrow and pull, pull, pull until the memories unravel in streams of violent orange.

He pushes off the rock, kicks his long legs out and walks too easily for a man that almost got eaten alive five minutes ago. “Walk with me?” He asks the way you don’t ask, you order, and throws his wounded arm over your shoulder, locking you hip to hip, no way out.

You sink under the weight, slotted to his side like a mismatched puzzle piece. Nothing about you fits, disjointed, dislocated. You’ve been shaped wrong for a long time now. They didn’t put all the parts back right. A doll unstitched and gutted for parts, but they didn’t— did they recycle you? Just medical waste and scars.

“You take me to the nicest places,” you say because it’s the only thing you can say when the sky looks like God wrapped his big meaty fist around it so tightly till it swelled and pinkened.

Black clouds on the skyline. Here they come. Don’t they know how strong you are now? How many webs you can weave? You crack your knuckles and almost smile.

Then you see: Tía Elena crosses herself in the background. She shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe. Why haven’t they evacuated all the civilians?

“Well, you never let me take you anywhere else,” he huffs, ignoring his mother as they walk on by, and that’s not— that’s not right?

It— no. You don’t want to be here. You can’t do that to him, not even now.

—

Fuck that’s good you’re invincible. The reckoning day is coming and when it does you’ll watch out for this one, you’ll remember her, how it felt to sit in her skin and move under it, but she can’t stop you. None of them can stop you now.

You smile and it’s sharp and cruel and silver. You almost almost almost want him to show up but the victory wouldn’t be quite as sweet, and you don’t really want to take a lightning bolt to the chest. Even if it wouldn’t slow you down, it’d still fucking hurt.

But it doesn’t matter. When you drive your foot into the golden boy’s chest you can feel his ribs crack a little bit and that’s even better. You’ll be riding the high of that for weeks after this. He’s a kicked puppy and you want— you want to kick him again, but there’s no time for that, no time for anything.

You wonder if Steel recognizes the grin right before you drop her like a body bag.

—

Gasp—jump spin dodge—near miss, fuck—Ortega laughed at the start but he’s not laughing anymore, smoke on the air, electricity crackling over his skin.

Fire off at its head one two, one miss, one hit. Head jerks, twists.

The thing-beast groans— don’t look at me i’m not here don’t look— “yOu...” guttural ugly it sees you, it sees you.

Run run run don’t touch me— “Noa!” He shouts and you stop drop and roll just in time for a blade to swing down, headsman’s axe, grazing the suit but not quite touching. Space where your body was empty, and it howls rage-snap.

“Mother— fucker!”

This. This you remember.

You remember the way its mind shucked the skin off your bones, all slick-blood drip drip drip. Gory, wrong, wound over wire, dirty fingernails scraping on the myelin, eating eating down down down— you remember: if you let it in it’ll kill you, cut your throat on its twisty edge thoughts as quick as a knife in hand.

You remember the images in your head— its plans, its ideas, the ways it was going to ply and split him down the middle like a rotten fruit. You couldn’t look at him for weeks. Almost. He was almost.

Almost.

Blink and the scene changes, and backup’s arrived, and you’re holding onto him, your mind pressed up against ITS just enough to make you both disappear. You threw up again and again afterward, but you still couldn’t forget, oil-slick.

not here we’re not here don’tlookatus

Then: you covered the wound with your own hands.

Now: you tilt your head to the side, pet his hair. It still doesn’t hurt as bad as the final impact, hitting the ground, or what came next. Suck it up.

“I told you,” he slurs, eyes half-mast, must be hazy from the blood loss. The human body can only take so much, even with the cutting edge mods. “I know all about that.”

“You don’t know anything. You don’t know anything at all.”

Hand over wound, you push down and he groans. You might as well save him again. You still haven’t had that showdown, and you’re gunning for a win. A dozen to one then, but you’ve gotten better, faster, smarter, your body catching up with your thoughts, and he doesn’t think at all. Doesn’t even matter if he did, you wouldn’t be able to hear it.

“C’mon, Noa,” that’s not your name, that’s the name he gave you—your name is a mouthful, he’d grinned and you’d rolled your eyes and flushed, but now it sticks like a stove burn—numbers and names and Noa, Noa, no one else has ever gotten close enough to name you— fuck you. “Throw me a bone here.”

“No.”

“Fine.” he gasps, chokes, but the words still spill loose, “but you can’t hate me for what you didn’t tell me.” He says, sounding so fucking reasonable while he’s bleeding out on your lap, and now you definitely have to save him, now you definitely have to make sure he lives, just so you can level him for that alone. Just wait, a feeling builds up in your chest, his day is coming and it’s coming fast.

“Don’t tell me what I can’t hate you for.” You want to snarl, a fighting dog, a dog fit for the ring, but it comes out weak, threadbare, and you hate the way your hands shake, the way your throat hardens up and each word is estranged from your mouth.

“At least give me a chance to prove you wrong.”

“Why?” Is that your voice? Small and weak, a child learning to make a fist, thumb tucked in. But you were never a child. You were never small.

“You know me,” he punches out a laugh and it breaks like a sob, “I love a challenge.”

“This isn’t a challenge, Ricardo. There’s just nothing left.”

—

He.

“November?”

He is.

“I thought you were dead—”

Older. Different. That feels wrong, wrong. He should be the same he can’t have changed that much. Fuck that moustache is ridiculous. He looks so heavy with grief, or is that just you, reflected back? A labyrinth of static.

It’s all blurry and too much, not enough, but maybe— for a moment— for a moment everything shatters, fingers under a suture, and maybe— it’s just a flash of his eyes, real and in front of you and not blurred by a late night show or security footage fight you only watched to make sure he still leads with his left sucker punch with his right and maybe—

“Are you still a telepath?”

You say yes and feel like a fool and you tell him a dash of the truth and you feel like a wound and you can’t hate me for what you didn’t tell me.

Your hands are shaking. You make a fist.

He wants— he wants something.

A raw crack down your spine and you smile and it feels wrong. Maybe it looks wrong. He won’t stop watching you like you’ll disappear if he blinks more than once, if he looks away, and maybe you will. Maybe you’re just ash and graveyard dirt held together with sutures and wire.

You want to crawl through the floor to someplace small and dark and cold where no one will ever find you again.

You tell him just enough, just enough to keep on hating him.

It’ll be easier that way.

—

Rewind.

“That’s a bad idea, you know.” He cackles as you thrust out a punch—miss—and dodge his return, feet sliding on the mat. You can’t believe you let him talk you into this, a friendly spar on Ranger soil.

“Which one?” Thrust dodge lock your ankle around his own, slipping up letting you get close like that, rookie mistake— twist of your hip— throw! and the satisfying slap of skin on the mat, his skin, his body hitting the ground, but he holds hard and pulls you down with him (if you go i go) and you land— oof! breathless and grinning and on top, finally, finally.

Fingers lock and you shift, thighs on either side, pin him down, his emitters humming biting pinching but you got him, and you aren’t letting go. A shiver skip-dances down your spine, static-charged.

“I win,” you growl, a winner’s grin biting into your cheeks, free and loose (where’s your mask?)

He squeezes your hand, sends a low-grade jolt up your palms sharp, just to see what you’ll do, jellyfish stings, and you squeeze back harder, lean down till you can feel his breath hot on your lips. You never got this close before, he’s so solid beneath you.

Ricardo, grinning back, a halo of black curls fanned out, sticking to his brow all slick with sweat, “what is that, a dozen to one?”

“Shut up,” he can’t take this from you, not yet, “don’t be a sore loser.”

“Actually, I’m enjoying myself quite a bit right now. I should let you win more often.”

“Fuck you,” but it tears out a laugh far too sweet for your mouth. You feel segmented and gentle, like a scorpion smashed on a rock left out to rot in the sun. Maybe he’ll take you home, run his fingers through your matted hair and not mind the stingers or the venom. You weren’t made for a laughter light like this, and if there was ever a time you could be it’s long gone now, but you still want him to touch you, a want like a scar healed wrong.

“Buy me dinner first— ah!” You let go just to crack your palm against the top of his head, anything to wipe that smug edge off, and— “okay, fine, I’ll buy dinner,” but this time when your hand comes down he catches it, brings it to his lips, soft on your palm— oh god, oh god it hurts.

“And then what?” You dare, you gasp, you’ve never been that bold—couldn’t afford boldness, always a coward at heart and that’s how he always won, but for a moment you let your fingers curl along his cheekbone. His eyes slide closed, kissing still—dart of tongue, tracing the line of your palm. How long is my life? How many children will I have? What do the cracks in the skin say? Maybe his mouth can divine something human in the shape of your hand, even if the lines there aren’t really yours, just a thing they gave you to play pretend.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, still not giving you his gaze, a pained crush to his brow, “you did ask me to take you somewhere nice.”

“Did I?”

“Don’t you remember?”

“Liar. I never asked you to do anything.”

He smiles right on your skin, like a knife sliding under your gut—girl/deer, splayed out on the slaughterhouse floor of his kindness. The world hazes at the edges, curling up set aflame.

Somewhere nice. Too bad it can’t last.

Finally. Finally he looks at you. Sees you. How long has it been since someone hasn’t stared through?

“No, you didn’t. I wish you would have.”

—

Choking hard gasp and the phone screams or maybe you do. Your teeth throb.

The room is heavy dark save for the corners of curtained sunlight peeking through, the air scented thickly of cheap candles and candy wrappers. The sheets are sweat-slick and you can smell your own skin, the rawness of sleep on it. Musky. Unsterilized.

The fabric sticks and itches. Fingers under the hem, you toss the sweater aside, hear it thump damply against a wall.

Breathe. Hand to chest and yes, that’s your heart, rocking in your rib cage, slowing down. You breathe with in—ten—tion.

One.

Two.

Three.

Okay, you’re okay. You can do this. You can still do this.

—

“I don’t want to do this here.”

He holds out a plate of food, tilts his head to the side, the corners of his mouth twitching up. Pushes the plate into your hands, and you take it—just hold out something to someone and nine times out of ten they’ll take it without thinking, asking only after they’ve agreed to carry the burden.

Silly you, you never had a choice.

His apartment is soft and safe around the edges, and your heart gets sticky in your chest. You think maybe those are your books on his shelf, the ones you lost after—

“What’s wrong with here?” He shrugs, brushing past toward the table, beckoning you to follow with a grin and a nudge.

“I like it here.” You answer honestly, for once, and he beams, a light bright enough to burn.

“I know.”

“So why are you ruining it?”

“Ruining it?” Hurt. Smile gone.

“Take me somewhere else. Anywhere else.” Somewhere cruel and sharp as a scalpel to the throat. Psychopather or Overlord or the dilapidated construction ruin you jumped out of at the second story and broke your wrist because you made a deal— you agreed to a dare— race you to the bottom down the stairs— if you lose you have to answer my questions— and god, you didn’t want to answer anything, anything at all, and he’d screamed your name, cursed you out, told you don’t be an idiot what if you broke your neck and flinched when you snapped I was just following your lead.

“I can’t,” he shakes his head and you have to sit down, set the plate on the table before you drop it, wouldn’t want to break the fine china. Did his mother give him this? You think so; he’d taken such care, stacking each plate freshly hand washed before putting them away.

“Liar.”

“Not this time,” a loaded smile, a loaded gun, his fork twirls around on his plate. Shadow of a wrist and a vague gesture to the seams of the scenery. “This is all you. Your shape. What you made. I’m just along for the ride.”

“Then I’m not staying.”

Shrug again. Why won’t he do anything else? A looped tape, a slight glitch. Something’s wrong.

You’re wrong, maybe.

“Not even for dinner?”

You stand up. Pace. There are plans— things to be done— finishing touches— you can’t stay here. You can’t.

“What do you want, Noa?” He asks, so softly, so gently, it would be kinder if he killed you there, but you know he won’t; it’ll take a lot more than bad table manners to push him to that, but maybe you can do it. Maybe you can get him a little ruthless, even more desperate. You’ve seen it before, in flashes, coiling green under his skin. Won’t it be funny if he breaks before you do? No blood on your hands, not yet. What a record. Fitting, almost.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Why?”

“Hard to work on an empty stomach,” he shrugs again, fuck, stop doing that. Bare feet silent on the carpet and you find yourself back at the table, back in the chair, sitting across from him and there’s nowhere to go—

Blink.

Sterile antiseptic white walls and doctors— in your apartment— your neighbor? Yes, that’s your neighbor he accused you of staring once, the fuck are you lookin’ at? And you weren’t staring, at least not like that, but it took a soft nudge of don’t look at me for him to go all the same. Strange. You didn’t think a doctor would live here. It’s a bad side of town, but it’s good for sidestepping.

You think: I am going to wake up now.

Wait. No. You say this out loud. It comes through with the wet ache of drowning.

No. Wait. Your words roll back down your throat—you didn’t say it. You didn’t say anything at all. You never have.

All the words roll in but they’re not yours you’re fit to burst.

It must be nice being able to speak.

Not here.

Maybe that’s what it is to be human.

Get real, you think because you stick your fingers in a few skulls and cut your teeth on some gray matter while someone thinks about love you know what being human is?

I could. I could know.

They gave you a tongue and mouth and lips but you can’t kiss and you can’t make words, you can only patch together the syntax, call it real, call it human—but when you speak it’s always going to be with someone else’s voice, strangled out.

The walls are whiter now and the lights slice your skin like a hot knife through butter. It isn’t a cliff but a door you’ve already walked through and the ocean inside the warehouse inside the apartment is now a table with handcuffs. His table. Her table. You jerk your wrists and the metal clanks hard and fuck no not here not here please take me back i’m sorry i want to go back—

(he’s coming to get you)

(he wouldn’t leave you here)

(no time for the dramatics ricardo just get the door let’s blow this popsicle stand)

She smiles at you from across that metal table (wait) and tells you that you are never going to die (stop) because to die you have to be alive (i am i am i?) and you should know better by now we are going to do such great things together (please)

aren’t we,

aren’t we.

aren’t i?

wake up now- i want to— please.

—

You’re alone in the dark, the armor fits perfectly, and that’s all that matters.

(when you become a casualty revoked from the grave get ready a revenant coming back to eat them alive oh oh oh just you wait)

You think you’ll keep the name.

(sidestep and charge reunited again you can see the headlines now and fuck you can’t wait to see the look on his face you were always a pair maybe he’ll stop you wouldn’t that be something)

You don’t sleep.

—

He doesn’t stop you.

—

“Noa?”

“Yes?”

“You are... fine, right?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’d tell me if something was wrong?”

“Of course I would.”

—

Your dreams are filmy, cracked wombs of (not not not) memories and gummy tissue. Press on it too hard and it moves back just the same but with a muscle deep ache. At least you know it’s a dream this time, and when you go up the stairs and find him there, you don’t hiss or spit or curse. You’ve done enough of that. He’ll carry the scars to prove it.

He’s looking out the window. He’s looking at you.

No, he’s looking at you. You flinch and you don’t know why.

“Really? Even here?”

“What?”

“Take the mask off at least. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen your pretty face.”

You reach up and your fingers find hard armor, not supple skinsuit. When you look back his face is different, older, not the poster-ready Marshal but aged, aching, and you ache with it, bone-deep.

You’re so tired. You wonder if he is too.

The helmet comes off. Drops with a thump.

You go to the window. After all, there’s nowhere else left, and he asked so nicely.

“What do we do now?” You ask, so softly. Still can’t look outside. Still don’t want to see what he sees. Better to watch him watch you. Now that you’re on the other side of things, you prefer it when you’re the one doing the bleeding—what a thing.

“I don’t know,” a laugh a sob or something in between, he crosses his arms and turns away, turns toward you. “Did you ever figure out what you want?”

“Yeah.”

You blink and he’s himself again, younger, more angular, a grin fit for the big screen on his handsome, handsome face. It’s easier to talk to him like this, the way you remember, the way it should be. Time didn’t move while you were gone, and you’re the only one still snapped in half.

A pause. Are you smiling now? It must be a sad little thing though, because his eyes soften up and a frown mars his forehead.

“I want to watch you grow old.”

“What, so you can keep on teasing me? That never stopped you before.”

“Shut up, I’m not done yet.” you whisper, stepping forward, stepping up to the cliff’s edge.

“I want to watch you grow old,” reaching for his hand, and he lets you have them both, cradled so carefully—and your gloves are black and armored and insulated, but not the most protected part of your body. Could he kill you with a surge? Maybe. “And I want to watch you die in a bed. Your bed.”

“A little morbid,” he murmurs but you’ve got to keep going, you’ve got to get it out, because once it’s out you’ll never have to look at it again. “But I guess that tracks.”

Turn over his hands, you thumb at his emitters. Hint of a spark, and you laugh and now it’s sob, now it’s a wound. You won’t look at him. “I want to watch the arthritis take your hands and I want to take you away from this fucking city and we’ll both be so bored out of our minds, we’ll start inventing problems just to fix them.”

“Careful, Noa,” hands turn over, running up your armored wrists, grasping at your forearms. “That almost sounds like a happy ending.”

Wedding vows for the dead. Neither of you ever had a chance. You don’t have one now.

“And we can’t have that.”

You look up. The sun’s on his face now, turning his eyes a shade of deep whiskey, and that’s how you want to remember him; alive under the sun, smile lines just forming, his nose a bit crooked from getting punched one too many times. You’ll be on the ground in a moment.

“No,” he agrees, grasping at your elbows now, pulling you close, and you cling to his in turn. “We can’t.” Flash and grin, and there he is, just like you remember. Challenging, challenger. No chance, and neither of you know when to quit. “Want to up the stakes a bit?”

“Always.”

You let go first. Of course. You turn to the window. You open it.

“Whoever falls fastest wins.”

“And what do I get when I win?” When, not if.

“A quick and painless death.”

“Fuck,” you breathe. “That’s a hell of a thing. How do I know you won’t cheat?”

“You don’t,” he winks, steps back, head tilt toward the window. Mirrored. You’ve got one hand on the windowsill and one hand curled around your gut, where he sunk that barb between the plates before you cracked his skull on the ground before all of Los Diablos. “You never do. Isn’t that part of the fun?”

You take your place at the window, you set your shoulders, look down. What’s he been looking at all this time?

Long way down, and you wait to see her; you, in soft skinsuit, teal and black and bloody and broken, but she isn’t there.

Just an ambulance, an end repeating itself.

“Person who falls the fastest, huh?”

“And hits the ground hardest.”

You climb up, clench your jaw.

It always ends like this.

“You’re on.”

#chargestep #fhr #mywriting #okay-- I have not slept. and that is indeed a problem. and this should probably get more than a cursory glance-over. alas.#there's running themes in here somewhere- I swear- but until then I'm going to sleep #ricardo strictly through noa's twisted memories and flawed perceptions and rage up until she finds him again - because yeah #(is it ortega? good question. she doesn't know either. but your (not) lover-slash-rival haunting your memories and dreams.. mhm.)

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king-finnigan · 5 years ago

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5 times Jaskier didn’t realize Geralt was giving him a gift for his birthday and 1 time he did

As part of my 500 followers celebration! Masterlist

***

Jaskier practically falls down on the chair opposite Geralt, giving his cheering audience one final wave, before he turns his back to them, dumping the coins he earned on the table, setting his lute down next to him gently.

“Well, that went swimmingly,” Jaskier says, and Geralt rolls his eyes at his wide grin, but can’t stop a small smile from appearing on his own face, as well.

“Hmm.”

“Oh, please, Witcher, even you can appreciate a good performance when you see one, no need to be so dismissive of my charms and talent.”

Geralt rolls his eyes again. Usually, he would’ve simply hummed noncommittally, and dropped the subject for the evening, but today’s Jaskier’s birthday. It’s been nagging at him all day, especially because Jaskier hasn’t even said anything about it. He knows humans like their birthdays, like to celebrate another year lived in this damned world – and he would’ve expected Jaskier to be prancing around all day, demanding special treatment and gifts and attention.

But he hasn’t. And that confuses Geralt. It’s not like Jaskier’s forgotten when his own birthday is – hell, he let the date slip a few months ago, so he certainly remembers, but he simply hasn’t mentioned anything about it, today. He doesn’t even seem particularly happy about it.

If anything, he seems almost sad. Which makes matters worse, because what kind of human is sad on their own birthday? Certainly not the kind he expected Jaskier to be, of all people.

So he’s conflicted. On one hand he wants to say something, but on the other hand, Jaskier doesn’t seem to be in the mood for it.

Also, he doesn’t really have a gift he can give. Hell, he doesn’t even know what kind of gift someone expects for their birthday, it’s been so long since he’s celebrated one.

He does get an idea all of a sudden, and clears his throat. Jaskier, already distracted by a fair maiden on the other side of the room, turns back to the Witcher, eyebrows raised. “Something the matter, Geralt?”

The Witcher purses his lips, shakes his head, decidedly staring at his own ale, instead of meeting Jaskier’s eyes. “Uh… You’re right. Good performance.”

He looks up right in time to see Jaskier’s face light up like the morning sun, and the bard reaches across the table, softly pushing at Geralt’s shoulder, leaving a trail of fire in his wake when he pulls back again. “Why thank you, Witcher! I knew even you could see that.” He throws Geralt a wink, before he downs his ale, standing up and sauntering over to the lady on the other side of the room, who welcomes him with open arms. He doesn’t have the strength to watch them leave, so he retreats to his own room, and hopes the compliment he gave is enough of a gift for Jaskier. At least this year.

II.

It’s Jaskier’s birthday. Geralt only remembers because the bard seems sad again, which means that, unfortunately, this time he’s as unprepared as he was last time.

So he spends the entire morning desperately looking around, searching for ideas for a gift – though, he comes up basically empty-handed. What he does notice, though, is that Jaskier seems to be limping slightly.

He frowns down at the bard from where he’s sitting on Roach, before he pulls her to a halt. Jaskier walks a couple of steps more, seemingly lost in thought, until he realizes he’s walking alone, and turns around, looking confused. “Why have we stopped?”

“What’s wrong with you?” He closes his eyes, mentally cursing himself when Jaskier’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, face indignant.

“Ex- excuse me, Witcher, but-“

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he interrupts Jaskier before the bard can go on a long, offended tangent about how absolutely rude and uncaring of his feelings Geralt is, or something similar. “You’re limping.”

Jaskier shrugs, the slight hurt disappearing from his face again. “Ah, well, yeah, I sort of sprained my ankle this morning when I went to the river to wash off. It’s nothing really, but- Geralt, what are you doing?”

Geralt’s feet hit the dusty path, and he steps to the side. “Get on Roach.”

“I- what?”

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Get. On. Roach.”

Though still clearly very confused, Jaskier obliges, and gets on the mare. “Not that I don’t appreciate this, but- why? You never let me ride Roach.”

If Geralt could’ve blushed, he would’ve right now, as he takes Roach’s reigns and starts walking again, pointedly looking at anything but Jaskier. “You’ll just slow us down.” A blatant lie, but he hopes Jaskier won’t be able to tell. At least the bard seems a little less sad now, and he hopes that it’s enough of a gift for Jaskier. At least this year.

III.

The next time, he’s still very unprepared, and he starts to doubt that he ever will be. He’s also run out of ideas for gifts for Jaskier, and frantically tries to figure something out before the day is over. But it’s well past dinner time, and he still has no idea what to do.

Worse than that, he has no clue where the hell Jaskier even is.

Well, until he walks out of the inn, and hears a raised voice coming from the alley.

Well enough, there Jaskier is, against the wall, three men surrounding him, shouting something about how the bard slept with their sister or something like that – because of course he did. Honestly, it’d be a miracle if Jaskier could stop sleeping around in every town they come across for a week.

He rolls his eyes, the little tendril of fear that had been awakened in him at the sight of Jaskier getting threatened by three men slowly dying down when he sees that none of them have weapons. Really, the only thing they can do is beat the bard up a bit. Though, unfortunately, that doesn’t mean Geralt won’t step in – he always fucking does, for some reason.

He walks forwards. “Gentlemen, what seems to be the problem?”

One of them turns towards him, fear creeping into his slightly rancid smell. “He slept with our sister, Witcher.”

He looks at Jaskier, eyebrows raised, and the slight guilt and exhilaration in the bard’s eyes tells him the men are right.

He sighs. “Not possible, he’s been by my side the entire night.”

“But Witcher-“

“Are you saying that I’m lying?”

The three men look away. “No, sir. We’ll… we’ll go.”

“Hmm.” He watches as the brothers hurry past him, before turning towards Jaskier, who’s smoothing down his clothes.

The bard looks at him with a shit-eating grin, and Geralt rolls his eyes again. “Thanks, Geralt! Knew you’d come save me. There does seem to be a slight problem, though…” He looks down at his bare feet. “I forgot my shoes in her room. Maybe I should go back and-“

Geralt shakes his head, then turns around, motioning for Jaskier to follow him. Any other day, he would’ve let the bard fetch his own shoes back, but today is not just any day, he knows. “I’ll buy you a new pair,” he grumbles. He hopes that it’s enough of a gift for Jaskier. At least this year.

IV.

The next time it’s Jaskier’s birthday, he’s a little bit more prepared – but only barely, still. He’d realized that it was coming up soon a week before the actual day, and had gone to the market in a dingy nowhere town shortly after that, while Jaskier was busy at the inn, cleaning his lute. (Geralt hadn’t been sure in which way Jaskier was cleaning his lute, but he’d decided that it didn’t matter.)

An old woman at a jewellery stall had told him humans liked objects for their birthdays – preferably expensive. Unfortunately, they were short on coin, so Geralt had asked the lady what kind of non-expensive gift he could give his long-time travelling companion and friend.

She had pointed to a ring, silver and engraved with waves. It had cost him a fair deal of coin, still, but he’d taken it – after all, silver protects against monsters, and he figures it’s both practical and, as Jaskier prefers things, nice-looking.

However, that did leave him with one question: when and how is he going to give it to the bard?

It’s been plaguing him all day, that simple matter. At first, he thought it best to give it at breakfast, but they had been attacked by a small pack of Drowners, so that hadn’t been an option. After that, he decided it would be best to give it at lunch, after they had arrived at the next small town. Except, Jaskier was nowhere to be found – at least, until Geralt walked past the blacksmith, and heard soft gasps in a familiar voice coming from behind the building. He’d walked away as quickly as possible, ignoring the small jab in his chest.

And now it’s already dinner time, and Jaskier’s performing and showing absolutely no signs of stopping, even though it’s well past midnight. So should Geralt give it to him afterwards? Or should he wait until tomorrow? Or should he toss the ring away, dig a hole in the wet dirt outside, bury himself in it, never to be found again? He decides the last option is the best one, but unfortunately, he doesn’t have a shovel and there’d be no one to take care of Roach.

Eventually, he decides to just head to bed. All this worrying and the heat of the tavern has got his head pounding, and frankly, he can’t wait for all this gift-giving bullshit to be over. He’s a Witcher, for crying out loud. Witchers don’t give gifts. Except he still bought a silver ring for Jaskier, last week.

He sighs, downing his ale, heading up the stairs. He pauses for a second in their shared room, when his eye falls on Jaskier’s bag, sitting in the corner. He strains his ears, hears that Jaskier is singing ‘Toss a Coin’ – which is always the last song for the evening – and decides he has to hurry up. He quickly opens the bag, burying the ring at the bottom of it, before he closes it again.

He’s barely stood up again, when the door to the room opens, and Jaskier walks in, lute in hand, grin on his face. “Ah, Geralt! Was wondering where you went…” he muses, setting his lute down in the corner, pulling his slightly sweaty doublet over his head. “So, what’d you think? Another stellar performance, I presume.”

“Hmm.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Geralt rolls his eyes, and quickly takes off his clothes, laying down in the bed. After a short while, Jaskier joins him, laying down on the other side. He doesn’t say anything except a “goodnight, Geralt”, and his mood seems unchanged – still slightly sad – so Geralt assumes he hasn’t found the ring yet.

A few days later, his eye is caught by something glistening in the afternoon sun. It’s a silver ring, engraved with waves, on Jaskier’s right hand, and Geralt barely suppresses a small smile at the sight. The bard seems in a particularly good mood as well, and Geralt hopes that it’s enough of a gift for Jaskier. At least this year.

The next year, he’s prepared. A month beforehand, when they stop in Oxenfurt for a few days, he goes to a little shop, tucked between two tall buildings while Jaskier catches up with some old friends in a tavern nearby.

He buys some bath salts that smell of roses, some soap that smells like red berries, some lavender oil against irritated skin, and, for good measurement, a lemon candle. It’s a pretty hefty sum, but he buys it all anyways – he tells himself it’s because they’ve been doing well monetary-wise lately, not because Jaskier’s smile is worth all the money in his purse and more.

Once again, he still doesn’t know how he should give it, though, and he simply hides it in Jaskier’s bag on his birthday again. He keeps a close eye on the bard, that evening, as he rummages through his bag for soap and bath salt, after Geralt suggested they could afford the luxury of a bath tonight, and offered Jaskier to go first. The bard had looked at him weirdly, but Geralt had pretended he didn’t notice.

“Oh!” Jaskier exclaims, as he fishes rose bath salts and berry soap out of his bag. “Huh. Must’ve forgotten about these.” He shrugs and stands up, closing the door to the adjacent bathroom behind him. Geralt smiles softly as he hears Jaskier getting into the bath, hears him humming softly. He seems in a good mood – more so than he did this morning. Geralt hopes that it’s enough of a gift for Jaskier. At least this year.

+ I

This time, he’s prepared months in advance, when they visit Novigrad. He finally has an idea of what Jaskier might want for his birthday, and as soon as the bard is gone to find a tavern to perform in, Geralt hurries to the nearest instrument builder.

There, he buys an expensive set of lute strings – once again, because they’re doing well monetary-wise, not because he wants Jaskier to be happy and is willing to pay any price for that. As soon as he gets back to the inn, he hides them at the bottom of his bag, smiling slightly when he imagines Jaskier’s face when he gets them. Though, he’ll need to find a way to actually give Jaskier his gift this time. Or maybe not. Maybe he’ll chicken out again and hide it in Jaskier’s bag, waiting for the bard to find it. He’ll see.

It isn’t until a few months later, on Jaskier’s birthday, that he knows for sure he’s going to chicken out again.

At least, that is, until Jaskier starts rummaging through the Witcher’s bag. Geralt pales, his heart sinking to his feet, and he’s ready to tell the bard to get his fucking hands out of that bag, for the love of the gods.

But it’s too late.

“Geralt, have you seen my chemise somewhere? The white, frilly one, with the metal buttons and-“ He stills, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape as he looks down into Geralt’s bag.

Geralt can only stare in horror as Jaskier pulls the lute strings from the bottom of his bag. “Geralt, why do you have these in your bag?” He doesn’t give him time to answer. “And they’re expensive as w- Geralt why do you have expensive lute strings in your bag?”

If Geralt could’ve blushed, he would’ve, and he looks away. “Uh… They’re uh… For your birthday, today.”

Jaskier simply stares at him, eyes wide. “How do you know it’s my birthday?”

Geralt shrugs, rubs at the back of his neck, trying to get rid of that uncomfortable feeling in his spine. “You told me, a few years ago.”

“And you remembered.” He says it flatly. “Even though I don’t celebrate it, you remembered that one time I mentioned my birthday years ago.”

He shrugs again, looks away.

“Wait, then why would you give me something this year, but not all the other years?”

Geralt bites the inside of his cheek, still looking at anything but Jaskier. “I did, but-“

“You did? I don’t remember…” This time Geralt does look at Jaskier, and sees the bard staring at him, so wide-eyed it’s almost comical. “The soap,” he whispers. “I didn’t buy that myself, you did”

Geralt nods, then shrugs.

“And the ring? That was you, too?”

Geralt nods again, and Jaskier shakes his head.

“Why the hell didn’t you just give it to me, instead of sneaking it into my bag like… like some- some reverse thief?”

“Because I thought you didn’t want any gifts. You always seemed so sad on your birthday, and you didn’t mention it, so I figured you don’t want to celebrate it.”

Jaskier suddenly laughs, and stands up, lute strings clutched to his chest as he walks towards Geralt. “I’m always sad because I don’t get any gifts. I never did. My parents were horribly against it, saying I would get spoiled or something, and I never mentioned it because I didn’t think you’d give a shit.”

Geralt feels a sharp pang in his chest, as the realization kicks in. “But I do give a shit.”

Jaskier laughs again, looks at the lute strings, still in his hand. “Clearly. I just wished you would’ve said so sooner.”

“I thought you knew.”

Jaskier scoffs, looks at him with eyes the colour of the sky and a smile that would make the sun hide away in shame. “Well, I didn’t. If I did, I would’ve kissed you sooner.”

Geralt furrows his brow. “Wh-“ His breath hitches in his throat when Jaskier lays a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him closer, their lips separated less than half an inch – so, so painfully close, but not yet touching.

“May I?” Jaskier whispers.

Geralt doesn’t respond, but merely closes the gap between them, kissing his bard softly. Jaskier smiles into the kiss, and the witcher can’t help but smile as well, as he pulls his bard closer. Too soon, it’s over, and they’re leaning their foreheads against each other, breaths intertwining.

“So,” Jaskier whispers to him. “When’s your birthday?”

Geralt grins. “Don’t even think about it.”

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #500 followers #drabble #5+1 things

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mothernerd · 4 years ago

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blood 2 - Strange/Stark!Reader

Relationship: Dr. Strange/Princess!Stark!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Adult Themes, eventual smut (like, wayyy down the line), adult language, implied sexual violence, general violence

Synopsis: Reader is the daughter of the legendary King Anthony Stark, Uniter of Lands, The Iron Defender, and leader of the realm. When the king disappears during battle, hope is lost and he is presumed dead.

When the late king’s uncle, Obadiah, takes the throne until your brother Peter is of age, he quickly arranges a marriage for you with a wicked king in a neighboring kingdom.

With the realms politics in question, and rumors of an upcoming siege to overthrow Peter’s rule before it starts, you quickly learn who is loyal to the crown and who is not.

part 1 - part 3

Masterlist

Chapter Playlist

2 - a night at the pub

You parted from Stephen the moment you saw Natalia and James in the crowd at the pub. They were sipping from large beer steins, listening to a bard sing a sorrowful song about the death of the great Iron Defender.

When the music ended and the pub applauded, the entertainer switched to something more upbeat to soothe the mood.

“A bit sentimental for you two, isn’t it?” you asked, pulling back your cloak. Stephen had transfigured your overbearing mourning garb into something that would better fit in the village.

“How on earth did you slip out tonight?” James asked in surprise, brows raised to his hairline. “I would’ve though t they’d have had you under lock and key.”

“Everyone’s a bit... distracted, believe it or not,” you replied coolly, taking a seat at their table toward the back of the room.

“So we hear,” Natalia leaned in. “Any news of the next king? I have a wager with the barkeep’s wife.”

“Anthony has an uncle who still lives,” Stephen supplied, taking a seat at your side. “Or so my companions informed me. Until Peter is of age, he would be the presumptive heir.”

“What do we know about him?” Natalia asked quietly, lowering her head conspiratorially.

“Nothing,” you replied with a long sigh. “He’s been at the winter palace my whole life.”

“Nothing suspicious about that,” James shrugged and took a swallow of his drink. “Nat, what do ya think about Asgard this time of year?”

“Stop up James,” the redhead nudged her companion and returned her attention to you and Stephen. “And if he doesn’t give up the job in six months?”

“He is removed,” Stephen replied bluntly.

“Yikes, you’re scary, did you know that?” James murmured.

“I’ve been told,” the sorcerer grunted, flagging down a barmaid for a drink. He could already tell it was going to be a long night.

“Don’t forget, you owe me,” you reminded him.

“Lose a bet?” Natalia asked in amusement, eye rating between the duo.

“I caught him enchanting my tea without permission,” you replied.

“Uh oh, broke the one rule,” Natalia mused, watching Strange for a reaction.

“It was a protection spell, hardly worth mentioning, I cast them over the princess all the time,” he snorted under his breath.

“All the time?” James asked in a voice low enough that only Stephen could hear.

“That’s dangerous conjecture, Barnes,” Stephen warned. “My responsibilities include keeping my student, who happens to be the princess, safe.”

“If we were being honest, if I were kidnapped or traded away, it wouldn’t do much to the kingdom,” you reasoned, eagerly grabbing the first mug of ale before Stephen could take a sip. He waved a hand over the drink, ensuring it hadn’t been poisoned, before you took a long swallow. “Peter is the one who has to stay safe. Who knows where we’d be without a true heir?”

“You know that’s ridiculous,” Nat snorted. “Gods, you’re so dramatic sometimes.”

“My father’s funeral was today, give me a little sympathy,” you huffed in response, taking another swig of your drink.

“To King Anthony,” James stood up, his voice bellowing through the pub. You ducked your head down into Stephen’s shoulder while onlookers cheered and joined in the toast. “May he rest in peace!”

The pub shouted in response, with steins clinking against one another and another song starting up.

“We’re trying to draw attention away from the princess, you oaf,” Natalia muttered tersely toward James.

“Who would be looking for her here?” the brunette assassin shrugged. “Besides, no one would be able to slip past the three of us.”

Stephen snorted under his breath, giving the room a quick glance to ensure any unwanted attention hadn’t been drawn toward them. James did have a point. Someone in hiding would seldom encourage a room to drink.

Besides, he looked over at you laughing over something Natalia had said, you were genuinely smiling for the first time in weeks. The risk was worth a little relief.

He nursed at his drink while you signaled for another round for yourself and your friends. Stephen did well to avoid becoming drunk in your presence, mostly for your protection, but also as a means of avoiding embarrassing himself in front of you.

The last thing he needed was you armed with an artillery of teasing that he couldn’t even recall.

As the booze flowed and the music picked up, James grabbed your hand and pulled you to the center of the room, dancing with some of the villagers to the upbeat song.

Stephen watched, almost transfixed by the way you spun and twirled so lightheartedly to the sounds. As if you hadn’t a care in the world, and your life was back to the simpler time when he’d first met you.

“You’re drooling a little,” Natalia chuckled over his shoulder.

Stephen’s head whipped around, unconsciously wiping at his mouth before scowling at the nosy redhead.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, doing his best to keep his composure under her hard gaze.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed of,” she hummed, eyes falling where you and James continued your antics. “You’ve seen the man I’ve dedicated myself to.”

“You know the oaths I have to take,” he murmured.

“Aren’t you the one in charge of said oaths?” she challenged coyly. “I’d never understood your antiquated ways. I would argue that loving another gives you more reason to stay dedicated to your craft.”

She had a point, Stephen reasoned to himself. The ways he’d worked to ensure your protection, the kingdom’s protection, and the advancement of his knowledge at your urging was beyond any work he’d done on his own at Kamar-Tai.

Still, the distractions. The liabilities.

By the Vishanti, if an enemy were to ever get their hands on you… oaths be damned. He’d burn the world to the ground to ensure your safety, and that was the problem.

“She’s going to marry a prince, and have kings and queens as babies,” Stephen replied coolly. "We have our roles and our duties.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t mind giving her a few babies,” Natalia smirked up at him, laughing when his face went as scarlet as her hair.

“Regardless,” his voice cracked slightly, adding even more to the embarrassment when Natalia quirked a brow. “I would need permission from the king to consider breaking my oaths and wedding a princess.”

“Oh, you’d marry her? That’s a new development,” she replied, eyes falling behind him while you and James returned.

“I’m going to need another ale,” you complained, staring down the empty mug after chugging down your second drink.

“You’re going to need to watch how much you drink,” Stephen replied. “Remember last time. The hungover elixir only works so well.”

“You have a hangover elixir?” James asked. “Gods, I’d murder a man for one of those. Maybe it’s time I go to Kamar-Taj. Find my true purpose.”

“Don’t look at me,” Stephen held up a hand. “Wong is the one who brews it. He claims it’s an old family recipe.”

“Might have to pay Master Wong a visit tonight,” James stated, sliding a pair of fresh ales toward you and Natalia. “This one’s on me.”

“Are you going to tell me which lord you stole the coin from?” you asked, sipping at the drink before Stephen could check its contents.

“It’s the one with the wart on his nose,” James snickered behind his drink. “I picked him specifically because you mentioned he beats his wife.”

“He’s getting another visit from the Widow in a few nights,” Natalia added with a wicked grin.

“I don’t pity the man-,” you started coughing, trying to clear your throat. “-Ah, excuse me-!”

Caught in a fit of coughs, Stephen’s focus became you. You couldn’t catch a breath, even when he tapped your back, and you hadn’t had anything to eat- the ale. A wave of his hand confirmed the liquid had been tampered with.

“Find out who served that ale,” he demanded the assassins, grabbing your arm and hauling you outside of the pub.

You gasped for air, clutching at your throat while he drew up a portal back to the observatory. If this was what was happening with the protection enchantment in your system, he hesitated to think of the alternative.

Scooping you up, he stepped through and situated you on one of the chaise’s strewn throughout the room.

He thumbed through his collection of vials before finding a generic antidote and opening your mouth to pour the liquid in.

It worked- kind of. You were able to take a few shallow breaths, but your eyes rolled back and you collapsed, falling back against the chaise.

This was literally his worse case scenario. Everything he’d been afraid of, because he’d let you convince him to go out, and because he’d distracted himself with his conversation with Natalia.

He summoned a spell book, fingers finding the page he recalled from his apprentice days. It was written to purge someone of any toxic entities within them, be it poison or dark magic. Moving his hands through the air and reciting the runes, your body was overtaken by a wisp of winding yellow light.

It threaded itself through you, eventually hitting the source of the poison in your chest and pulling the toxic liquid free in a cloud of rancid black smoke. That was peculiar. Generally such a reaction was associated with dark magic rather than a consumed poison.

Poison was usually a dark red or green.

You stirred the moment the spell had finished its work. Taking a deep breath and clearing your throat, you looked to Stephen in wide-eyed horror.

“I was wrong,” you stated, hand to your chest.

“How do you feel?”

“I’m not dying,” you answered quickly. “Stephen, I am so sorry… I underestimated my… wait, Peter.”

Stephen understood your meaning immediately. He instructed you to stay within the safety of the observatory and opened a portal to the outside of the prince’s chambers.

The knights on guard jumped at the sudden appearance of the sorcerer, who took no time for pleasantries.

“An attempt was made on the princess’ life,” he informed the duo. “Have you heard any disturbance from the prince?”

“No one has been in or out since the prince retired,” Sir Samuel informed him, looking to Sir Clinton with a shrug. “He hasn’t made a noise.”

Just as Samuel finished his sentence, there was a loud crash from within the room.

The guards charged in, finding the prince in a struggle with a masked man. The prince was doing his best to fight off the dagger brandishing assassin, kicking him in the chest when he was distracted by the entrance of the guards.

When the assassin realized he was outnumbered, Stephen saw his hands move rapidly to open a portal, and before anyone could intervene, he was gone.

“Your highness!” Samuel rushed to the prince’s side while Stephen ignited the candles in the room with a snap of his fingers. “Are you injured?”

“Sir Clinton, get to the queen and Princess Morgan,” Peter ordered after catching his breath. He looked to Stephen. “And the older princess?”

“Safe,” came the sorcerer’s response.

“You said an attempt was made on her life,” Samuel retorted.

“A what?” Peter glared up at the sorcerer.

“I took care of it, she is safe,” Stephen assured him. “Are you injured, your highness?”

“I’m fine,” he brushed off the two men and stood up. “I want the guard awoken and informed of what has happened.”

He turned to Stephen.

“I want the wards reconstructed around the castle,” he continued. “I don’t trust the foundations of previous Masters. If you must call in sorcerers from Kamar-Taj, we will provide what they need.”

“Sir, your great uncle is due to arrive in a fortnight,” Samuel reminded him. “Shall we inform the convoy of the attempts on the royal family?”

Peter looked to Stephen with a frown. One of the young king’s first major decisions.

“Let’s address the question in the morning,” he decided. “I want to know my family is safe.”

As if on cue, Queen Virginia and Princess Morgan were led into the room by Sir Clinton and Sir Steven.

“Peter,” the queen pulled the prince into a relieved embrace. “Clint told us what had happened.”

“I recommend we reconvene in the throne room,” Steven suggested with a nervous glance around the chambers.

“The wards are strongest there,” Stephen agreed with a curt nod. “I’ll go retrieve the princess.”

He returned to the observatory and found you sitting, staring down at the floor in deep thought.

“Princess?” he called softly. You leapt up at his voice, hurrying over.

“Are they safe?”

“Peter was attacked, but he fought the assassin off,” Stephen informed her.

“And mother? And Morgan?” you bit your bottom lip anxiously.

“Safe,” he confirmed.

You let out a relieved sigh, your hands trembling slightly at your sides.

“Sir Steven suggested we go to the throne room to discuss our next options,” he offered his arm and she took it gratefully.

He hoped she didn’t feel his own tremors. His own panic at the thought of losing her. The aftershocks of their new reality and his worst nightmare.

“I won’t allow this to happen again,” he promised her quietly.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you assured him, your voice was shaky. “I was hurting, and whoever did this, acted on our vulnerabilities. I’d been selfish to hide in the village when I should have been by my family.”

“You slipped up once,” he countered, slowing his pace down the hall. He could have easily drawn a portal to the room, but he figured you both needed some time to manage your emotions. “You’re human. We make mistakes. It just happened we both made a mistake at the same time tonight. I wouldn’t have allowed you to go if I hadn’t been confident in my judgement of the situation.”

Your hand trailed down to his and you gave it a squeeze.

“Thank you Stephen,” you murmured, holding on a moment longer before replacing it on his arm.

He felt his heart give a small throb at the minute action, his fingers left tingling, and not from the damage from the accident.

“Always at your pleasure, your highness.”

(---)

3 - a new day

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lune-hime · 4 years ago

Text

Garden of Tulips (Levi/Reader) Chapter 3

~Click me for more chapters~

“What did it look like?”

“Hmm?” Levi looked up from his place next to your sleeping form. “The titan that tried to snack on my darling granddaughter.” “Ugly as fuck.” “Aren’t they all?”

Levi recounts memories of the reader and their shared life together while she recovers from a serious injury.

!!WARNINGS!! - Violence, gore, smut, wholesome content ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tulipa kolpakowskiana ~ A tulip whose golden glow resembles the sunrise of a new day.

↞↠↞↠↞↠

Levi regained consciousness with a jolt, heart racing and tears bubbling behind his eyes.

Another nightmare.

I guess a good night’s sleep was too good to be true. He honestly didn’t remember how he dealt with his nightmares before you, and now you weren’t here to help. Levi had to resist his urge to leap up and crawl into bed next to you. Your well-being and your grandmother’s threat kept him in the guest room.

The sky was edging with light, signaling it was early in the morning. Levi knew from over 20 years of garbage sleeping habits that he would not fall back into slumber, nor did he want to. Instead, he opted for rising with the sparrows chitting just outside the peeling window. He lifted himself up from the sheets, and groaned as the tightness in his joints fought back. Releasing the tension from his body with several alarmingly loud cracks, he arose and turned down the hall towards your room. The light casted a muted glow over your bed, the sheets bathing in a cool yellow hue. Your form was still as motionless as it was yesterday; arms neatly folded at your sides, hair neatly brushed out of your face. You looked like you a model in a museum exhibit which sent Levi’s stomach churning. Your grandmother must have already attended to your wounds because as he sat down next to you he regarded the fresh bottle of alcohol and roll of bandaging. That would explain your clean look as well. A partially eaten jar of applesauce and used spoon were neatly placed on the nightstand. Levi let out a sigh of relief that you were able to keep some food down.

“Good morning.” He greeted in a hushed tone. Usually in the early hours of the morning, he would be conscious of how loud he was being as to not drag you out of sleep. But now all he wanted was for you to wake up, to respond to his voice. Your skin looked as fragile as glass, with too much pressure you would shatter into the satin. Warmth was rising to your cheeks, though, which was an improvement from yesterday.

He wasn’t sure if you could hear him but he continued to talk to you anyway, about the expedition, about his interactions with your grandmother, about the beautiful tulips. He could have remained by your bedside for an eternity until a rancid smell passed through his nostrils. Repulsed, he looked around the room for a clue to its origin until-

Oh shit, it's me.

The master bathroom was rather spacious with polished tiles and copper embellishments. The tub was enormous , so large that Levi felt like a child within it. Where had the old woman acquired all of this lavish furniture?

Treading over to the basin he twisted the golden knob and let the water run over his other hand, testing it until it was a soothing temperature. Leaving the tub to fill, he wandered around the bathroom. He turned in the mirror to regard the back of his shoulder. A sparse breath puffed from his lips. He had never actually bothered to look at his wound the night before. His skin was stained a deep purple that spanned most of his shoulder.

Disrobing fully, he carefully stepped into the tub, goosebumps prickling all over his body when the warmth kissed his skin. He sunk into the water, the steam visibly emanating from the pool. Levi let out a breathy sigh and his pupils lulled to the back of his eyes as he relished in the soothing hands of the water. He couldn’t hold back his moan as the water numbed his swollen skin and sent him into a temporary state of peace.

↞♞♘↠

“I feel so icky.” You whined, bouncing in an exaggerated manner. The way your limbs were flailing around made Levi snort. Expeditions were never fun and neither was coming home from one. The unwanted pinching along your ribs, the dull aching everywhere, and discolored plum pigmented spots that bloomed on your skin never failed to be your welcome home present.

It had become a tradition for you and Levi to sleep in his quarters after particularly taxing scouting excursions as he claimed his bath was more effective at getting the blood and soot out of every crevice of the body than yours. Honestly you didn’t doubt his reasoning with all the cleaning products he used on a daily basis.

“Me too.” Levi dittoed, exhaling with a groan as he removed his left boot. The leather leaving his foot made a satisfying pop. Lifting the shoe to his face, he examined the contents with a knit brow. He must have been unsatisfied with what he saw because his features contorted into a grimace and his tongue peeked out from behind his teeth in distaste.

You barely heard the softly spat fucking disgusting before he removed the other one and neatly set them in the corner by the door. Upon releasing his other foot from its confines, he then immediately retreated into the bathroom. As you began removing your own boots, the harsh sound of water running filled the otherwise quiet room. The moment you bent down to remove your shoe, the pinching in your side intensified.

“Fuck.” You hissed breathily, hand reaching awkwardly to massage the tender area.

“What is it?” Levi’s call was distorted by the flowing bathwater. He apparated into the doorway, nimble fingers halting at the fourth button on his shirt.

“Nothing, I just have a cramp.” You explained, attempting to wave his concern off with a small grin. Your foolery was cut short, however, when your body refused to bend further than your knees. You stretched half way down your legs before your body decided that was far enough, leaving you rocking back and forth like an inchworm as you grappled at the lacing on your boot.

Levi pursed his lips, inhaling his almost-chuckle, and left his post in the doorway to kneel before you. He gently rose each foot and slipped both your boots off, cringing when more foreign substances were discovered. Your eyes met in silent disgust, neither of you really wanting to investigate further. Once your socks were removed, Levi’s fingers danced over the sole of your foot mischievously. A crackled squeak left your lips and you lightly kicked him with what strength you had left. He didn’t attempt to cage his laughter this time and his hearty chuckle danced around the chamber.

“I can get my shirt.” You stated, a determined glint shining through the bags under your eyes.

“Oh?” Levi challenged with a hint of jest in his tone. With a raised brow he rose to his feet and disappeared back into the bathroom.

It was going well until you missed one button and that was all it took for you to become a tangled mess. It was like you were playing a game of twister by yourself. Levi barely heard the tiny help that was muffled by the haphazardly folded fabric wrapped around your limbs. You waited for a moment, staring at the inside of your shirt and your arm starting to get tingly from its awkward position at the back of your neck. Then a light tug cleared your vision and you were faced with Levi’s bare chest. He had successfully managed to remove the garment off your constricted torso without causing your side to act up.

“My hero.” You thanked in a sweet voice, more fatigued than you should have been from that ordeal. He responded with a kiss on your forehead before resigning towards the bathroom yet again.

“Do you want to go first?” You proposed, running your fingers through your mussed hair to check for any unidentifiable materials. Fortunately they came back empty handed.

“I thought we could go together.” He suggested, his belt coming undone with a metallic gingle. Once it was coiled and placed in his dirty hamper he turned towards you and waited expectantly.

“Lemme just put my clothes away and I’ll join you.” You said, undoing the buckles of the straps that snaked around your thighs.

“You need help with your pants?” Levi offered casually as he began to fiddle with the zipper of his own.

“Trying to get into them, Mr. Ackerman?” You retorted with the quip of an eyebrow.

“Only if it gets you into the bath faster.” Levi returned your accusation, his eyes shining with amusement. The lazy familiarity in his gaze beckoned you to remove the rest of your uniform with haste.

Now clad in only your underwear, you shuffled into the lavatory a few minutes later. Walking into the room felt like entering the inside of a soothing flame. The candles Levi had lit casted the room in a warm and silky blanket of light and their comforting atmosphere almost made you melt into a pool of candle wax the instant you entered the space.

The luxury of his bathroom was a stark reminder of your days as a cadet and you constantly thanked the heavens that you no longer needed to take community showers. The time you had accidentally walked into the boy’s shower room left a deep scar that had the situation playing forever on a loop.

Your companion had himself already submerged under the frothing water. The airy bubbles outlined his reclined form and clung to his pale skin as if they were afraid he would part from their lavish cradle. The smell emanating from the bath was of lavender, a scent you recognized as Levi’s birthday gift from Erwin. He was too crass to admit it, but the amount of times he used the bath salts and the way his body practically became one with the foam betrayed his indifferent fasad.

He had not yet registered your presence, the enticing embrace lulling Levi’s eyes shut and parting his rosy lips. Your heart could not contain itself and began fluttering against every surface of your body. He lolled his head back to look at you when your steps hit the tile with a little too much force. His lips upturned and eyes slowly opened into a blissful expression.

Reaching back to unclasp your bra, your gaze momentarily fell to the side of the tub. Just as you began to slide the straps down your shoulders, a slight sloshing of water from the tub halted your movements. Levi was regarding you boyishly, an enamored smile gracing his porcelain features. The pure domesticity of the situation caused a garden of warmth to cultivate in your heart, spreading through your bloodstream and pooling at your cheeks. Your faltering caused a velvety chuckle to rumble through his chest.

“What? I can’t watch you?” He purred, blinking slowly and smiling contently. To him, you were the most exquisite thing in such a grimy world. Even if you were grimy, too, at the moment.

“I- uh, no it's okay.” You flushed and continued to undress. The garment fell to the floor with a soft clatter. You eyed him once more as your fingers brushed the silky hem of your underwear.

His smile only deepened, and his eyes refracted the candle light and the way the flame danced within them mimicked a sunset along a silvery sky. He had stopped hiding his smiles from you long ago.

“You know I can’t count the amount of times I’ve seen you naked before.”

You breathed out a laugh, too exhausted, too flustered, and too eager to relax to come up with a snarky comeback. You planted yourself at the side of the tub and made a moving gesture with your hand.

“Scoot up.” You instructed. Levi blinked a couple times before obeying, the bubbles relentlessly sticking to his skin as he glided up the tub. You slipped in behind him, immediately feeling the bruises and scratches of the battle being subdued by the heated water. Guiding his shoulders back so his body was pressed against your chest, he practically melted into your embrace at the feeling of your plush skin.

Delicate hands glazed over his torso, spreading the bubbles up his chest with the tranquil pitter-patter of water. A shiver followed in their wake, chasing the feeling of your touch when your hands left him to lather themselves in shampoo.

“How are you feeling?” You asked sweetly, working your foamy palms through his obsidian locks.

“Nothing hurts more than usual.” He sighed, muscles involuntarily flexing under your minstraitions.

“That’s not what I meant.”

His response was not surprising to you. You had grown accustomed to the delay in response in regard to emotional questions. While Levi often confided in you, he still had his affliction with expressing is inner turmoils. Yet, the closer the two of you grew and the more time you spend together, the shorter that intermittent silence became. Your teeth worried at the inside of your cheek in anticipation as you massaged the clipped hair at the base of his head.

“Nothing hurts more than usual.” Levi repeated but this time with a gentler tone. It signaled not to press further but allowed you to sense meaning behind his words. You nodded in understanding. Seasoned soldiers became numb to the bloodshed of war to a certain degree but any weathered scar still holds the potential to bleed.

“How are you feeling?” Levi asked and gingerly traced patterns along your thigh.

“This expedition seems like child’s play compared to the one in a few weeks.” You said with a tinge of worry lased in your statement. Levi hummed in agreement and craned his neck to give you better access to the area of hair next to his ear. The two of you had avoided talking about it too in depth as you knew what dwelling on heavy tasks during the time of a current expedition would place you both in a bad mental state.

“It will be risky, but Erwin knows what he’s doing. He-” Levi was unable to complete his train of thought when you tugged just right on a section of his hair. He let out a husky moan that mingled with the steamy flush of the tub and what heat resided within your face was now pooled between your legs.

His body went rigid in embarrassment and you immediately halted your massaging. His sensuous reaction surprised both of you but it was endearing that even after all this time, the two of you could still be so bashful in front of each other. You could never get enough of his vulnerability, a side he reserved deeply for you.

“Felt good?” You giggled, smoothing your palms over his shoulders. The plush press of your breasts against his back drew a shaky breath from deep within him. In one fluid moment, Levi sank under the water and reemerged facing you. The sight before you sent an electric stream volting through your nerves. The dark expanse of his wet tresses framed the ravishing galaxy that swirled vividly within his eyes. His canines toyed with his lower lip, determined to get even with you for laughing.

“Not as good as how you are about to feel.” His voice was so low it seemed to vibrate the whole tub and sent a shockwave of pleasurable currents across your skin. He licked his lips languidly, carefully grabbing your thighs and adjusting your legs so they rested atop of his. Now it was his hands that smoothed down the heated skin of your arms, stomach, thighs, the cusp of your breasts, and gliding along your shoulders. He placed tender open mouthed kisses against the shell of your neck, collarbone, and then again to the swell of your breasts. The touch left your skin burning with desire and with every exhale the steam thickly materialized above you. Your body curled into his, the need for friction becoming unbearable. It was Levi who now chuckled in delight when his fingers found your core. The moan he drew from you made him light-headed and left his consciousness as fuzzy as the humidity of the bathroom.

Just as Levi began intensifying his strokes, his movements began to grow lazy. You started feeling sluggish as well, the sultriness of the room lulling you into a sleepy daze. As the immense exhaustion from the expedition caught up with your bodies, the two of you let the water earnestly lap at your slumped forms. For how long, you did not know. Levi’s eyelids drooped and you became aware of the dark lilac bags residing under them. Your sore side too decided it wanted in on the fun and started singeing the right half of your body. You were about to tap Levi to get him to move when his head suddenly dipped, the sweet release of sleep getting the better of him. His head only touched your shoulder for a second before it snapped upward. The disoriented expression he wore caused you to bark with laughter.

“I’m trying to be sexy.” He pouted, the cosmic hue of his eyes fading to a dull gray. He squeezed your thighs playfully.

“If we don’t get out of this tub soon we are both going to fall asleep and drown.” You squeaked, hitting his shoulder lightly and moving off of him to step out of the tub. He gently held you in place.

“I need to wash your hair first. Turn around.” He said tiredly. You could barely distinguish his request through his lofty yawn.

“Okay, but don’t take too long or we’ll get all pruney.” You remarked after popping a stray bubble caught on his cheek.

“SIR! REPORTING FOR MORNING CLEANING DUTY.” The shrill voice cracked with the breath of a fresh morning. Whoever was yelling really had pipes.

“Shut the hell up, Jaeger. She’s still sleeping.” Levi’s annoyed chiding was much harder to hear from the otherside of the closed bedroom door. Shuffling and muffled fumbling for what you expected was the sanitation equipment followed the commotion.

“How are you so energetic at the ass crack of dawn?” Levi tsked and playfully hit the cadet atop the head with a folder just as the boy picked up his duster.

↞♞♘↠

Levi’s head had begun to ache with a dull blurriness after spending a sizeable amount of time in the bath. His temple cooed under the pressured glides of his pruney fingers before resigning to get up, lest becoming the embodiment of a raisin. He heaved himself out of the heavenly pool, dizziness immediately enveloping him when his feet touched the bathmat.

Upon returning to his room he found a freshly folded pile of clothes awaiting him on the leather lounge chair. The garments were a little too posh for his liking but anything was better than the tattered remnants of his uniform. The finished look made Levi huff in mild surprise. The scarlet dress shirt fit snugly on his shoulders and highlighted the curvature of his biceps. He got rid of the excess billowing of the torso by tucking it snuggly into his slacks. The pants were expertly tailored, an indication they originated from a higher class, and complemented every outline and muscle of Levi’s lower half.

Except for length.

Muttering to himself about the inconvenience in the height difference between the previous owner of these clothes and himself, he began thinking of ways to alter the outfit so he didn’t look like a child or walls forbid a hobbit.

After rolling each pant leg up neatly just past his ankles with slight irritation, he perched the suspenders utop of his shoulders and padded over to the mirror. Clearly whoever these clothes belonged to was much taller than he. But he didn’t hate it. In fact, he sort of liked how he looked. He twisted his body this way and that to garner as close as he could get to a 360 degree view. He gave himself an approving nod and grabbed a piece of stationary and a pen before exiting the room. He made his way downstairs but not without peeking into your room once more.

The house had a much different aura than the night before. The sunlight extended its pale tendrils through the polished glass and beckoned Levi to sit at the small table in the corner next to dutch door window. He placed the stationary on the carved wood and gasped when his back suddenly cracked. It was then he realized just how sore and exhausted he still was even after the bath.

He needed caffeine badly. Your coffee addiction was, unwantedly at first, rubbing off on him. Before the two of you were close he had no interest in dirt water as he called it. However, you slowly opened him up to a new world where long nights were made substantially easier and when his tea just didn’t cut it. Levi had been conditioned to like the strong way you made it, but it was indeed an acquired taste.

Thumbs absentmindedly played with the fabric of the suspenders as he scanned the spacious room for a french press. Now that yesterday’s adrenalin had been cleansed from his head, he could see the room clearly. The room was filled with life, literally. Plants were everywhere; potted and leaves overflowing from their confines. The wood was more polished and artistic than his glazed eyes had seen the night before. The decor emitted wealth and pretentiousness yet it gave him the opposite feeling. He felt like he was at home, and he didn’t know what to do with that feeling.

Locating the french press next to one said plant, Levi brewed his drink under the warm morning embrace and the lithe song of songbirds. Once he obtained his cup of coffee, he resigned back to the table and wrote his letter between sips and gazes out onto the yard.

Erwin,

As I’m sure you are aware, Y/N and myself were separated from the left flank during the expedition. We’re okay. We are staying on the outskirts of Krolva.

Y/N has sustained heavy but not lethal injuries.

I’m fine.

Don’t worry your eyebrows off.

Levi

“How long have you been awake?” A familiar gruff voice hollered from the hall. Levi had just finished sliding the letter into the envelope when your grandmother appeared in the doorway.

“A couple hours.” He said with characteristic plainness.

“You look a lot better than yesterday. Cleaner too.” She commented and returned to the hall to discard her lightweight coat.

“I took a bath.” His thumb eagerly pushed against a paint chip in the elegant coffee mug.

“Well good for you, I’d figured you would know how to properly bathe.” She chided with a jestfull tone. From his seat next to the window, Levi could see the woman shuffling around the shoe rack. He gave her appearance a once over; mud encrusted baby blue paddock boots, an apron with a floral design embroidered into the front pocket and gardening gloves just as dirty as her boots. When her outdoor clothing had been discarded by the front door she padded back into the sunlit kitchen. His eyes were still fixated on the dry dirt that littered her apron, work pants, and shirt. His nose wrinkled automatically.

“I was gathering tulips.” She responded to Levi’s silent inquiry. He simply nodded and when she turned towards him a satisfied smile chuffed her cheeks. Her hands were perched attentively on her hips.

“Well don’t those clothes look nice on you. I was afraid they would be a little loose fitting.” She clicked her tongue approvingly. Levi idly attempted to hide the extremely rolled up pants by crossing his legs at his ankles.

“Those were my son’s clothes. I know he had a couple inches shy of a good foot over you but they suit you. You both had a similar style.”

Levi stiffened when your grandmother revealed who’s garments he adorned. It didn’t bother him, per say, but it did feel a bit strange wearing something that belonged to your father. Curiously intimate. Like this whole experience, Levi reckoned.

“Yeah, they fit alright. Thank you.” His curt response made your grandmother purse her lips. She was determined to get him to open up to her.

“Oh! You made coffee how delightful.” She said giddily as she made a beeline for it. When she had poured the amber liquid into delicate china she took one sip, smacked her lips in a sophisticated manner, and gagged.

“You make it just like her, strong as shit.” Your grandmother muttered sounds of disgust that hid Levi’s breath of amusement. She hastily retrieved the sugar and milk from the pantry and remedied the deathly drink to her liking.

“While I was out there I fed the horses-” She added after a satisfying sip of her coffee.

“And your corps horse is a huge pain in my knickers. You know, in all my years serving in the military I’ve never met such a spoiled creature before.” She ranted as she sauntered over to the tiny corner table. She sat down opposite of Levi, taking her apron off and waving it out to get some dust off. Levi dodged it the dislodged particles.

“The bugger went to bite me whenever I tried to look at his wounds and even feed him. I don’t know how he passed his horsey exams because he’s so disobedient.” She scoffed and took a particularly violent swig of her drink.

“I’ll go check on him later.” He said, furrowing his brows when his cup no longer contained his energy source.

“Humor me. Why don’t you just get rid of the thing? It’s too ornery.” She proposed slyly, the aged wood of the chair creaked as she leaned back against it. Levi noted her posture, she may act prickly but she walks with the grace of someone raised inside the innermost wall.

Levi harbored the same sentiment about the horse. It still blew his mind how Zacharias even chose him in the annual foaling. If he had the choice, Levi would have been born with the ability to wiggle his fingers and magically make bratty horses disappear far away to a distant farm where they would never be heard from again. Scratch that. Anything or anybody that was a brat. What a heaven that would be, half the cadets turning into stardust. Levi’s eyes were glazing over as he became lost in his fantasy but your grandmother’s harsh cough reigned him back in.

“It’s Y/N’s horse.” Levi stated simply. Her mouth formed an O shape and she nodded in understanding. As much as he thought it was a pain in his ass, he loved the smile that creature brought to your face.

“Well, that will do it, huh.” She affirmed pushing off the table and abruptly taking his empty cup.

“How’s the shoulder?” She questioned as she poured a fresh batch of coffee into the reservoir.

“Still aching, but better.” He replied, rolling it around a little to show her. She nodded silently and drew closer, placing the drink gently in front of him. He returned her gesture with a small smile.

“Do you think you have enough energy to help me with my shipment?” She suddenly inquired, hand resting on the table.

Levi stopped mid sip and looked at her with a quizzical expression. Shipment?

“I have to ship out some tulips today, some dusty politician has a banquet tomorrow.” She said dismissively.

“What about Y/N?” Levi said this as more of a statement than a question. Surely one person had to be around in case something came up. What if she awoke an no one was there to assist her? Even worse scenarios swam through his mind.

“I have a so called housekeeper .” Your grandmother rolled her eyes. Damn your family really was more well off than you had led on.

“I insist that she stops coming but that lass is hellbent on helping me with this estate. If you can even call it that. ” Your grandmother mumbled the last bit. “She comes by everyday around 11 am whether I like it or not. So we will leave once she arrives.”

Levi’s brow knitted with worry. Would a housekeeper be able to care for you as your grandmother did if your body suddenly rejected the applesauce? If a stitch came undone and the river of blood became unclogged-

“Son, don’t worry. The girl has known Y/N all of her life. She’s an apprentice at the apothecary in our village, I couldn’t think of more capable hands besides our own to leave her in.” Your grandmother comforted his silent spiral into anxiety. It was curious how she was able to continue to hone in on what he was feeling.

Levi contemplated her statement for a moment, finger idly running along the rim of the china.

“Sure.” He agreed. Even though the idea of parting with you in this condition made his nerves flare up, you trusted your grandmother with all your heart so that meant Levi should too.

“Splendid, I will begin the preparations.” She cheered, clasping her hands together and pushing off the table.

A warm bowl of oatmeal and another cup of coffee later, Levi found his arms shaking slightly under the wooden crate. Who knew flowers could be so heavy. Of course his body wouldn’t have recovered within a day but he had never felt so exhausted in his life.

“Is there a post office where we are going?” Levi asked asked between heaving breaths as he loaded another crate into the back of the carriage. Your grandmother rounded the vehicle and dropped her gaze to the paper sticking out from his pants pocket.

“Mhmm, we’re going to drop them off in town. It's about a quarter short of an hour's drive from here. From there, a royal attendant will pick up my goods and we can be on our way.” She explained. Before turning, she pointed to the parchment.

“Is it a love letter to the Commander?” She smirked. Levi rolled his eyes and went to grab another crate. With every box he placed onto the polished surface, a waft of fresh scent would pass through his nose. He's never smelled anything quite so aromatic and pleasing before.

“That should be enough. This is one of my smaller orders.” The little woman stated with satisfaction. She turned with the poise of an ex-soldier and moved to sit on the porch steps. Levi mimicked her movements and settled himself onto the heated wood.

"And now we wait for that troublesome girl."

#levi #levi x reader #LEVI ACKERMAN #drabble #AoT #aot imagine #attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #snk x reader #snk #imagine #shingeki no kyojin #hange zoe #jean kirschstein #bisexual jean

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jokers-of-the-impractical · 4 years ago

Text

Brian Quinn Mini Series “I Found a Boy” Part 3 of 3

Part 1 Part 2

Content Warning: Implied Smut, Swearing

Word Count: 2100ish

The warm sunshine peeking through the curtains was a welcome contrast to the chilly weather that lay on the streets of Staten Island below you. You kept your eyes closed to savor the moment for just a short while more, but soon the serene beauty was interrupted by the sound of a beeping alarm clock altering it was now eight in the morning. You felt the bed shift next to you and knew Brian was turning to shut off the noise coming from your bedside table. The cats began to shift as well and leap down from their respective resting spots. As Q did so he leaned his face down and placed a gentle kiss on your cheek, instantly a warmth began to rise to your cheeks. “Good morning sweetheart” he muttered out in a half asleep and still raspy voice with an adorable grin and messy hair strewn about his head. As he began to turn back over to get out of bed and begin prepping for the morning ahead of him, you wrapped both your arms around one of his and held on tight. “No. Five more minutes” you grumbled out. You glanced over to see him giggling to himself. He did his best to shimmy out of your arms but it was to no avail. Slowly you climbed on top of him, the satin of your pajama set grazing against his bare chest and boxers. You were not letting the love of your life and personal space heater get up this morning. You raised your head so that your eyes would meet his deep shining orbs lovingly gazing back at you. “Baby, I gotta go! Trust me the sooner I get to the production meeting, the sooner I get to come home and hang out with you.” You let out an overly dramatic sigh and slight chuckle escaped too.

“But Bri, why did they have to schedule a meeting on a weekend! I went to spend my day off with you.” With that you sat up with crisscrossed legs and crossed your arms across your chest. With the last word you let your lips pop out into a pout. He could tell you were joking around with him and sat up to make your eyes meet again. “Well… who knows Mrs. Quinn? Maybe once I get back we can reenact what happened late into the night.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you. “Of course Mr. Quinn.” With that he planted a deep and passionate kiss on your lips before he rose from the bed and started to get ready for his meeting. As you cozied back into bed to escape the cold you silently watched him in awe, how did you get so lucky? You looked down to the engagement ring he had placed on your hand three years ago, and the wedding band that had resided with it for just under two years. You didn’t realize just how lost you had been in your thoughts until he was facing you again, dressed and his signature iced tea with lemon in a travel cup in tow with his car keys. But the smell of the tea today sent your stomach on a tilt-a-whirl. “Well my love, I’m off. I’ll be back before ya know it!” You pecked his lips and he made his way back downstairs and out the door. As soon as you were sure he wouldn’t hear you, you jumped up and sprinted to the bedroom’s ensuite bathroom to release the contents of your stomach. After you had finished, you kept wondering why all of the sudden the smell of iced tea and lemon made you puke? Then it hit you. You started rummaging through the cabinets in the bathroom until you found the hot pink boxes you were looking for. You pulled out the pregnancy tests that the rest of the guys got you as a one-year anniversary present. After making sure they hadn’t expired and how to use them, you go to business, using both just to be sure. You finished up and set the timer on your phone. As you waited you brushed your teeth to get the rancid taste out of your mouth from the unfortunate wake up call you had a few minutes prior. Once the timer chimed letting you know it was time to check, you slowly grabbed both tests and flipped them over to see the results. Both of them were the same. You were pregnant. An immense wave of joy and excitement washed over you. Now you were even more excited for Brian to get home so you could tell him the news. You knew he would be in the meeting until around eleven-thirty so you decided to take a quick shower and find other ways to occupy the time. After the warm droplets of water relaxed your muscles, you put your hair up in a messy bun and decided to throw on an oversized sweater and leggings. You then grabbed some papers you had to look over and grade that were sitting on your desk as well as your favorite bottle of nail polish. As you made your way downstairs to the living room you stopped at the framed photo of you and Brian from your wedding reception. It was a photo from your first dance. There you stood in your spaghetti strap ball gown, and hair done is a style reminiscent of Brigette Bardot with Bri looking very dapper in a tuxedo, he had just told you some silly joke so you were both looking at each other laughing. You could still feel the emotions and see the love in your eyes and his, you remember how happy you both felt them, and know you had the joys of parenthood to look forward to. Since grading elementary school papers was a total breeze you were now sitting with the tv on quietly for some background noise with a freshly dry mani and pedi while curled up and reading a book. Suddenly, loud knocking echoed abruptly throughout the house. You put your book down puzzled and followed the cats to the door. You were expecting anyone, but you opened the door anyway thinking maybe it was Amazon. As the door opened you soon met a familiar pair of eyes, those belonging to a certain ex boyfriend named Dean. “Dean? What are you doing here? Wait. How do you even know where I live?” He shoved his hands into his pant pockets and looked at you with a sheepish smile. “Hey Y/N. Can I come in? I’ve wanted to talk to you for quite some time, and I finally convinced Natasha to tell me your address.” You let out an exasperated sigh, and motioned for him to come in. You made a mental note to call your friend Nat and chew her out later. You knew that she was still friends with Dean after your breakup, but heck she was one of your best friends and bridesmaids! Why would she tell him! You led Dean to the small table in the kitchen, he took a seat while you leaned against the counter. You brewed yourself a mug of hot cocoa to calm the fury and nerves coursing through you. “Do you want anything?” “Um yeah, can I have water?” You went into the fridge, pulled out a bottle, handed it to him and took your place across the table. “What do you want Dean?” the annoyance was evident in your voice. “I just wanted to catch up, see how you were doing.” “I’m doing just fine. How’s Andi?” When you brought up your ex best friend and the girl he cheated on you with, he slightly flinched. “I’m okay. We ended things years ago.” “Aw. I hate to say I’m not surprised. So no other conquests or flings?” He just shook his head. You had no idea where all of this sudden confidence was coming from, but you weren’t complaining. Throughout your relationship Brian had helped you grow even more and get even more brave and strong, if only he could see this now. “Are you still with that guy from TV? Nat told me it was pretty serious.” “Yeah I am still with Brian, in fact he should be back here soon.” You looked at him dumbfounded, did he honestly not know you and Brian had been married for almost two years now? You looked to see that the sleeve of your sweater was covering the rings on your finger. You went to slide the sleeve down to show him the rings, when he suddenly started speaking again while rising up from the table. “Look Y/N, the real reason I’m here is that… I know I messed up. But I’m here now, please leave this Brian guy and we can start over! I love you.” Now you shot up from the table too. “Are you kidding me! You think that after all this time you could just show up and expect me to take you back! I spent so much time crying over you and you didn’t care. Now that I am not only the best version of myself, but I am now happily with the love of my life you think you can show up, ask me to leave him and I’ll go with you? No! You can take all those crocodile tears and go cry me a river like I did over you a long time ago.” In all the commotion, you didn’t hear the front door open or close and the cats going to greet Q. Nor did you hear the footsteps making their way to the kitchen to hear what all the yelling was about. “Brian is the most amazing man in the world, and you will never be a tenth of the man he is! How dare you come here acting like you want me, now that I don’t need you or want anything to do with you.” Then a voice cut of your angry rant. “Aww baby! You really think I’m the most amazing man in the world?” You turned around to see your husband with a bag of Chinese takeout in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other. You ran over and jumped into his arms, while he spun you around in a hug. “Honey you’re home! How was your day? I-” You were soon cut off again by Dean. “Wait, you two live together?” You turned your head back to Dean. “Umm yeah. Married couples usually do.” “Wait, you’re married!” Brian then chimed in. “Yup, going on two years. Wait are you Dean?” Dean shook his head, and Brain placed you down gently. “Dude I gotta shake your hand man, cause if it wasn’t for you being a total asshole and idiot I may have never met Y/N. And she’s the best thing that ever happened to me.” He shook his hand vigorously. “Now if you’ll excuse us, I believe I have some lunch waiting for me and my beautiful wife. You can feel free to see yourself out.” With that Dean slumped his shoulders and began to make his way to the front door and you both heard the door open and close. You turned back to Brian and peppered kisses all over his face. “What’s all this for?” you motioned to the takeout and flowers. “Well, I felt so bad about you being here while I was in a meeting so one the way home I went to Chang’s and got our favorites, then I went by the flower stand and got these.” “Bri this is amazing! And I have a surprise for you too.” “Really? Well what is it?” You went back upstairs and grabbed one of the pregnancy tests and hid it behind your back. “Are you ready?” “Oh honey I was born ready!” “Okay, close your eyes, and stick out your hands.” Brian did as he was told and you placed the test gently into his hands. “Okay open ‘em!” Brian sprung his eyes open and looked down. He started at the test for a moment and then the gears started turning. Soon he was trying to get words out but couldn’t. “Y/N, are you?” “Pregnant? Uh-huh!” He grabbed you and picked you up again. ‘We’re gonna have a baby!” He kissed you yet again and set you down gently. The minute you were back on solid ground, his hands went straight to your tummy, and kisses soon followed. You both spent that evening cuddled up on your bed talking about the future until you fell asleep still intertwined and cats all around you both.

#brian quinn #Brian Q Quinn #brian quinn imagine #celebrity crush imagine #impractical jokers #impractical jokers imagine #imagine

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quentinbecks · 4 years ago

Text

stillness in woe

Summary: Charlie left Hope County years ago hoping never to come back. But when she learns of her parents involvement with the local doomsday cult, she finds herself heading back to a life she thought she left behind. (Begins two years before the reaping/events of the game)

Pairing: Eventual John Seed x Non Dep OFC

Word Count: 1.9 k

Warnings: mentions of death and vomiting

A/N: I was a little nervous that introducing Charlie’s descent into the cult in the second chapter would be too soon, so I made a little filler chapter. Not the best, but the real meat of the story begins in the next chapter.

Chapter 2: Family Reunion

She hears footsteps coming up behind her. She pauses, thinking it’s only a figment of her overtired imagination. The noises don’t stop. Instead, they only increase in proximity. She’s barely turned around when she notices the red and white camo that signals Jacob’s hunters. The sight alone sends her into a panicked frenzy. Both the hunter and its prey raise their weapons at the same time. Luckily for Charlie she shoots first. Stomping over to the body she rips the red ski mask of their face. This time it’s not the usual boyish face that greets her; it’s her own.

“Charlie!”

The young woman awakens with a start. For a second she’s confused about her whereabouts, not used to sunlight first thing in the morning. After realizing that she’s in Mary May’s apartment she quickly relaxes, but that doesn’t last very long. Her nightmare combined with her current hangover causes bile to rise up in her throat. Charlie bolts upright and runs towards the bathroom, Mary May following right behind her.

She can only make it as far as the sink before her body retches into it. She feels Mary May rubbing circles on her back as she trembles, clutching the porcelain.

“You okay?”

“No” Charlie sniffs, wiping away the tears pooling down her face.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Charlie shakes her head no. She doesn’t need her friend knowing about what she was doing up in the Whitetails. She knows Mary May said things were bad in the valley, but she doubts John Seed is as much of a monster as his brother is. At least not yet. Instead of worrying her, Charlie chooses to tell a white lie.

“It’s nothing. I’m just worried about going to Joseph’s service. Can’t shake the feeling I’ll be held hostage at his compound.” It’s not completely untrue. Charlie is worried about losing herself to the Seeds. She’s heard and seen too much to not have that weigh heavy on her mind.

“Hey” Mary May says, forcing her friend to look at her. “I’m not gonna let him take you. Not when we just got you back.”

Good luck with that she thinks to herself

“My hero” Charlie says with a smile, choosing to forgo voicing her doubts. “I should shower and at least make an attempt to look decent. I wouldn’t want to show up to a Sunday service looking like a sewer rat.”

“Clearly you haven’t seen many peggies.”

In the shower she tries to wash away all of her fears, but the image of Mary May’s scar keeps flashing through her mind. How many other people in the county have been scarred by the youngest Seed? His handiwork looks painful and she doubts anyone would choose to have it done willingly. She wonders what sin will be chosen for her when the time comes. With her luck her whole body would adorned with all seven.

Charlie leaves the apartment to find Mary May helping Casey Fixman open up the bar. She gives a twirl as she hits the ground floor. “You think daddy Seed will like me in this dress?”

Mary May crinkles her nose in slight disgust. She had been gracious in Miami her friend a dress her, recently deceased, brother Drew had bought her for her graduation. On Charlie’s newly slimmed down body the white dress hangs a bit loose, the straps barely clinging to her shoulders.

“I’m sure Joseph will like a lot of things about you if you call him daddy.”

The blonde studies her friend’s appearance closely. The two of them know the importance of appearance to the cult. Due to the release of the documentary ousting the behavior of Eden’s Gate, the group has become more serious in trying to root out those that come with ill intent. And given by the knife holster strapped to Charlie’s thigh, the woman isn’t going in with good will.

“Come here” Mary May pulls on her pony tail once she’s close enough, letting her waves cascade over her shoulders. “There, see, now you look docile and sweet. Just the way the cult likes.”

Charlie wants to remind her friend no one has called her docile or sweet, not even when she was a child, but she can see something is bothering the younger woman. “You do know Nolan will there, right?” Mary May inquires before she can even ask what was wrong.

“No. No I didn’t fucking know that. I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s involved with something illegal, but I am.”

“Your ex husband is basically a glorified drug dealer. He’s helping turn the people in the Henbane into angels” Casey calls out from the kitchen.

“Angels? You know? No. I don’t want to know what that means.”

“Hey” Mary May calls out, bringing her hands to rest on Charlie’s shoulders. “Don’t think about him. Focus on what really matters. Like getting your family out of a cult.”

Charlie nods. She knows Mary May is right, but she can’t help how she feels. It’s been five years since they divorced and she left Hope County, but the wound still feels so fresh.

After promising to check in after the service, she decides to head out to the church. The warm, late summer sun and some classic rock helps Charlie relax on the ride over. Makes her realize there are bigger problems in the world than cheating exes.

The woman is shocked to see the throngs of cultists loitering around and inside the compound, making it almost impossible to find a spot to park her car.

After ditching her car at the end of the drive and doing a few sets of breathing exercises, Charlie makes her way inside. Before she can make her way past the gate she’s stopped by burly, bearded middle aged man.

“Sorry, ma’am I’m afraid I can’t let you past without searching you for any weapons.”

Choices quickly flood Charlie’s mind. She can run past this guard, try to hide amongst the crowd; the crowd wearing mostly uniformed clothing. Or, she can try her hand at improvisation; pretend she really is innocent and sweet. She chooses the latter option.

“I’m sorry” she says, lifting her dress a little to show the knife strapped to her thigh. “You can never be too safe as a woman.”

Charlie pulls the weapon out of its scabbard, holding it out to the man. “If you do me a small favor you can keep this.”

The cultist eyes her warily; unsure of whether she’s worthy of his trust or not. But, to her surprise, her charms worked on him. “What do you want?”

“Well,” Charlie bites her lip before getting as close as she can “I was just wondering if you could introduce me to John Seed. My mom works for him and I just wanted to meet the man she speaks so highly of.”

“I don’t know…” he trails off, looking back at the Seeds and the flock congregating around them.

“Please?” Charlie looks up at the man through her lashes. The man has a rancid odor to him and she wishes she had chosen to duck and run into the compound instead of flirting. “You don’t know how much it would mean to me.”

“Fine. But don’t try anything once you’re inside.”

Pathetic

Charlie flashes him a smile. “Thank you so much.”

The man leads her up the gravel path and through the crowds up to the front of the church. There stood three men and one young woman that everyone seems to gravitate towards.

The Seeds

Charlie’s blood runs cold at the realization that she’s finally in their presence. It dawns on her too late that they may know she was the one responsible for the death of the young chosen. Fortunately she doesn’t have time to dwell too long on that thought as the man pulls her gently towards John Seed.

“Brother John?”

The young man looks up and she’s struck by the fact that he’s actually handsome. He’s well dressed and equally well groomed with a lordly posture. She recognizes immediately that she can’t manipulate him with her feminine wiles, he’s clearly too worldly for that. The older man pushes past two young women who were waiting in line to speak to the herald.

“This lost soul has been looking for you.” Charlie tries not to roll her eyes at the descriptor, but she knows she can act the part if it brings her closer to her parents.

“Is that so?”

“Yes” Charlie answers for the cultist, a sudden surge of bravery overtaking her as she steps around him. “I haven’t heard from my family in years. I heard they were here and I wanted to see if they were okay. A wellness check, if you will.”

“That’s not what you…” John cuts the man off before he can continue on.

“Did you not recognize her?” he asks as his eyes light up with recognition. Charlie freezes.

How? He can’t possibly know.

“She’s clearly our accountant’s daughter” he says lightly spinning her around.

The other man studies her face for a moment. “Huh. You really do look exactly like Christine.”

“You know, there’s really nothing to worry about. Your family is doing well here, but, if you want to do your little ‘wellness check’, you best follow me, sweetheart” John suggests over her shoulder.

Charlie fights the urge to make a snarky retort, choosing to cast a smile over her shoulder instead. “Of course. After you.”

They head inside and Charlie is flanked on all sides by peggies. Two to her side, one behind her, and John in front of her. If she’s being honest she doesn’t understand why they need to guard a tiny, unarmed woman. Besides, who goes to reunite with their family just to attack them?

All of that goes out the window when she sees her mother. She barely registers John calling out to her mother before she’s shoving past him.

“Mama?”

Christine steps forward, her hands cupping her daughter’s cheeks. “Charlene? Baby, what are you doing here?”

Charlie blinks back the tears she can feel tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. “You haven’t returned any of my calls in almost three years. I was scared” she whispers, hoping none of the cultists can hear.

Unfortunately for her the youngest Seed does hear. “I told you there was nothing to worry about” he says, clasping both Berger women’s shoulders. “Your family is doing well here, even better, they’re thriving.”

Her mother nods and smiles at John. Charlie can tell her happiness is real and it pains her to see it. If it weren’t for the armed militia around the compound she would punch the smug look off of his face.

“Sweetheart, now that you’re back in Hope County; now that you’re home, why don’t you move back in with your dad and I?”

It sounds like a terrible idea. The last thing she wants is to be stuck in a house with two people who only want to talk about Eden’s Gate. She goes to protest when she realizes she hasn’t even seen her father yet.

“Oh, no I really couldn’t... Wait, where is daddy?”

Before her mother can explain a deep voice from behind her interrupts, stopping everyone in their tracks “Who’s this?”

Charlie turns around to see who intruded on their conversation. She recognizes Joseph almost immediately, his man bun and glasses giving him

Shit

#if anyone wants to be my beta/sounding board for the rest of this fic pls hit me up #i would love you forever #far cry 5 fic #far cry 5 oc #john seed x oc #oc: charlie berger #fic: stillness in woe

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