#to see victory dangled just within his reach | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

i-heart-slashers · 8 months ago

Text

Chance Encounters

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Dwayne x gender neutral!reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | A chance encounter cheers you up while on the boardwalk but was it really a chance encounter?

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1.7 k

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | n/a

The salty breeze swept through the boardwalk, carrying with it the laughter of children, the sizzle of fried food, and the distant melody of carnival music.

Among the crowds of people strolling along the wooden planks, you walked with purpose, eyes fixed on the colorful array of games lining the bustling strip.

You had always been drawn to the challenge of carnival games, the promise of winning a coveted prize lighting a spark of determination within you.

Today was no different. Pockets jingling with coins and a heart full of optimism, you made your way to one of the many game booths adorned with oversized stuffed animals dangling tantalizingly from above.

The game was simple enough—toss rings onto bottles, and if one landed just right, victory and a plush reward awaited.

With practiced precision, you flicked your wrist, sending ring after ring spiraling through the air. But each attempt fell short, missing the mark by mere inches or bouncing off the bottles with frustrating defiance.

Undeterred, you persisted, your determination growing with each failed toss. Time seemed to blur as you continue your quest, coins slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. Yet, despite your best efforts, the elusive victory remained just out of reach.

As the sun descended towards the horizon, casting an amber glow over the boardwalk before blossoming into purple-blue, you finally admitted defeat.

With a heavy sigh, you stepped back from the game booth, hands empty and spirits deflated.

Despite your best efforts and a considerable dent in your wallet, the teddy bear remained firmly perched atop its pedestal, mocking you with its unattainable allure.

Once so tempting, the lure of the prize now felt like a distant dream.

With a sad sigh, you pulled yourself together, and just as you turned to leave, a voice broke through the din of the crowd. "Hey there, having trouble?"

You turned to see a figure standing beside you, walking from the shadows of a nearby alley, with a warm but mysterious smile on his lips. "Maybe a fresh pair of eyes is all you need," he offered, gesturing towards the game with a playful grin. "I'm Dwayne"

Blinking, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of curiosity as he gestured toward the game booth with a casual tilt of his head. "Mind if I give it a shot?"

You hesitated, your cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and intrigue. But something about Dwayne's easy charm and genuine kindness put you at ease, and you found yourself nodding in agreement.

Giving him a small smile, you stepped aside, watching with a mix of anticipation and skepticism as Dwayne approached the booth. In one fluid motion, he picked up a ring, his movements confident and precise.

With a flick of his wrist, the ring sailed through the air, spinning gracefully before landing with a satisfying clink on the neck of a bottle. Cheers erupted from the crowd as Dwayne repeated the feat not once but twice more, each toss hitting its mark with pinpoint accuracy.

You could scarcely believe your eyes as Dwayne turned back to you, a triumphant grin lighting up his face. "Looks like we've got a winner," he said as if there was no doubt he'd win.

At that moment, as the carnival lights flickered overhead and the sounds of jubilation filled the air, you felt a spark ignite within you. It wasn't just the thrill of victory or the allure of the prize that captivated you, but something deeper.

"Looks like we make a pretty good team," he remarked, holding out the plush prize for you to take.

You accepted the oversized stuffed animal from Dwayne with a mix of gratitude and awe. As you reached out to accept the bear, your hands brushed together, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins.

"Wow. This is exactly what I wanted," you said with a shocked laugh.

Dwayne offers to carry the oversized plush as he leads you down the boardwalk, seemingly taking the initiative to hang out with you without stating it as you follow his lead wordlessly.

For some reason, your hand itched to reach out and take his— but for obvious reasons, you don't.

As you walked along the boardwalk again, the plush prize tucked securely under his arm, you knew that this chance encounter had sparked something that would stay with you long after the carnival lights had dimmed.

You couldn't help but feel the weight of the evening's events settle into a gentle warmth. Dwayne walked beside you, his presence both comforting and protective. Now tinged with twilight's soft hues, the carnival's atmosphere seemed to pulse with an enchanting rhythm.

"Thank you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper yet filled with sincere gratitude. "I was about to give up."

Dwayne's smile broadened, a light chuckle escaping his lips. "Sometimes, it just takes a fresh perspective," he replied. "Or a bit of luck." His voice teases something more knowing, but that was lost on you.

Nodding, you couldn't help but feel a strange connection to this man you had just met, who was clearly comfortable walking around shirtless under that jacket.

You couldn't shake the feeling that your paths had crossed for a reason. "Do you come here often?" you asked, trying to prolong the conversation but grimacing at the question you uttered.

"Every night," Dwayne said, his gaze drifting over the bustling boardwalk. "I have a lot of brothers, and chaos on the boardwalk is a nightly routine for us. Plus, I enjoy the energy— people-watching is sort of my thing."

"Your thing?" you found yourself eager to learn more about him.

"I'm a… free spirit, you could say," Dwayne explained. "Having a lot of time gives me the freedom to come here when I want. And you? What brings you to the boardwalk?"

You hesitated for a moment, contemplating how much to share. "I just moved here, and I guess the boardwalk attracted me. Something about the carnival games, the lights, it all feels so nostalgic."

Dwayne nodded in understanding. "I get that. There's a certain magic here, isn't there?"

The two of you walked in companionable silence for a while, the sound of your footsteps blending with the ambient noise of the carnival. You glanced at the stuffed animal tucked under his arm—a giant, fluffy bear with a cheerful expression.

It was a stark contrast to the earlier frustration you had felt.

"Want to grab a bite?" Dwayne suggested, breaking the silence as his eyes roam over you with a deeper meaning before he grins. "I know a place that does amazing food."

You feel something warm inside you at his question, whether it was him caring for your hunger or just wanting to spend more time with you. Either way, you were eager to follow his lead.

With a shared smile, you made your way to a nearby food stand, the tantalizing aroma of fried dough and powdered sugar guiding your steps.

As you waited in line, Dwayne's easygoing nature made the conversation flow effortlessly; he asked questions and then listened. You talked about favorite memories, childhood dreams, and the small joys of life.

When your order was ready, you found a quiet place to sit, the stuffed bear occupying its own place near you. The first bite of the warm, sugary treat was blissful, and you couldn't help but let out a contented sigh.

"Delicious, right?" Dwayne said, his eyes twinkling with amusement as his eyes roamed your face almost as if trying to savor that instead of the food.

"Absolutely," you agreed, taking another bite. "You weren't kidding."

You continued to chat, the evening unfolding around you both like a storybook. The lights of the carnival rides twinkled in the background, casting a soft glow over their conversation. You found yourselves laughing more than you had in a long time, the stress and disappointment of the earlier game wholly forgotten.

As the night wore on, you wandered through the boardwalk, enjoying the various sights and sounds. You played a few more games, and your competitive spirits were ignited by friendly banter.

Dwayne proved to be skilled at more than just ring toss, winning a couple of smaller prizes, which he generously handed over to you.

"You're really good at these," you remarked, both impressed and envious.

Dwayne shrugged modestly. "Years of practice. As I said, my brothers and I have lived here for a long time. Plus, it's all about having fun, right?"

You couldn't argue with that. You were having fun, more than you had initially anticipated. As you reached the end of the boardwalk, the ocean stretched out before you, the waves illuminated by the moonlight.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Dwayne said, his voice soft as he looked out at the water.

"It is," you agreed, feeling a sense of tranquility wash over them. "Thanks for tonight, Dwayne. It was… unexpected, but in the best way." being with him somehow felt natural, like he was always supposed to be there.

Dwayne turned to face you; his expression was sincere. "I'm glad I could make your night better. Sometimes, the best moments are the ones we don't see coming."

You smiled, feeling a flutter of something akin to hope. "So, do you think I'll see you again?"

Dwayne's smile was warm and reassuring, but it also reflected a knowing look, like you were a new part of his life now. "I'll make sure of it." He grinned as he said your name smoothly as he bid you farewell.

As you said your goodbyes, you couldn't help but feel this was just the beginning of something special. Your stomach tightened in an excited expression akin to a schoolgirl crush.

You can see him walk towards a group dressed similarly, like him on a bike. A wild blonde patted him on the shoulder with a wide grin, and a smaller guy waggled his fingers at you in a wave.

Turning away as a blush heated up your skin, you started to make your way back home. You grinned, walking past the final few stands on the way out.

With its lights and laughter, the boardwalk will always hold a special place in your heart. But tonight, it had given them something more—a chance encounter that felt like destiny.

Meeting someone who turned a moment of disappointment into a night of unforgettable memories.

As you carried your prizes home, it suddenly struck you that you had not introduced yourself in the flurry of frustration at the game.

So, how did Dwayne know your name?

#horror #horror slashers #slashers #reader insert #x reader #the lost boys #gender neutral insert #gender neutral reader #dwayne lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #vampire #vampires #lost boys

159 notes · View notes

otomiyaa · 3 months ago

Text

Day 30: Magic

Frieren x Himmel | Nim's Lovely Tickletober

Word Count: 700

Collab with @dokidoki-muffin! [Link to artwork]

It was nothing new of course, but Himmel couldn't help himself and secretly enjoyed it every single time: Frieren's chaotic encounters with mimics.

The elven mage's legs were kicking wildly as she tried to free herself from the heavy fake chest she got caught in this time, causing Himmel to rub his lips as if that could hide the smile on his face.

"Again... Alright. This might take a while. I'll explore the next room in advance," they heard Heiter say behind them. Eisen just followed the priest without a word, leaving Himmel alone with Frieren and her struggles.

Turning back around, beholding the elf’s lazy dangling legs, something crossed Himmel's mind. Something he had thought of already a couple of mimic accidents before this one. The blue-haired hero looked around, realizing this was actually the perfect opportunity.

"Frieren?" He took a step closer to stand by her side. Frieren stopped struggling, not seeming to be in that much of a rush to get herself out.

"Yes?" she chirped. Himmel chuckled.

"There's something I've been wanting to share with you. Actually, I've picked up a trick that can help you free yourself from mimics," he explained, trying hard to contain his anticipation.

Frieren hummed. "A trick? Like... magic?"

"Well… You could say that." Not really, but if she was buying it, he was more than happy to play.

"Hm... I haven't heard of such a spell. You learned about it?"

She sounded surprised and curious, making Himmel wonder if Frieren was really this easy to prank. Then again, this was the elf who got stuck in a mimic for the umpteenth time, because of her blind lust for discovering new spells.

"Yes. It went something like this," Himmel elaborated, as he carefully knelt down by Frieren's side.

"If you happen to find yourself in a pickle..." Himmel slowly took off Frieren's boot, observing her with a side-eye, but she didn't even seem to question it.

"...we can solve it... with a tickle!"

Proud of his homemade spell improvisation, Himmel immediately began to scribble his fingers over Frieren's foot. For a good second she didn't respond, as if she needed a moment to process those words and sensations. But all of a sudden, loud giggles could be heard from within the chest, and she started to kick and squirm.

"Hehehey!!! That's no mahahagic at ahahall!" the elf squeaked in surprise.

No kidding! Himmel smiled fondly and continued his tickly assault.

"Are you sure? Seems quite magical to me," the hero stated innocently while admiring Frieren's sweet bubbly laughter. It was so unlike her to laugh like this, and it was like music to his ears.

"Can you get out now?" he asked while she continued to giggle uncontrollably.

"Nohoho!"

"Then we will need to try harder~" Himmel reached for her other foot and took off that boot as well. He grabbed her ankle and tickled her sole with some more happy scribbles before wiggling his fingers into her toes, causing the mage to squeal.

"Heeeehehehey! Dohohon't!"

At last, Frieren's struggling was actually effective and Himmel could see her slowly re-emerge from the mimic trap.

"Almost there," Himmel sang, smirking at the sight of some new target space.

Quickly letting go of her foot, he leaned forward to give Frieren's sides some gentle squeezes.

"WOHAHA!"

With a surprisingly loud roar, Frieren finally popped out of the mimic and fell backwards… Right on top of Himmel.

Blushing like crazy at their sudden close proximity, Himmel could hear her wheezy breaths and feel her movements as she squirmed above him.

"That was the worst magic ever," Frieren pouted while she clumsily crawled off him, scrambling about on the dungeon ground to put her boots back on.

Himmel hurried to get on his feet before she did, and he held out his hand to help her up.

"But it did work," Himmel claimed victoriously.

Frieren looked up at him with a sigh, her cheeks still painted with a cute rosy color, and sparkles in her eyes.

She smiled and grabbed his hand.

"Well… That's true. I'll forgive you for now," she declared, but it was plain obvious how flustered she was, going the other way after a swift turn.

"Now where did those other two go? Thanks a lot for leaving me behind~" the elf mage murmured, sounding all shy and embarrassed.

Hehe. Himmel smirked and followed after her.

He indeed hoped she did forgive him, for he would actually love to do that again...

#tickletober #tickletober2024 #lovelytickletober #sousou no frieren #tickling #tickle fic #frieren x himmel #frieren #himmel #frimmel #otomiya!writes

80 notes · View notes

thlayli-ra · 7 months ago

Text

Stray (part 10)

Characters - CM Punk, Drew McIntyre, Samoa Joe, Gunther, Imperium, William Regal, Blackpool Combat Club

Pairing - CM Punk/Drew McIntyre, CM Punk/Samoa Joe (past)

AU - Stray Au

Rating - Mature

Warnings - ***Rape, non-con, past abuse, blood***

Words - ~3,900 words

Summary - Drew returns to his place of captivity, and remembers...

Drew was hurting bad. Heart pounding, muscles aching, every breath coming in hard and ragged. Fresh blood slid over his hot skin, drenched with sweat. And everything hurt! Just like it always did at this point in the fight. When both combatants were starting to tire in the deep waters, each man balancing precariously somewhere between victory... and death!

The crowd were feral tonight. Voices a riot of high-pitched shrieks blasting in his ears. They were all around him as Drew tried to back away from his opponent, suffocating him, grabbing at him, slapping him on the back and shoulders. Whacking against his open wounds, their palms coming away red and wet.

The chain rattled, dangling from his wrist, connecting him to the man hellbent on slaughtering him. Somewhere in the bout, his opponent had yanked the chain hard and Drew had heard a loud crack. He wasn't sure if his wrist was broken or just badly sprained but he knew his whole hand had swollen up like a boxing glove. He couldn't even curl his fingers into a fist.

His opponent began pulling on the chain tethering them again, luring Drew in like an exhausted fish on a hook. Smiling as he bit down on the hunting knife between his teeth, the same one he'd used to slice through Drew's skin. The Scotsman had been able to fend off any major blows so far but he was growing weary, ground down and hurting. One mistake, one strike through his defences was all it would take.

Drew's bare feet skidded across the floor, failing to find grounding in the macabre tug-of-war. His opponent's features becoming clearer, the mad glee in his eye as he yanked the battered Scot closer. The knife was removed from his teeth and held aloft. A last wrench and Drew was within reach of his blade. A clean stab to the neck and the much larger man would be finished.

But Drew struck first, smashing his forehead against the fragile cartilage of his opponent's nose. A catastrophic headbutt that they ironically called a 'Glasgow Kiss' back home. The other man crumpled in a wail of pain and seeping blood. Drew saw his chance and grabbed up the chain, wrapping it around his foe's neck and pulling it tight.

Tap! His mind screamed, pleaded with the other man. For the love of God, please tap! He couldn't endure another name, another face added to his kill list. Another soul weighing down his guilt. Tap! Please tap! Please!

But his thoughts did not get through to his opponent who went limp in his arms, his face a deep shade of purple. At the first sign of unconsciousness, Drew released him, let him flop onto his back. The MC stepped forward, took one look at the unresponsive fighter and declared Drew the winner to a din of mixed reactions from the mob around him. Some cheering for their wins, other protesting their losses, some baying for Drew's blood themselves.

Yet the whole time, he watched his beaten foe. Waiting for movement. Breathe! Breathe!

A hand pressed against the middle of his chest and pushed him back. Pushed him away from the limp body before he could confirm there was still a pulse beating within it. Wheeler Yuta quickly unlocked the metal cuff from around Drew's puffy wrist then grabbed his arm and escorted him away from the growingly agitated crowd.

'Good fight,' Yuta hushed out softly. 'Good win.' Drew liked Yuta, he was a good kid, but he could already see the change taking over him. The bruises on his face like a poison slowly sinking in. The other members of the Blackpool Combat Club had a particularly nasty method of hazing their newest recruits. They said it was to toughen them up, but really it was to bring them in line. Softness and sympathy were not welcome traits in their gang.

Drew looked forward to returning to his cell downstairs, where hopefully a warm meal and his bunk would be waiting for him after the medic had stitched him up. However, he wasn't ushered towards the side door leading to the steps, instead he was taken to Mr Regal's table.

Fingers of terror gripped the Scotsman. What did Regal want with him? Had he been disappointed with his fight? But... Drew had won! It had been a tough battle but he had come out victorious, that had to count for something, surely? His heart kicked like a mule against his ribs as he was lead up into Regal's private booth and came to a halt a foot from the large table, laden with fine food and drink. Instinctively, he sank down onto his creaking knees, his head bowed low for his master.

'That'll be all, Yuta.' The soft grip left his shoulder with a squeeze and Drew had to stop the terrified whine from bubbling up his throat. He began to tremble, a feeling like a noose tightening around his neck.

'Is this him?' Another voice piped up. One that Drew had never heard before.

'This is the man in question,' Regal answered, his voice flowing with easy charm. 'Scotsman. Six foot five and two hundred and sixty five pounds. Dark hair. Blue eyes.' Why was he reeling off his attributes like that? Like he was selling a used car?

'Can I have a closer look?'

'Be my guest.'

Drew heard a sharp whistle and glanced up to find a grim-faced man pointing to the floor in front of him. Realising he was being beckoned over, the Scotsman went to stand when the stranger shook his head. 'No, don't get up.'

Drew didn't understand. He turned to Regal for help but the Englishman was glaring sternly at him. Do as you're fucking told! So Drew did what he thought he was being told. He crawled on all fours! Ass up, back arched, like a whipped dog. Feeling a burning in his cheeks from the humiliation.

'Good boy.' The stranger's mocking made it worse.

Drew struggled, his bad wrist was weak and unable to support him on one side. No matter what he did he couldn't hide it. The stranger immediately clocked the injury but said nothing.

Once he'd reached his destination, Drew's chin was grabbed and tilted back. The large man loomed above him, menacing. 'Hmm, pretty,' he noted, his tone cranking up Drew's dread. A thick thumb wormed its way between his lips, pushed down on his bottom teeth to open his mouth up wide for him to inspect. Now Drew was starting to panic!

'Is he well behaved?' the man asked as he poked his fingers down the back of his throat, making him gag.

'Hmm-mm,' Regal nodded, taking a sip of his red wine. 'Very. We haven't had any trouble from this one. He's a good fighter too, strong and-'

'I don't need him to fight,' the man interrupted. Then what? Drew pleaded internally, what do you want with me?

'Stand,' the man commanded and Drew shakily got up to his feet, silencing any grunts of pain as his fresh wounds flared. However, he had no such luck with his heartbeat, which drummed loudly in his chest.

A pounding that became deafening when large hands stroked down his flanks and rested on his hips. Drew flinched when the fingers hooked into the waistband of his fight shorts and yanked down, dragging them all the way to his ankles. Quickly, he covered himself with his bloodied hands but both of his wrists were captured in a vice-like grip and torn apart. 'Hands behind your back!'

The fire in Drew's cheeks roared red hot as he glanced around the audience looking on, piqued by that morbid curiosity that afflicts all animals when they spy one of their own being devoured by a predator. On one side was Regal and his two right-hand men, Mox and Claudio, while on the other, Regal's guest had two men of his own, one blonde, the other bald. Six pairs of eyes on him, twelve eyes staring as the man's large hand slid between his legs and cupped his genitals in its palm, feeling the weight of them like they were a sack of gold.

'Yes, very nice.'

A shriek tore through the air, making Drew jump. The man had shoved back his chair and was now getting to his feet, Drew's cock and balls still trapped in his grasp. He stood to his full height, only an inch shorter than the tall Scotsman and locked his fierce eyes onto Drew's startled blues. He said nothing, only began to knead the fragile flesh in his hand and watched as his victim squirmed.

Then slapped Drew hard across the face!

The Scotsman reeled from the blow, grunting as the hold on his groin tightened, forcing him to keep his feet.

'What are you going to do?' The stranger asked with a mocking sneer. 'Are you going to hit me back?'

Slowly, Drew turned his face back around, teeth grit and intense blue eyes glistening through the threads of his long, damp hair, glaring defiantly. Betraying the fact that Regal had oversold just how 'well-behaved' his prisoner was.

The stranger squeezed him viciously between the legs, giving a slight twist to remind the Scotsman he had full control over him. Drew ruefully backed down and kept his clenched fists behind his back, trying to ignore the stranger's other hand wrapping around him to stroke down his shoulder blades, finding the groove of his spine and following the trail down, down, down.

'Has he...' the man paused, mulling over his words, '..been broken in already?'

Regal didn't even look up from his meal as he asked Drew, 'have you ever been fucked up the arse?'

Drew gaped, blue eyes wide and round with shock. Thinking of nights when the drink had flowed too freely among the guards, when they huddled together and chose a cell at random. It often took two or three to hold him down while another-

Drew lowered his head in shame, lifted up his fist. Gave an anguished cat paw.

'What was that?' the man asked, suspiciously.

'He said yes,' Regal explained matter-of-factly. 'We don't permit our prisoners to speak. Instead they must learn sign language for when we need them to communicate. British sign language. That way they can't go spilling their sob stories to some nosy, sympathetic yank.'

'I see,' the man replied, thoughtfully. 'So he doesn't speak?'

'Shouldn't do. Is that a problem?'

The grim lips tightened. Considering.

The hand holding his genitals finally let go. Only to lightly grab hold of his injured wrist and coax it from behind his back, bringing it up to Drew's chest height. With one hand on Drew's wrist, the other seizing him by the base of his fingers, the stranger slowly twisted the inflamed hand. It began to throb, it took all of Drew's fortitude not to let the discomfort show. Nothing more than a slight twitch of his eye.

But the man continued, prising Drew's swollen hand further back. The pain grew, getting worse until Drew couldn't hide it anymore, his lips pursing, the bridge of his nose crinkling. Yet, still he kept on winding it back on itself, cold eyes boring into his, waiting, knowing he would get the result he wanted if he was only patient.

And finally, when he snapped Drew's injured hand back at a terrible angle, the stranger won his victory. Drew let out a wail of distress as the pain shot through his entire arm. As soon as he did, his wrist was released and Drew fell to his knees, clutching his throbbing hand to his chest protectively.

'No. It's not a problem at all,' the stranger replied to Regal's earlier query, smiling down at the quivering Scot at his feet. He barked out an order in a foreign language and the blonde man stepped forward, placing a black briefcase on the table and sliding it across towards Regal, who opened it eagerly. 'As we agreed.'

'A quick inspection, if I may?'

'Go ahead. If you don't mind me doing the same.'

Thick fingers entangled in Drew's hair and yanked him up to his feet. He was shoved belly first onto the table, the hand in his hair holding his cheek flat against the hard wood while, behind him, the stranger wetted two of his fingers in his mouth.

Panic grabbed hold of Drew and shook him viciously. Trying to snap him out of his stupor while a huge thigh punched between his legs and drove them apart. Everybody was watching, everybody was looking. Not even Claudio had the decency to turn away as his cheeks were split open and a chunky, slick finger probed between them.

Except Regal. The one man he needed to look at him at that moment.

The finger forced its way in and Drew squealed.

Still Regal refused to look his way.

He had to get him to look at him!

Drew freed his hand trapped beneath him and loudly rapped his knuckles against the tabletop until his master glanced up from the stack of money in the briefcase towards him. Pinned facedown, Drew couldn't get the full motion he needed but he was able to get his point across. His flat palm, flying from his chest like a bird. A finger pointed at Regal, making the sign of a 'x' in the air.

'Yes,' Regal said, closing the case with a snap. 'I did promise you your freedom, didn't I?'

Drew's blue eyes looked up pleadingly at his master, gasping as another finger probed deep inside of him.

'But I thought you would have figured it all out by now.' Regal nodded to Mox and Claudio, the pair of them turning to leave. Drew's breathing quickened, heaving his shoulders in short, terrified pants as Regal cocked his head down at him. 'This is the real world, petal. Nobody keeps their promises!'

And he left.

Closing the door to his private booth as Drew was brutally broken in by his new master.

'This the place?'

Drew blinked back to reality and looked ahead. As soon as he spied the large chain link fence, he felt a stab of fear. Taking in a deep breath to help him focus, he lifted his fist.

Cat paw.

'Ok,' Joe was working on his breathing too but to his credit, nothing else gave away his nerves. His hand curled around the steering wheel was rock-steady, his brow lowered and his jaw clenched. A man who was no stranger to a fight, and knew on his best day, he could beat anybody.

But this wasn't just any ordinary fight. Punk's life hung in the balance.

'So what's the plan?'

Drew flicked his finger between them and drove his open palm forward towards the fence. We go in.

'Both of us?' Joe turned to him, narrowing his eyes.

Drew heaved in another focusing breath. He gave a determined nod of his head.

'Fine,' Joe cut the engine then reached down behind his seat, retrieving a hefty crowbar. Drew gaped at the weapon, wondering if Joe always kept him with him, or had grabbed it specifically for the rescue mission. 'Let's go.'

The pair of them got out of the car and crept through the shadows towards the large, looming barricade. Making sure the coast was clear, Drew scaled the fence and leapt down onto the other side. Turning around, he expected to find Joe following suite but the other man was busy jamming his crowbar into the chain locking the gate tight. With a grunt, he tore the metal apart, the chain slumped to the floor and Joe casually walked through the gate.

'I prefer to keep my feet on the ground,' he stated.

The two men then took in the sight of their next predicament. A strange building stood before them, a huge slap of cold grey concrete. A ladder lead up to a door halfway up its facade with a walkway winding around the side of the circular building.

'What is this place?'

Drew ignored the question and pushed on ahead. He didn't know what the building was once used for and didn't care. All that mattered was that it was currently where they were holding Punk.

And where they had held him too!

Grabbing hold of the ladder, he climbed up, finding a hefty padlock on the door. Once Joe had heaved himself up onto the walkway, his crowbar made short work of the lock and the door swung open, squeaking on its rusty hinges. Beyond, there was nothing but black shadows.

Drew's nerve failed him.

It must have shown because a big hand squeezed his shoulder. 'Stay here and keep watch,' Joe told him, giving Drew an out. 'I'll go in.'

Drew answered with a resigned sigh and quivered his head. Lifting up both hands, he crooked his index fingers and touched them to the corner of his eyes then down. Be careful!

'I'll watch out,' Joe reassured the Scot before stepping into the darkness and out of sight.

Drew felt like his heart was trying to escape out of his mouth. He'd been fine coming back, nervous yes, but the sight of the fence and the building hadn't fazed him since he'd only really seen them for the first time when he had escaped. But as soon as the door opened and he got that first whiff of stale, damp air, all the terror and pain had come crashing back.

Life as Regal's gladiator had been brutal, but every minute of being Gunther's slave was a waking nightmare. Memories of being locked up, practically naked, in a cold, cramped cage. Isolated entirely from the world around him, days flowing into one another until time meant nothing at all. Reduced to little more than a dog with the collar around his neck and the muzzle covering his face. Abused and beaten and flogged and raped repeatedly. Used for whatever sick purpose his master desired, completely at the mercy of his sadistic whims.

He'd fought back at first, but he was outnumbered, three dangerous men to one, and they always managed to overpower him. One day, he'd found the courage to rip off his collar and threw it at Gunther's feet, spitting a large glob of saliva onto the so-called General's polished shoes.

He paid a heavy price for his insolence. His master was overcome with blinding rage and Drew was beaten so badly he was certain he would be killed. Even his captors believed they had murdered him, going as far as to call in Thatcher to dispose of his body, however, to Drew's great dismay, he regained consciousness. They had left him alone in the cage for several days afterwards, perhaps hoping he would pass on quietly but the Scotsman refused to die. Once he'd recovered enough from his injuries, the abuse began again. Only this time, Drew stopped fighting back.

And he never dared remove his collar again.

Time wore on and the spirit that had burned inside of Drew sizzled out like a flame in a rainstorm. Where courage and pride had once been, fear and dread took its place. And hopelessness. Dark, empty hopelessness.

Until the day he dangled from the hook in the centre of the room, and made an incredible discovery - his cuffs were loose! Giddy with terrified excitement, he wriggled his hands loose. A new-found strength, borne from the promise of liberty, fuelled his limbs as he yanked at the fetter around his ankle, somehow managing to snap the chain in half and Drew dashed for the door. Ignoring the throbbing pain in his calf, he ran and ran and ran, until his lungs collapsed and his legs soon followed and he found himself lost in a raging storm, alone and terrified. Knowing his kidnappers were on the hunt and following his scent.

But then a stranger found him.

Soft fingers, long and slender, reached out to help him when nobody else did. Their feathery touch unfastened the clasps of his muzzle and tenderly removed Drew from its foul grip. As those wondrous fingers threw his own personal cage away like trash, Drew had spied letters inked into them, spelling out a word he knew so well. A word that he had become nothing more than a fantasy, a figment of his imagination that he could never hope to cling to.

Free!

Drew read them as a sign so when the stranger mentioned something about hot coffee and warm muffins, he took a chance. 'It melts in your mouth, I swear.' A promise! Even though Regal's words swarmed Drew's mind - 'nobody keeps their promises' - he accepted the offer and went with the stranger back to his apartment.

Those tender fingers were strong. They carried the injured Scot the whole way back, never once hurting him but never once threatening to drop him. He'd felt safe in their grasp, the first time he had felt safe in years. So many years!

And when he arrived at the apartment... Drew ate the best damn muffins he had ever tasted in his whole life! They did indeed melt in his mouth.

It was something so small and insignificant. Punk probably had no idea of the importance of those two little words - 'I swear' - but it meant everything to Drew. Despite a bellyful of gooey muffins, hot coffee and a fluffy blanket around his shoulders, Drew felt the greatest warmth radiating from his chest. A spark reigniting the furnace of his soul. All because of a promise kept.

As the night wore on, Punk fulfilled more of his promises. 'I'm not gonna hurt you!' He didn't take advantage of him, even when Drew succumbed to his conditioning and crawled on all fours to show his appreciation for the meal. He never touched him inappropriately in the showers or molested him while Drew slept.

'You're safe with me'. When nightmares had driven Drew from his slumber and he'd awoken in the strange room, forgetting for a moment where he was, Punk had allowed the Scotsman into his bed and held him close, chasing the terrors away during the hours of darkness. For the first time in... he didn't even know how long, Drew had slept, peacefully and deep. With Punk's tender fingers stroking his hair, soothing him with their gentle touch.

By the following morning, Drew had fallen in love with those two inked hands. A quick glance over the rest of the man who possessed them, with the distinguished grey in his beard, green eyes that blinked shyly whenever their gazes met and his soft, muscular body adorned with beautiful frescoes, and Drew concluded there were fewer pictures of perfection in the world.

Yet here he was, standing on the outside, waiting around like a coward.

'As long as I'm still breathing, I’ll never let them take you. I can promise you that.'

Punk was in this ordeal all because of him. Because he'd made a bold pledge to Drew and just like he had done for every other oath he took, Punk had set out to fulfil it. However, when he had not returned after promising Joe he would be right back, Drew knew something terrible had happened. When he'd discovered the muzzle missing from Punk's dining table, he realised the horrifying fate that he had wriggled free from now had Punk in its coils.

Drew breathed in slow and long, bunching his fists up tight. Lifting his head, he forced all the fear down to grab the handle of the door.

And went inside to save the man he loved!

To be continued...

Previous chapter

Next Chapter

#Thlayli-writes #stray au #cm punk #drew mcintyre #samoa joe #gunther #imperium #william regal #punkintyre #drewpunk #wrestling fanfiction #wwe fan fiction #tw rape #tw noncon #tw blood

20 notes · View notes

whispersafterdusk · 10 months ago

Text

Ensuring the Future - ch 4

With the sudden addition of a lift for the salvage yard the majority of her time had been spent scavenging and assembling; Miguel brought her tea every morning and they chatted while she stoked the furnaces and organized the day's work. They were careful to keep their chatter to innocent things so as to not start the days off in low moods (and had also planned to meet up for dinner every Monday, to hell with their respective schedules) but there was some annoyance to have a desire dangled in her face and knowing that she could not reach out to seize it without letting something else important fall through the cracks thanks to Yan's mismanagement.

At least once the lifts were installed it wasn't such a pain to gather materials -- one had to take the small victories where they could. Down in the ruins everything was far more plentiful: raw ore was easier to refine than recycling scrap and anything and everything wooden was pulled apart and carried back to the surface to be stripped, sanded, and repurposed; little by little things were falling into place and it was taking less and less time to fulfill the late commissions, and it certainly helped that Mi-an's list had been so well organized too -- efficiency was a key component of speed, after all. As she began to streamline things and get established her schedule would effectively open up (a thought both welcome and terrifying). ((Continued below cut))

Recent deliveries included boards to the saloon (and fixing a few loose stairs while she was there), a bucket of screws and a single hardwood panel to the general store, a new pane of glass for a display case in the temple... This morning though was one she was actually looking forward to: a few buckets and some replacement boards for the Moisture Farm.

Contracting exclusively with the botanists in Highwind had introduced her to the work of many of the botanists scattered across the Free Cities; Sandrock had Zeke and his work out here in the desert was discussed quite often -- Professor Luo had even commissioned her to build a more compact hydroponic system to send out here on a trial period to see if it was a feasible means to speed up production and conserve water in such an arid environment. She'd built the unit, they'd sent it off and had received a few tentatively hopeful reports in response, but after about a year or so she didn't recall any further mention of the machine. Whether that was good or bad news was something she intended to find out as she rode the yakmel cart over to deliver the commissioned goods.

She left the boards and buckets beside the door in orderly stacks and took a moment to look over the outside of the farm; it looked like a wrecked and repurposed flying machine with a giant glass-pane dome protecting the plants within. It was heavily rusted and she spotted a few areas that could use some attention, quickly making a mental note of it, then shouldered the door open and walked into the humid enclosure.

It smelled lush and organic -- fresh-cut greenery, wet dirt, and a touch of manure, and it brought back a rush of memory and emotion of Highwind and its greenhouses...though the greenhouses had always been full of students, professors, and aides, and the work always filthy and back-breaking, it had still been a peaceful and fulfilling place to labor. There was but one man here though and she could spot him bent over a planter full of newly sprouted wheat stalks not far from the door, and he in turn had turned just enough to peer at her from over a shoulder.

Olivia smiled at him in greeting and headed over, immediately noticing the rotting board at the top of the planter but turning her full attention to the man for introductions first. "Good morning, am I right in thinking you're Zeke?"

"Uh, yeah, that's me. You're...one of our new builders, right?" He straightened and dusted soil from his hands and beyond his large frame she could spot another ailing planter.

She resisted the urge to look up to check if the weakened areas she'd spotted outside were visible from here and offered her hand. "I am indeed. I'm Olivia, and am pleased to finally put a face to the name -- Professor Luo spoke quite highly of your work out here, and several of your soil testing techniques are being put to use in Highwind and up north near the border settlements."

A very subtle look of surprise managed to overcome his neutral expression. "Really? Huh. He never mentioned any of that." He took her hand and delicately shook it; his fingers were moist and cool from where they'd been digging around in the dirt and she could feel a fine grit still clinging to his skin along with numerous calluses -- not so different from her own after decades of working with her hands.

"I find that surprising...the man was always honest with his praise." Olivia let her hand fall away and glanced back to the planters. "I have your boards and buckets sitting just outside - I'm more than happy to repair these planters for you and if you've the time I did have some questions and an offer."

He struck her as a man that didn't or wasn't used to talking much, and he seemed a tad overwhelmed by the rush of words. "What kind of questions? And what kind of offer?"

"Let me fetch your commissions and I'll explain fully."

"I'll help you carry." He scrubbed his hands off on his thighs and she caught his eyes flicking down to the brace on her leg.

"Thank you, that's very kind," she replied with a smile.

He left her the buckets and easily hoisted the pile of boards up on one broad shoulder; she held the door for him and followed along as he carried the wood over toward the planters. Olivia quickly sorted the boards out by size and walked about the farm to place them next to the correct planters, then returned to where she'd left Zeke at the wheat plants.

"It won't take me long to repair these but before I get to that I wanted to ask about a hydroponic unit that was sent over a while back. How has it held up?"

Zeke scratched at his chin, fingers audibly rasping through his beard. "Well, it worked great, until it didn't. After about a year it broke - think it was the pump or something, since it stopped circulating the water. Asked Yan and Mason to fix it, they both said it couldn't be fixed. I ended up draining the water and storing it in the shed so I could fill the spot it was sitting in with basic planters."

Olivia frowned and closed her eyes, swallowing down a sudden anger and inhaling slowly before opening them again. "Did they say WHY it could not be fixed?"

"Don't think so. They didn't say what had broken for sure either."

"Of course..." she sighed. She already had a suspicion on what the issue was. "And I imagine they didn't do any maintenance on it whatsoever?" Zeke shook his head. "You said you'd stored it then - do you still have it?"

"It's over here."

She followed him over to a metal shack built against the wall squeezed in among some sweet potato pepper planters. The door swung open with the tiniest squeak revealing sacks of seed arranged on shelves, containers of fertilizer (with the expected smell wafting out in force), and various trowels, rakes, and other tools and empty containers. In the back left corner she could see the hydroponic tank sitting on its side with the lighting fixture hanging from some straps from the ceiling - she was pleased to see that the lights had been disconnected from the main unit properly so those probably wouldn't need any work (but she would check them regardless). Zeke moved some of the fertilizer out of the way then lifted the tank free and carried it out to carefully sit it on the floor between them. As he tilted it she could hear the tell-tale rattle of loose parts where there shouldn't be, and nodded more to herself than to him once it was put down.

"I believe I already know the issue, and if I'm right I can't fathom why they claimed this couldn't be fixed," she muttered. She'd brought a hammer and nails for the planters and an adjustable wrench just in case but to get the pump and engine housing cover off she'd need a flathead screwdriver - she didn't have one of those but she did have a penknife that should do the job if she was careful with it. "...well, from what I've already seen - coupled with this - I suppose this just proves a point and makes me hope you're agreeable to my offer."

"What sort of offer are you, er, offering?" he prompted.

She slipped the penknife free of her pocket and flipped it open, bending to place the tip of the blade into the screw's slot. "Along with being so backlogged I've also heard from a few people that Yan has, without scruple, turned down posting commissions he didn't think were 'important' enough jobs, AND-" she paused, freeing the first screw with her fingertips once she'd loosened it enough, "-I had sent two sets of instructions with this unit: one for its usage, and one highly detailed set for its maintenance. I'm assuming you got the usage ones?" she glanced up and he nodded at her. "Good. So that confirms that the instructions were not magically lost in transit, which tells me that Yan or Mason, or both, willfully decided not to maintain this machine. I intend to bypass this carelessness right now," she grunted, pulling the next screw out and moving to the third.

"About six years ago," she continued, "the builders in Tallsky got together with the Central Commerce Guild to rework some of the regulations -- namely, to allow builders to specialize, or be more selective in the work they wished to take on. Those new rules allowed me to set up an agreement with Highwind's botanists. I won't bore you with the legalese but basically, so long as I do not charge less than the going rate of the local guild commission fees, do not claim the jobs as points on any local leader boards, and do not repeatedly favor the private contract over any active municipal ones, I am allowed to enter into contracts with specific people or groups at my own discretion. Of all places to have every need met, no matter how large or small a job, I would say the farm providing the majority of a town's produce should be on top of the damn list, so that is what I propose: I will enter into a private contract with you to attend to any need that arises. You will not need to deal with Yan at all unless I am somehow not available, in which case you'll go through the usual process as normal."

As the third and then fourth screw came loose she looked up to him; a gamut of emotion crossed over his face: confusion, uncertainty, thoughtfulness, and now there was a ghost of a smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

"Not have to deal with Yan, huh? Can't see him liking that."

"It's legal - whether he likes it or not isn't my problem," she said with a thin-lipped smile. "I've already given up on trying to get along with that mustachioed weasel and I find lazy and crooked men tend to never straighten. If he chooses to put up a roadblock then I will find a way around, over, under, or through it."

He let out an amused snort at the weasel comment, then removed his hat to run his hand through sweaty hair. "I'm not against it, so long as it won't cause you any trouble."

"It won't - if I can handle the workload of roughly fifty instructors and twice as many students, I can handle this. And, I actually picked up quite a bit of knowledge about botany and agriculture in my time with Professor Luo. I know the situation here is vastly different from Highwind but it's my hope that what I've learned will help make our working relationship here smoother."

Zeke nodded and pulled his hat back on. "I like the sound of that. So...what needs to be done?"

Olivia paused long enough to pop the pump housing cover free and frowned again as several loose metal shards and springs came tumbling out. "I will write the contract up, it will be a fairly standard one declaring our reason and intention for entering in to the agreement, a one-party-dissolution clause, outlining the scope of work and availability -- which is any time you have need of me, for any reason," she added, briefly glancing up to him. "Even if it's a single nail at 2am."

That finally drew a chuckle out of him. "I'm not even awake then. Or I'd better not be." He bent to look at the revealed pump as Olivia began to gingerly pull more and more broken bits loose. "Can you fix it?"

"Oh, certainly," she replied. "At the moment it appears the pump burnt out - probably due to a lack of lubrication on certain moving parts within it and the motor running it. At the very least the rest of the unit is still in one piece so, worst case scenario, I just replace the pump and motor. I could have this back to you within a week at most."

Zeke nodded and straightened again, and looked a tad embarrassed at a few loud pops from his knees. "It'll be nice to have it back. I'll have to find somewhere to put it though."

"Would you like more of them? They're not so hard to put together."

After a few moments to consider he shook his head. "I was mostly using it to get seeds germinating quickly and letting the seedlings get strong before transplanting them. Did some calculations and found that while it uses about 23% less water than what's needed for a planter when you start factoring in the limited growing space, needing to get the exact right nutrients dissolved and balanced to prevent stunted growth for a variety of plants, and amount of power needed to run them too, then what you're saving on water costs is kind of wiped out by other variables. With how thinly balanced our resource needs and availability is out here, one or two more wouldn't hurt but beyond that diminishing returns would start chewing into the benefits." After a breath his eyes widened briefly and he looked faintly sheepish. "Not to, uh, insult your work or anything."

She laughed and stood, pocketing the screws and closing the knife. "I'm not offended, rest assured. It was my hope that it would make a difference out here but it sounds like I need to refine my design to take care of a few of those variables - which I don't mind at all," she added in a firm tone. "A builder not willing to learn and improve should find another profession. Now..." Again she held her hand out to him. "I believe I've taken up enough of your time, considering I barged in here unannounced. I'll get to those planters and then be back as soon as I can with the repaired unit and contract."

Zeke shook her hand again - his had warmed up. "Don't worry about the planters, I can handle those."

"Are you certain? I came here with full intent to fix them."

"Yeah - nailing a few boards into place is easy enough. Do y'need help carrying that out?" he asked, nodding toward the hydroponic unit.

"I can manage, but thank you."

She popped the lid on the water tank and tossed the engine housing cover in, then shut it securely and slipped her hand into a slot on the lid -- it was meant to slide open to allow water to be added without needing to remove the entire thing but for now it sufficed as a handle to carry it by. Zeke held the door for her and watched silently as she hopped onto the yakmel cart and headed back toward her workshop.

Once back home she set the hydroponic unit down on the assembly platform and went to collect all the tools she'd need to disassemble and determine the full extent of the damage. She hadn't quite shed that little flare of anger from earlier -- that Yan and Mason had essentially sabotaged the Moisture Farm...grr. It made her want to drag both of them into the street and cane them in the town square.

At least in Mason's case the man looked worn down...at the end of his career and the life sapped out of him. It was not an excuse for abandoning his duties but she could at least sympathize with the inability to care. She'd been there once before. Yan however...

She would need to watch him very closely.

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

Zeke watched as the yakmel cart pulled out of sight.

He'd heard from Burgess about the new builder; how she was older, wiser, polite yet to the point, and above all seemed like a kind and lovely woman. What he hadn't heard about was her take-charge and 'suffer no fools' attitude.

That she was moving to immediately mitigate Yan's creative way of managing commissions gave him a faint sense of hope. A lot of things at the farm had fallen by the wayside -- if it wasn't a vital or large job Yan usually ignored it or else he dragged his feet, maybe hoping that the request would be forgotten, and usually Zeke had no option but to let it go. He was at least capable of doing most of the repair and maintenance on the planters and tools he used daily but there were weak spots in the floor, rust and degradation, cracked glass... It was a lot of small things but after awhile small things could add up to a lot.

He retreated back into the farm and stood just inside the doorway, resting a hand at his belt and looking up at the dome far above. What 'little' problems should he even address? It'd been this way for so long he'd learned to just deal with it. Maybe he ought to let Olivia assess and decide -- she'd know far better than he would about...things.

...maybe this was a sign things would finally turn around.

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

"You look quite worn today. Do remember to take breaks, dearest -- the desert is very unforgiving when it comes to the wear and stress it places on a body."

From across the table she smiled at him wearily. "I am becoming quite acquainted with the sentiment, yes. No need for alarm however, I expect this next week will see things finally slowing down."

Miguel nodded slowly. "As you say. I assume this means you and Mi-an have gotten things caught up to where they should be?"

"Just about, yes," she chuckled. She brushed away wisps of hair from her face and used her fingernails to somewhat comb them back into the hair at her temples, where the rest of it was swept up into a messy half ponytail secured with that silver shield hairpin. "Though it would have been much easier on everyone involved if Yan would have temporarily waived the daily commission limits."

"...limits?" Miguel repeated.

"It's our ranking system," she explained. "As Mi-an and I are new builders to Sandrock we are ranked the lowest out of everyone in the Eufala region - 'tis the same deal every time a builder takes to a new area. Essentially, we must work to prove ourselves but for some Light-forsaken reason the lowest ranks are limited to a single commission a day. There are exceptions to that rule such as in emergency situations but Yan did not think being two months behind on everything was 'emergency' enough to allow Mi-an and I to take more than one a day."

"I suppose I've never given that much thought." He could not immediately decide whether such a rule was warranted; you would not want lazy builders snatching up commissions that were late or never finished nor would you want shoddy crafters being the ones completing your requests either, but did that not also make it extremely difficult for a builder to establish themselves? "How odd that the system is set up in such a manner."

She waved a hand. "It's not so bad. Just because we can only take one at a time doesn't mean we can't prepare ahead of time. I've finally gotten things down to wake up, take my morning coffee, gather up the end result of a commission I already know is on that board, grab it, deliver it, done with my 'day' by 8:15."

He chuckled at the mental image. "While I am certain everyone greatly appreciates the promptness - and forgive me, I don't mean to sound insulting - that doesn't sound like a workload that would warrant your current level of exhaustion."

She glanced down at the table between them, a sly look crossing her features before looking back up to him with a self-satisfied smile. "Ah, you could say I've been finding other means of keeping myself busy."

"Such as?"

"Do you assist Matilda in handling the mayoral and administrative duties at all?"

"Yes," he answered, drawing the word out and fixing her with a playfully suspicious look. "You aren't committing any fraud I should be aware of, are you?"

"Ha! No, no fraud, but I'm making certain things are being done however I can manage. I imagine you'll hear Yan howling about it when he figures it out. Consider yourself forewarned."

He leaned forward, steepling his fingers together and resting his elbows on the table, eying her curiously. "Please do elaborate."

"It's nothing illegal or untoward, if that's what you're thinking. I'm merely making sure all the needs of the Moisture Farm are being met. In order to do that I am having to...route around Yan."

"...I'm afraid I'm not following. I thought you were limited in what you can take per day?"

"From the guild, yes. There are no such limits on how many jobs I can take on on personal basis. Which is what I'm doing."

Owen chose that moment to come over with a cheerful "Evening you two!" so Miguel's follow up questions had to wait. "Good evening, Owen. A pot of tea, if you please. I am not yet ready to order a meal -- but don't let that stop you, if you are," he added, nodding to Olivia.

"Tea is fine, and I shall see where my stomach leads me later."

"I'll have it right out," Owen chuckled, lightly tapping his fingers against the table before hurrying off toward the kitchen.

Miguel watched him go, using the moment to refocus his thoughts. "So, as I understand it, you are taking on commissions...on a personal basis?" Olivia nodded; he felt her foot brush up against his pantsleg as she shifted her legs beneath the table -- unbidden, a memory of a cheeky game of footsie at a family dinner came to mind bringing with it a smile he couldn't contain that he hastily tried to hide behind a clearing of the throat. "-ahem, how- how then does that work with your duties to Sandrock?"

"Quite well, actually. And before you ask, it IS permitted by the Central Commerce Guild commission to have concurrent contracts active. So long as I follow their rules it's perfectly fine and wouldn't even be needed if not for Yan turning away requests."

Yan was turning-- what? Why? That idiot... Turning down commission requests could draw the wrong kind of attention if it reached any sort of authoritative body! That was the last thing they needed out here! "I...see. And wish I had heard of this sooner. What exactly have others been saying that he's been doing?"

Olivia paused as Owen returned with a teapot, two teacups, cream and sugar, and a small brick of pressed tea; based on the swirling, whole leaf pattern Miguel suspected it was from Meidi -- it was surprising that Owen possessed such a thing, and also touching that he would choose to allow them to consume it at the cost of the local stuff as it could not possibly be cheap to import it all the way out here. The teapot was steaming and after a cursory check under its lid he saw the strainer was in place and broke off a serving from the brick, placing it within as Olivia moved the cups and cream out of his way.

"Primarily turning away jobs he didn't deem big or important enough, though it seems he eventually caved at some point and began posting them again but then they simply weren't being completed. Which is saying something when you consider how many screws, boards, bricks, and nail commissions we've had to complete and deliver, and there's still a handful more to knock out before we're completely caught up."

He sighed and shook his head. "Had we known sooner it was more than just delayed completion we could have encouraged him to promptly and correctly fulfill his duties as Commissioner...perhaps if we had you would not have arrived to find things in the state they are. At least, in terms of commissions anyway...the situation here is what it is, and we've just got to squeeze water out of the sand here, so to speak. You'll find MOST everyone here does whatever they can."

For better or for worse, he thought to himself. Someday, hopefully soon, everyone will see sense.

"And so am I, which is why I've put myself at Zeke's disposal -- whether he needs an entire shed or a single nail, by Peach I will get it done. Why anyone would choose to take the majority food resource for granted is baffling."

Miguel simply nodded at this -- it was, after all, not his intention to starve anyone (and certainly not himself, either!) The loss of water would eventually began affecting the Moisture Farm but that could not be helped, and he prayed that by the time it reached the point that their food was in danger that the remaining majority here would have moved on to greener pastures.

And let it be literal greener pastures...these people deserve so much better than this life of disorder and strife, scrabbling around in the sand even as it buries them.

Judging that the tea had had time enough to steep he filled their cups and paused to admire the fragrance; it was quite familiar so certainly a Meidi blend (though he could not name it specifically). "If not for the Moisture Farm what would you currently be doing in this downtime?" Miguel asked as he spooned a small amount of sugar into his cup.

His attention was drawn to her lips - they puckered gently as she blew across the top of her tea, and she took a sip without adding anything (nor did she seem inclined to do so even after a second sip). "-building up a stock of basic hardware, gathering raw materials, that sort of thing. You never know when you might suddenly need something and it's good to have plenty on hand in case of emergency."

Smiling, he curled his hands around the teacup. "You always were the prepared one... Still, do not overwork yourself. Life is not a race."

"I very nearly have the farm caught up on the more immediate repairs needed, after which I'll turn my attention to the less pressing issues. As soon as all of THAT is taken care of my schedule will be wide open," she said, with a coy little smile and a playful flutter of her eyelashes. "Which, I'm sure we'll find ways to pass the time."

He couldn't help the happy little hum that rose in his throat. "-I very much look forward to it."

Olivia laughed quietly and brought her tea cup up close to her face, inhaling deeply. "Never thought I'd be drinking THIS again."

"You recognize it?"

"If I'm not mistaken it's Prancing Snowbloom - from Meidi's northern border. There's a small spring-fed valley up there where they grow it."

Miguel blinked at her in surprise. "You say that as though you are familiar with it." And good heavens, how expensive was this tea?

"A very dear friend and traveling companion of mine, Zachary, was from that region. He talked about his home village quite a bit when we were sitting around in the evenings. Many a time did he promise to take me there someday, to show off the springs..."

"Oh?"

She nodded. "It's a long story, and not one I am willing to touch on tonight. I never did get to see the springs but I did get to meet his wife and children though -- I still get letters addressed to 'aunt Ibby.'"

Miguel chuckled again. "Aunt 'Ibby'?"

"Well, Olivia and Livvy have some sounds that little tongues had trouble with. By the time they were old enough to say it properly the name had already stuck."

With a small smile Miguel leaned back, wiggling his shoulders a bit to readjust the booth cushion behind him (Owen may need to replace this one - it was feeling quite thin). "Have you been to many places within Meidi, then?"

"Only those few villages and hamlets we stayed at on our way to Zachary's home. I was...not entirely comfortable traveling there so I wasn't inclined to do any sight seeing."

"Whatever for? Meidi is one of the safest lands on the continent."

"...that is also not something I am willing to touch on." She then sighed, smiling weakly at him. "Sorry."

He waved a hand. "Not a problem. I may not understand now but perhaps, in the future...?"

She nodded. "Perhaps. I wouldn't hold your breath though."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Grace approaching -- the tea hadn't really stoked his appetite yet so he kept his attention on Olivia and topped off his drink. "All in due time. So! I must say hearing you've been to Meidi was a bit of a surprise. Where else have your travels taken you?" "Well-"

"-hope you don't mind my butting in, since I just overheard you asking about travel," Grace interrupted as she stopped at their table. "I'm actually curious about that myself."

Olivia gave her a look of mild surprise - whether it was due to the interruption or the declaration of curiosity it was hard to tell - and gingerly returned her cup of tea to its saucer. "I see. Well, the simple answer is 'many places.' Why do you ask?"

She had placed a gentle emphasis on 'you' and was looking at Grace so Miguel assumed it was directed at the waitress and calmly awaited her answer.

"Ever since I saw you I've had the feeling like we've met somewhere before. Have you spent much time in Atara?"

"Off and on. You'll have to be more specific as to the year," Olivia replied.

Grace tapped her pencil against her chin. "Being as I was born and raised in Atara, and factoring in that I'd need to be old enough to have met you previously and remember the encounter...anytime within the last decade?"

Olivia let out an amused snort. "Not quite specific enough, but I can say with a high degree of certainty that I don't recognize you."

"Perhaps you passed one another in the street often enough to spark familiarity?" Miguel suggested.

"That's possible," Grace agreed. "When you're busy with school and jobs I guess things can just slide on by even if you're looking directly at it, I'll just have to deal with the feelings of deja vu until it either comes to me or I get over it. Anyway, would you two like to order anything or should I come back to check in on you in a bit?"

Miguel glanced back to Olivia and paused; she had sounded fine only seconds ago but there was the barest hint of something in her eyes, with a sense of discomfort in the air. He cleared his throat. "Ah, Grace - I would like to order a bowl of the date and lotus soup, if you please."

"You got it." Grace quickly whipped out a little notepad and wrote the dish down, then looked back to Olivia. "How about you, builder?"

"A half order of the tomato beef brisket and a tea egg, please."

"Any desserts?"

Olivia shook her head; Miguel did as well. "No, thank you."

Grace, perhaps noting the change in the atmosphere, nodded and headed off without any further questions. Olivia let out a soft sigh and shook her head; Miguel studied her face, not seeing any sign of that discomfort from moments ago but also not noticing any hint of her current state of mind.

"...Olivia, are you all right?" he asked quietly.

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Sorry. Trying to remember if I've seen Grace before brought a few other memories to mind." She let out an amused huff, shaking her head. "T'would seem tonight we're determined to dance around subjects and people I wish to leave in the past."

Miguel looked at her with some concern but she'd put a warm smile on, as though nothing was amiss, and took another sip of her tea. A flicker of annoyance was warring with worry -- annoyance with Grace for, if unintentionally, upsetting Olivia, and a mild anxious sensation over her well-being and mood; but...as he'd said, he was not about to cross her boundaries. However... "Speaking of the past... You know what holiday approaches."

She blew out a long sigh that trailed off into a buzzing of lips. "Yes, it sure is. One of my least favorite times of the year."

That was true - and, HAD been true even before Doss had... She simply hadn't liked being frightened, even in the name of fun. "How have you marked the occasion these past years?"

Olivia leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and putting her face into her hands. "Ah, well, to be honest, usually a bottle of something strong and a quiet, deserted corner somewhere."

Miguel blinked at her. Alcohol? Olivia drinking?! She had never-- "I- find that...er."

"Shocking, yes?" she asked, laughing nervously and peering at him through her fingers. "I know, I know, the girl I was before would never. You may choose to believe she finally grew up or died with Doss or fell into a hole, take your pick."

She'd despised alcohol...the taste, the idea of being inebriated, and the thought of even being associated with such behavior. "I...hrm. Of all things to imagine had changed, that one is certainly surprising."

"Oh there's loads more that have changed that you'd likely find more surprising than that."

Having recovered Miguel chuckled a bit and drank from his cup, letting the tea sit on his tongue for a moment to savor the flavor. "-tell me something else that has changed, then. Whether you personally consider it surprising or not."

She let her hands drop to the table, silently drumming her fingertips against it. "Let's see then... I cannot stand the taste of cabbage now."

"What?" he blurted out, laughing. "You loved your mother's cabbage spring rolls!"

"I know!" she said, laughing as well and throwing her hands up. "I still have the recipe memorized but I just can't bring myself to eat anything with noticeable amounts of cabbage in it! There was a time years ago where I fell very ill and cabbage was the most readily available food item so it was in every damn meal. Ever since then the taste of it makes me gag -- I just can't shake the association with that period of time."

Shaking his head Miguel spotted Owen on his way over and reached to move the teapot out of the way. "Astounding what our minds and memories will cling to... Does the smell affect you as well?"

"No, just the taste, thankfully. You're welcome to eat it all you like, it won't bother me."

Owen quickly set their meals in front of them then headed off back toward the bar. His soup was especially fragrant and it was only then that his stomach chose to rumble.

"Your turn," she said suddenly, as his spoon was halfway to his mouth.

"Ah-" Well, t'was only fair. There were things he could say had definitely changed with him...but what to share? Something playful, as she had, but what? "Hmm. To remain on the topic of food: urchin minoris."

Olivia snorted. "Oh, sea urchins? I believe I know where this is going but, do continue."

"You mean to tell me you knew?"

"Yes, I did."

He pursed his lips but wasn't really angered or frustrated -- while Olivia had been quiet and meek in most other things, she'd been adventurous about trying foods (for better or for worse). "Well, once I was told what part of the creature we were eating I couldn't stomach it anymore."

She snickered and sliced into the tea egg with her fork. "Sympathy?"

"No. Pure disgust in knowing that a creature died and that is all that was harvested from it, and I didn't find it all that palatable even before I knew any of that."

"Well, to each their own," she said, tone airy. "They were always too salty when they reached Doss anyway, and I do promise you that the spines were used in other things so it wasn't wholly a waste of an animal. You should try the ones they have in Portia -- they're much larger than the minoris type and actually develop edible meat that has a much more subtle taste."

"I believe I would still react in much the same way as you with cabbage."

She laughed again and stuck a bite of the egg into her mouth; Miguel took that as a sign that it was safe to fill his own mouth and for a time they ate quietly, enjoying the meal and company as around them the saloon began filling up with the dinner crowd and started to grow noisy and distracting. "Would you like to take a stroll around the oasis when we've finished here?"

"I would love to."

After they'd eaten and the tab was settled they stepped out into the evening; Sandrock was mostly deserted at this time of night - everyone was either at home or at the saloon for their supper - so they were free to stroll along the street without anyone interrupting. In the early evenings the oasis always felt cooler than its surroundings (at least for a little while; the desert could get shockingly cold very quickly depending on the season) and there were insects chirping quietly in the moonlight. Beside him Olivia took a deep breath and smiled toward the water.

"Do you remember that pond, and the rope swing?"

"Of course. Knocking a tooth out because I fell off it is one of those childhood memories I doubt will ever fade."

Olivia laughed quietly. "Well, I wasn't thinking of that, I was thinking of sitting beneath that tree reading, listening to the frogs singing their little hearts out."

Miguel smiled fondly at the memory; he could recall bare feet, reading by candlelight just barely hanging on in the breeze, whistles made of grass and some very cross parents every time they stayed out past their curfews. "We've no frogs here so I hope the crickets and cicadas suffice. Sandrock does have its little unexpected joys of nature."

"That it does. I've seen other places out in the Eufala but Sandrock seems especially lucky with its landscape -- it's a lot less desolate here than elsewhere."

He slowly nodded. "...for now, anyway. The desert is trying its best to swallow this place up and while I can applaud, in the most basic sense, the efforts of those trying to slow the inevitable there's times where it feels more like the arrogance of man trying to defy nature itself, even as I look around and witness what we have managed to accomplish. I'm afraid it seems already 'too little too late.' The relic rush stripped the land of life, we are merely the palliative caretakers."

She glanced over to him, mild surprise on her face. "I would never have taken you for such a pessimist."

"Less pessimism and more...realism," he replied after a moment. "Though you do have a point: that was carelessly dismal of me." He blew out a sigh. "I counsel the people here, and those in the villages around us, and while I wish I had Matilda's ever-present optimism someone has to be careful not to instill false hope."

"Mmm, true. But sometimes you need to feed the soul as much as the stomach and even false hope can keep someone going when they would otherwise stop in despair." Idly she tapped the foot of the cane against the boardwalk beneath their feet, suddenly chuckling deeply and winking at him. "Consider it arrogant of me but I shall be the optimist to your pessimist and so declare, 'not on my watch.' I came with the intention to spend the rest of my days here -- let's see what I can manage."

Deep in his gut he felt a twinge of...something. It was uncomfortable and nameless but felt akin to nervousness tinged with a sudden faint frustration that was gone as suddenly as he'd noticed it. "Ah, well...I wouldn't get your hopes up too high, Livvy. And, besides," he added with a small smile. "I could very well be reassigned to a new post tomorrow. The future is ever in motion."

Now she lightly tapped the cane against the side of his shoe. "Already planning for me to pick up and follow you, hmm?"

His cheeks flushed a bit. "I do not actually foresee moving on from Sandrock anytime soon - my duties here are not yet finished," he replied, the words coming out in a rush. "But... I would hate to leave you behind, when we've only just found one another after so long."

She smiled and looked back out over the water, tracing the path of a firefly as it lazily wandered through the tall grass. "As you said: the future is ever in motion. It's wholly possible you might find me an inadequate partner and it won't even matter."

He frowned. "Don't say that... What reason could I possibly have to think that?"

This time she offered him a wan smile. "We're not the same people, Miguel. I'd caution you about holding too firmly to the memory of who I was. I know I'm struggling with it myself. ...I should get going. I've an early day at the Moisture Farm and it's going to be a rough one -- my not being a morning person is at least one thing that's remained UN-changed," she added ruefully.

"I wish you a good night's sleep then," he said softly, reaching out to gently touch her hand. "I will see you in the morning."

She briefly squeezed his fingers then stepped around him, shaking her head. "No no, no need to trouble yourself this time -- when I said early I meant early: I need to replace a window pane and a wall panel and that's more easily done without the sun directly in my face. Sleep in, and I'll see you later on."

"If you're certain."

"I am. Unfortunately."

He laughed quietly and clasped his hands behind his back, moving to walk with her across the stone path. "I will walk with you a bit further - I could use the exercise."

"Oh please. You're a twig."

He laughed again. "I am not as frail as I appear, I promise."

He accompanied her as far as the corner of the fence at the end of the oasis near the train station where she continued across the tracks to go home and Miguel, at first, walked over to the yakmel cart before noticing Yan leaving the saloon and heading toward his own home. His conversation with Olivia earlier came to mind and in a split-second decision Miguel turned from the yakmel station and hurried up the road; he caught up to the man right as he was unlocking his front door and, after checking to see who was about (and with some minor protests from Yan), shoved him inside and entered behind him, tugging the door shut and fixing him with a glare.

"Hey, what's your problem?!"

"Shut up and listen to me," Miguel hissed, reaching out to...well, at first he wanted to seize the sleazy oaf by the collar but that would be sinking to the same despicable level as the creep, and so settled for jabbing a finger into the garish tie instead. "Whatever you are doing outside of your duties, stop it. Word has reached me that you were turning away commission requests--"

"-well yeah, for stupid things!" Yan interrupted. "I don't have time for chump change-"

Miguel jabbed his finger against him again, drawing a pained yelp from him. "Shut. Up. If anyone has actually reported your...dereliction of duty to any sort of governing body, we may very well have to deal with some sort of investigation or audit, and I should not need to explain why we do not want that. Perform your guild duties, to the letter. I don't care how small the fee or "stupid" the request -- if it is submitted through official channels, you do your job. Do you understand me?"

Having seemingly found his courage Yan swatted his hand away. "Calm down old man - no one's going to figure out anything!"

"I said-"

"Yeah, yeah, I heard you. Fine, whatever, just- get out of my house! I didn't even invite you in! Rude!"

Miguel straightened, pulling his shoulders back and shooting him a final warning glare before turning and leaving, with Yan slamming the door on his heels.

Fool... For as easy as it was to convince the stupid, greedy man to assist with their plan there were times where Miguel genuinely feared those qualities would be their downfall; if there was a weak link anywhere, it was him.

...drat, he should have also warned him about retaliating against Olivia. He was only feet away from Yan's stoop still but there were stragglers in the street now as the saloon began to empty out; he did not want to draw any more attention to himself than he needed to or may have already -- it was a little too late in the evening to use 'official business' as an excuse for being seen leaving Yan's house (and honestly, who would visit Yan for anything but business?)

With a sharp exhale through his nose Miguel brushed a hand down his front to smooth out the fabric of his uniform then let his feet direct him toward home.

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

"Oh Pen, she's been here barely any time at all. I think you're overreacting."

"You would - you haven't seen the two of them smiling and laughing. Frankly it's disgusting. But regardless, I'm telling you: she is going to be a problem. We need to take care of this now."

Matilda sighed, looking at Pen from over the top of the papers she was organizing. "She is not a 'problem' and we don't need to turn this into one."

Pen crossed his arms, staring at her with a petulant look. "And just why are you so certain you're right?"

She gently set the papers down and folded her hands atop them. "Why are you? Listen... I've known Miguel for a long, long time Pen. I've seen him at his lowest, and now? Now he's happy. Happier than I've ever seen him, and happy men fight like hell to hold on to that happiness. If anything, having that builder here will only strengthen his loyalty. Leave them be -- if anything changes then I'll reconsider as needed. Don't you dare do a thing to that woman unless I order it, understood?"

Pen huffed. "Fine... But I'll be keeping my eye on her."

"So long as it's eyes only; keep those hands of yours to yourself. Now...head on back to your room before someone notices you're not there," Matilda said with a kind smile and a hint of ice in her eyes.

Pen grunted before stomping from the home; Matilda shook her head slowly -- she appreciated having the knight as back up and a sort of insurance against the plan going awry but sometimes he thought the worst of simple situations and jumped right to the wrong conclusions.

And, Miguel might be a pawn in all of this but she did actually care about the man, and even if she didn't a happy pawn was a loyal pawn. So long as everything played out like it was supposed to, who cared if he found love in the process? Maybe he'd even manage to hang on to it to this time.

She signed a few lines and neatly stacked the papers on the edge of her desk to carry over to the commerce guild in the morning then busied herself with getting ready for bed.

#Ensuring the Future #EtF #Ensuring the Future - ch 4 #mtas miguel #mtas zeke #mtas owen #mtas grace #mtas pen #mtas matilda #my time at sandrock

2 notes · View notes

skepticalkoi-catastrophe · 2 years ago

Text

|Come Closer| Kuroo Tetsurou x Blackfem!reader

The following fanfic is an inspired spin-off of Deciphered by @hoeneymilktea, The Sunrise, and Your Sins by @leia505 , and fanart by @aikk00 . Pls, check them out as well as other spin-off authors. Comments, Reblogs, and Shares are heavily appreciated. I hope you enjoy~ ��

Words- 2,001

Chapter [005] Wish it More

Subway doors clang shut at the Toranomon Hills Station via the Hibiya Line. Kuroo texts you and says he's waiting at the next station's platform. You have your headset on one ear, the other somewhat hanging off to hear any upcoming announcements. Your mouth quirks at its corners as you notice a toddler sitting across from where you are, babbling and reaching for you.

Sunlit clouds drift through the clear skies, casting radiant lambency out the windows of the train. Its beams turn your irises into sunny versions of themselves. When Kuroo said he'd see you today, you didn't think you'd wake up to brunch delivered at your doorstep from your favorite café you thought closed many summers back. He first took you there after his morning practice as a thank-you for accompanying him during volleyball training camp.

You’re pulled out of your reverie as your stop, Kasumigaseki Station, is announced as the next stop. You wish the toddler goodbye with a wink and a wave, seeing their teeny tiny hand wave bye back to you. Waiting by the candy cane-striped line for safety at the edge of the track, train schedules and map routes are posted on the wall along with digital signs announcing the estimated arrival time for the next train.

"Y/n!" Kuroo stumbled to a halt. "I'm so glad you had some time to do this with me."

"Lucky for you I've got all the time in the world, Tetsurou."

He's decked out in a white Chicago Bulls jersey and khaki cargo pants, an acid wash jean jacket wrapped around his waist. Red, white, and black retro Jordan 6's on his feet as he ushered you inside the train. You both tromp along, taking baby steps into the sardine can-like compartment alongside dozens of strangers. Attempting to snag an empty seat, the train lurched unanticipatedly at its next stop.

Had the last person boarding not rushed inside the train, Kuroo -adding to his now brought-on discomforting sense of dread- blunders about nearly crushing you between him and the train doors at your rear. He catches himself even though there wasn't a handle to grab ahold of. Till he realized his large hand was on your hip holding you upright.

You raise your chin, pursing your lips. "You good? You almost busted your ass there for a sec."

"Uh- yeah sorry about that, Shortcake. Can I uh...?" He trips over his tongue, the forced proximity making his heart play double dutch. "I'm gonna put my arm above you, okay? To steady me."

"Right, uh, go ahead." You said, folding your hands at your sides and holding your ruched red Prada mini bag. His gold cuban link chain dangling within the modest gap between you both. He's not far off from an overprotective boyfriend with his right forearm stiffly propped onto the train doors. Kuroo turned his head sideways, throwing his focus elsewhere.

You both bring your attention as the speaker crackles to life, announcing the next platform. Seven stops left.

You press your foot down on the gas controller, only for your avatar to place fourth once again across the finish line. Kuroo takes pleasure in his victory, even going as far as to one-up you by driving one-handed just like in real life. Yet he had another thing coming as you got to your feet on the old thin patterned carpet, blowing out your cheeks.

"Best two outta three?" He insisted, stretching his arms above his head.

"Tell yah what, you may out-drive me but I mos def can out-gun you." You taunt, leading him away from the seated racing games to the loud bomb blasts and gunfire emanating from the nearby shoot-em-up games.

Rows of machines with colorful pictures on the sides filled Gigo Shinjuku Kabukicho. Players jab at buttons, some frustratedly slamming their hands against the side of them. Recorded crowds cheering and bellowing out the basketball/hoop games. Inserting your tokens, you hold the shotgun controller, squeezing the trigger.

Kuroo practically bent over backward narrowly keeping up with your kill streak. Marveled, he watches as you gun down hordes of zombies . The Annihilation–each zombie barely made it a step through the graveyard before you blew them to high hell with seconds left in the round.

You size him up, grabbing a quick slurp of your blue raspberry slush before the next level kicks in. "Quittin' already?"

"I'm all outta tokens, smart ass. Imma be right back." He simpered, gingerly bumping your side.

You give him a half-shrug, mowing down more zombies as Kuroo jogged out of view to the token exchange. At the final boss level, you chuck a grenade, adding another S-rank win to your belt. Level three loaded as you pumped your fist in the air, jamming your hand in your front pocket for what's left of your tokens.

"Here, you can have mine." Your head jerked in the direction of the voice, his stack of tokens resting on the game cabinets' console. He held out his arms, wrapping them around your shoulders, yours around his torso squeezing a bit.

"Where have you been at, Tangie? Last we spoke, you were leaving for Brazil." You pull away, the ginger barely concealing his delight. "You were shorter, too."

"Says the one who hasn't grown much since then. Last I saw you, you were catching your flight back to the states."

Hinata's tan is evident of his time away. His short-sleeved shirt revealed elaborate tattoos down to his wrists. "I'm taking some time off. I got homesick. I've missed you, Mi Querida."

"Oh, so we're bilingual now?" Your hip juts out amused. "I missed you too. Sorry I wasn't calling you as much. I had my number changed recently. "

Inserting his stack of coins, you wait on the countdown to the next stage of zombies. You hand your blue flip phone to him, a Calpico charm with a small four-leaf clover inside hangs from it.

"I can't say much right now, but add your number to my contact list. And don't tell Blondie Miya. I want it to be a surprise."

Hinata taps away at the number keys. "That's if his brother didn't tell him first. Word travels fast 'round here. Wait, you're here alone?"

"Who says I'm alone?" You ready your stance, cocking the plastic shotgun and adjusting your aim. "I'll give you the deets later."

Hinata snaps your phone shut, sliding it into your mini bag. He side-hugs you once more, starting to quicken his pace en route to the prize counter.

"You might wanna head out pronto." His flip phone chirps reading off a message. "Blondie and Grey will be here in a few minutes. I'll message you a meeting place by Friday."

You wave him away, putting the plastic gun down in the console's holster. Searching for any signs of the twins, you bump into a medium-sized toast and skeleton cat plushie won from the claw games held in Kuroo's arms.

Somewhat peeking around his shoulder, you notice the twins now battling in air hockey while Enigma was by the dance pads.

"Careful y/n. What's the rush?"

You take his hand, hastily leading him to the exit doors. "I'm craving something sweet. Let's get ice cream. My treat."

Colorfully painted walls and an ornamented chalkboard menu board lists various ice cream flavors and their correlative prices. Jolly décor and customers peer into glass-covered cases holding buckets of creamy confectionery nestled in ice as they ask for samples. Tubs filled with candy toppings and pump containers of chocolate, caramel, butterscotch, and strawberry syrups lined the display cases.

Seated in a booth, you take spoonfuls of your parfait as Kuroo tries desperately to keep his waffle cone from melting in his hands. Both of your plushies are seated beside you.

"We're gonna spoil our dinner because of your sweet tooth."

"What do you care? Do you have reservations planned for us somewhere? " You rocked back and forth, brushing your palms together.

"Does Thai Take-out count?" Kuroo bites into his cone, licking what he could of his three scoops. "In all seriousness though, why were you so quick to leave the arcade? Did something happen? "

You shook your head. "No. Nothing like that. I just saw some familiar faces and I didn't want them to know I was out and about."

He wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Why? Scared I'll ruin your rep?"

"For starters, you still haven't told me what your rep is nowadays. Apparently, you race and you have money as far as the eye can see. Am I wrong to assume the worst? "

Kuroo laughs bitterly, crunching more of his waffle cone between his teeth. "Assume the worst huh? I'd say I'm living the dream. Fast cars and fast money all the while I'm my own boss."

"And your Chem degree is still in the picture?"

"Working on it as we speak. Part-time, obviously."

Wrapping a curl around your finger, you lean back into the cushioned seat, wiggling your foot.

"If life's so carefree, then, please do tell me whose nine millimeter that is in your glove box."

There's a beat of silence as his shoulders slump and he massages the back of his neck. "How did you-? Look, I never said I didn't have enemies, y/n. It comes with the territory."

Across the way, a girl your age waited afar. You realize you know her, red and white ink formed a chrysanthemum norigae on her right bicep.

Exhaling, you rise from your seat. "I'll be in the bathroom."

Shim Ya Naoki. Da Vinci was once her name. Nothing more than a talented tattoo artist who visited your old place of work for flowers and coffee. You hated where things left off between you both. She's the one who disappeared. She had no right to blame you.

Her black platform lace-up boots entered, heavily pacing to the stall you stood within. She leaned back against the wall, hanging her head and crossing her arms over her chest.

"I'd apologize but I know you don't want to hear a word I have to say."

"Yeah, well, you shut everybody out. I won't take it personally. Never did." You quipped, glancing up at the ceiling.

"Spades, you can't- " She retorted, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "You cannot avoid me forever."

"How much do you wanna bet ?" You opened the door of the stall. Naoki steps back, granting you enough space to stand straight.

"I don't want an apology, 'Vinci. I didn't ask you to nose around in my business with the Miya's. If you wanted Kuroo so bad back then, you should've opened yah fuckin' mouth and told him."

"It was pointless. He used me as a rebound the same way you used him."

"Kuroo and I were strictly just friends. Him and I dating was out of the question."

"Guess he didn't quite get the memo. He moaned your name while he fucked me." Naoki tenses, her expression pinched and eyes narrow.

"You're lyin'." Your head drew back quickly. Disbelief audible as you shakily replied. "It doesn't matter, you two weren't officially together. Having a 'fuck buddy' dosen't equal having a boyfriend."

"Neither were you and the Miyas either."

Naoki shoved her hands in her pockets bumping your shoulder to get by. She cracks the bathroom door, looking back at you, her acrylic nails like talons.

"He's not who he's cracked up to be. From one girl to another, stand down. He's more trouble than he's worth, Spades."

With that, she exits, leaving you frustratedly speechless. Touching the base of your neck, your other hand grips the sink in front of you as you grimace.

You never called to mind Kuroo looking at you in a lovey-dovey way. He was a player, a delinquent who could have any girl he wanted back then and even now. Everything you both did together was totally platonic. No strings attached. Naoki's warning repeats itself back as a question from your lips.

"More trouble than he's worth?"

If you enjoyed this chapter, make sure to follow me for more. If you'd also like to be added to the tag list, comment below.

Taglist: @blissfullyrhea @nanastie @peachjaem00 @melbugs1 @jfoxxarts @s-1-xx

9 notes · View notes

umbry-fic · 1 year ago

Text

Palette

Summary: Colours define their journey.

Fandom: Lanota Characters: Fisica, Ritmo Relationships: Fisica/Ritmo Rating: G Word Count: 1227 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 05/01/2024

Notes: Written to Palette by Yuyoyuppe. The different sections are not necessarily in linear order.

~~~

BLUE

Stumbling through the door of the clocktower, still ajar from their previous entrance, Fisica paused, gaze drifting to the sky above her. It was so wide, and endlessly blue. She drank it in, never wanting to tear her gaze away from it - a vibrancy that could never be torn away by the Al Niente.

Standing before the raging, howling clock, she had thought she would never see that brilliant blue again. She’d been certain that she would be condemned to an eternity of monochrome, unable to move a muscle.

“Fisica? Fisica, are you alright?” Hands shook her shoulders, Ritmo’s anxious voice reaching her ears, snapping her from her thoughts and making her aware of the wetness on her cheeks.

When had she started crying…?

Before she had time to sort out her thoughts, she had thrown her arms around her companion, her breaths leaving her as shuddering gasps. Tightening her grip, she buried her face in his shoulder, words failing to leave her.

He’d almost vanished beneath the storm of grey, unleashed by the angry ticking of the clock. The Tuner had been within a hair’s breadth of breaking, cracks spreading across its surface.

But against all odds, he was still here, warm and solid, having managed to rescue them both from the catastrophe. He had not crumbled beneath the pressure.

“It’s alright,” Ritmo whispered in her ear, his hand rubbing gentle circles on her back. Already knowing what it was she felt, as he always did.

His words did not waver. They were steady and sure, and she clung to them to give her strength.

~~~

RED

She rolled the apple under the palm of her hand against the dirt, letting herself get accustomed to its smooth surface. Her back resting against the bark of a tree, its shade providing her respite from the afternoon sun, she lifted the fruit to her lips, hesitating before taking a cautious bite.

Her mouth flooded with a sweetness that brought with it a cherished memory from her childhood. Of a dusty room and a soft lullaby hummed under her father’s breath as he cut an apple into tiny slices…

Opening her eyes as the images faded, the lullaby petered out, replaced with a gentle melody, hummed by the boy who had somehow made his way onto one of the branches, kicking his legs in the air. Dangling around him were apples of varying sizes, painted a vivid red that had been lost to them for so very long.

“Thank you,” she mumbled drowsily, the afternoon heat pressing down on her as she let her eyes slide shut once again, succumbing to the insistent pull of sleep. There was much to be grateful for: a chance to take a breather, and to taste the sweetness of an apple once more.

She didn’t know if he’d caught her thanks. She would just have to thank him again after she’d woken up.

~~~

ULTRAMARINE

Surrounded by ultramarine crystal shards, a complicated contraption spun wildly in the centre of the cavern. An unholy shriek blew through the place with as much force as a hurricane, nearly knocking her off her feet as she resisted the urge to clap her hands over her ears.

Ritmo couldn’t steady her, his own hands flying across the Tuner so quickly that she had to struggle to keep up with what he was doing. Gradually, a haunting melody began to emanate from the Tuner, swelling in volume.

She could do nothing in this situation but stay out of his way and pray.

It was almost as if the two sounds were opposing birds, squawking angrily as they clashed valiantly in the air. Gracefully swooping and swiping with sharpened claws, dealing blow after blow until one emerged victorious.

All the air rushed out of her lungs as the contraption abruptly stopped spinning, falling and smashing against the floor in a cacophony of noise that echoed against the walls.

Her feet crunching against ultramarine shards that glittered, she went to his side, placing a hand on his shoulder as he sighed and let the Tuner drop, body sagging in exhaustion.

It had been a while since they’d had to face something so powerful. For a moment there, their future had seemed bleak, drowned out by a terrible sound. Now, the clouds had cleared, leaving a sunny sky.

It seemed they would live to see another day.

~~~

BLACK

She laughed softly when her fingers brushed against his - both sticky with juice from the blackberries they were sharing in the basket that rested between them. The rays of the sun filtered through the leaves of the forest and painted diamonds on the dirt, turning Ritmo’s hair into a softer brown.

Nero and Rossa had decided to go further ahead to explore this unfamiliar forest they had found themselves in, leaving the two of them to enjoy their haul of berries in this undisturbed clearing.

“Here,” Ritmo murmured, popping another berry into her waiting lips, his fingers lingering for just an instant. As she chewed, he sucked in a deep breath before leaning forward, brushing his lips against hers.

“I love you,” he whispered, in a voice so quiet the wind could have carried it away.

He tasted sweet as the blackberries, she noted in her shock.

It was a detail that would remain in the tender memory she would form of this very day - a moment of peace in a tumultuous journey.

~~~

WHITE

A white veil covering her hair and her arm held in Rossa’s iron grip, she began her slow walk down the aisle, her long dress trailing behind her. Above her, the stained glass window sparkled in a million vibrant colours that would never be smothered again. People from the village that she called home, and those they had met on their journey, filled the pews, smiling and waving in joy.

Waiting for her at the end of the aisle was Ritmo, looking handsome in resplendent white, staring at her with wide eyes, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Nero stood behind him, velvet box containing two glimmering rings of silver in hand, waiting to officiate.

When she took her position, she ducked her head, smiling shyly at her fianceé as a hint of red dusted her cheeks. He looked slightly nervous now, a little paler than when she’d last seen him this morning. But the ceremony went off without a hitch. The vows were said, the rings exchanged, Ritmo’s trembling hands slipping one onto her finger. Throughout it all, her heart soared within her chest as she held back tears, a gentle smile always playing on Ritmo’s lips.

When it was all said and done, she took his offered hand, squeezing it and hoping he could see the joy overflowing from her beating heart. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips against hers, as he’d done so many times before, and would do many times again.

“Thank you,” she murmured against his lips.

A simple expression of gratitude, for all that he had done. For having the courage to save this world, never backing down even when his own life had been in peril. For cheering her up after the loss of her father, when they’d been young.

For choosing her to share his future with.

From this day onwards, they would walk into the future together, hand-in-hand.

#fanfiction #one shot #lanota #fisica #ritmo #2nd fic of the year!#i finished the first draft in nov of last year oops

1 note · View note

simping-berry · 2 years ago

Text

How long will they last No Nut November ♡ ~ Itto ver.

Summary: They participated on the No Nut November challenge (either willingly or forced by a friend) so... how long do they last or will they be victorious?

Tw: Smut (Minors DNI, 18+ only) NNN Masterlist

ITTO

Itto god bless his heart and his himbo ass

He’s dumb ok

When someone challenged him he probably only heard the word “challenge” and agreed to it ASAP. no questions asked.

When it was explained to Itto what he need to do to win (which is to not fuck or jack off for a month) he legitimately frowned.

‘Well that's not fun ☹️’

But the great Arataki ‘numero uno’ Itto doesn't back down from a challenge!!

He made a whole act in front of his challenger saying he was gonna win this 100%

…. He lost on the third day.

As soon as he parted ways with his challenger, every info that was feeded into his brain poofed. He is now head empty once again. Only you and onikabuto battles fill his mind. (Mostly you cause he misses you daily 🥺)

Now, Itto loves you very much

So much, in fact, that you live in his head rent free.

This also makes him horny 24/7 and is constantly thinking of having you daily.

So at the third day of the challenge and you bent over just to get something that fell down, yeah he already short circuited.

The sight of seeing your ass fully with no clothes already made his brain go into horny mode.

You were only wearing an oversized shirt with no underwear, making him see everything.

When you stood up, Itto was already behind you, asking if he can fuck you because he is so horny.

He was already whimpering a bit while waiting for your response.

You are used to this by now. Itto has a high sex drive and gets turned on very easily.

Itto is so often horny that sometimes you just don't wear underwear anymore because he always destroys it.

(Underwear is expensive Itto please remove it gently)

You sighed as you saw how desperate Itto was to get it on. Itto was already slowly rocking his hips in the air out of desperation, making you shake your head. You looked at Itto and nodded at his question, leaving Itto excited for getting your consent. You started slow and kissed him to at least start getting yourself riled up to which Itto obliged. As both of you make out, You lifted one of your legs up and guided one of Itto arms to keep it lifted. Your hands then wandered to his head, one rubbing his horns and the other pushing the back of his head towards your face more. Itto groaned at how you rub his horns so roughly. His horns are sensitive so feeling your soft hands rubbing it makes his dick get harder. His free hand wandered and started fondling your chest, pinching your nipple every squeeze. You let out a squeak to which itto chuckled.

A minute has only passed and Itto already got bored of the activity you were currently doing. Without any warning he scooped you up, your legs dangling on top of his arms, and his hands fully in your ass, kneading the plump flesh. His hard cock was already leaking precum as he teased your entrance, thrusting back and forth without going inside you.

“Itto…nghh.. Stop teasing!” Breaking off the kiss, you whimpered as you wrap your arms around his neck.

Itto laughed and kissed your forehead. Seeing you this needy and pouty riles him up more. You truly have this man around your finger.

“Fine, fine. I’ll stop messin with ya”

Aligning his cock to your entrance, he gave you no time to adjust as he fully sheathed his big cock in you. A loud moan escaped your mouth as your eyes rolled back from the intense feeling of being full. He was so deep inside you that it’s driving you crazy. Itto wasted no time and lifted you up until only the tip of his cock is inside you only to sink you back down to his cock. You rested your head into Itto's chest as you moaned louder from the sheer pleasure as Itto repeated the process, each thrust earning more speed. The sound of slapping skin and the feeling of Itto’s cock reaching deep within you makes you drool on Itto’s chest.

“Hhaah~ nghh~ Itto… more please… more” you mumbled at every thrust. Itto looked at your face and moaned at the sight. The way how your eyes were rolled and how your tongue was lolled out made him more hornier than he was before. He snapped his hips up and sank you down more forcefully than before, then slapped your ass. You cried from the mix of pleasure and pain but itto paid no mind as he kept plunging inside of you. Every thrust and every slap made the knot inside your stomach tighter and tighter. Itto can also feel your walls getting tighter, earning a few grunts from you milking his cock. One final thrust and the knot inside you popped, you came messily as Itto kept thrusting, riding your orgasm out. His abdomen was wet and messy from your release but he payed no mind as he removed his cock out of your fucked out hole.

Itto carries you towards the bed and places you gently while your ass is up and displayed. You were still too tired from your orgasm to care, still panting as you buried your face to the bed. You thought Itto was already satisfied that is until you felt him pulling you back to his chest, his arms snagging your legs up as his hands rest behind your neck, putting you in a full nelson position. You can't help but blush from feeling so exposed by the position and not to mention Itto’s rock hard cock standing proud just below your entrance.

“Hahh~ … im not done yet… need to fuck… more..” Itto whispered in your ear as he rubbed his cock in your entrance. You moaned as you rock your hips to get more friction from his cock which earned a sharp inhale from Itto. You wanted more, you wanted him deeper inside you. Itto, as if reading your mind, snapped his hips up aggressively.

“Oughhh! Nghh!” You blabbered out from the sudden intrusion. Your face going back to the fucked out expression you had earlier. Itto wasn’t also safe as he kept grunting behind your ear.

Itto didn’t waste any time and started thrusting in and out of you fast, he went inside you like there was no tomorrow. He fucked you like an animal in heat. The sounds of wet skin slapping combined with your lewd noises were music to Itto’s ears. You dont know how long you were fucked in that position. Your mind was so lost in pleasure to care.

“Itto!! ♡ Itto!!♡~~” You kept screaming his name like a prayer as you messily came for the nth time tonight and yet Itto kept pumping his cock in and out of you at such a brutal pace. He felt himself getting close as he kept hearing you shout his name in pleasure. After a few more thrust, your walls clamped down on his cock as you gushed around his cock again, your body trembling as your essence leaked from your hole to his abdomen and finally to the wet bed sheets. He inserted himself deeply one last time and released his load deep inside you.

After coming down from both of your highs, itto released his hold from your legs and placed you on your back in the bed. He spreads your legs apart as he watches his seed leak out from your abused hole. Itto loves looking at the mess he made every time both of you finish.

“Itto.. please. Stop staring.” You mumbled. Trying to hide from his gaze. Itto didn't mind and closed your legs for you. He knows you can't feel your legs anymore.

“Ya know sweetheart, we should do this again tomorrow!” Itto exclaimed as he scooped you up to lead you to the bathroom. “I really enjoy these moments”

You can only smile and nod. You also enjoy these moments with Itto. Honestly, you became insatiable because of Itto and his needy self. The rest of the night was spent with both of you just relaxing and enjoying each other's company.

That was until the next day...

“Wait… what challenge?” Itto asked, confused at the blue haired man in front of him who could only laugh. “Boss! Didn’t we explain to you to not have sex for a month!” Genta cried as he looked at itto in disbelief. “Great! Now we have to pay 5000 Mora to the yashiro commissioner” Mamoru could only sigh as he looked at Ayato who was delighted from the news he just received.

#itto x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin itto #genshin impact #arataki itto

74 notes · View notes

dr4kenlvr · 4 years ago

Text

liar

pairing: izana kurokawa x gn!reader

genre: angst

request: hii could you do a izana oneshot when he realizes his s/o is in toman? thank you so much!!

a/n: hey anon! i made this piece angsty, since it wasn't specified and that was the vibe i got from this plot, hope that's alright by you <3 + izana and reader are not in a fully established relationship due to the plot, i also got carried away asdfgsdjf

warnings: spoilers from tokyo rev - tenjiku arc manga, angst, reader has feelings but can't pursue them, izana gets used, izana cries, i cry while writing this, etc LMAO.

not once had izana thought he had somebody. a somebody to himself, a somebody to call his, a somebody to care and love for. a somebody that he thought he could rule the world with. izana lived a wretched life brimmed with the mindset that he was alone forever.

the day kakucho had introduced you to him, he felt indifferent. to kakucho, you were a friend, someone he had gotten along with well in school. to izana, you were just another pawn he planned on using to reach the top. a piece of his plan he could easily remove and throw away when needed.

to you, izana was a mystery. a charming man covered in an invisible cloak of secrets and confidence. he practically oozed ambition, and it was your job to unveil him.

you were an addition to toman, a fact that was unbeknownst to kakucho. it had been discussed and concluded that you were to be toman's spy within tenjiku's premises. you needed information. solid, ground information that would make a swift victory for toman in the future. it was simple really, you were one of toman's finest minds. everyone agreed it'd had to be you to do the job. the plan was to persuade kakucho to introduce you to his friends, infiltrate tenjiku, become associates with izana and help toman bring them down. simple— right?

who would've known that what occured between izana and you, couldn't be labelled as pure associates.

you and izana had grown quite close, despite only have met. you had to admit, it did take a generous amount of time to get him to open up to you. but when he did, you were instantly hooked. something about izana caught your attention. he was extremely attentive and intelligent and it resulted in your admiration for the way he led his gang. you couldn't help but compare him to mikey. mikey, toman. you remembered your job, and why you were really here.

it had been a few weeks now, fortunately no one had suspected you of anyone else other than tenjiku's new lackey. however unfortunately, your time here was about to end.

the sun was setting lowly upon the horizon, splashes of orange and pink painted the water below your dangling feet. next to you sat izana, shoulder to shoulder. he didn't know what possessed him to sit so closely, but he was compelled to. quite often the two of you would be found sitting together, either enjoying one another's company or chatting up a small conversation. kakucho liked to tease izana of his fasination with you, saying 'it's rare for you to be so involved with others'. this time, no one had said anything. izana felt the silence between the two of you was relatively comforting.

lately, izana has been feeling different. he couldn't quite pinpoint what it was, but something felt different. was it the way his palms got sweaty when you looked at him? or the way he had to muster up some sense of courage just to talk to you? he didn't know. it was odd, but he liked it. izana took a deep breathe, relishing in whatever this feeling was. he noticed you do the same. he smiled, were you feeling what he was?

exhaling gently, you opened your eyes to the sky above you. the silence was nice, but the sunken pulls on your heart felt otherwise. infiltrating tenjiku was fairly easy, gaining the trust of the top executives proved to be a challenge, but you managed. hell, now you were even sitting next to their leader. the bond between you and izana grew into something much more than you primarily presumed. there were feelings blossoming inside you that should never have sprouted. there were emotions you felt for izana that should never have been perceived. you were toman's ally, not tenjiku's.

then why did it hurt so god damn much whenever izana smiled at you?

you decided something before asking izana to meet you here. since you had gained enough information about the group and izana himself, there was no need for you to stay, and toman needed you back.

"izana." you started.

"hm? what is it?" he responded, violet eyes peering over to you with interest. he wondered what you were gonna tell him, he felt his chest swell with anxiety. nonetheless, he kept a nonchalant face at your hesitation. calm and collected as always.

"i wanted to be the one to let you know," you gulped, "that im apart of toman." you paused, feeling your throat clog up. "im not on your side. and i was sent here to collect data on you and the gang. now that i've got it, i'm no longer needed here." you confessed. your heart refused, but you knew that this is what you had to do.

izana sat still. he didn't respond. he couldn't respond. what was he supposed to say? you.. were apart of toman? as in, mikey's group? and you were a spy for them? izana was bemsued, he opened his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out. he felt his eyes water. you hadn't even looked him in the eyes yet, couldn't you at least do that?

you sighed, taking another deep breathe. you turn to him, "it's ti-."

"how could you?!" izana yelled, fumbling up to his feet. you were taken aback by his sudden outburst, then you felt your heart clench at the sight. tears streamed down izana's face, leaving marked evidence of the sadness he felt. "i-i trusted you! you were someone i considered a friend! s-someone who i thought would want me back! and now you go and leave me like i'm nothing but a piece of fucking trash!" he screamed, words fumbling out to no end now. his violet eyes now harsh and rigid at your form below him. the wind howled and clamoured against your bodies.

"you're telling me you used me this entire time? you're.. you're nothing but a liar! a god damned liar!" izana's words screeched at your ears. he panted, harder and harder until it felt like his lungs were going to give out on him. how was it that another person is leaving him? another person doesn't want him back?

you stayed silent. izana sobbed at the look on your face- you're like a stranger to him now. was he always one to you? it's evident you're not looking at him with the same kindness you did before. was it all feigned pity and compassion? he sniffled, before gesturing you to go. "leave y/n. i don't ever want to see you again."

you stand up quietly. the wind roaringly blows past and between you and him one more, before you turn your back against him. your chest aches with pain when you look ahead. you can still hear izana's ragged inhales as you take your first few steps away from him.

"i'm sorry, izana. goodbye."

izana watched as the gap between you and him grew bigger. the view of your back became smaller and smaller as you walked away from his shaking form. a part of him wanted you to turn back once more, to acknowledge him as a person just once more. but you never did.

it was then izana knew, that he was destined to be alone.

#izana kurokawa x reader #izana kurokawa x reader angst #izana x reader #izana x reader angst #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x reader angst #tokyo revengers angst #izana kurokawa angst #izana angst #request

498 notes · View notes

lightyakami · 2 years ago

Text

Day 5: Original and Copy @unofficial-deathnotetober L comes to visit Beyond in the hospital after the events of the novel; Beyond preforms a little quick-change magic and steals him away. I was thinking about how it's not technically canon that Beyond has any positive feelings towards L, obsessive or otherwise, and wanted to write something about that. I personally like L quite a bit and am not co-signing any of Beyond's opinions. Also within: Beyond reflects on which name (chosen or not) the Shinigami eyes see, lodges some complaints against the Wammy House, and learns that concussions are in fact Really Bad. TW for graphic violence and major character death. This is around 4.5k words, and you can read the full thing here, on A03, or on Dreamwidth.

In the end it’s L who emerges victorious, staggering out of that filthy alleyway with blood dripping down his face. The headlights of Watari’s car cast a glow around him that looks very nearly like a halo, as if some divine force had come to burn away all the things he’d had to do to survive. He is very pale and most of the blood is his.

This is how stories work — the hero wins, and the villain ends up as a horrible memory. Something best buried and forgotten. And L is going to forget. He’s going to be just fine. What happened in the old house wasn’t his fault. He’s going to leave it there, festering in the walls, and everything is going to be just exactly as it was.

Beyond isn’t here anymore. Watari is leading him gently into the car. He’s squeezing his shoulder and saying soft sweet things into his ear. He’s not going to make L explain why.

# Beyond had known that L would come. Of course he would. He’s the worst kind of person — cruel and capricious with that whisper of goodness in him, just enough to let everything else seem excusable.

So here Beyond is, handcuffed to a hospital bed, barely conscious, his face burnt past recognition. They’ve only just stabilized him enough to move him from the burn ward. He’s dying piece by piece and L will come to watch before they ship him out to carry on dying in prison, because that’s what a good person would do.

Or rather — Beyond is lying beneath the hospital bed, counting the tick-tick-ticks of the clock while Blackberry Brown rasps out her pathetic little breaths, smelling like rank and flesh. Beyond is tracing the grout on the hospital floor and waiting for his original to walk in.

Beyond had made Blackberry like that. He’d doused her in gasoline and set her on fire and left that pile of screaming human flesh in Blues-Harp’s room for Naomi to find. Naomi was smart and she’d followed Beyond’s trail of breadcrumbs just as cleverly as he’d known she would, right up to the conclusion he’d manufactured just for her. From her vantage point, there was no reason to believe that the charred body she’d uncovered wasn’t his. L had more information at his disposal, but he’d fall for the same trick anyway because he’d always liked a neat conclusion.

It was a terrible thing to do, of course, but it was simply the only way to draw L out. He never leaves the confines of whatever hotel room he’s holed himself into, and Watari always locks those up tight. But he’ll come for this. He’ll come to pass his last little mercy on Beyond, patient and forgiving as a saint; that’s the only way L can see himself, so that’s the only thing he can do.

So Beyond waits and breathes for hours and hours until he sees a pair of legs at the door. Doctors have been drifting in and out all day, but whoever this is is wearing pale blue jeans and tennis shoes with one of the laces coming untied. It’s been a very long time, but he recognizes the slackness of its knees.

Beyond holds his breath.

The bed sags slightly as L sits down above him, his legs dangling off. He smells like lemon soap. The hem of his jeans is fraying. If he wanted to, B could reach out and unwind a thread. He hovers his fingers close.

“Backup,” L says, quiet. His voice is deeper than Beyond remembers. He’s gotten older. It has the same melody to it, though, like a lullaby or a snatch of birdsong. “Why would you do this? You should have come home.” He’s quiet for a moment, as if he’s expecting that body on the bed to say something, which of course it doesn’t. This isn’t a conversation so much as it is a makeshift confessional.

L exhales, heavy. “I’m sorry. I really am. We didn’t do enough for you while you were with us. I’ll do everything I can now. You won’t get the death penalty. I’ll make sure of that. I don’t think I can do anything to keep you from a life sentence, but I’ll make sure it’s somewhere comfortable.”

His voice is soft and genuine, even if the words are clearly rehearsed. He’s probably telling the truth. Still, Beyond doesn’t like it at all. It feels grimy, all these saintly favours he’s handing out like cheap rosaries, all this pity. L used to talk a lot about the power of kindness, but all that ever meant to was a lack of cruelty.

Beyond has been out longer. People have done horrible things to him, things L thinks he can imagine because he’s solved cases involving them. He’s met people who cared about him, both with tenderness and hatred. He knows about love, how sweet it can be, and how grotesque; he isn’t certain that it’s a good thing, not all of the time, but he knows it’s not the disaffected charity which is the only thing L has ever had at his disposal. Morally speaking, L has the upper hand, but he’s lacking in certain essential qualities. Oh, it isn’t entirely his fault. That’s what the Wammy House had taught them. It was a home whose best feature was that they were never hurt.

Beyond could do it better.

Original doesn’t mean the best. It only means the first.

L treats everything like a game, but Beyond wouldn’t. He’d care about people. He’d protect them. He wouldn’t wait like a spider for the sweetest cases; he’d take anything that needed a saviour.

And he will. He’s going to.

L sighs and the bed rises as he pushes himself off of it and Beyond reaches out and grabs his ankle and yanks.

L hits the ground hard. He cries out, but the sound is squeaking and airless — the fall has winded him. Beyond slides out from under the bed and climbs up onto him and wraps both hands tight around L’s throat. His black eyes widen not so much with terror as with bewilderment. Beyond knows the feeling. Not horror yet, not fear, just the half-formed realization that something very bad is going to happen and that it’s going to happen to him.

Above his head, the numbers are swimming. He has three days left. This more-or-less confirms something he’s suspected for a while. The victims he’d picked were fated to die, but he’d been the death that was coming for them. He had contingency plans ready for if this weren't the case, but this is much easier.

L kicks at his kidneys with both heels, so Beyond hooks their legs together and rolls with the motion. L is on top of him, clawing at his hands, and then L is beneath him again. “Stop,” he says, but it’s little more than a strained sound, gasps of air wheezing through it. “Backup, please —“

Beyond slams L’s head hard against the floor. Once, and then once again. L gasps. His pupils don’t look right. He’s still conscious, though, making a strange gurgling sound, so Beyond does it one more time, and L’s head lolls. There’s blood seeping from the back of it.

Well, Beyond thinks. That’s that.

It was a stroke of luck that Blackberry’s room had been on the first floor. All he has to do is open up a window, then toss L’s limp body through it and leap out after it.

Out in the cold spring air, he picks L off the grass, shifts him into a bridal carry, then spirits him off into the streets of Los Angeles. #

L had a different name when they were children. Teddy Lawliet, a quaint name for a strange, dark-eyed boy that hid behind Quillsh whenever he came to visit. He’d been shy and sweet and almost apologetic every time he spoke to A and B, as if he were a visitor in their home. And then one day he’d shown up with a hard edge to him and a new confidence to his movements, and the name floating above his head had been L.

That was the year he’s solved the Gull Lake murders, which A and B had watched on TV, a bloody trail of crimes that ended with two men in jail and three women being led sobbing and safe from a shed in some out-of-the-way property in some obscure forest. It wasn’t the first case he’d solved under his code name, but something special must have happened during it. He’d seen something, maybe, or simply listened to too many of those recordings the murderers had left behind, and it had burned out whatever part of him made him Teddy.

Beyond has had different names, too. In the Wammy House, he’d been Backup, with no surname. And before that he’d been Sofia Nishikawa, which was the name his parents had written on his birth certificate and which they’d called him by when it was time to eat or walk to the park or be held. He sheds names like snakeskins, without interest or remorse. As far as he’s concerned, a name is something you can take on or off as you please. They’re important, but they’re not permanent.

Now, L-née-Teddy is lying in a pile of dirty blankets, slipping in and out of consciousness. Beyond knows this because he makes strange moaning sounds every time he wakes. He’s been doing this for a few hours, and Beyond has been sitting on the arm of the couch above him, eating a bowl of Frosted Flakes and watching the geometric patterns of the sun that filters through the window slats shift across L’s face.

This is one of his hideaways — a dark little house, half-fallen down. It’s too much of a biohazard to renovate and the property it sits on is too small to be worth what it would cost to demolish it. He wouldn’t call it pleasant. It’s wet, and smells very intensely of mould and damp cardboard. The stairs heading to the second floor had collapsed when he’d tried to use them, so he’s set up camp in what would have been the living room on the first floor, throughout which thick damp vines and spiny weeds that drag at his ankles have grown. A family of raccoons has been living here, and he avoids the corners where they leave their waste.

L moans again, then manages to raise himself to his elbows. He claws himself forwards, the blankets twisting around his legs, then collapses. He makes a low gurgling sound.

“Stop that,” Beyond tells him. “It’s pathetic.” At least he’s finally conscious, though. Beyond has been waiting a day and a half for that. He was starting to worry that L simply wasn't going to wake at all.

L gasps, eyes tracking poorly around the room until they catch onto B. He manages to push himself upwards until he’s sitting, then blinks twice, curls his legs to his chest, and grasps at his temples with both hands. “Backup,” he says. His voice is slurred. “You have to let me go.”

Beyond tilts his head and says nothing. “You have to," L says. “You’re not going to kill me.” He says this with a remarkable amount of confidence, despite the fact that he’s barely comprehensible. His hair is mattered where his head had bled.

Beyond decides to humour him. “Why not?”

“You wanted my attention,” L tells him. “You have it. Call. Call Watari and I’ll make sure — I’ll make sure —“ He looks up at Beyond and blinks at him, slow panic rising across his face. He can’t seem to figure out how the rest of the sentence should go.

Beyond sets his cereal bowl down, then gets off the sofa. He kneels beside L, and puts his face close enough that he can feel L’s ragged breathing.

"I don’t care about your attention,” he says, then flashes L all his teeth. “We don’t know one another. Would you like to know what I think about you?” L’s breathing quickens, but he says nothing. Beyond decides to take that as a yes. He keeps his voice crisp and matter-of-fact.

"What I think is that you’re very vain, and very selfish. I think you consider yourself a good person because of all those crimes you’ve solved, but you only ever pick high-profile cases, things that would have been solved anyway. I think you were aware of the disgusting names Quillsh and Roger gave me and A, but you didn’t do anything about it, even after A killed himself. And I think you know there’s a new generation being shipped in, and you aren’t going to do anything about that either. You want credit for everything you do for the world, but you can't be bothered to live it long enough to know what it needs. I think you're useless. A relic of yourself. A fantasy detective who has no place in reality."

He reaches out and brushes the hair out of L’s face. It’s black as ink. L flinches.

"But I don’t hate you, and I didn’t bring you here to get revenge. I don’t care about you at all, really. You’re just a cancer that needs to be cut out so useful cells can move in. You’re lucky that’s the case, in fact, because otherwise I might want to hurt you very slowly.”

"Then why —“ He waits patiently, but L doesn’t seem able to go on. Beyond wishes he could look inside to see which bits of L’s brain he’d broken.

"I want to be you,” Beyond tells him. "Even if the original dies, the copy is just a copy until you overwrite the original. That’s what you’re here for."

Gently, he cups L’s jaw in one hand, then pulls his chin upwards. L grabs at his wrists but his grip is weak, and Beyond doesn’t bother to shake them off. His eyes are wide, terrified now — he’s finally grasped that Beyond means everything he’s saying.

“So no, I don’t want your attention. What I want is for you to tell me what sorts of things you like.” He doesn’t see any point in waiting. He’s not here to give L some sort of speech about how much better he is. It’s enough to be aware of it within his own head.

L breathes quick, his nostrils flaring, little gasps of air coming hot from his mouth. “What?”

“What you like,” Beyond repeats. “When we were children, you liked sweet things. Do you still?”

L nods, slowly. “I like strawberry cake. And — why are you asking this?

Beyond isn't here to entertain questions. "What else?"

"Yokan. And daifuku. And kakigori."

"And when you’re not eating sweets, what do you like?”

“I don’t — “ His eyes are fluttering shut. B jerks his jaw, roughly, to keep him awake. He makes a soft pained sound and presses the back of his palm against his mouth.

“You must eat something. You can’t live off air and sugar.”

“I like baozi. Backup, what do you want from me?” His voice is muffled through his hand. The slur in it is getting worse. Beyond has to listen very carefully to understand him. He decides to move on to more pertinent matters.

"What do you call Quillsh, when you’re alone?”

L snaps his head up at that, then shuts his eyes and lets out a soft, pained sound.

Beyond shakes him again. “Is he still Quillsh to you, or is he Watari?”

“Watari,” L says, and then his eyes are suddenly very wet. “I want him,” he says, like a child asking for his mother. “Backup, let me call him. He’ll fix this. He can take care of you. He’ll make sure nothing bad, that nothing bad is going to happen.”

"I don’t want him. He doesn’t love you, you know. If he did, he wouldn’t make you look at murders all day in exchange for — what? Money? Housing? How old are you?”

"Twenty-three."

"Mmm. And how old were you when you started solving cases? I was eleven.”

“Twelve.” He’s clearly trying not to, swallowing his own breaths, but he's crying now. The saltwater drips down his cheeks and gets all over Beyond's hands. It's sort of pathetic, this desperate attempt to stay cold and dignified until the end. He's like a child making up excuses as to why he wants to be picked up from a sleepover after a nightmare he won't admit to. God knows why it matters to him. There’s no one here but Beyond.

Maybe he’s different when he’s all alone. Maybe he doesn’t spend all of his time trying to be this inhuman thing, but Beyond doubts it. Demonstrably, objectively, he’s L to the core. If there were anything else to him, he wouldn’t have that name floating above his head.

Regardless, all that fluid dripping down his face is disgusting, so Beyond lets go of him. L pulls back, curling around his knees. “I want to sleep,” he says. “Please. I’m so tired. I feel sick. Let me call him.”

Beyond flicks his eyes above L’s head. They’ve got time. He can give L a little bit of it. He can be capable of charity, if he wants to be.

“Fine,” he says, then presses L gently back into the sheets. #

L does not wake up. #

This is highly inconvenient. He’d assumed he’d have L until his numbers ran out, but apparently comatose counts just fine as still-alive. Beyond tries to wake him by nudging at his ribs and tugging at his his hair. He blows breath into his ear. He even flicks water onto his face like in the movies. L never does anything but shift slightly in the sheets and, once, make a strange keening sound that goes on for a very long time but comes to nothing, and finally Beyond is forced to accept that he’s lost access to his source material.

That's okay. He'll improvise. He's good at that. Maybe it's for the best, anyway -- even as badly concussed as he was, L was still L, and he might have figured out what Beyond was trying to do and started feeling him lies.

Beyond grew up on a farm. That was where he’d been before he’d lost his parents. One of his jobs had been to slaughter the animals. Oh, it was all very silence-of-the-lambs, but it didn’t mean as much as it sounds. Millions of people do the same thing, and they turn out just fine. What it does mean is that he knows how to do it.

When the time comes, he puts L down quick. A fast swing to the base of his head. Nice and painless. L's name winks right out.

He’s not a cruel person. He’s done no more than he had to. He takes no pleasure in it. No grief, either. He hadn’t been lying — L means nothing to him. He’s just a body that’s in the way. Beyond has some practise dealing with bodies. #

There is just one more thing he needs do.

He’s been told that he and the thing that used to be L look very much alike. They’re about the same height, about the same weight, skin just as pale, hair just his dark. In fact, he suspects that this was a factor in why Watari had picked him out in the first place. He’d found a little doppleganger of his precious resource and decided to take it home. It’s really just his face that’s no good at all. People don’t notice what they aren’t looking for and, frankly, he thinks that Quillsh — Watari, that's what he should call him now, he'd better get in practise — will want to believe the lie badly enough that he’ll overlook any flaws.

But the face is a problem. Their bone structure is close enough and their eyes are the same general shape, but a face needs to be exact.

Beyond takes his knife and his mallet into the bathroom. He looks at himself for a very long time, then takes a deep breath and gets to work. #

It hurts. It hurts very badly and he doesn’t like it at all, but when he’s finished he looks back into the mirror and, yes, it’s right there. His heartbeat ratchets up, and then it evens out.

Just as he’d wanted, just as he’d known it would be, his new name is right there above his head. It's clear as anything. Stark and beautiful. He’s done it. Every single thing he’s done has been worth it and every single choice he’s made was right.

L, it says. In bright red, unmistakeable. That name, that title, that thing he’s always deserved.

L smiles, slow. #

Once he’s dealt with the corpse, L puts on its clothes, then slips the phone he’d taken from it into his pocket. Then he walks out into the city, keeping as much as he can to the alleyways.

Like most big cities, Los Angeles is a place where people keep mostly to their own business, but he suspects that someone would step in anyway if he walked through the streets bleeding as badly as he is. L relies very much in on people’s profound disinterest in one another, but he’s not a cynical person. He believes that people are, essentially, good. He himself is not good, but that doesn’t change anything. Rules always have exceptions.

He’ll be good from now on, though. Things has changed. Now, he’s justice. He’s the judge and jury, the hidden left hand of the international police force and the exalted god of the orphanage which raised him for this moment. He’s going to do it right.

He finds a nice dark alley, crouches down amongst the reeking garbage bags, then phones Watari.

L breathes in and then out. He reminds himself that he's scared. He can almost believe it, can almost feel the fear rising unbidden in his chest. He takes in little gasps of air, trying very hard to keep some semblance of dignity amongst the panic he forces into his voice.

“Watari,” he says. “Watari, please. I — he took me. I got away. Please, you need to come get me.”

Watari’s voice comes through the line, stark and professional. There’s a hint of some tender relief behind it, though, which surprises L. Perhaps there had been more genuine feeling between them than he’d thought. No, he corrects himself -- perhaps there is more genuine feeling. Everything should exist in the present tense.

"I’ll be there. Where are you?”

“I —“ L tells him the name of the intersection across from him. “Watari, I didn’t know what to do. I think — I think I might have killed him.”

Watari pauses, just for a second. When his speaks again, his voice is firm. “Let’s not worry about that until you’re safe.”

“You can fix this,” L says. He lets out a shaky breath, then lets a sob hitch at his throat. “I know you will.”

“I’ll stay on the line with you,” Watari tells him, which he supposes is gentleness of a sort, but he doesn’t want it. It will be easier to guess at how he’s supposed to act once he can read the responses of on Watari's face.

Really, though, he's not all that concerned. This was a traumatic expereience, after all. No one could expect him to be exactly as he was. Horror changes people. And, anyway, he's just killed a man. That would have an effect on anyone. Even more so because it was a boy he used to know, if only obliquely. He'd spoken with him in the halls of the Wammy house. He'd held his hand once, and fed him sugar cookies. Probably he hadn't meant for him to be hurt the way he was. Probably he'd just forgotten about him, like a man who drops his dog off at his mother's house then never comes back.

“No,” he says. “No, hang up. I’ll be fine. Just get here as soon as you can.” He lets out another sob.

“Okay,” Watari says, with surprising softness, and the line clicks shut.

L sits in the filth and the dark and he waits.

At last the hard white light of headlamps flares across his alley, glistening off the wetness of the brick. L braces himself, then stands.

He steps out of the alleyway. There’s — yes, there’s a black car loitering in front of it and then, as his eyes refocus in the light, he sees an old man in the driver's seat.

Watari looks very much like he remembers. A little older, maybe. Thinner in the cheeks. Nothing to write home about. But his face blanches when he sees L.

L sways in place as Watari climbs out of the car, then walks towards him. To his surprise, Watari puts his arms around him and holds him close and tight, just for a second, then pulls away. He smells like the same lemon soap as the empty body he'd cut up and hidden had. "Are you —"

“I’m okay,” L says, although of course he isn’t really.

His face is mangled. Beyond Birthday, that monster, he’d slammed it on the marble counter and broken his nose and his cheekbone. He’s had to try it a few times, to get it right. It had hurt so badly that his vision had swum and he'd had to take long, cold drinks from the tap, ignoring the metallic taste from the blood that pooled in his cupped hands. He’d tried to do the jaw, too, but he just couldn’t bring himself to keep going. And once the facial structure was destroyed, he’d taken a knife to it and carved it right up, until it was barely recognizable. He’d rubbed dirt in the wounds, too, to make sure they'll heal badly. They'll scar. He’ll never look the same again.

But he won't be ashamed. He'll be proud of his new face. He'll be proud of everything he's going to become.

“L,” Watari says, very quietly, then puts an arm under his shoulder. “We’ll bring you to a doctor,” he says. “One of our own. We’ll get you taken care of. It’ll be fine. This is all going to be fine. You’re going to be alright.”

“I know,” L whispers. He does. It hurts to talk but he says it anyway, to reassure both of them. “You’re going to make it so nothing bad ever happens again.”

And then he leans on Watari and lets him settle him into the passenger seat as gently as if he were tucking him into bed. He curls up there, looking out the window into the black night, waiting to be driven into the life that was made just for him.

#unofficialdeathnotetober #beyond birthday #l lawliet #death note #fanfic #beyond is trans here & L is also trans but the latter is possibly easy to miss #anyway!! thank you for running this event i have very much enjoyed seeing everyone's art #.fic

10 notes · View notes

muffindaddystyles · 4 years ago

Text

LOVE ME, WRESTLE ME.

Boyfriendrry blurb of some smutty and fluffy thought.

Taking online classes, resting, doing assignments, then spending some time with Harry and watching a movie at night that always ends up in a good fuck isn't boring but it's insipid.

The cooe of rain outside's soothing and tranquil enough to fill in already comfortable silence between you people, your lips murmuring around the instinctive words from the scrabby page of the Oscar Wilde's; The selfish giant. Your knees are hiked up sitting in the love seat opposite to where Harry's sitting on the messy-ly made bed since you both were feeling a tad lazy and in mood to procrastinate house chores.

You're constantly loosing your focus, because you're terribly horny at the moment and Harry in a baggy yellow pawy sweater spread on his tummy over the bed doing nothing but staring at you like he'd swallow you whole isn't helping at all with the ache between your thighs.

So, you do what was needed to be done.

His eyes follows your commotion as you leave your spot kneeing up on the edge of bed, your crotch against his face and you look down at him with a witty smirk.

"Wrestle me." Your voice challenging. You arch your brow with profound irritation when he intentionally dismisses you off by rumbling his lips to blow away the curls falling over his dooey eyes.

"Pardon?" He creates a noise, within a click of his tongue or his hand against your bare thigh (fondling the soft skin he's obsessed with) that dries your throat with hunger. He heard it right. There was no wavering in what you invited him for.

You guys have this game where he has to make you cum within two minutes and you've to wrestle him off, if you loose and cum you've to keep him warm and sloppy in your mouth until it turns into a nice blowie so it's a win win either way.

You fail every time. Most of it is very obvious.

But, right now he's trying to rile your nerves up by acting like an utterly supine cow.

"Hmm?" The questioning hum turns into a giggly squeal when he grabs your ankle and throws you onto the mattress like a rag doll, "S' fuckin' insatiable all the time ..." He growls towering above you, pushing your thighs apart with a tight grip to your soft fleshy insides that makes you hiss. A laugh pits up in your belly from the thrill of shutting them back and fighting him off to piss him further.

Ofcourse him being stronger than you fails you to do so and a loud moan bubbles around you when he licks his palm till the tips of his fingers and smacks your already soaking centre harshly.

"Fuck." You mewl softly sinking into sheets when he yanks your shorts down leaving you in nothing but his large hoodie, your pussy lips flutter from the heated sensation of your stickiness coming in contact with the sting of his chilly rings.

He pins your wrist atop your head and fits himself between your wide opened legs grinding his hard (trouser clad) prick against your heating centre in vigorous rubs, leaving a burn with every stroke and making you loose your stance with the growing desire to have his fingers inside you.

"C'mon fight me now." He grits. Glowering down at you sternly and your tummy coils against his's pelvis with each nasty roll of his hips, you gasp around a sob when he nips at the soft skin of your jaw. He wants you to surrender yourself to him but your ego's more than that so with a trick of pulling at his hair you flip him on his back and crawl up to straddle his torso jerking his shoulder down.

"Aha!" You grin in a victory. His brows pinches down furiously and before you know his calloused hand came spanking your butt-cheek making your face smash into the crook of his neck with an unexpected vulgar series of moans, "Bratty little fuck doll." He grunts landing another spank right where the first one left crimson imprints, again and again till you're a squirming crying mess.

He slides his two fingers down your puckering rim to where you're dripping with wetness and teases your entrance by never dipping them in till the end but rather stroking the spongy wall of your soppy cunt.

You squeal when he flips you on your tummy and leans all his weight over your back to glide his hand between the compact space of their bottoms, he patches breathy kisses to the side of your neck leaving love marks, sliding in his fingers deep inside that when you feel a certain crack resonating to your ears and shooting pain till your toes making them jelly.

You're fucked.

It all happened from your arm placed at the weird angle while he had your hips in air.

"Harry, I think. I might've broken my wrist." You stammer in a calm voice though, barely able to speak when the pang in your joint's inflaming like a wildfire along with the pleasure that's subsiding into an akward spasmy feeling as you pulsates around his fingers.

"Sucha bullshit excuse to mice outta yer defeat." He rasps to you smugly. Your face scrunches up in pain and your head falls into the throw pillow.

"No . ." You shake your head quickly gulping down the thick tears down your throat and when his head clears out from the fog of lust, noticing the weakness in your words he immediately pulls his digits out, "Holy ... Fuck." You try to stay placid knowing his insides are ticking in panic and is about to explode in one, two and —

"Baby -– how — how are y'so calm? Is it hurting? Show me." The shift in his demeanor is adorable as minutes ago he was about to rail you to unconsciousness and now he's the softest cutest caring boyfriend.

Tears prickles at your waterline when he presses his thumb into your wrist bone ever so diligently and it jolts severe pain up your arm.

"I think it's, 'm so so sorry baby. We should go to hospital. Stay here, yeah?" He tells you cupping your cheeks worriedly and rushes to fetch a wet rag when you nod through a sniff and wobbly lips.

He cleans you off, shushing you with tender kisses to your ankles when the throb got overwhelming. Helps you wearing your jeans and shoes being careful not to hurt your wrist any further in doing so.

"It's okay, you're okay lovie —- if the pain's too much —--- dunno we should probably run to hospital." He's out of breath snatching the keys and his coat taking glances of you after every second to make sure you're okay, more like assuring himself, "Bub it wasn't your fault. It was an accident, I can endure a lil bit pain." Through the whole call ride he was jittery and twitchy waiting for to reach the clinic speedily.

He has you embraced by his side with a careful support of his palm under your wrist so it wouldn't dangle that much as he walks you inside.

The doctor sitting infront of you two stares at the way you both are flushed, rosy cheeks, ruffled hair and sheened skin radiating 'we were in the middle of having great sex.' But, she chooses not to speak as you shrink to Harry's side timidly from the embarrassment and shyness.

Harry just passes you a nervous smile squeezing your shoulder to cheer you up and nudges you when the doctor asks the ever awaiting question.

"So . . . How did it happen?"

"Cupboard —-" You speak.

"She fell of —-" And he speaks at the same time.

You look at eachother with wide shocked eyes but then he clear his throat allowing you to speak, "I was putting some dishes up in the cupboard when I lost my footing and knocked my wrist against it." The doctor surely didn't give into your guys shit. Nodding along to your made up story.

You guys feel exposed when the doctor spoke inspecting Y/N wrist, "The injury caused from the pressure of weight, splinting the bone away and tearing the muscle too ... nothing that wouldn't heal in two weeks. You'll be good with an arm cast and these pain killers."

When you step out into the waiting corridor it feels like your secret has been revealed to every single person sitting there and you pull the strings of your hoodie to cover your face and Harry chuckles kissing your head at your silliness.

Once in the privacy of car he speaks looking at your cast properly, "One thing fo' sure that game isn't made fo' us -- you're too delicate to play it just fo' fun and thrill. Next, time just ask me to fuck you baby and I'll surely do it happily." He sighs a puff of breath kissing your cast and patting it lightly jerking back in horror when you yelp.

"Ouch!" He takes your jaw to kiss your lips upon seeing you grinning at your own misheviousness.

"Ye' batty little creature, stop messin' with your poor boyfriend!" He grumps cheekily at your playfullness.

"'M sorry, daddy will you take care of me?" You blink sickly coy through your lashes. Pouting up at him innocently and he shakes his head bopping your nose.

"You just wait and watch." He kisses the side of your head while reversing the car.

"How about we start from drawing dicks on ye' cast, hmm? How bout that?" He smirks and you gasp surprised at his antics.

"Harry!" The car fills up with laughter and giggles until he takes a rough turn.

"You better drive safe else 'm walking home!"

#harry styles imagines #dirty harry styles imagines #harry styles blurb #harry styles smut #harry angst #harry styles fanfiction #dom harry #harry styles #cute harry #fluff #IDK IF YOULL LIKE IT BUT THIS IDEA WAS SWIMMING IN MY DIRTY HEAD FOR SO LONG UNTIL IT ENDED UP BEING A FLUFF

300 notes · View notes

you-are-constance · 3 years ago

Note

I don't know much about them, but Glimya?

so just briefly: they are characters in the Anastasia stage musical, Anya, Dimitri, and Gleb, who i've fallen in love with and absolutely adore. they're basically just idiots in love, is all I'll say. I happened to have a glimya one-shot ready (them attempting to bake) so here it is!

“No, no, no, Gleb,” said Anya, grabbing the bag out of his hands, “that’s too much sugar. You have to follow what’s on the recipe.”

“It says ‘one cup.’” He held up his cup of choice. “It doesn’t specify what kind of cup.”

“That’s because it shouldn’t need to!” Anya searched in a drawer for an actual measuring cup, but was unable to locate the one that should have been there. She looked up, the formations of a question on her lips, before quickly dying out at seeing Dimitri. He sat on top of the countertop, feet dangling above the floor, brandishing the measuring cup and grinning like a maniac. “Give me that.”

She reached for the measuring cup—even going on tip-toes for it—but he continued to hold it out of her reach. Anya glared at him but stopped trying to reach it. He’d only make it harder for her.

“Actually, I think Gleb’s right,” said Dimitri. “The more sugar, the better.”

“That’s not how baking works.”

“How do you know?” asked Gleb. “You’ve never done it before, either.”

“Hey! I—I’ve…” She tried to think of a rebuttal, but came up blank. She really had never baked anything before. “Well, I’ve never baked anything, but I have cooked stuff before. It’s got to have some of the same rules. Have you guys ever cooked anything?”

“I made a sandwich once,” Dimitri supplied unhelpfully. Gleb nodded. Anya rolled her eyes.

“Well then I’m obviously the qualified one here.”

“Need I remind you, Anya, what happened the last time you cooked anything?” Dimitri’s grin turned smug as Anya continued to glare at him.

“Shut up.”

“No, no, go on,” teased Gleb. “I don’t believe I’ve heard this story.” He placed his forearms down on the countertop, leaning against them, smiling like the dork he was.

Anya crossed her arms over her chest. “You guys are the worst.”

Dimitri and Gleb looked at each other and laughed.

“We know,” said Dimitri, hopping down off the counter and walking towards them, putting his arms around both Anya and Gleb. The measuring cup—still securely in Dimitri’s hand, was right within her grasp. She reached for it, but Dimitri—ever the conman—pulled it out of her reach once again. That was fine. Anya had a backup plan.

She grabbed Dimitri’s shirt and pulled him into her, causing him to bend down a bit while doing it. He was caught off guard by the kiss, his arm slowly coming down, leaving Anya the perfect opportunity to finally take the measuring cup from him.

Anya pulled back from the kiss, showing off her victory. Dimitri shrugged it off. “I think I might just keep stealing baking supplies, then.”

“Me too,” added Gleb.

Anya didn’t say a word as she crossed the kitchen to the sink, washing the measuring cup; Dimitri’s hands had been all over it, after all. She came back over to the counter and tried to start work on the recipe once again, hoping that this time, Gleb and Dimitri would be a bit better to work with.

They ruined the cake. The outside was burnt and the inside was undercooked, somehow. When it was over, none of them cared. They were too busy laughing over their failed attempt and holding onto one another.

Maybe they’d try again someday. Knowing them, and herself, they’d all probably just screw it up again. In the end, it wouldn’t matter. They weren’t doing it to get better, they were just doing it for the fun of it.

Besides, if Anya had to give a kiss to get every piece of measuring equipment needed, none of it was going to go very well. They might as well skip the baking part and go right to the kisses. It was much more efficient, after all.

read on ao3

#Constance answers #asks #Constance's writing #anastasia #anastasia musical #anastasia the musical #glimya #anya #gleb vaganov #dimitri #thanks for requesting!

21 notes · View notes

damnlance · 3 years ago

Text

[klance blurb thingy 1]

{PINING}

please tell me why lance is the ‘obviously pining from far away’ type

especially when keith’s around

like okay imagine lance and keith are hanging out with all their friends right

probably at some cute, old little diner because lance is always in the mood for a milkshake and keith loves spending all his coins on the pinball machine

of course when they get there, they all cram into one booth even tho shiro and hunk have the broadest shoulders of the group and trying to spread out is a little hard but they always make it work

lance will order drinks and food for the whole table because he’s memorized everyone’s orders and his irresistible ✨charm✨ comes in handy when he goes out on a limb to ask their waiter or waitress for an extra basket of fries on the house

and yeah it works bc it’s lance and he’s so charming and loves the way it gets mixed reactions from his friends like allura giggling, hunk sighing, pidge rolling her eyes, shiro ignoring him but also being secretly happy for the free fries, coran being the proud uncle he is, and keith - blushing like a mad man and trying to hide it bc lance is an idiot

as they’re waiting for their food, lance will ask for a kids coloring page and crayons and color the various pictures with hunk and pidge (and hunk would kick lance’s ass at tic-tac-toe)

keith will wander off with allura and coran as they watch him play on the pinball machine with his pocket full of quarters ready to play for as long is it takes the food to be done

and it’s so annoying how good he is because allura and coran will cheer for him or laugh or praise him and it’ll immediately grab lance’s attention away from coloring his half of the kid’s coloring page

he’ll slowly look up, pretending to be looking out for their food or watching one of the various tv’s playing some funky music video from the 80’s but really his eyes are glued to keith

and lance won’t ever understand how something as simple and played out as a stinkin pinball machine could bring out a side of keith that lance wishes he could see all the time

keith, standing there with his gloved hands on either side of the machine, long black hair tucked behind his ear on one side as his bangs dangle over his stupidly gorgeous violet eyes, his thick eyebrows frowned up as he concentrates on the game

smirk on his face

and sometimes, when the game’s getting good, his eye will light up like lightning flashing across a dark, stormy sky, and his lip will curl into a smirk as he leans closer to the machine because he’s winning

that’s when lance just can’t bring himself to look away because keith looks so cute when he’s winning, like a little kid in a candy shop, his features usually hard and brooding are now so soft and pure and beautiful

and something inside lance will go off and make the hairs on his arms stand up and a chill go down his spine and a small smile spread across his face because keith’s smile is so pretty he should smile more why doesn’t he smile more it’s so contagious lance feels lightheaded

he can’t look away because his heart is beating so fast and if he so much as takes a breath or blinks, he’s afraid he’ll miss these little moments that no one else pays attention to because they’re all too dense to notice just how amazing keith is

how cool keith is

how cute and pretty and wonderful keith is

and lance will let out a lovestruck sigh as he slumps forward and begins to daydream about how great life would be if he and keith ever got together even though that’s literally impossible because lance is very sure keith hates his guts and doesn’t want anything to do with him 😔

but the greatest part is when keith does win! and the small smile on his face turns into something big and real and unfiltered and he balls his gloved fists and shakes them victoriously in the air as coran and allura clap and pat him on the back

and lance will silently cheer from where he sits in the booth, laughing and smiling along with keith, wishing he was over there to celebrate too

wishing he could pat keith’s back or give him a high five or a hug, anything to be near him and to see that beautiful smile up close, to feel the warmth from keith’s happy energy radiating into lance’s bones

oh, how lance wishes to be keith’s

how he wishes he could just drop all the stupid rivalry crap between them and be something more

something real

and of course the moment would be ruined when keith catches him STARING (because he’s been staring for like 5 minutes) and lance’s inner bi panic would activate and he would frown at keith for catching him and reflexively flip him the middle finger as if it was keith’s fault for catching him

keith would frown back and roll his eyes as he turns back around to play again

and lance would sit there, trying so hard to calm his erratic heart, pounding against his rib cage like it’s trying to burst out of his chest

his cheeks and ears would be so red and hot from the flush that came and rose from his neck

and he would try to play it off like it suddenly got hot in the fifteen minutes they’ve been inside

clearing his throat, lance would try to go back to coloring but would stop because he can feel eyes on him

he’d look up to see if they were keith’s but would ultimately find that they are not keith’s

but instead hunk’s, pidge’s, and shiro’s, the three of them staring and smirking at lance who’s been pining so hard from far away

and lance would clear his throat and pretend he had something on his face, wiping his cheek and grabbing his vanilla milkshake and setting it right in front of his face to cool him down

when the food comes, keith will let allura and coran slide into the booth first and sit down so he would be directly across from lance

their friends would engage in small talk as they eat, talking about how good their food is or something else that would pop into their minds

keith would eat his burger and fries in silence, only looking up if someone were to mention or call his name

and lance would do the same, too engaged in dipping his hot, salty fries into his creamy milkshake to pay attention to the conversations going on

but something would catch his attention

a feeling

he can feel eyes on him again

and he would look over to hunk and pidge and shiro, who are all talking over each other all at once

he would look to allura and coran, who are listening and stuffing their faces

and then those piercing blue eyes would look up and across from him

and find those gorgeous violet eyes on him like the skin on his bones

blood would rush to his cheeks but instead of looking away, lance would stare back

and watch keith turn into a flustered mess

lance would smirk and keith would present his signature frown in response

and lance would get a sudden rush of courage in his veins and push his free basket of fries towards keith, offering him some

keith would twist his bushy eyebrows up in confusion, asking lance if he’s sure

and lance would nod, shaking the basket of free fries

keith would relax his features

and smile softly at lance, reaching over his own food to take a couple of fries

something deep in lance would burn low, a feeling of satisfaction simmering within him, knowing that keith is eating his free fries because lance offered them and keith accepted

keith would shove the fries into his mouth and lance would stare shamelessly, drinking his milkshake and daydreaming once again about what it would be like to share every single basket of fries he would ever get in his life with keith

of course keith would pretend not to notice lance staring and ignore the sudden spike in his pulse or the butterflies dancing around in his stomach

and because he’s keith, he would [not so] accidentally brush his foot against lance’s underneath the table just to get a reaction out of the cuban boy

lance would jolt a little and meet eyes with keith in surprise

keith would have that same smirk on his face from when he was playing pinball

and lance would reciprocate the gesture, paying no mind to the voice in the back of his head giving him hope

he would simply smirk back, and quirk his eyebrow in a challenge

[END]

62 notes · View notes

mcyt-imagines · 4 years ago

Note

hiiii! may i request some soft sapnap? I dont really have any specifics just something soft lmao (also i luv ur writing!!)

I hope this was soft enough for you !! And thank you so much anon !! <33

Moving Blues

The mid-morning sun splashes it’s bright glow across your freshly painted room, the curtains you had been meaning to put up yesterday mock you from the ground below your window. You groan as you cover your eyes with a heavy arm, feeling the aftereffects of carting all those heavy boxes around yesterday. Moving had been harder than both yourself and Sapnap had expected. Sapnap stirs behind you, hands creeping up your pyjama shirt to splay his warm hands across your soft stomach. He hums pleasantly at the skin contact, moving closer to nuzzle your neck with his face and pressing butterfly kisses in his wake. “Good morning hotstuff.” His voice low and raspy as you turn in his arms to meet his eyes, you cup his cheek and kiss him. “Morning handsome.” You smile against his lips and he happily pulls you in again, and again.

His hands wander, as they usually do, squeezing your hips as you pull him closer to you. Determined to go back to sleep despite the bright light invading your cosy bedroom. In a futile effort to escape the light you bury your head in his shoulder, which does help lessen the light as Sapnap chuckles. You feel it reverberate through his chest against your own, “Someone wants to sleep in, hm?” He teases, leaving a light pinch on your hip. You react instantly with a gasp and a soft yelp, “Heyyyyy.” You grumble into his neck, biting the skin cheekily. He lets out a surprised gasp before smirking against your skin, you feel his icy cold feet against your own and you squeal.

“Get your feet off me!” You writhe in his tight hold as he cackles pressing his feet further up your legs much to your obvious dismay. After a few more moments of squirming Sap suddenly lets you go and you’re sent flying over the edge of the bed. You land with a loud thud, “Owwww.” Sap’s head appears from the bed and offers you his hand, “Sorry darlin’” He hoists you up with minimal effort, standing from the bed himself. You pout as you rub your wrist, he gently takes it from you. He eyes you as he softly kisses your wrist a few times, “See? All better.” You giggle as he pulls you close again, pressing a kiss to the top of your hair.

After a few moments of hugging in the warm sun rays by the window Sapnap pulls away, “C’mon cuddlebug, we’ve got a lot of work to do today.” You nod begrudgingly and let him take your hand in his to lead you to the kitchen, past your multitude of piled carboard boxes. It felt as if you had been unpacking for years yesterday but it barely looks like you even made a dent in the pile of boxes scattering the apartment. You yawn as you scramble over boxes in the middle of the room, Sapnap carefully pushing them out of the way whilst you flock to the fridge. You spot what you’re looking for immediately, you hold up the pre-made pancake batter with a victorious cry. “Huzzah! A breakfast fit for royalty!”

Sapnap chuckles as he moves to your side, watching as you rummage around in one of the nearby boxes searching for a pan. He happily hides the one he found in the boxes he’d moved behind his back, heading for the stove. He turns it on and simply unscrews the cap off the container holding the batter before pouring one large pancake out onto the pan. Your rummaging continues for a few moments until the pan manages to heat up enough to start cooking the batter. At the sizzle you turn, “You absolute scoundrel.”

You gasp scampering over to him, hands raking up his sides once you reach him. Laughter bubbles from his lips immediately, he shies away from your hands futilely trying to escape. “This is payback for your icicle feet!” You cry only continuing your onslaught, only to smell burning. You lock eyes with Sapnap as your ministrations still, “The pancake!” You both cry, scrambling to try and flip it before it burns any worse than it already has. Sapnap tries with the pan only to completely beef it, causing the pancake to fold over in on itself like an omelette. “Quick try that box for the spatula!” You direct him, moving to your own box with vigour.

Within seconds you have the fated spatula in your hand and dive for the pancake, flipping it with a familiar expertise. “Hey not bad darlin’.” Sap smiles, arm sliding casually to your hip. “I learnt from the best.” You smile, leaning into him and he pulls you closer pressing his lips to your temple. “Now what do we want on these bad boys?” He asks, moving from you to the fridge as you shrug and make a non-committal noise “Whatever we’ve got in there.” His eyes scan the barren fridge knowing the two of you will have to make do with just the essentials, maple syrup and butter. Pancakes deserve a better condimental reception, but this is the best you can offer them right now. “Sorry pancakes.” Sap mumbles to himself as he grabs what he needs and closes the fridge, placing them haphazardly on the kitchen island.

You haul the last pancake from the pan, throwing it onto the pile of steaming pancakes and carefully carry it to the island where Sapnap impatiently sits. “Yuuuuum~” You take a seat beside him and without any second thoughts the two of you eagerly devour the whole tower of pancakes you had cooked up. “No rest for the wicked I guess.”

You groan through your last mouthful of pancakes and haul yourself up from your seat, eyeing the box of kitchen utensils and pots that isn’t gonna unpack itself. Sapnap follows suit, standing from the table as well. Only to cringe at his hands, your own face mirroring the expression. Fingers sticky with butter and maple syrup you find yourself and Sapnap fighting for the kitchen tap, determined to rid yourselves of the icky feeling of unclean hands. Your hips and elbows bump against each other’s, “Hey!” You giggle as he splashes water onto you, you gasp and eagerly splash him back and make a run for it.

You barely make it into your bedroom before Sapnap’s arms loop around your middle from behind and raise you high off the ground. You squeal in surprise as he holds you tightly, your feet dangling off the ground as he spins you for a few seconds before he places you back down with a grin. He litters your face with kisses as your arms stay looped around his neck, now clean hands tangled in his hair. “You’re such a brat you know that.” He squeezes your hips, “You started it.”

You stick your tongue out at him, and he chuckles at your antics. With a soft sigh you pull away from him, eyeing the mess that your apartment still is. “C’mon these boxes ain’t gonna move themselves mister strong man!” You tease, moving over to the window and hauling a curtain rod up onto the sill, easily hooking it on. Sapnap begrudgingly nods in agreement, picking up a particularly heavy box by the door to start unpacking his stream set up. Eager to get back online to start streaming with his friends again.

The hours fly by between the two of you, Sapnap turns on some music claiming it ‘puts him in the zone’ and you happily dance and sing along with him when he walks by you as the empty boxes begin to pile up. As the sun sets the two of you finally reconvene in the kitchen, eyeing the now collapsed cardboard boxes pushed into one corner of the room. The once empty apartment looking a little cosier now. The soft music coming from Sapnap’s speaker starts to quieten as one song ends and another begins. Something upbeat, easy to dance to. Sapnap’s eyes are already on you when you meet his gaze, a flush reaches your cheeks as he bows and holds out on arm.

“May I have this dance?” He grins, “Of course, sir.” You can only smile wider as you bow and take his hand, letting him guide you to the centre of the room to give the two of you plenty of space. His hands stay in yours as he happily twirls you to the beat, your laughter only egging him on as the flush on his own cheeks reaches the tips of his ears. Your tired voices sing out loudly and unabashedly, heavy limbs swaying and snapping to the rhythm, in sync with each other.

Sapnap orbits around you as you move before you pull him close, desiring his skin against your own after a long strenuous day mostly apart, even if the distance was only a few metres. You sway gently with him as his arms envelop you, your own looping around him with such familiarity it makes your chest, and his, ache. He presses several soft kisses atop your hair, singing softly along to the last few lines of the song.

His breath warm on your face when he takes your chin in one of his hands and tilts your head up to meet his gaze, “I love you.” He hums, expression softer than you’ve ever seen before. His eyes look deep into your own and know that he loves all that he sees by that expression he wears alone, your heart lurches against your chest. “I love you more.” You smile, leaning in and he mirrors the action before pausing just as your lips were going to meet. “I love you most.” He mumbles against your lips before a hand cups the back of your head, guiding your head the rest of the way forward. Your lips meet in a firm kiss before meeting, again and again.

The last few notes of the song ringing in your ears before slowly drowning out as Sapnap pulls away just as breathless as yourself. “And if you’ll let me, I’ll prove just how much more I love you.” He mumbles against your lips, taking your lower lip between his teeth for a few moments. You watch with interest as his pupils slowly begin to dilate, you only smirk bringing a hand up to his chest to trail over his skin. “I’m listening.” Without a word of warning Sapnap brings both of his hands down to hook underneath your thighs, lifting you up against him. You let out a squeak of surprise, arms flailing to find their place looped behind Sapnap’s neck, your legs doing the same around his middle.

As Sapnap hurries towards your bedroom you realise you might be in for a long night. Good thing you installed those curtains today.

~Requests are open!~

#sapnap x reader #sapnap imagine #sapnap #x reader #mcyt #mcyt x reader

219 notes · View notes