#why in the balls else would we need a space force at this point | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

maksimkurylenko · 2 months ago

Text

FLASHBACK: TWO YEARS AGO. WHO: @viktoriya-kurylenko / The French. SUMMARY: Delve in, and take a look at the day Maksim retrieved Viktoriya from the French two years ago, and the Russians having to return a French hostage they'd also taken. This is something me and Meg have been working on, and the rest will be played out on the dash following on from the below writing.

“We need to talk about it.”

No they fucking did not. They hadn’t ever talked about it, not really. He’d been there for her, gave her support and time and space to deal with what had happened. Maksim would have given anything to her. But they had never talked about it.��

Viktoriya stared at her brother over her glass of gin, sitting opposite him in their booth at The Basement. It was technically closed but Andrei let the pair of them in anyway, knowing it was better to just say yes than try to talk his way out of hosting them. Not that he was losing out on money. They always paid their tab unlike some other ruling families in the city. The Italians came to mind. She always assumed they simply expected those under them to offer up whatever they had for free. Scum.

“Viktoriya.”

God why did he have to look at her like that?

Say her name like that? It wasn’t pity but it was certainly something.

He does it because he cares about you.

Maksim was one of a very select group of people the blonde genuinely cared about and it wasn’t just because he was blood. The loss of her mother and her subsequent lack of any emotion about it made that point moot. No, they had always kept each other close. She respected him and him, her. At least she thought that’s what they did. This question though…

“What do you want me to say Maksim?” Her hand released the crystal glass, forming into a tight ball in its stead. “What they did…” Yes, what the French had done to her was something she wished she could forget. Her other hand reached up to massage her left shoulder. Under the fabric of her shirt lay the reminder of exactly what they’d done. Not that she truly remembered what had happened. Nothing was clear until she’d been in the warehouse to be handed over.

~ FLASHBACK ~

“Move.”

A hand landed on Viktoriya’s now damaged shoulder and shoved. Hard. The sound that escaped her mouth was halfway between a whimper and a gasp.

How they’d ended up in the warehouse was beyond her. The last thing she remembered was cold concrete on her face, the sound of water sizzling nearby, and pain. Indescribable, searing, agonizing pain. It had been enough to make her vomit and scream bloody murder when she’d tried to roll onto her back away from the mess. What had they done to her?

“Don’t touch me.” Her voice came out cracked and broken but it came out nonetheless. The laugh that sounded behind her was not humorous

“Just fucking walk. 20 yards straight. Pray you never come back.”

Had she been in her right mind, Viktoriya would have whipped around and clawed the Frenchman’s face off. She almost tried but someone in front of her caught her attention.

Maksim.

Not yet close enough to touch but he was there, watching, waiting, and something else. Her vision blurred but Viktoriya took a step forward. Then another. Twenty yards and it would all be over.

—

There was a loud roaring in his ears, sickness curdling in his gut, that morphed and transformed into this unyielding, fiery rage. The shadows of the warehouse, not fully touched by dull fluorescent lights, made the place darker than it needed to be, and he was on edge.

Ready to strike should the need arise.

Was this his punishment for his crimes? To watch that pain bestowed upon her?

His rage had been stored and reserved for one fucking reason. Teeth gritted as he stared ahead, un-moving, rigid, and imposing with the brute force just over his shoulder. If it came to it, Maksim was ready to burn this place to the ground—actually, fuck that.

He’d burn London to the ground. He wasn’t playing anymore, not with this. Not ever.

Maksim had known the horrors of this life, had known the pain he’d been gifted, like meant to accept it with honor, but nothing, not being imprisoned in a Russian Jail, or the death of his mother or his string of constant failures—nothing matched the soul-shattering horror that engulfed him when he learned of Vika's abduction.

Even knowing Vika was coming back, he couldn’t settle, and his mind wouldn’t allow him to shift away from the genuine threat surrounding him and his sister in their clutches. Until she was in that car and driving away, he wouldn’t simmer. Maksim would stay at boiling point, and everyone around him better pray it didn’t leak over the edge. He might’ve had a reputation, but when it came to her, there was nothing he wouldn’t do. There was no place he wouldn’t go, and certainly, without a doubt, no one he wouldn’t kill if he had to.

When she came into view…it was enough to knock the breath right from him and to have him shift one step forward before he got a hold of himself. Maksim understood that any further movement might startle them and jeopardize her safety, and with her dangerously close, he quivered, grappling with that flimsy self-control.

That shove, though, had him growling, undiluted rage seeping. “Fucking careful – ” he growled, Russian curse words slipping from under his breath as a way to calm that betraying anger that was about ready to burst out of his chest. Letting the rigidness seep from his muscles, he forced himself to loosen up, in case he needed to spring into action and run for her.

If there was a fire, he'd walk through it to get her back.

Not too far now, Vika, his mind chants, Keep walking, you got this. His eyes snapped at every person in attendance. Memorizing, committing them to memory. The fucking French filth. Because one day they’d pay for what they did to her, for every hair harmed, and every reaction they’d stolen from her. The Russians may have been sadistic, but they took care of their own and would do anything for each other.

Maksim’s eyes again found Vika, unable to look away as he took in her face and his stomach lurched. “Those fucking..” he seethed under his breath. What they’d done was worth watching them scream for weeks in a fucking hell hole. “Send them back, do it quickly.” He said to the other Russian that had come as backup, another situated elsewhere, in eyesight of them but unable to be spotted from here.

Not looking at their prisoner, he ground out. “Be thankful you’re still breathing after what they did to my sister, but know this, wherever you go, I’m gonna’ find you. Walk.” mimicking exactly what the French had gone, he shoved the prisoner with equal force.

They’d signed their death warrant with this. Maksim wouldn’t forget, and neither would his father.

—

It took more effort than Vika wanted to admit to look up at the Frenchman passing her. Every part of her body seared with pain and her mind fractured a bit more with each step. She got enough of a glimpse, however, to know that they would need a significant amount of plastic surgery to fix what her people had done.

Good.

She wasn’t sure when she’d finally crossed the imaginary demarcation line but the shift was instant. Gruff murmurs behind her followed by the shuffling of feet, car doors opening and closing, and a car peeling away. If she never saw them again it still wouldn’t be long enough.

“Maks?” Her eyes on her feet again to make sure she didn’t fall face forward, Vika wasn’t sure how far her brother was from her. She reached out in front of her, grasping air once, twice. Then she stops. Pain radiates from her left shoulder. It dawned on her that when he reached her he would try to support her. The thought made her want to vomit. If the fresh brand hurt now, it was going to hurt a hell of a lot worse when pressure was applied. The most she could ask for was walking out of there with her pride somewhat intact. Breaking down into a mess would shatter that hope.

“My shoulder, don’t touch it…please.” It was a word Viktoriya never used and they both knew it. “Don’t ask, just…” Another wave of pain and nausea hit her and her knees hit the concrete. Yet another bruise to add to her already battered body. “Maks, please.” The words came out as a soft, strangled cry. Those who were watching had better get a good look because they would never see such a thing again.

All she needed was to get home.

—

Every step, every heaving fucking breath, slashed at his resolve.

Maksim understood pain, and had welcomed it in the past: but not this. It coiled around him like a noose, stealing the air from his lungs, suffocating him as it threatened to squeeze out every inch of oxygen. They hadn’t just taken a Russian, they’d taken his fucking sister.

Each step she took, pooling orbs never left her face, inside them fire burned like a pyre, threatening to incinerate anyone who moved too quickly. Hold out, he told himself, itching to move. He could make out her mouth moving, but no one was there: that sickness threatened to spill over. Was she disorientated? What had they done to her psychologically, as well as physically? Fists curled, fury only growing inside a man who had never been that rational. The second her feet crossed that line, his legs couldn’t hold him back any longer. Faster than he’d ever moved before.

It still wasn’t fast enough in his eyes. Five steps felt like twenty.

Maksim’s heart constricted at the sight of her, broken beyond comprehensible words, dark purple, red splotches over once perfect skin. He choked back the scream that was lodged at the back of his throat: he couldn’t show weakness in front of these people. Even if he heard them driving away, he didn’t know who was watching from afar. “Vika…” His hands raised as if he was going to touch her, but he froze. Staring, completely shocked. Since the beginning of fucking time, he’d never heard her say those words, not even to her own family.

And here she was, alive, but so vastly different from the woman he knew. “I won’t touch you there,” he tried to smooth the gruff of his voice, the way he only did for those he cared about.

Every fucking person who’d been involved would die at his hands.

Maksim didn’t care how he accomplished it or what he had to sacrifice. He liked to think he could control his emotions, but his feelings regarding this were spiraling. He’d loved and lost, and so had Vika but it’d only made that bond stronger—there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her.

The scurry of feet behind him had him huffing a sigh, as the sound of tires crawling along gravel alerting him to the arriving car. “You haven’t gotta walk anywhere, we’ll drive right up and you can get in where and how you're most comfortable.” He wasn’t sure there was any part of her that didn’t hurt, and the worst part was there was nothing he could do. Not right now. Then offer words of comfort, because there was no advice he could give her that would make this better.

Once the door was open, they'd managed to get Vika into the car, unfortunately, with little success from the winces. And then the car was moving, and the silence was all-consuming. A riot among nothingness.

Maksim stared at Vika, unable to look away for fear it might all be a dream. Alive, he repeated to himself. She was really a-fuckin-live. There was a part of him that wanted to reach forward and touch her, just to make sure. But one look at her told him he best not, especially because he didn’t know the extent of the damage.

“I spoke to Dad,” swallowing heavily. “There’s a doc waiting for you at home.” eyes pleading that she didn’t fight it. “We need to check you over, can’t…leave it, this.” and he hated every word that came out of his goddamn mouth. He didn’t want to feel like he was forcing this upon her. But there were some things that had to be done, for better rather than worse.

“After that, we’ll figure it out.” Brows furrowing again with complete unforgiving disdain. “Vika…” There was so much he wanted to say, but there weren’t words. He wouldn’t ask her about it, not until she was ready. There would come a time when this didn’t feel like her world was ending, it couldn’t be this forever. She was far too strong of a person to let this stain the life she’d built. “You’ll get through this.” It was more his father’s voice at that moment, than his own. Demanding, still cautious.

It didn’t take long for the car to pull up outside of their father’s home, grand in such a ridiculous way it would have almost been laughable. “Home sweet home.”

TO BE CONTINUED...

#queue #viktoriya kurylenko #maksim kurylenko #joint para : vika #tbc #vika & maksim #viktoriya & maksim #ft. the french #self para #char dev #flash back

2 notes · View notes

animehouse-moe · 1 year ago

Text

Ron Kamonohashi: Deranged Detective Episode 7: The Case of The Observatory Murder (Part 1)

I think there's a lot of reasons that this case is interesting. Starting from the top, we've got a new boarder/episode director in Keizou Kusakawa (a longtime Diomeda staple), we get more information about BLUE, we get more about Ron's past, and we get more of an isolate Isshiki. There's really a lot to like, and a lot to talk about!

Starting off with Kusakawa, I'm very curious to see how they do. They've certainly got someof the Ibata style, but they really like keeping characters in frame with their work. Where Ibata enjoys focusing on details, Kusakawa is using the characters to explore those details. I don't think it's bad or anything, just a different approach, and can create some appealing layouts like this one.

They're just very aware of the characters, and it's very evident with character blocking that promotes a feeling of space more than anything. Just look at how the stage the group in these two moments in the episode. It's certainly very natural, but it also prioritizes a hierarchy and telegraphs the "direction", if you will, of the conversation and interaction.

It strikes out groups and relations very smoothly, while not forcing the smaller pieces into isolation to provide that separation. Also, I just like the first image because the group naturally stays close to the entrance of the observatory as more and more people funnel in. Might sound a little obvious, but placing them at that point in the observatory just works well for introducing the new characters, and for something else I'll explain in just a moment.

Anyways, let's break down this murder case first. Or well, let me explain how the episode breaks down this murder case. Because, I mean, they kind of put it right in front of us from the get go, what with showing off a smoking gun in the opening tour of the observatory and all.

Now, the question is whether or not that gun is the legitimate murder weapon used in the episode, or if it truly is a replica and a weapon from the outside was brought in to commit the act.

To explain, the possibility exists in my mind of this: there is a "replica" gun in the lobby of this observatory that is so well crafted that Ron comments on it. People are uncertain as to whether or not the gun is actually real. It's based on an actual gun, so what happens if someone prepared in advance by bringing a real gun to the island as well? That would mean that the murderer could safely use the murder weapon while leaving behind the replica, creating a false smoking gun.

Of course, this could very easily be debunked by checking if the gun had been discharged in any capacity, but we'll leave that as an assumption for later.

Next up is the possibility of the door. They really put our focus on it with the closeup as it's opened, and for only a few possible reasons I feel.

The one that immediately springs to mind is that the door can only be locked from the outside, and why would this make sense? Well, because the lock is on the outside. I don't know of any doors that have a double sided key lock in my experience. It's always a key lock on the outside, and a physical lock on the inside. Because of the act of opening this door, we know that the door is not kept locked at all times. One could presume that it's left 'unlocked' as the default, which begs the question of why Ron would ever need the key.

And let's keep the ball rolling! Onodera, the woman found dead, starts her interaction off by antagonizing Ron. It's very interesting behavior to have appear, which we'll see again later on in the episode. Though it's also important to note that the owner of the observatory tried to encourage Ron to learn about the mystery of the observatory as well. And then there's John Grizzly who appears as well. It's all... a little too convenient.

But the icing on the cake is the interaction with the star obsessed idol, who appears in the room.

This is a big one, a very big one, because it answers the question (sort of) of how someone could enter or leave the observatory if the door or dome was not an option. Orihime appears adjacent to the group in the observatory. She doesn't appear from behind them, and with the existence of the chef in the observatory it means that already being in there is impossible. And she doesn't enter the room through the front door as the guests would have spotted her. So how does she get into the room? A question for later on.

Anyways, let's get back to Onodera. During the dinner on the rooftop, she's consistently focused on Ron, even leaving the rooftop shortly after Ron does. Even going the distance as to make an interesting face as Ron leaves. There's a lot of setup for Onodera to have "reason" to be Ron's victim in this case, which just adds to the pile of curiosities.

And finally, we make it to the murder. Up on the rooftop at the time of the gunshot there is: the observatory director, Toto, weird haricut guy, and John. This rules these 4 out indefinitely from the murder of Onodera, as none have left the rooftop since Onodera has.

However, among the culprits alongside Ron there is also the chef, and Orihime. So, let's take a closer look.

Putting the facts together, Onodera is lying on their stomach, having suffered from a gunshot wound, while Ron is laying on his back, unscathed. The biggest thing here is that Onodera is wearing shoes, while Ron is not, and alongside that, the gun is not directly touching Ron.

This is a big one because it provides the possibility that Ron's prints are not on the weapon, and further speaks to his unprepared nature in carrying out this murder.

Look closely, they're lying on top of glass shards. This implies that the lights were shot out prior to the dome opening (at least in the areas that Onodera and Ron are laying in), meaning that the final shot was (most likely) the one that killed Onodera. Building backwards, it is then possible that Onodera was trying to get help before she was murdered. Or, that the murderer wanted to have Isshiki and John discover this scene before Ron could awake.

I think most important though is the dialogue that we got from John earlier on in the episode. When Ron "awoke" from his bout in the testing incident, John states that he was "in a haze". Ron was very much standing upright, with the weapon in his hand. Here though, he's unconscious and on the ground. The disparity in information regarding Ron's state leads me even further towards it being a set up.

Speaking further on John, did you notice he wasn't being a very good detective? I mean, what kind of ace detective turns their back on interaction at a dinner party? He's shown willingly isolated from the group, looking out over the night sky.

And then there's the whole break in scene with the observatory. John's pounding away on the door and making no headroom, but once Isshiki and the director step up, the trio breaks through in one go. Not saying that it's unlikely in any way, but just that it adds to the pile of interesting pieces. John doesn't ask for help breaking down the door, rather, it's the other two that step up.....

And then he keeps going. Stating that an autopsy needs to happen first to confirm the cause of death, but then saying that it's the gun, swiftly taking it into his own possession before Isshiki can examine the weapon.

And then this suspicious response. There's a few possibilities with it. John has discovered something and is hiding it, whatever it is. A false section of wall? A removable vent that exposes a traversable path? It's hard to say, because his detective work is very shallow.

If I were to try and strike up a guess though, it'd be that one of the buttons in the observatory has the ability to open or close some hidden path, as it would help connect why Ron was playing with the buttons in the observatory earlier.

And here's the proof of what I'd said earlier. The door has a physical lock on the interior, so why would Ron need the keys?

It's at this point though that you start to get a different idea from John, with things like this comment.

And then there's Isshiki's point that Ron's acting weird.

The pieces continue to pile up, endlessly high, giving viewers a mountain of information and ideas.

And where does it bring you to? To the point that BLUE, Ron, and John, are testing Isshiki.

I mean, the case of the murder in the most sensible way possible is that Orihime did it. Able to sneak into the observatory without alerting a single person, not present on the rooftop when the gunshots went off, they're the most likely culprit of the bunch. But I don't know if you could call them a culprit, if it's going down how I'm thinking.

Isshiki's not allowed to touch or pronounce Onodera dead, so that greatly increases the odds of it being a fake body of some sort, prepared in advance. The question is, how likely is it that Ron is in on this mystery? I mean, they bring a BLUE detective in that's an expert with locked rooms, and is someone that Ron looks up to. Considering the effort taken to get Ron to go to this observatory, I do wonder about direct involvement. Regardless, if he's not directly involved (so as to avoid giving Isshiki any hints), Orihime has that covered. It's an easy to miss thing, but she is shown holding a wooden club at one point, which would be used as a blunt weapon to knock Ron out.

But yeah, that's my grand theory as to what's going on: Isshiki's being tested by BLUE on this case, to see if they'll take him in. I'm really really excited to see where things go and how they're done, and am quite hopefully that Kusakawa will direct the entirety of this mystery, but that's all conversation for next week.

#ron kamonohashi #isshiki totomaru #totomaru isshiki #kamonohashi ron no kindan suiri #ron kamonohashi: deranged detective #ron kamonohashi's forbidden deductions #mystery anime #comedy anime #anime and manga #anime #anime reccs #anime recommendation #anime review

9 notes · View notes

justanotherquinnfan · 4 days ago

Text

If you could do your first time over, would you?

Yeah, I know it's been a minute. Any creative endeavor for me is always a struggle for me to maintain the motivation that only a strong hyperfixation can give you. So what I'm having to deal with is a HOST of unfinished drafts, but hopefully that means more posts in the near future.

I listened not too long ago to one of Chris Yamez's newer audios, Brain and Brawn (Part 1). First of all, let's send out a virtual congrats to Chris for making it to 1 million listens! Amazing and well-deserved! This particular audio deals with a well-loved, well-tread trope of the the "Jock and the Geek falling for each other," a favorite of mine as a self-described geek. Chris is one of the more favored creators on this app and for good reason. He is funny and charming and a fantastic actor. Whether you go in for some of the stuff he posts or not, you are always guaranteed a fun time. That's why, though I'm not a huge fan of audios that depict someone younger than me (even if they are just playing a character like in this case), I gave it a try and boy am I glad I did! See below the cut for spoilers and ramblings that abound!

In this particular audio, we see Chris as a football player being forced to have a tutor, the Listener. He tries to beg, bargain and cajole the Listener into letting him go, even so far as to say one of the most shocking sentences I've ever heard just blithely tossed out, "I am going to a threesome later that I need to wash my balls for" (or something to that effect). The beginning is uproariously funny and beautifully depicted as the Listener has no time for his bullshit and WILL call his mother if he doesn't sit his ass down and do his homework. We get a sense of the dynamic immediately and that, if nothing else, keeps me sat!

What I love about Chris' writing here is that he turns the trope on its head a little bit. The jock character is secretly very smart and studious, which is also trope-y, BUT the reason for keeping it a secret is not shame. Most of the time, this archetype is written to be embarrassed that they don't quite follow the crowd, so they lie to fit in. Chris, on the other hand, simply sees it as just unnecessary to put his all into schoolwork at this time. There is so much to enjoy as a young, presumably beautiful, and vivacious young man, why spend any time studying? Particularly when there are threesomes just waiting to happen?

Why indeed?

But as he has this conversation with the Listener, he realizes that she hasn't followed a similar point of view to him up until now. She is smart, she studies and she hasn't been with anyone. So, in the way that all these stories go, he gently persuades her by offering to take his shirt off for her to take a picture of him for herself and then offering whatever else she might be interested in.

Now, here is why I really enjoy this story: we all remember high school, we remember that boys (and girls and theys) were maybe not the most patient or mature, especially when it came to sex. Even in fiction, this would potentially lead to making out, which would lead to one or both characters losing their virginity. What Chris does instead is allow space for exploration without an end goal. Meaning, while he's not disinterested in having sex with the Listener, he is understanding of where she is in her sexual journey and is happy to maintain whatever boundaries she has. This is a very mature take on a concept that is often taken the more juvenile route.

So here we have the stereotypical jock, except not really, he is merely wearing the stereotype as a costume to live life to the fullest and here we have the stereotypical geek, except not really because she is willing to put herself out on a limb to get something she wants. This, to me, makes the whole concept so much more fun and it asks the question: if you could go back and do it all over but with a more seasoned mindset, would you?

Reader, my first time happened in my early 20s and even then, I was so innocent to a lot of things that I wish I hadn't given that moment to the person I gave it to. I would have loved to have been with someone who saw me as a true person and wanted to have fun within the boundaries set. But it is what it is and that's why we have fantasy, right? Would I go back if I had someone like this character offering me the chance to enjoy some physical gratification without worrying that it would be used against me at school? Heck yes, I would! And even though I can't, I do feel like this has gone a bit of a ways towards healing some parts of my inner-teenager.

Now, I won't go into detail about the shenanigans that Chris' jock has with the Listener because I would love for people to give it a listen themselves and then come back with their opinions, but what I will say is that he handles the situation masterfully. There is no penetration, just exploration as far as the Listener would allow.

But my favorite part, honestly? Is after they finish, they are talking to each other and he so bashfully asks if they were planning to meet the same time the next day. Gone was the bravado, the confidence, and the persona and what was left was the endearing shyness borne of a teenager who realizes he likes the girls he's with even more than he originally thought and really hopes she feels the same way. It made me smile and really start to root for him, which is hilarious to do in a first-person erotic audio.

Honestly, if you have the time, please check this one out! For as popular as Chris Yamez is, he is still CRIMINALLY underrated and deserves all the love!

#quinn #tryquinn #chris yamez

0 notes

unitedbydevils · 8 months ago

Text

Match Review: Coventry City 3-3 Manchester United (2-4 on penalties)

It's a game of two halves... unless you're Man Utd then it's a game of four halves and penalties because YOU BOTTLED A THREE NIL FUCKING LEAD \skjgvblrkehdbkvbrzd dickheads.

For all people think hey, United were 2-0 up at half time... the game didn't start particularly well. It was slow to the point of being irritating, because these are professional footballers and I think me at 34 with asthma, a ligament injury, and the need to lose 2 stone in weight could probably have pressed the fuckers.

That said, United took an early lead through Scott McTominay moments later because the man who has no positional discipline will always lose himself, and thus any marker, to crash into the box and bang in a true poacher's finish. Shame he does fuck all else.

We then doubled our lead late in the first half through a banger Harry Maguire header from a corner. Everything was going well...

Maguire, in fairness, had a very good game (bar one whopper pass to Coventry for absolutely no fucking reason). A goal was well earned and he did his job well overall. Strong in the air, robust in challenges and duels, and didn't go to ground willy-nilly ala Casemiro. Nice. I will say that he's a big part of our issues on the ball, because he's not a ball-playing CB. He's too slow to take touches and make decisions. The way round this is to partner him with a ball-player (Casemiro) and a good receiver with mobility/agility/scanning (Mainoo) which is why things worked until Mainoo went off. Then it was Eriksen (ruh roh) which forces passes to... Casemiro (slow), AWB (out of position), Eriksen (slow), McTominay (oh wait he's not where he should be).

The problem is that United then went and bagged a third in the second half, a deflected effort from Bruno, and we're thinking fuck... this could be a rout. United haven't given a team a good slapping in a while.

LOL only joking. Sub off our one disciplined midfielder in Mainoo, on comes Christian 'No Legs' Eriksen (why the fuck is McTominay still on?), and then watch as our game control jumps out the fucking window. Unreal.

Don't get me wrong, Eriksen is a smart player - ala Juan Mata - but legs matter at this level. He hasn't got them. He can't be a passenger in our team. In a Man City side, sure. He'd be the right football intelligence and Pep would use his squad depth and talent to compensate for the inclusion. Manchester United ain't that dog.

Cue the comeback of all comebacks.

Then Coventry got a second. The crowd is FERVENT.

THEN THEY FUCKING EQUALISED LADS.

Extra time rolled around and honestly, either side could have won it; Bruno cracked a shot off the underside of the bar and back out - nice - and then Coventry ran all over us for a while until it was time for penalties.

Erik Ten Hag has my support in principle, but his in-game management is really hard to defend because he's treating decisions as if there's no consequence. I don't mean that in the sense of job loss, I mean in the sense of game change. Antony on did fuck all. Eriksen on did fuck all. McTominay bar a goal did fuck all (but he scored - fuck off, he just floats around aimlessly, bellend).

Then, late into the tie, on comes Amad for a seemingly injured Rashford. He then proceeds to dribble better and make better movement and create more space than any of our other wide men. Nice. Maybe sub him on earlier?

So yes, penalties. Up steps Casemiro and... wow. He really did that. Hand in your boots, your Carrington ID, and don't come in for work. Take it as garden leave and just chill until we sell you in the summer, you useless mercenary prick.

Luckily, our other penalty takers in Dalot, Eriksen, Bruno and Hojlund all know how to score, and Onana was able to save one whilst the Sky Blues captain aimed for the sky as he blazed his take over. United win 4-2 and go through to the final. Cue every United fan old and young proceeding to search for more spirits to drink than is legally safe in the strained hope of blotting this from our collective memories because FUCK ME WAS THAT POOR.

You can blame ETH for his poor subs and not respecting that Coventry > our squad depth. I can and I did. But you also have to recognise that players being shit is on them. Antony should be tearing Coventry a new arsehole. Same for Rashford. McTominay should own that midfield. Hojlund missed a sitter, the sausage (I can't hate my boy, not yet).

I feel sorry for the fans. I feel sorry for the chap above most of all. Imagine making that effort to see what he saw. We won, we're into a final, it's another City v United derby at Wembley, and it was another all-time memorable tie for United... but fuck me that was painful and embarrassing.

For Sir Jim watching, surely even he can see the problems? No LB, no ball playing CB (Case really doesn't count), no true RW, no alternate CF, no midfield pivot, no fucking clue.

I'm not entirely sure United's players are dense and clueless morons, mind. I think most of them are weak-minded; they let the fear takeover and their heads drop too easily and they should be at "lesser" clubs where the pressure's off a bit - like Andreas Pereira at Fulham. Took a step down, now he's flourishing. Some people aren't cut out for the limelight, and it seems most of United's squad fit the bill there. Another rebuild is needed, but maybe INEOS can do what others couldn't before them...

youtube

1 note · View note

night-garden-fic · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter Eleven: Unwinding in Red

(Read on AO3)

"I can't die here! I need to get home!"

Part Three

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"I've been looking for the ending my story lacks

A strong enough magnet to pull me back

Oh, you are that

Oh, you are that"

-"74 Willow," Ednaswap

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Chapter Eleven: Unwinding in Red

The first color to disentangle itself from the stygian black of Russell's mind was a violent, arteric red.

His whole body lit up with a violent flash of it; the searing crimson radiating hotly from a single sharp point between two ribs. The few thoughts that could fight their way to the surface—through all that bright red pain—were sluggish and chaotic from the trip, his body spinning somewhere in uncertain space, vision blurry and distorted.

(Lost.)

But the mental image of a Sechs broadsword, polished to a fierce gleam, was as clear and vicious as the pain itself.

They came back for me.

(I think I'm dead.)

Dead or alive, it surprised him when his body began fighting back of its own accord.

Russell was exhausted, and prepared to let nature take its course, but his hands had other ideas, and he felt one of them land a blow against the swordsman's sturdy body.

"...Lara! We need to hold him down!"

Like hell you do!

His mind, it seemed, was now in league with his body.

(You don't get to decide when you're done!)

(You can't leave her!)

Even working together, his body and mind couldn't quite muster the vigor he'd need to escape. Russell squirmed beneath the four firm hands that held him, but it was like sinking in thick mud. The more he struggled, the stronger the grip seemed to become, and he was tiring quickly.

I can't die here! I need to get home!

Russell summoned the last of his fading strength, but it was to no avail. The exertion and dizziness only made him begin to retch, and the nauseating wave of panic when he felt the hands turning his body and pinning him face down didn't help matters.

Nor did the swordsman's raised voice.

"While we have him on his side, Lara!"

He felt a vile wet heat rising in his throat, and the sudden stabbing pain and hot pressure in his left thigh sent him over the edge. He vomited something thin and caustic into a clanging metal basin, with so much force that he swore he felt his muscles begin to tear.

Then the swordsman spoke again.

"I'm sorry, Russell... That was probably pretty startling, but your lung was collapsed, and I had to let the air out of your chest cavity."

No. They're both collapsed. That's what happened. I remember.

You don't forget something like that.

And why does he know your name?

(Swordsman?)

Suddenly, Russell wasn't sure. He knew the voice, but his mind couldn't quite hold on to it. Or, for that matter, to anything else. Everything was red and slippery; quicksilver, crimson ink, a line drawing of the heart made to beat by a strange trick of the light.

If only the room would stop spinning.

(The room?)

He was, he realized, in a room.

So he wasn't in the trenches, and this couldn't have been a swordsman. Or at least, it was seeming more and more unlikely.

Where am I? What's happening to me?

The not-swordsman's grip relaxed.

"There you go. Easy, now."

With his limbs now freed, and the strange pressure in his chest slowly fading, Russell curled himself into a tight shivering ball, straining to speak. He didn't have much breath, so he would have to carefully choose what he wanted to communicate.

"...Cold in here..."

...Where's "here?" Why didn't you ask?

(I don't think I'm thinking straight.)

That familiar voice again, sounding sympathetic and faintly weary.

"You came in with hypothermia, but you spiked a high fever after we got you warm. I'll get you a blanket when it comes down, but we need to keep you cool for now."

I came in too cold. Now I'm too hot.

I think I know where I am.

Time, it seemed, had unwound.

~*~

Russell was twenty-one when it happened, and he had already been having a bad day.

It had begun as the ordinary sort of bad day; the kind that one could have anywhere, despite the distinct militaristic flavor of his particular complaints. There was a rock in his boot, and no break long enough to get it out. He'd had nothing to eat all day but a chalky ration bar that stuck in his back teeth and left a bad taste in his mouth. The damp chill of the trenches had settled in his lungs and bones, as it often did, and he was fighting a cold; feeling sweaty and clammy under his uniform despite the weather.

And, as if all that wasn't bad enough, his constant unchosen companion—the boy who hung behind him and whispered inane comments—had been particularly chatty that day.

"...Sechs battlemages."

Russell shifted in the cold mud, willing the feeling to return to his numb behind.

"Hmm."

He obviously wasn't interested in this conversation, but the other boy, insistent or merely oblivious, was equally uninterested in letting up.

"No, seriously. I heard from down the way that there's a whole line of them up there on the other side."

Of course, this young man was always hearing things from "down the way." Russell was skeptical.

"What? No. Why would they send battlemages to deal with us?"

The boy shrugged.

"Look, it's just what I heard."

Russell—who was slightly feverish, and more than a little bit cranky—had heard about enough of this.

"Yeah, well, you hear a lot of things."

His companion remained undeterred.

"Fine. I'll go have a look for myself."

Russell thought that sounded like a terrible idea, but he knew this fool wouldn't listen to him anyway, so he said nothing.

To a chorus of whispered protests from the cohort of young soldiers around him, the talkative boy peered above the rim of the trench. Then he sat back down next to Russell and resumed his muttering, voice quivering with a strange mix of terror and self-satisfaction.

"...I told you! Go look if you don't believe me!"

In all the years that followed, Russell could never figure out why he did what he did next.

It was idiotically reckless, and completely out of character. Perhaps he simply wanted the annoying chatterbox to shut up for a few minutes, or perhaps he was just responding to a preexisting need to stand and stretch his aching hips.

Most likely, he was curious.

The only time Russell had ever seen magic up close was a brief flirtation of his own at fifteen; when he'd gotten hold of a spell tome, managed to make a trickle of water glide down his fingers, and wound up needing a three-hour nap afterwards. He decided it probably wasn't for him, but the fascination still remained.

So he went to have a look. And he figured that, while he was taking the risk, he might as well make it a good one. It took all the strength he had in his tired limbs, but Russell managed to hoist himself up into the open air.

The sight that greeted him was almost beautiful. Even the vast horizon itself was heartbreakingly lovely, after several days spent squatting in a muddy ditch.

And then there were the mages themselves; a line of stoic hooded figures like a grim rainbow, each dressed in a robe the color of their chosen element. Their otherworldliness captivated him, and Russell ended up lingering just half a second too long.

Long enough to be sighted by a single mage in black.

The stranger who—though Russell didn't know it yet—was to shatter his world.

It happened before he could react. He'd glimpsed the mages, then realized too late that he was being pursued by what appeared to be a hole in reality itself; gleaming violet around its sucking edges, ready to swallow him whole.

Except, he wasn't swallowed.

This was a void with substance, and it barrelled into Russell at an incredible speed, knocking the wind out of him and sending him flying back into the sticky mud of the trench.

He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. At first, he assumed the fall must have broken his neck.

No, that's not right. I can feel everything.

And, if he tried, he could move his fingers. He just didn't seem to have the strength to do anything more.

What did...

By now, the whole unit was crowding around him, and the lights in his mind were beginning to burn out. Russell wanted to say that he was okay, that he could clench his hands in loose fists, that nothing was broken. But he lacked the breath for speech, and words were beginning to feel slippery and strange.

"Is he breathing!?"

"He's freezing cold!"

"...Oh Gods oh Gods oh Gods..."

"Rufus, say something!"

"Wrong name, moron!"

"Quit bickering and get him out of here before he drops dead!"

A series of men managed to relay Russell to the field hospital; where a medic tapped both sides of his ribcage with a horrible tool that felt like nothing so much as a rusty icepick, returning air to his deflated lungs in an agonized heaving gasp.

And that was the last thing he remembered for quite a long time.

~*~

When his memories picked up again, Russell had no idea where he was.

It was somewhere pale and blurry, and he seemed to be in bed. He still didn't have enough strength to move much, and felt as though he were drowning. Something dense and semi-solid filled his lungs, and pulling air into them was too great a task for his weakened chest.

(You can give up. It's okay.)

Just as he was about to close his eyes and slip under again, the animal panic of near-suffocation invigorated him just enough to prop himself up slightly and begin to cough. Once he started, it seemed nearly impossible to stop, and it frightened him to realize he was bringing up chunks of something tar-black and glistening.

The memory of the void that took him down came back to level him a second time.

What did they put in me?

He felt sickeningly violated and corrupt, until he gradually realized that the strange black substance was only his own clotted blood.

No sinister magic had put it there.

He had merely bled.

Gods, how much did I bleed?

At first, there seemed to be no end to it; not until the black gave way to a watery, streaky red, and the strain caused the entirety of his body to begin working in reverse. Russell gagged painfully, bringing up what must have been the sour watery ghost of that vile ration bar.

Then, strength spent, he collapsed back on the bed, shivering violently with exhaustion.

Before long, figures in white began to gather at his bedside. They were as blurry as everything else, and he finally realized that he didn't have his glasses. His compromised vision terrified him, almost as much as the near-immobility itself. The figures might have been speaking to him, but his head was still fuzzy, and his heart was beginning to pound in his ears.

Just do whatever you're going to do.

The figures began muttering amongst themselves. They dug Russell out from under layers of muffling white, lifting him off the bed and placing him on the chilly wood floor.

At the touch of the cold, slickly varnished planks, he realized that—save for a gauze wrap around his chest—he was completely naked.

And even that frail layer of gauze, it seemed, was being undone. He gasped as it came painfully unstuck from his skin, recoiling slightly when two of the strangers began going over his body with wet cloths without even asking him, then recoiling further as one of them crept up between his legs. He felt invaded and exposed, wanting nothing more than to curl into a tight ball.

Then Russell's rational mind—ever the bearer of bad news—began to return to him.

You've just been coughing blood and throwing up.

And you can't move.

Russell unclenched, allowing the two strangers to wash him. It was over soon enough, and he was bandaged up again, then dressed in a sharp-smelling white robe and finally placed back on a bed fitted with fresh sheets.

The figures seemingly forgot him after that, moving onto other tasks and leaving him with who must have been their leader.

The doctor, he presumed.

"Do you know where you are?"

Russell shook his head once, managing to find a weak, hoarse voice.

"I don't have my glasses."

He thought the doctor might have nodded. Though, without the aforementioned glasses, it was a bit hard to tell.

"They're pretty badly cracked, but they're with the rest of your things. I'll have a nurse fetch them."

The doctor mumbled something to one of the white-clad strangers, then went on to explain Russell's situation.

Russell was told that the blank white space surrounding him was a Norad military hospital, several miles from the border, and that he was in a ward with twenty other injured men.

Then he was told that a powerful Dark spell had drained a considerable amount of his life energy; leaving a deep wound that resembled a severe burn or minor necrosis, which had needed to be debrided. Additionally, he'd developed a bronchial infection while lying near-comatose, and was still running a low-grade fever.

He was told, almost as an afterthought, that he had been unconscious for nearly a week.

And, finally, he was told that his unit's archers had managed to drive back the mages, but that hardly seemed relevant.

Abruptly, and seemingly without a proper conclusion, the doctor stopped his telling, giving Russell a few minutes to process what he'd learned.

"If the spell drained my energy... That's why I can't move, right?"

Again, he wasn't sure if the doctor had nodded. Except this time, he couldn't fully put the uncertainty down to his bad vision.

"Partially, yes. But it's difficult to tell where the drain ends and ordinary exhaustion begins. When you were brought in, your general condition was... Pretty poor. But either way, your Runes should replenish themselves with time. Even the fact that you're awake now should be a sign you're on the mend."

Russell didn't feel like he was mending. He couldn't so much as lift his head off the pillow. Simply breathing took an onerous amount of effort, and he was increasingly aware of the smoldering crater in his chest.

Everything hurt.

Everything felt irreparably broken.

The nurse-stranger returned with his glasses, gently positioning them on his face. For the first time since his awakening, Russell was able to get a decent look at his surroundings.

The lenses, indeed, were badly cracked, rendering his left eye almost useless. What's more, the prescription was several years out of date; enough that he'd been struggling to read for quite some time. But they worked well enough to show Russell that he was just one in a long line of broken young bodies in sterile white beds.

Though still distressed at his body's weakness, he began to feel grateful that he was relatively intact, surrounded as he was by missing limbs and bandaged faces.

When he healed—if he healed—there would be, he assumed, relatively little to relearn.

Of course, the first thing he would eventually learn was just how wrong he had been.

~*~

Over the course of his lengthy hospital stay; as he went from scarcely able to roll over in bed unassisted, to propping himself up and drinking water from a glass, to sitting up in bed and straining to read what little he could get his hands on through his ancient damaged glasses, Russell began to realize that he wasn't as whole as he'd first thought.

Reading and thinking now seemed to require physical energy, and his injuries were strangely slow to heal. The infection in his lungs reoccurred twice, leaving him fighting for air in a cold sweat through delirious fevered nights. His baseline mood was one of dull, leaden apathy. Milk had never really agreed with him, but it now took only a miniscule amount to double him over with agonizing cramps.

The individual difficulties may have been small, but added together, they all left Russell fighting against a body that simply didn't function as well as it had before.

And, worst of all, the new skin that had begun to form over his flayed chest was paper-thin and translucent, hardly a skin at all. It frightened him to even move too quickly; lest his ribs pierce that friable membrane, spilling his slippery contents all over the white sheets.

I feel like I'm about to fall apart.

(I feel like I already have.)

The doctor told him that all of this would improve with time, but what abated and what lingered, in actuality, seemed completely arbitrary. Russell's fatigue improved, but his digestion never did. His mental state plateaued at "unpredictable," but he eventually regained most of his ability to shake off infections. And that new scar burned and ached like hell.

He began to wish that he had lost a limb, or an eye, or half the skin off his face, just so his obvious brokenness could be seen for what it was.

But, in spite of it all, Russell's mind did begin to quicken somewhat.

And, once it did, it was immediately consumed by a singular, hopeful thought.

Maybe they'll discharge me?

It seemed to make perfect sense. Though he could now imagine going on to live a relatively normal life, there was no way he was still in fighting shape. Even when he had mostly recovered from the worst of the drain, surely the deconditioning alone would disqualify him from a return to combat.

Russell, it seemed, had been wrong again.

First, before he knew what was truly going on, an oculist was brought in to see him; examining him right there as he sat up in bed. Then, a week later, he was presented with his new glasses, told to collect his things, and put on a carriage with several other only-slightly-broken men from the ward.

Russell held the new glasses in his hands for a moment, examining them as well as his under-corrected eyes could manage. They were oval, rimless, and terribly cheap-looking.

I hate them. I want to snap them in half.

Instead, he slipped them on, and suddenly saw everything in brutal, unforgiving clarity. The villages, growing ever more run down as they approached the border. And his fellow soldiers, so painfully young.

Russell decided to fold the glasses into his shirt pocket for the time being, and spent the rest of the ride in an uneasy half-sleep.

Just enjoy these last few sane hours of your life.

(I have such an awful feeling about this.)

Going back to the front was bad enough in itself, but the unit to which he'd been assigned was, to put it bluntly, a nightmare. It seemed to be where Norad's army stuck all its odds and ends, which created a poorly-matched company of deeply miserable men.

There were returnees with barely-healed injuries, like himself. Several recovered prisoners of war; even a few former Sechs soldiers who had defected after being taken prisoner themselves. Men who'd been kicked over their way after a few too many demerits. Fresh recruits who didn't themselves add up to a full unit, terrified teenagers in over their heads.

Easy targets.

(Poor things.)

And Russell, it turned out, was proving something of an easy target himself.

He'd never been particularly physically robust, and had entered the war as a scrawny, languid adolescent who preferred to spend most of his free time sprawled out on his bed or the floor, a book in hand. Even after basic training, he wasn't exactly strong. But—though still awkward and accident-prone—he had grown stringy and deceptively tough, with a surprising amount of endurance and tolerance for pain.

Now, all but the pain tolerance was gone; his body weakened by the energy drain, and what muscle he'd managed to build lost to nearly three months of bedrest. His hands and brain had all but forgotten the rhythms and intricacies of military life. He was no longer a soldier in any meaningful sense, and had no business anywhere near a war.

But somehow, in spite of that, he had found himself in one; with someone always getting on his case for holding things up, or generally not pulling his weight. Surrounded as he was by short fuses—including his own—these altercations often grew heated.

And, if nobody bothered to de-escalate them, they could easily become physical.

Russell, even at his best, had never excelled at hand-to-hand combat. And now, at his worst, he was all but unable to defend himself. That is, until the drizzly restless day when he found himself pinned to the ground by a nineteen-year-old former Sechs crossbowman who thought he'd taken one trip too many to move a pile of gear.

The boy seemed to be, quite bizarrely, trying to dislocate Russell's shoulder.

Instead, he'd managed to snap his mind.

Russell used the slick, yielding mud to his advantage, and rolled his assailant off of him.

How does it feel to be the one getting held down!?

(Put your hands around his throat!)

Russell recoiled at the thought, mostly in shock that it had really come from his own mind.

In the end, he didn't throttle the boy; opting instead to release him after an ineffectual slug in the stomach.

But the next man to step to him, Russell decided, would be the last.

And so, when one of the young men he'd left the hospital with—a particularly nasty creature still nursing his rage at the loss of a left eye—moved to grab Russell by the collar, Russell simply took out his utility knife and held it to the boy's throat.

Luckily, there were witnesses.

And, though the small blade didn't particularly frighten them, the coldness in Russell's eyes certainly did.

Everyone mostly left him alone after that.

Which is to say, they not only stopped picking fights, but stopped engaging him all together. There were no more attempts at conversation, and nobody seemed to want to come within arm's length of the pasty bookworm who might open a man's neck without a second thought. Even eye contact seemed to be regarded as risky.

Russell could never figure out if this was true fear, or mere disgust at something abject and atavistic within him.

Either way, it suited him just fine.

In all honesty, he loathed the entire group. They were petty and violent, and most of them had an irritating tendency towards self-pity; which was often itself sublimated into yet more violence, yet more pettiness. All of them seemed to be missing something inside them. Several not only killed civilians, but openly bragged about this.

And he'd never heard any of them mention a book they'd enjoyed.

Yes, Russell hated these men.

Every last miserable one.

He would live and fight among them for the next two years.

~*~

By the time the last day arrived, Russell had already felt it coming for a good, long while.

What he didn't expect was that he would, when the sun had set and all was said and done, have to go on living.

Until that pivotal point, the working assumption was that he would be dead within the year. He had no concrete reason to believe this, other than it feeling somehow right. The logical conclusion to his situation.

Young men die out here all the time.

There was no end in sight to the war, and it didn't seem like he himself would be discharged any time soon. There would be uncountable close calls in the future. And, if he failed to defend himself only once...

...It will all, finally, be over.

This, to Russell, was not a terribly distressing thought. Rather, he welcomed it; having grown, by now, fully tired of life.

Tired of waiting all day in the mud and muck for something to happen, tired of having to fight when it inevitably did. Tired of the sad, furious men that surrounded him. Tired of the terrible food, a good portion of which he couldn't digest and had to avoid. Tired of feeling perpetually achy and under the weather, no longer sure where the old energy drain ended and seven-hundred-and-thirty additional days of simple wear and tear began.

Just tired, period.

Moreover, he couldn't stand what he'd become.

It was bad enough that he'd taken human life at all, but worse still that he had taken several, and had indeed lost count after five. After that, he felt it no longer mattered. And he hated himself, with all of whatever still remained of his heart, for that lack of feeling. For all his wretched deeds. For having committed them in the name of a cause in which he'd never really believed.

(In instinctive defense of this awful life that I don't even want.)

Russell decided, rather abruptly, that his days of self-defense were over.

Even if his will to live had held out, he knew he never wanted to raise a hand against another human being again. Not hand, nor sword, nor arrow, nor even voice. He would go quietly, and he would let it end.

And then, of course, it finally ended.

But it wouldn't be the ending he'd been counting on.

The last day began like any other. Even if it had, to his mind, begun the day before. No one had slept in 24 hours, having spent the entire night in a particularly violent skirmish. And, when dawn broke, it seemed as though they had won.

At least, Russell assumed they had, seeing as his pitiful company were the only ones left standing. But, in truth, he hadn't paid much attention. He was too busy pretending to do the bare minimum; bringing up the rear while fantasizing about arrows through the temples and swords in the gut.

Of a void that might swallow his life whole, instead of merely taking a big bite and leaving him to stagger around wounded for years.

I probably shouldn't even be here.

(Please, don't leave me unfinished!)

Then, before he knew it, the battle was over, and Russell was one of the men left standing.

What was it he said to you back then?

"You just don't break!"

(The longer I live, the more it sounds like a curse.)

Several weren't so lucky, including the violent young crossbowman. Russell found it difficult to even want to mourn him. They'd never liked each other much. And besides, the young man was at peace. He'd never have to hurt anyone or cry out in anguish in the night again.

He won't have to live with himself.

Russell, it seemed, would.

(For just a little while longer.)

Long enough, at any rate, to help his unit clean up their mess. They would bury their dead, salvage what equipment they could, and then move on, skirting the ever-shifting border.

At the beginning of the end, Russell was digging a grave.

It was backbreaking work, and his own back was ill-used and unstable enough by then. But it was the work he'd chosen, over the less taxing scouting or salvage duties. For he had seen a number of what appeared to be civilian bodies crumpled in the mud, and he didn't feel like accompanying his fellows on what he knew would become, essentially, a graverobbing expedition.

So instead of robbing graves, he dug one instead, with the help of two other men. Their silent fourth companion, the one to be interred, was a new recruit; some poor child of seventeen or eighteen, who had been gutted from hip to hip by—judging from the mess he'd made of things—an incredibly clumsy swordsman.

Someone like me.

Russell had never been able to put a man down cleanly. It was always horrible, and there was always screaming.

(It would be horrible regardless.)

And now, standing over this poor gutted boy, cruelly opened by someone else's sword, he couldn't even think of something to say. None of them could. The kid had been with them for less than a month, and had spent most of that time staying well out of the way, lest his seniors pointlessly torment him for sport.

It really was pointless, wasn't it?.

All that heckling, all that effort to uphold their messy little pecking order, and for what?

It certainly didn't matter now. The boy was lying at the bottom of a dank hole, with three apathetic strangers slowly heaping dirt on top of him. None of them—once it had been obscured by soil—could even properly remember his face.

The grave was halfway full when they heard the wailing.

It was an unmistakably human sound; infantile, terrified, wanting.

Russell decided he would rather be anywhere other than standing at the edge of a gaping hole in the Earth, throwing heaps of black mud onto a man who was too young to be dead, so he volunteered to investigate. He stepped out onto the battlefield; over the bodies and debris, past his graverobbing fellows, following that mournful noise.

As he got closer to the source, the wailing grew louder, and Russell soon began to cry himself.

Perhaps this shouldn't have startled him as much as it did, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd actually cried. A slight watering of the eyes back at the hospital, when a nurse had to remove a dressing that had begun to stick to the open flesh of his chest? He couldn't quite recall.

All he knew was that he had been numb for quite some time, and was now weeping with someone else's incoherent sorrow.

His eyes grew so blurry that, when he finally arrived, he almost missed it.

Almost missed her.

Sunken in the mud was the cold body of a woman; tan skin gone ashen, long golden hair, pointed ears.

Not Human, not exactly. But something close.

And, swaddled and strapped to the dead back of what had to have been their mother, there was an infant.

Who was very much alive.

And with, Russell noted, very strong lungs. It had taken nearly forty minutes of screaming to call him to their side, and they were still going strong. The child had their mother's pointed ears, but was fairer and more pink-skinned, with hair the color and texture of a particularly fuzzy peach.

Russell had no experience with babies or children. Indeed, he'd practically been a child himself when he was jettisoned into this eerily homogenous world of young men. But he couldn't bear to hear this small creature suffer, and wouldn't dream of leaving them to their fate. With careful, shaking hands, he loosened the carrier's straps, then took the small bundle in his arms.

"Hey... Um... It's okay... I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that... Of course it isn't. But I'm going to get you out of here, all right?"

For a while longer, the child went on wailing. But, as Russell held them, they must have realized that he wasn't going to let go. Gradually, the screams slowed and quieted, and the infant drifted into a deep, exhausted sleep in his arms.

"There you are... Get some rest, now. That must have been hard work."

Wet-eyed and stumbling, achingly slow and careful, Russell retraced his steps until he was back at the camp. If anyone looked at him and his new charge strangely, he simply didn't notice.

After a moment of deliberation, Russell decided the sensible thing would be to take the child to the medical tent. There, she was pronounced healthy, physically unharmed, and apparently a girl. The medic told him that she would be looked after, and would soon be shipped off along with several of their injured men. Presumably, the staff at the hospital would know what to do next.

Russell winced at the thought of the hospital, but thanked the doctor anyway, and returned to his duties.

The child was safe, and he wouldn't have to worry about her anymore.

Except, of course, he did.

As he struggled to sleep that night, curled in a ball with his forehead touching the cold wall of the trench, she was all he could think about.

She's sleeping all alone over there.

Why does she have to go to that awful place?

I held her. Does she know me now?

Does she wonder where I went?

As he curled further into himself, Russell felt his hands gripping his upper arms.

Those cold, treacherous hands.

Hands that dug graves, swung cold clattering steel, drew blood, once held a knife to a man's throat.

Hands that, somehow, managed to soothe a child who had lost everything.

Whatever bad blood flowed beneath their sallow skin and calloused palms, she didn't seem to be able to feel it.

Russell wasn't sure if the surge of emotion this invoked in him was disgust at his own unintended deceitfulness, or something that he still, after all these years, recognized as hope.

I have to go to her. I have to make sure she's sleeping okay.

And indeed, that had been his original plan; to check up on her, maybe whisper some soothing nonsense, and then crawl back into what passed for bed, where sleep would never find him.

But when Russell arrived at the child's makeshift bedside, finding her sound asleep in a cargo crate piled with blankets, he realized there would be no crawling back to any of this.

He thought of the hospital, which he remembered well. The horror of white walls, of lonely nights, of being picked over by hurried doctors with a hundred other patients waiting to be prodded.

No place to start a life.

And he thought of his own rootless upbringing; his massive extended family where everyone passed their children from house to house, relation to relation, one huddled border village to another, hoping against hope to keep them safe from the ever-encroaching horrors of war.

It came for me anyway.

(It swallowed me whole.)

Last, he thought of the Elven woman's still body, cut down in the mad dash for a better place, a better start.

I, quite literally, picked up where she left off.

(And then you dropped her child here, in this sad place.)

I don't have to. I can lift her up again.

As if to prove himself, Russell reached into the crate, wrapped one of the blankets around the infant's body, and gently tucked her under his chin.

She fussed slightly upon being lifted. But, as on the battlefield, it didn't take long to soothe her back to sleep. His hands, to his amazement, seemed to know what to do; better than they had ever known a sword or a bow, or the cruel blade of the knife.

And then the pair departed, quiet as moths, into the dark of the night. Away from the border and the trenches; away from the scent of rot and blood that even the heaviest rain never seemed to fully clear.

Russell didn't know how long he walked, but it was dawn when he saw the cart trundling down the road. A humble farmer transporting a small group of Woolies, a sight so ordinary that it almost took on a storybook quality. The first thing he'd seen in ages—excepting the baby herself—that had nothing at all to do with war.

Cautiously, he raised his hand.

Will you take me back to the real world?

The cart slowed to a stop, and the farmer took a minute to size them up. Seeing the filthy, hollow-eyed young man in his rumpled Norad uniform, protectively clutching a sleeping infant to his chest, she must have been able to piece together at least part of what had transpired.

"Hop in the back. I assume you don't mind critters!"

Russell thanked her profusely, then climbed into the cart; where he immediately collapsed with exhaustion in the soft hay, still cradling his tiny companion.

It was the best sleep he'd had in years.

~*~

He called the child Cecilia, a name that he recalled from a childhood book about a fairy child found in the trunk of a hollow tree by a hermit woodsman while gathering firewood. The Cecilia in the story grew up spirited and optimistic, despite the isolation that came with living deep in the woods and knowing no others of her kind. She had the creatures of the forest, the love of her father, and the sense that every day would be an adventure.

He hoped that his own daughter—if that was indeed what she would become to him—would have all of that and more.

Later, of course, he found out that the true origin of her name was a little more complicated, something to do with blindness and fire and tragedy. But the image in his mind remained that of a pair of curious eyes peering out of a dark stump, taking in the enormity of the outside world.

My Cecilia!

(My girl from the rotten hollow.)

The pair traveled together for nearly a year, with Russell doing whatever he could to scrape by and provide for Cecilia; considering his own wellbeing only in the context of his ability to care for her.

To his own surprise, he rarely faltered, even when he felt like he was falling apart.

Russell begged, and occasionally stole. He slept on the cold dirty floors of barns and sheds, and frequently went hungry so his child could eat. He ran fevers, and seemed constantly on the verge of coming down with something nasty. Many nights, he woke up screaming.

And, through it all, Cecilia thrived at his side.

I made sure of that.

Before too long, it began to rub off on him.

Gradually, Russell remembered how to smile. And, eventually, he remembered that he used to want things out of life.

Of course, the last time he had truly wanted anything for himself—beyond escape or a quick death—he had been little more than a child. So his wants were a child's wants; simple, but all-encompassing.

Mostly, he wanted books.

Books, and the time and space to read as many of them as he could. He couldn't remember ever wanting anything else; not since he was four years old, when he got his first set of glasses and began to read.

And so, upon arriving in a small seaside village and immediately noticing its dark, shuttered Library, Russell didn't wait to start asking around.

Are you ready, Cecilia?

We can start our lives over now.

(I really am just like a child.)

#rune factory #rune factory 1 #rf1 #rf1 russell

1 note · View note

theinsanecrayonbox · 2 years ago

Text

Nightcrawlers #3 / SoS part 10

We’re almost done folks, penultimate chapter. So, where we at?

Well…it’s Ms Hearts’ turn for overly dramatic and bland narration. She goes on about stuff that happened off panel, talks about how they were cloning their own Nightkin so that’s why they still propagate despite being sterile and the Sinisters knowing they’re corruptible, also talks about how the faith she created is all a crock. So yeah, bland narration.

Dr Nemesis is apparently her ship now…they also have eyes on the Worldfarm thanks to his spores…Kay…well it just lets them know what happened in the last 2 books so they hop over. The barrier around the lab ball is still hiding, even after the last of the Nightkin go poof, but luckily Ghost Banshee arrives with zombie Ghost Rider Galactus in tow

That’s not the weird thing though. Apparently Juggernaut got shot into space sometime ago, and has continued hurtling this way, and Destiney planned for him to hit and smash through the remainder of the ball force field…after going through Galactus Rider’s head of course. I’m wondering what’s going on again…

So Hearts and Banshee get in. She reveals she was a bad guy all along (what a twist says no one) and she never planned to reset the timeline…well not entirely. She labs to use magic to send herself back knowledge so when the timeline resets she’ll know what to expect. Why she needs magic to do that when that’s apparently what Sinister was doing without magic, idk, but it’s at least a believable plan.

Banshee does not like that plan. She betrays him. Wagnerine shows up. She betrays her. Banshee stabs Hearts, Wagnerine stabs Hearts, Hearts dies. The two whine about how their lives mean nothing if the timeline is reset.

Wagnerine gets her magic baby back. It’s good to see she aged I guess, and I’ll excuse the magic baby not aging since Hearts would want to keep it fresh until she needed it.

She poofs out leaving Banshee alone to die…until Moirabot comes and picks up the magic message in a bottle NO ONE THOUGHT TO TAKE OUT OF THERE.

Oh and she kills Sean…again…geeze did these two have a bad breakup I’m not aware of? I thought it was amicable, but she keeps killing the poor guy.

So Moira has future knowledge and a way to reset the timeline. Sinister is somewhere else in the area. And pretty much any other recognizable characters are dead, gone, or evil at this point. The last chapter will probably be a or if bland narration.

#kp reads comics #kp rants about comics

0 notes

fleshbarbie · 2 years ago

Text

you’re a badass - steve harrington x f!reader

contains: billy being an asshole & threatening lucas/reader, reader standing up to billy, protective!steve(ish), fluff, lumax.

the cold wind from the outside world was the first thing to greet you as soon as you left the building you were forced to enter five days a week, and you couldn’t be happier. you had finally finished school, after many torturous hours spent attending classes full of people you despised and teachers that were clearly only there for a paycheck. you were finally free and you only had one destination in mind - home.

you made up your mind as you pushed past the annoying groups of people who decided to take up eighty percent of space in the halls that nothing would deter you from jumping straight in your car and driving home, the quicker you got there the quicker you could run a nice, warm bath, order some food and watch movies until you fell asleep. but the closer you made it to your car (that you were sure was actually calling your name at this point), a scene just a few feet away instantly caught your interest.

there stood the one and only billy hargrove, which alone wasn’t enough to distract you from your initial plans but surrounding the buff teen was a group of kids, more specifically the group of kids that usually hung around with one of your neighbours, lucas sinclair. they all looked nervous, scared as if billy was a threat to them which left you a tad confused. your pace slowed and you found yourself zoning in on the scene, trying your best to understand what was happening.

“i told you max, i don’t want you hanging around with these little shits. why don’t you listen, huh? do i need to teach you a lesson?” billy stuck his pointer finger in the redhead’s face, a scowl on his own face which was the complete opposite of the frightened one on his sisters.

“no billy, you don’t i wasn’t even with them i swear! i just- we all just happened to be walking in the same direction!” she was quick to defend herself, her arms flying around as the words left her lips.

billy scoffed, nodding his head as he glanced over to the boys who were all stood a good space away from billy. “you expect me to believe that shit max? you don’t want to listen to me, that’s fine. but i promise you they will.”

with that said, he was quick on his feet and began approaching the group who in return took several steps back, though there was an obvious target in billy’s sight as he ignored everyone else, his eyes zoning in on lucas only.

that’s when you decided to step in knowing that if you didn’t, someone was going to end up hurt and even if all of them managed to defend themselves against the hargrove boy, he’d still probably end up on top. he of course had all the advantages; taller, older and more athletic.

“hey hargrove! are you crazy? that’s a twelve year old boy you’re about to attack!”

your voice was enough to bring him to a halt - and just in time too. he was about two seconds away from coming in contact with the older sinclair sibling, who looked like a deer caught in headlights which had your heart aching at the sight. the californian glanced back at you, fury still present in his eyes, even more so at the interruption. “mind your business (y/l/n). this has nothing to do with you.”

it was your turn to scoff now, you approached the teen without hesitance despite his clear bad mood and stood between him and lucas. “if you think i’m just going to get in my car and let you do whatever it is you were about to do, then you’re a lot stupider than i originally thought you were.” you spat at him.

the comment had landed a huge blow to his ego, that was obvious when his fists tightened and max let out a gasp, shocked that you had the balls to stand up to him like that. you didn’t back down though, not even when he took a step closer to you, so close to you now that if you had the time you’d probably be able to count each eyelash per eye.

“if you don’t move out of my way, sinclair won’t be the only person getting what’s coming to him.”

“yeah, no. that’s not gonna happen.”

this time another voice was interrupting the moment, one that was instantly familiar to you. steve harrington was now stood to your side, you hadn’t even seen him enter the car park, never mind approach all of you but you were guessing that was because you were too focused on the asshole stood with his chest almost touching yours.

your eyes left billy’s, now hooked on steve’s who were filled with a great mixture of anger, concern and annoyance. he looked back at you, his lips lifting to send you a small smile which you were eager to return before the moment was ruined by billy who laughed, though there was no amusement present.

“oh what a surprise, pretty boy here has come to save his girl, like some knight in shining armour. can’t stand it when you’re not the centre of attention, isn’t that right .. king steve?”

steve’s old title had him cringing on the inside, he couldn’t believe he was once the person he used to be. dropping carol and tommy was one of the smartest decisions he had ever made - that and finally working up the courage to ask you on that date a few months ago.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about man, i’m just here to put a stop to whatever you think you’re about to do next.” steve gestured to both you and lucas, who were now stood side-by-side with lucas gripping onto your arm. “i know you think this whole tough look is a huge turn on for the ladies, but really? to hit not only an actual child but a girl too? in front of everyone? i’d like to see you try and restore your reputation after that.”

billy actually seemed to take his words into consideration, his blue eyes scanning the car park which was still semi-full of teens despite the fact that school had ended almost ten minutes ago now. a lot of people that attended hawkins high did have very skewed morals, but none of them would stand for someone who went around attacking anyone and everyone they pleased. there were certain lines you just shouldn’t cross, an (almost) grown man hitting a child and a woman were definitely across those lines.

so with one last hateful filled glance towards all of you, specifically you and lucas, he reluctantly took a step back and lucas’ grip on you loosened as he finally relaxed.

“whatever. come on max, get your shit we’re going home.” he pushed past steve, his shoulder purposefully pressing against steve’s who didn’t bother to entertain the obvious attempt to rile him up.

“don’t bother, i’ll be taking her home today.” you spoke up, sending a max a gentle look that told her to stay put and the girl didn’t even bother fighting. you could only imagine what she was expecting to endure on the way home with her ‘brother’.

billy’s jaw tightened, he gripped onto the door handle of his blue camaro and you knew he was fighting the urge to say ‘fuck it’ and finish what he had planned to do before steve made an appearance, but after a good ten seconds of a tense silence passed, he eventually pulled the door open and slammed it with force before he sped out of the parking lot with his music blasting and a middle finger to you all through the window.

the rest of you relaxed the second his car was out of sight, all sharing a look before the younger kids burst out laughing, which soon had you and steve joining in at the contagious sound.

“(y/n), you’re a badass.” max said with widened eyes, “i don’t think i’ve ever seen anyone stand up to billy like that .. except his dad.”

“isn’t she just?” steve smiled, his arm wrapping around your shoulder to bring you into his side. once you were comfortably resting against him he pressed a kiss to your temple, one that left you smiling at the show of affection.

“yeah well, there was no way i was going to leave you all with him like that. he looked like he was ready to kill all of you.” you grimaced, suddenly feeling the need to thank your lucky stars that you had showed up when you did.

they all nodded in agreement, dustin throwing in a quick “yeah. does he take steroids? he looks like he takes steroids.” to which max replied with an eye roll before she began making her way towards your car that was parked only three spots away from where billy’s car had just been.

“so ... do you have any plans for tonight?” you looked up to your boyfriend, who was already looking down at you with a look that could only be described as complete admiration.

you felt your cheeks heat up slightly at how powerful his gaze felt, but shook your head nonetheless. “honestly, no. was just gonna go home, eat and watch a few movies. nothing exciting.”

he nodded, his lips pursing together slightly as if he was deep in thought. “well i’ve heard, that when doing stuff like that .. it’s usually a lot more fun when you have someone with you to you know, do stuff like that with.”

you laughed at the not so subtle approach of the boy inviting himself over, not that you were planning on keeping him away. “oh really?”

steve nodded, and the two of you began to slowly make your own way to your car where max was now leaning against with lucas, who were having their own little conversation. “yeah, definitely. all the time actually.”

“well in that case ... would you like to join me, king steve?”

he groaned at the nickname that you had repeated, this time in a teasing tone opposed to billy’s attitude earlier. he shoved your shoulder playfully, which left you giggling at the childish behaviour that wasn’t unusual coming from your almost nineteen years old boyfriend.

“i don’t know.” he smiled, “is my girlfriend gonna bully me the whole night?”

“hmm ... maybe she’ll be less inclined to tease you if you promise to watch valley girl with her again.”

you almost laughed again as steve’s face instantly turned to a frown at the mention of the movie you had forced him to watch near enough fifteen times now, at first he was all for it, agreeing with you that ‘okay maybe it’s a decent movie’. but now, the poor boy was sick to death of seeing the movie that he was sure he could recite line by line at this point.

“no promises.” he grumbled, and with a happy smile you leaned up on your tiptoes an inch to press a quick kiss to your boyfriends rosy cheek, knowing you wouldn’t be able to get away with much more with all the kids still hovering around.

finally approaching max who was still talking to lucas, you quickly unlocked the door to your car and gave steve one last wave as he began walking backwards towards his own car. he waved back, the smile not leaving his face as he did.

you got comfortable in your seat, waiting for max to do the same before you left the car park; giving out one last wave to not only steve but will (who joyce was now ushering into the car), mike, dustin and lucas.

“he’s so smitten, it’s crazy.”

you looked over to max who was rolling her eyes playfully, a grin on her face as she did. you laughed lightly, your eyes quickly flickering to her before they refocused on the road ahead of you. “who? steve or lucas?”

she never replied.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x f!reader #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fic #stranger things x reader #joe keery x reader #stranger things fic

2K notes · View notes

volleychumps · 3 years ago

Note

Heyy! Can you do one where Osamu, kuroo, akaashi and Tsukishima, say something mean to their s/o and their s/o avoids them for days? When they finally get ahold of their s/o, their s/o just sorta cries because it hit their insecure spot? Fluff in the end🥺

Listen, I can’t not write this.

Irrevocable Words.

- the one in which they accidentally make you give them the silent treatment because of their lashing out. -

~ Osamu Miya, Kuroo Tetsurou, Akaashi Keiji, and Tsukishima Kei~

TW: Cursing, angst to fluff, timeskip! for Osamu,

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

Osamu Miya

“Those are important files, ya know?”

“Samu, I’m sorry. You should’ve told me you needed last month’s earnings and I would’ve looked for them before we came this morning.” The hand you tried to settle onto Osamu’s bicep was shaken off as your movements faltered.

Your voice wobbled at the sight of your stoic fiance, an annoyed glint in his eye as he rummages through his files. Osamu felt a flare in his stomach, a lack of sleep contributing to his impatient state. The day had been a busy one, Osamu deciding that he needed this particular file for his business call tomorrow before the two of you headed home for the night.

“I told ya not to move anything back to the place.”

“I didn’t.” You bit the inside of your cheek. “Here, just let me help-”

“Don’t touch a goddamn thing, I’ll do it myself.” There it was. The lashing out that was bound to happen occurred with a pointed tongue as he refused to look at you, rummaging through his file cabinets. “As I do everything else.”

He closes the cabinet sharply. “The least ya could do is try your best not to be a nuisance-”

Osamu flinches at the slam of one of the office desk drawers, chest sinking when he sees the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. The paper he needed is thrown on the desk carelessly as you shove your jacket on, wetness slipping down your cheeks.

“And I’m not your goddamn secretary. I’m heading home first.”

“Y/N-”

“And don’t worry, I promise I’ll manage to do this by myself somehow.” Your voice cracks bitterly, the bell by the door jingling mockingly in Osamu’s ears as you exit, the chef hanging his head with a sigh and regret tinging his chest.

He was wrong to pray this would blow over, not expecting to wake without your warmth by his side. You avoided him on the way to the restaurant, cleaning quietly while giving vague answers to his questions, shifting out of his attempts to embrace you with apologies.

Deciding to give you space, he softly tells you to take the next few days off, unprepared for the tired look you had given him, simply nodding in response as you slipped into your side of the bed with your back turned to him.

“Where’s your pretty girlfriend?”

“Fiance.” Osamu forces a smile at his two elderly regulars two days later, the wife’s smile widening at his correction.

“Oho! Cherish each other while you youths still can, she really does brighten this place up, doesn’t she?”

You do.

Osamu’s eyes feel hot as he does a messy job of cleaning up the restaurant, closing up shop early and stopping by your favorite bakery to pick up the ridiculously expensive cake he only ever buys for your birthday.

Throwing the door open to your shared apartment hastily, you gasp at the gray-haired man’s sudden entry, dropping the spoon you were about to use to taste the dish you were making on the stove.

“Samu, y-you’re home early-”

“What’s all this?” He tries to steady his breaths at the sight of a nicely prepared table, something you hardly ever got to share ever since the night shifts overtook your lives and caused a rift between the two of you.

You’re silent for a second, looking away from his warm stare as you shift under his gaze.

“...I miss you.” Dark eyes widen when you begin to hiccup over your words, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. “But I didn’t wanna be a nusciance-”

“Oh god, darlin’ no.” You’re pulled tightly into his chest as you cry, whole body shaking with tremors as Osamu’s inner turmoil merely increases.

If Osamu could go back in time and punch himself he would, unknowing of the torment he caused you over the past few days, thinking you just needed space.

“I want to marry ya Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

“I love you so much Samu.” You sniffle into his chest, causing him to smile softly, a hand sifting through your hair to hold you tighter to him.

“I brought cake.”

You laugh through the onslaught of tears.

“And I made dinner.”

“Then what are we waitin’ for?”

“Just hold me like this for awhile?”

“Y/N.” He kisses the top of your head, finally feeling at ease with your figure in his arms. Osamu whispers a confession he hardly shared with you, wanting those words in particular to be special as he bridged the gap between the two of you.

“I love ya so much more, don’t you go forgettin’ it.”

Kuroo Tetsurou

“I said I was sorry!”

“Is sorry supposed to just fix everything, Tetsurou?”

“Tetsurou? Are you seriously withholding me from my nickname privileges?”

You cross your arms at his attempt to make you laugh, thoroughly angry with the mess your boyfriend made of things as his smile fades at your peeved stare.

“Look, what was I supposed to do?”

“How about not leaving my parents waiting for you at the restaurant that you invited them to for another one of your spontaneous volleyball practices?”

“I texted you I had to cancel!”

“That was a half hour before we were supposed to meet, Kuroo! They were so excited to meet you they got there early. God, why can’t you ever take things seriously?”

“You’re right.” A bitter chuckle slips Kuroo’s lips as you falter at the sudden tone change, the volleyball gym seeming bigger than ever as his next sentence makes your lips tremble.

“Since I can’t ever take things seriously, then I must not need my serious girlfriend then, right?” Your eyes widen. “I can just find somebody else who won’t fucking hound me all the time.”

His cat-like eyes widen as the words slip his tongue, unintentionally coming out crueler than he intended. To make it worse, you simply stayed silent, your body physically backing down and away from him as you turned on your heel.

“Wait, I didn’t-”

“Do it then.” His chest just about shatters as your shoulders tremble, refusing to turn back around as your voice takes on an uncharasterically defeated tone. “I hope they make you fucking happy.”

Kuroo runs a hand through his raven hair frustratedly at the way you rushed out of the gym, throwing a stray ball so hard at the wall before his vision becomes skewed with heat.

He should have expected the next week to be utter hell. You left class before he could catch you by escaping to the bathroom with all your things, leaving school another way instead of the exit you always took together before he had to start club activities.

“Kenma, what are you doing?”

“You can’t come in here.”

“I’m missing class for this. Let me through.”

“She doesn’t want to see you.” Kenma shrugged, eyes on his handheld. “I told her I’d watch the door so you can’t surprise her during our breaktime.”

“I’m her boyfriend. And you’re not her guarddog.”

“No, I’m her friend.” Kenma’s eyes narrow at his childhood friend. “And last time I checked, you’re on the search for someone who isn’t her.”

“So she told you.”

“Dick move, by the way.”

Kuroo’s calls go straight to voicemail, his emotions affecting his playing with each passing day. He leaves little notes in your shoe locker to meet him, heart sinking more and more with every time you stood him up.

And it wasn’t until he saw you smiling again at a joke Yaku made that he truly felt like he was losing you.

“Go home.”

The sight wasn’t one you were expecting to see, Kuroo sitting on the steps to your house with his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, the dark bags under his eyes sparking worry within you.

“It’s probably better if my parents don’t see you-”

“I’m sorry.” His eyes seem to have lost a little of their glint, regret swimming in the tall boy’s pupils as your guard softens. “I’m so goddamn sorry I ran my mouth and said shit I didn’t even mean-”

“Tetsurou-”

“And I hurt you in the process. I hurt the one thing that matters to me the most, and I’m sitting here playing the creepy ex that stalks the girl he loves-”

“You love me?”

“Doesn’t matter, does it? You’re done with me, and I deserve it-”

He’s cut off with the sight of tears hitting the wood in front of him, lifting his head to see tears streaking down your cheeks. On instinct, he reaches out softly, rising to his feet to cup your cheek, astonished when you curl into his touch.

“I’m so fucking mad at you right now.”

“Noted.” Kuroo laughs somberly, a wave of emotion hitting him as you do something you hadn’t done in days.

You look him in the eye, tugging him closer by the sides of his jacket.

“But I love you too, you absolute idiot.”

Kuroo grins into the kiss you press onto his lips, heart lifting in weight as he pulls you closer.

“Does this mean we can go back to Tetsu?”

“I’m going back to ignoring you-”

“No.” Kuroo’s tone turns serious as he holds you a little tighter. “I can’t do that again.”

You smile as he presses a kiss to your temple lovingly.

“Being away from you was complete and utter hell, sweetheart.”

Akaashi Keiji

“Tell me how to make this right.”

“Right, Y/N.” Akaashi refused to meet your eyes as he loosens his school tie, not slowing his pace for you to catch up with as he throws the doors open to the volleyball club. The usually put-together setter had an angry glint in his eye that silenced his awaiting teammates. “Let’s just go back in time before you agreed to be his partner.”

“Hey hey, what’s going on you two?” Bokuto jogs up, his worried tone making your lips tremble even more at the sight of Akaashi’s turned back.

“I came to you as soon as he made a move! I didn’t let him-”

“There shouldn’t have been an opportunity for him to make a move in the first place.” Akaashi’s jaw clenched as you shuffle in place.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, you think I wanted him to try to kiss me?!” You fight the waver in your voice, standing your ground. “It was a project for class. I didn’t know his intentions-“

“I told you what his intentions were, but you never listen.” Akaashi turns hastily, startling you and causing you to stumble slightly backwards into Bokuto.

“Akaashi-“

“Stop defending her. She never listens to me, and then comes crying to me when it turns out I’m right.” Akaashi snips at his best friend, ignoring the silent stares from his quiet teammates. “Why can’t you get it through your head, Y/N? I’m not your goddamn babysitter-“

“You’re right.” You interrupt, fingernails biting into your palms as you choke back a sob. “You’re not, you’re my boyfriend. I just wanted to respect you by coming to you with something like this, but it turns out I’m just a hinderance.”

Akaashi falters for a second, blue eyes widening a fraction at the angry heat that fills your eyes as regret begins to bubble in his stomach at his harsh words.

“Y/N-“

“Give me some space, Keiji.” You say softly, patting Bokuto’s arm to let you through as your shoulders sink in a defeated manner. “I promise I won’t come crying to you about anything else.”

Your steps echo as you walk out of the gym, Konoha breaking the silence first when the door shuts behind you.

“Hate to say it, but that was well-deserved, man.”

Akaashi closes his eyes, head falling back towards the ceiling as he tries to steady his breathing, pretending like he wasn’t scared of you slipping through his fingers. He willed himself to not allow himself to chase after you, his anger directed towards you fading as he forces himself to respect your wishes.

It was obvious you were avoiding him. Akaashi had blinked when Bokuto had self-proclaimed that he needed you as his “study buddy” during breaks when you weren’t even in the same year as the owlish boy. It got worse when you seemed to panic when Akaashi willed you to talk to him, eyes refusing to meet his watery blue ones as you pushed him further away.

So he gave you your space, wilting with each passing day. It wasn’t until he accidentally bumped into you a week later, the setter turning hastily on his heel to walk in the opposite direction before a soft tug on the back of his school shirt wills him to stop.

“Keiji.” Your wobbly voice makes him turn back around immediately, a soft palm already cupping your cheek gently. “I’m s-”

“I’m sorry for being cruel.” The words are whispered against your forehead, Akaashi’s heartstrings tugging in the worst way possible. “I was angry at the situation, my love. And that sorry excuse you call a classmate. Please,”

His grip tightens just a little more as he feels wet warmth drip into the palm that was cupping your face.

“Forgive me.”

“I told you I wouldn’t come crying to you-”

“I want it all, Y/N.” Akaashi pulls back slightly, voice cracking slightly as blue stares intensely into your irises. “I want all of you. Tears included.”

You swat his chest playfully as Akaashi manages a soft smile, hand threaded through your hair as he presses you against his chest.

“Do you still need space?” He murmurs, and you smile at the sound of his hearbeat picking up as he awaited your answer fearfully.

“Nope. The exact opposite, please hold me?”

His embrace relaxes immediately, and your heart skips a beat at the sound of his relieved sigh, his slight nod making the weight lift off your chest.

“Good, now I can take care of your classmate-”

“Keiji-”

“Nope, my love.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, Akaashi’s eyes swirling with devotion.

“No one gets to try anything with you so long as you’re safe with me.”

Tsukishima Kei

“So I’m the bad guy again.”

“Do you want the honest answer, Kei?” You exhaustedly run a hand through your hair as Tsukishima’s scowl deepens, his long legs easily catching up with you in stride as he tugs on your wrist as the rambunctious court gets further and further away.

“It’s not my fault you’re insecure.”

You flinch. “Well maybe you shouldn’t let the girls in the stands cling to you after your matches. They were all over you, Tsukki! And you didn’t seem to mind it one bit.”

“What?” Annoyance brims the blonde’s voice as he takes another step forward, clenching his jaw when he sees the quiver in your lip, distrust filling the atmosphere between the two of you.

“Afraid that they’re prettier or better than you’ll ever be?”

You feel as if the wind was knocked out of your lungs, breath catching in your throat at his insinuation. His guard slackens almost immediately, clicking his tongue before turning away, too proud to apologize for the words he regretted as soon as they slipped his tongue like venom.

“Yeah.” You laugh humorlessly, making brown eyes dart over to your expression immediately. “You’re 100% correct. I am afraid you’ll find someone better than me in all aspects. Because I love you, you absolute asshole. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

The silence that befalls the two of you in the deserted hall is broken when you flinch away when Tsukishima tries to take a step towards you.

“I didn’t-”

“You never mean to do anything, Kei.” You say in a hushed tone, turning your back on him in an attempt to shield the hot tears slipping down your cheeks. “But you somehow always manage to.”

The win for Karasuno didn’t mean much to the blonde that night, hoping that this would just go away and things would be back to normal. However, it was anything but. You didn’t look his way once in class, disappearing when it was over. Your voice trembled as you had avoided his seemingly stoic eyes through his frames, simply stating that you wished for some time away from him.

He was fine. Or at least pretending to be on the outside. In truth, he would never find better, because you were it for him, words that you would never catch slipping his mouth. So he put on a front, pretending that your absence had zero effect on him whatsoever. Pretending the brush of your body against him in the hall as you pass each other didn’t make the blonde want to cave.

It was the smile you shot at Hinata during one of your breaks that caused him to. The first glint in your eye in awhile, and it had been caused by him of all people, prompting the tall middle blocker to tug you by the forearm into the corridor.

“Tsukishima-”

“I hate this.”

You falter for a second, guard back up in a flash as your back touches the wall. “What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything, and it’s pissing me off.”

“I don’t follow-”

“I was wrong.” His forehead touches your shoulder as you stiffen before relaxing against his familiar touch. “I don’t care how many times I have to apologize. You win, okay? I’m sorry.”

“This is a rather aggressive apology-”

“Y/N.” Tsukishima lifts his head so it’s level with your height, unprepared for the way tears brimmed your eyes at the proximity, your guard diminishing.

“What if you do find someone better one day, Tsukki?” Your voice cracks, inner fears trickling to the surface. “Do I need to prepare myself to lose you-?”

You gasp as Tsukishima’s jaw ticks before kissing you intensely, his hand touching your lower back to pull you closer.

“No. You don’t need to do something stupid like that.” His eyes were slightly glaring at you, a flush across both his cheeks. “Because there is no one better than you, okay?”

It was your turn for heat to flood your cheeks as your eyes widen a fraction, his breath tickling your ear as you stutter. “Kei-”

“I love you too. I said it, are you satisfied now?”

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

General works: @takemetovalhalla @faesbae @savemesteeb @dreebbles @yams046 @let-me-have-my-own-name @deadontheinsidebut @lifeisntjustblackandwhite @curiouslilbeast @aprettyfruit @wisepandaslimeland @h0ngh0ngh0ng @lmkjimin @orangegiraffe7 @dai-tsukki-desu @kac-chowsballs @spikertrash @yamaguwuchi @lord-suneater-explosion @holaaaf @babyybokutoakaashi @lexysclubhouse @disneyloving-muggle @kuuuuroo @theonep1ece @that-chick212 @mjoork

6K notes · View notes

sundayswiththeilluminati · 2 years ago

Note

I’ve had a spinfoil theory for a while now, that doesn’t have too much basis for it, but it’s worth handing off to the resident Rasputin fan here to see their take on it.

So, we know that Rasputin very much did not shoot the Traveler. He had plans to, and he was convinced to some degree that it would work, but he never did.

What if it wasn’t the Traveler he shot, though?

When he confronted the Witness at the Gate of the Garden like how we did, he got out of there somehow, and I don’t think collapsing into a heap on the floor for naptime would have saved him there.

First point is, the Lunar Pyramid is on the moon, same as the new Gate. I know the keyword there is ‘new’, but with how Vex stuff works, for all we know, once a place becomes a Gate, it was always a Gate, bear with me there.

Second, that would have been the same general area that Rasputin had LOKI CROWN pointed, whatever it was. We know the Witness didn’t intend on pulling any punches with the Collapse, so Nezarec could very much have been leading the charge straight against the Traveler.

Third, we know that all of the Pyramids are linked to one another and the Witness through the Egregore, so it could stand to reason if a Pyramid was disrupted, it could break the Witness’ focus, even just momentarily.

And fourth, we’ve seen how the Cabal can adapt to paracausal forces and counter them, and it’s Rasputin’s job to be paranoid, I could buy that he had the Traveler studied just for the sake of always having a silver bullet in case it went rogue. Keyword, singular, silver bullet.

What I��m thinking is, what if, during the final moments of the Collapse and Rasputin’s duel, he made the choice to redirect LOKI CROWN’s firepower at the Lunar Pyramid and put that to ground instead of the Traveler? Severing the Witness’ connection like that, even momentarily, would’ve been enough for him to initiate MIDNIGHT EXIGENT.

That’s a lot, I know, but I feel Very Strongly about Rasputin being able to stand up to paracausal forces in any way shape or form even if Destiny’s going to boil down to ‘Light and Dark Good, Everything Else Unimportant’, and thinking of him having a victory like that gives me a bit of vindication. Would love to hear your thoughts.

I can’t imagine Rasputin having anti-paracausal weaponry and not at least trying it against the Pyramid Fleet the way he tried everything else. Odds are good that Rasputin launched LOKI CROWN, or reused its assets under another name, against the Witness. He may have repurposed it into the SURTR DROWN mentioned as "in progress but negative effect." Keeping the Traveler from leaving would be a lower priority at that point than just finding something, anything, that worked. And if he did end up in a face-to-face where the Witness, let’s say, took offense at Rasputin’s rejection of the honor of Disciplehood, kneeing it in the balls with a nuclear warhead would be the best way for him to escape. But from what we've heard so far Nezarec's Pyramid was hurled into the Moon by the Traveler's detonation, and it’s not (yet) canon that Rasputin ever met the Witness at all. I'd like to give Red at least partial credit for the kill on Nezzy, but until we get more details I can't justify it.

I will die on the hill that Rasputin is too big not to be at least a little paracausal. If Darkness “comes from within” and the eliksni can directly manipulate ambient Light then I don’t see why Rasputin needs a permission slip from a beachball to go ham. Paracausality is fundamentally a matter of thought and will and Rasputin has both of those in spades. Arguably he’s never been anything but thought and will. And are we really pretending that a couple kilometers of ice is all it takes to stop a Worm God? Rasputin kept Xol pinned, not that glacier. He says he doesn’t understand it, but neither do Guardians and we manage just fine. Honestly I think the main reason he doesn’t use it is because his story arcs go very hard-scifi and the writers avoid the space magic. This season will put that to the test though and I can’t wait for the results.

But even without direct paracausality Rasputin can and should be able to step to paracausal threats. The Hive die to an orbital laser strike same as everyone else (even if they sometimes come back). The Cabal have built Light- and Darkness-suppressing tech, and if they can work it out, Rasputin can too. He also had some serious weaponry during the Golden Age, and not just "secular" stuff.

In the message outlining LOKI CROWN Rasputin discusses "full caedometric and noetic release," and in another lore card he’s moving an “annihilation-pumped caedometric weapon” into place. "Caedometric" is not a real word, but we've seen it a couple times in Destiny. It literally translates to “cutting-measure” or “to cut the measure” and I think it means weaponry that directly warps spacetime, similar to the Culture’s “gridfire”: damage done by invoking the mass-energy structures underpinning space. Caedometric weapons are also wielded by the Ecumene in its fight against the Hive - this is some very advanced tech - and said weapons are only authorized when the Ecumene orders “maximum theater overkill.” The potential for collateral damage is likely very high. They work, too: they can’t kill Oryx, but the Ecumene’s forces slay him in the material world often enough to force him back to his throne. Rasputin’s caedometric weapons are likely much cruder and weaker than the Ecumene’s, like the first nuclear weapon compared to today’s - but it’s still, y’know, a nuke.

Noetic weapons are for another type of battlefield. “Noetic” means relating to the mind or to knowledge itself, and this is Vex stuff: weaponized patterns that infect, corrupt, or just plain destroy the mind. It’s one of the contingencies covered in the Codes & Procedures handbook for the K1 Anomaly, which warns of:

NOETIC EVENT. A canary panel has detected a noetic event, including substrate-free syntactic replicators, adversarial inputs, oncomemes, Vex-type viral semiotic signifiers, and frequency-based heuristic exploits.

Oncomemes. What a fantastic word! “Onco” means “cancerous.” Cancerous memes. That covers a lot of memes, really. Rasputin had weaponized memes. He faced the Vex, and he learned from them.

So both caedometric and noetic-type weapons are a) very advanced, b) bad news, and c) part of Rasputin’s arsenal. Neither is explicitly paracausal, but both can be wielded against paracausal entities.

Paracausal weapons did show up during the Golden Age. When Elsie decides to shut down Clovis’ Vex gate by any means necessary, she goes to a research institute dedicated to the Traveler and secures a “topological thought,” an “irreal artifact of the Traveler’s Light,” as the core of a weapon to hard-crash every Vex on the forgeworld. Elsie Bray is brilliant and clever, and when it comes to paracausality it helps to have a mind driven more by the subjective than the objective, but if Elsie could hotwire a paracausal bomb in a couple days I think Rasputin could work out the same idea at some point during the Golden Age. The stumbling block here is the acquisition of said irreal artifact. “Irreal” is a synonym for “unreal,” but in philosophy has more specific connotations of being incapable of existing at all in this reality - not simply “unreal” like a unicorn, but “irreal” like incompatible with our spacetime. While Rasputin could requisition whatever he liked, he probably couldn’t make an “irreal” thing. A finite number of artifacts means a finite number of weapons, and if they all came from the Traveler that’s one of the only sources Rasputin couldn’t commandeer.

So if Rasputin did make paracausal weapons, he would only have a few. I can’t imagine he had a lot of chances to test them, and since it’s paracausal simulating it can only go so far. That would give him a small supply of unique weapons whose efficacy (and side effects) he can’t be sure of. In that case setting them up as a failsafe against the Traveler is the most logical use. The Traveler is the entity most likely to need paracausal weapons to bring it down, and if he has to fire on it then so many other things have already gone wrong that the potential fallout is the least of his problems. Hence this is probably the arsenal he deployed as LOKI CROWN.

In the end I don’t think Rasputin ever expected to use LOKI CROWN for its original purpose, and not because he had faith in the Traveler. I think he intended for the Traveler to intercept and decipher this message, or to observe and decipher his creation of LOKI CROWN, and infer his intent. His ultimate goal wasn’t to ambush the Traveler, but to threaten it. The operation’s real purpose is outlined in the same transmission: “Coerce pseudoaltruistic [O] defensive action,” or in other words, “Make the Traveler defend humanity.” Rasputin didn’t plot to kill the Traveler, at least not in this message. In this message Rasputin put a gun on the table and said, “If shit gets real, you’re staying here to fight. That can happen the easy way or the hard way. Let’s take the easy way, hm?” Rasputin doesn’t want to actually attack the Traveler, since that would both use up his arsenal and compromise its ability to defend humanity. But he also doesn’t trust it. He wants insurance in case it starts looking for the exit. So LOKI CROWN had to be a viable threat, but at the same time Rasputin expects the Traveler to pick up on said threat and be rational (or altruistic) enough not to force him to actually pull that trigger. And one way or another the Traveler did stand its ground. So at some point he likely took that system apart and threw it at the Pyramids the way he threw everything else.

#Destiny 2 #the Warmind Rasputin #Season of the Seraph #not really though #more or less took this as a chance to ramble about weapons #hope we aren't seeing them from the wrong end...#good question though #ra ra Rasputin Mars' greatest war machine #output generated #loremind #this is the wager of existence

84 notes · View notes

ameagrice · 3 years ago

Text

Capsize

Chapter Two

Oh, Look, A Pony! | Percy Jackson x Fem!Reader

also made a playlist for this story! which I will be updating as we go, and there will be an explanation at the end :)

Chapter summary: A field trip offers the perfect chance to spend time with Percy. Until the math teacher tries to kill you both.

Percy could have considered you to be a nat at this point, because even when he was hanging out with Grover, you were suddenly there too. Grover needed help in history, and Percy moved seats to join him? Cool, you could go too. He wanted to work as a pair? Well, you suggested, why not work as a trio? They’d both agreed—Percy with enthusiasm and Grover with a look of terror—but this was it. This was how you kept your best friend. You were doing what Mr. Brunner said and sharing. So why did you still feel jealous?

The only time you got Percy all to yourself was in gym class.

Grover couldn’t take part. He would sit on the sidelines on the wooden benches, although you didn’t see how that helped his physical state because those bad boys did damage to your back.

But, because Grover couldn’t take part, it left an open space for time with Percy. You were able to make the jokes you couldn’t when Grover was within earshot because you knew how he reacted when you joked about serious things (he looked offended—especially when you said donkeys were scary).

Today, you had two hours of gym. Usually you’d have a good ol’ scream into your pillow the night before, just after dinner when the dorm was still empty. And then you’d dread the whole night and the next morning until it was over, and your happy-go-lucky mood could return. Now, however, Grover was in the picture. Today, though, he couldn’t partake in gym, which left being a partner of Percy’s as a free-for-all.

“Hey, B,” Percy greeted brightly as you approached him and Grover on the bench nearest the wall. B for Bambi. A reminiscent name.

“Morning,” you breathed, pushing your way between Grover—who was skittish even this early in the morning and slid over, pushing into some bigger kid (and you could have sworn Grover bleeted quietly at the look on the kid’s face). “Isn’t it great that we have gym for two hours straight?”

“Oh yeah, highlight of my week,” Percy rolled his eyes.

Grover nervously met your eyes. “You like gym?”

“I spent four months in Wilderness Therapy. Gym is nothing.”

Grover’s expression suddenly relaxed and he sighed, a dreamy expression on his face. Percy turned his head to give him a what the hell expression. You blinked.

“Four months in the wild,” he said, “sounds like a beautiful dream.”

“Sure, if you’re not right in the head.”

A shrill whistle blew and brought you all out of your rising conversation. The coach, an old man in a ratty baseball cap that needed a serious wash, stood hunched over in the middle of the court. The room had fallen silent, eager to know what game was about to brutally batter the class.

“I can’ be dealing with any of you today. You’re playing dodgeball and I’m heading out of here. Good luck.” He held up his hands and began to slowly walk back over to the gym doors. Some students gawped at him while others whispered.

“Sorry, Grover, looks like I’m stealing Percy for this one.” You smiled, clasping a hand gently around Percy’s arm. “C’mon, we need a good spot!”

He didn’t get a word in edgeways. You knew Percy wouldn’t mind being your partner—he always had been since he’d come to the school last year—but you felt a little off. You didn’t want to force Percy to work with you, but really, who else would he work with? The hall was already echoing with the slap of rubber balls smacking walls at too-fast speeds, and kids screaming in either joy or fear as the balls flew about the room, high over heads and skimming feet.

You breathed as the hall got louder, and Percy caught a ball as it passed. It slapped loudly against his hands and he winced as you laughed, his own grimace becoming a smile.

“You playing?” He asked, eyes darting from one side of the hall to you. You shrugged and took the ball from the air as it bounced up again. Percy yelped as you smacked it down with vigour and pure excitement at the thought of throwing it at Grover. “Oookay, I guess you are, then.”

“Of course I am. Quality me time, Perce. Without Grover for once.” You bounced the ball back to Percy. “It—”

“What’s wrong with Grover?” Percy vouched, giving you a side glance before turning back to watch out for the incoming dodgeballs. He bounced the one in his hand on the floor, up and down, and up and down. “He’s nice enough.”

“He’s annoying. Imagine trying to—”

Percy smacked the ball so hard in a sudden dash of audible annoyance, that he lost control of it. It happened so quickly you barely felt it. The red bouncy ball flung away from him, and straight into your chin. Your words cut off, your teeth trapped your tongue, and the taste of copper filled your mouth. Your hand went to your chin tentatively touching, while Percy’s eyes were wide.

“I’m sor—!”

Your head suddenly slammed to the side, and your body followed. A round of ‘ohhh!’s chorused through the gym and echoed, and pain flared up in your eye and cheek. Your hands and knees hit the deck painfully, with a solid bang, and embarrassment flooded your cheeks red. Laughter was all around you.

Percy knelt down in front of you, mouth tight and eyes worried. “Hey, come on…”

All you could feel then was spite. Spite for Grover, spite for Percy, spite for the laughter in the gym.

So much for quality time with Percy.

You found your feet without Percy’s help, and forced your way through the crowds of screaming and still-laughing kids. Your hands met the double doors flat and you pushed one open, letting it bang shut loudly behind you. Through the smaller space you walked to the next set of doors, and once those ones were closed, you could let the hurt tears begin to flood your vision. It really hurt. Your tongue had been cut, you could taste the hot, metallic blood. Your jaw was stinging, your left eye and cheek were numb to the touch but painful underneath, and a little swollen and burning.

You walked through silent, cool corridors away from the loud and sweaty gym. Your heart ached with embarrassment and the feeling of being left out, abandoned. Even your friend didn’t want you. Mia had gone. Grace was gone. You had…pretty much nobody. And that feeling forced the hot tears to slip down your hurting cheeks.

What made it worse?

Percy didn’t come after you.

The school nurse let you stay with her for a few minutes. Her name was Christie, a short woman in her early fifties with dyed-dark-purple hair in a short bob style, who always kindly let you drop in for a cup of tea and a chat. You’d done so since you were sent to the school, and she’d seen many of your problems—teeth falling out in the sink after a fight, she’d given you your vaccines after you tried to truant from them on the day, and she’d given you free biscuits when you wanted them. All in all, Christie was more of a parent than your dad and step-mom, who hadn’t once phoned up to ask how you were after the wilderness therapy. Which, yes, had changed you for the better, and unlike many kids who had traumatic experiences with it, you were grateful that it got you out of trouble and gave you time to think over what you’d done and appreciate life in general. But they didn’t particularly care, and it left you feeling, frankly, like shit.

“That’s gonna bruise, hon,” she said as she walked across to the freezer on the other side of the room. The door opened and showed blue ice pack after blue ice pack, one of which she pulled off the tray and threw to you. You caught it with nimble hands. “Take it easy with food, too. Hot stuff is really gonna irritate where you cut your mouth. I’d say soft foods like oats, soup, you know, all that jazz.” You nodded along to her words, albeit slightly painfully.

“So I just keep this on my face?” You asked, eyes glued to her while tentatively patting your bruised blue already cheek and eye. It was freezing.

“Sure thing, kid.”

And with that, you walked off down the corridors, all the way to a set of heavy doors which led to steps outside. You pushed them open and sat there in the warm air, the sun still hot in the sky and melting the ice pack in your hands after only a few minutes. You didn’t care much, though, even when the bell rang for next class, and the class after that. Before you knew it, you’d skipped three classes simply sitting outside and staring at the clouds. It was amazing how fast time went when you were tired. The ice pack had turned to water, and you entertained yourself by setting it across your knees and poking each side as the water was thrown back and forth with little sounds.

Or you did, until someone came along.

“Hey, B.”

You knew that voice. You’d recognise it anywhere. Percy Jackson, pleading for forgiveness. He’d done it before, when he pushed his chair back onto your foot and sat down on it. You’d limped for extra sympathy. But now, you really were hurt, your heart ached at your best friend dropping you for somebody else. And your face hurt, too, you couldn’t avoid feeling that.

You ignored him at first. His figure came to a stop, blocking you from the sun, and something knocked your shoulder. “I brought you a Snapple.”

“Don’t want your Snapple, thanks,” you bit back quietly, arms on your knees, looking anywhere but at him.

“I’ll give it to Grover t—”

You turned and snatched it from him, and saw he was smirking. Percy with a smirk did things to your hurting heart. Your step-mom called these feelings a crush. She said it was when you loved somebody, and liked to be around them. It was a different kind of love to friendship love or familial love. And you were certain you felt it for Percy. You had a crush. And a hard one, on your best friend.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, turning away again, knees pulled up, twisting the cap to the Snapple plastic cup. “I’ll give you the money back.”

“Don’t want your money,” he said, and you tried to keep your eyes off of him, but when he sat himself down right next to you, knees knocking into yours and his arm touching yours, you couldn’t help it. In this light, Percy was beautiful. His dark, dark waves shone glossily under sunlight, and his eyelashes were long and dusted his cheekbones when he blinked. And his cheekbones; well, they were covered in freckles, weren’t they, and his nose sloped gently to a perfect end. His eyes, a brilliant green, looked a lot more vibrant now.

“Got something on my face?” He asked lightly, and you watched the corner of his mouth curve, his cheeks turn pink. His eyes flitted away from yours and back again. You kept yours on him, blinking steadily.

“Yeah,” you admitted lightly, reaching up to gently poke his nose. “A nose.” Your hand went to his eye. “Two eyes. And a mouth. And technically your ears if they count.”

He rolled his eyes but kept his smile. Percy was that tiny bit taller than you, all bony knees and arms, skinny. In your eyes, he was perfect, and you were sure you liked him. Years later, you would be grateful for this moment, where you had the exact colours of him memorised, as you were stuck in total darkness.

But now, however, none of that had happened yet. Now, you spoke about class.

“You have to be my partner for the school trip next week,” Percy declared. He turned his head and looked at you, vibrant eyes on your own. “I can’t manage it otherwise.”

“Why?” You scrunched your nose. “You feeling sick?”

“I’m starting to get sick of Grover, that’s what.” This was music to your ears! “Just…will you be my partner?”

You gasped dramatically, and pushed your fist under Percy’s arm to link yours with his. He laughed. “Like you have to ask!”

And for the rest of the week, you kept the rivalry with Grover pretty low.

You tried to hide your smirk. You really did. But the more pieces of sandwich that Nancy Bobbofit threw at Grover’s head, the harder it became.

Yes, it was mean, but…Grover had successfully stolen your best friend. Suddenly he was clinging to Percy everywhere; you barely had the time to ask Percy what class he had next, as Grover was filling up the gaps between yourself and Percy with his questions and (begrudgingly) witty comments about other students. But that only made you feel worse, because if he could talk about them like that, then what on earth was he saying about you?

The field trip to the history museum with Mr. Brunner was a breathe of fresh air. You could escape the confines of school and wander about in the very home of your favourite thing: history. You could lose yourself in it for hours, enjoying talking about World War Two and the different eras.

You enjoyed it so, so much. You got away from the classroom for the day, and you wandered away quickly from the class of people who couldn’t care any less about any of the precious things around you, like ration cards from Germany in 1941, or bomb remains from Britain in 1943. You could enjoy yourself more without the stupid jokes or comments from classmates if you were on your own. So you did just that, and took off.

Or you were on your way to, until the new math teacher yelled your name.

You turned around slowly, feeling the annoyance begin to build at being kept back. The thin-faced woman in a black leather jacket and jeans had her arms folded, and a very fake smile.

“Hey, hunny,” she started sickeningly sweetly. “Don’t wander off from the group.”

“I’m talkin’ to you, girl!”

“I’m well aware!”

You carried on walking. Until something caught your wrist, and you were just about on the edge of a frustrated scream. You ripped your hand away. “I tol—”

Oh. “Oh! Sorry, I thought you were Mrs. Dodds,” you apologised, coming face-to-face with Percy. Today he wore the blue hoodie you’d bought him for Christmas, his first Christmas Yancy a couple months back, with jeans and sneakers. His backpack was slung over his shoulder, wavy, dark hair almost in his eyes. And God, those eyes—

“Dude, don’t leave me with her!” He hissed. “Besides, she’ll only follow y—”

“I have to accompany you both if you want to visit other areas of the museum.”

You yelped and jumped, heart racing, as you eyed the tiny math teacher. She was grinning sickeningly, like she wanted to accompany both yourself and Percy. Usually, teachers wanted nothing to do with students on school trips; it was their only time to slightly relax and wind down (your English teacher had told you that while drunk in a mall during a trip before Christmas). He’d been fired after, but the truthful knowledge stuck with you.

“Where first, then?” She asked sweetly—too sweetly, and you spun on your heel to clutch Percy’s warm hand in yours. His cheeks blossomed furious red, but he didn’t let go.

“The World War exhibits,” you said, sending Percy a side glance. You were going to get away from her as soon as possible. Holding his hand was a way of making a run for it and staying together. You lifted your free hand and pointed down the hall. “It’s that way.”

“Well, let’s not waste any time,” she doddered, and ushered you both along.

Something felt…off, you realised, as you paid attention to Percy’s and your own footsteps. Mrs. Dodds was close, too close for comfort, behind you both. It was probably that. Or Percy’s sweaty hand in yours. Or the stone in your shoe that was hurting—

“This way, hunnies,” she simpered, and you scrunched your nose, stopping in your tracks.

“But the sign says that way—” you raised your hand and pointed left, looking briefly down the corridor. A hand on your back pushed you forward, and you struggled to get away without going in that direction.

You looked right to Percy. He was frowning heavily, his eyes keeping watch of everything.

You prayed he felt the same. You wouldn’t feel as deranged that way. You just had a stomach feeling that something just wasn’t right. You felt heavy and like you needed to run away now.

“Ah, here we go.”

You stepped closer to Percy. This was most definitely not the war exhibits. This set of large doors she pushed you both through was just an empty hall besides railings and scaffolding, and dusty windows giving tiny slivers of light.

“Why are we here?” You spun furiously, heart racing with panic. Your hand left Percy’s, but what mattered now was that this didn’t feel right. “Does this look like rifles and uniforms to you?”

Mrs. Dodds’s skinny face suddenly looked…different. You couldn’t place your finger on it. For a second she looked older. But unless the world had passed ten years in ten seconds, it was impossible.

Percy’s footsteps got quieter the further he walked away. You spun around and wanted to shriek at him don’t leave me! You were in this together, weren’t you? But he wasn’t stopping looking around, so you took off running after him.

“Something’s wrong,” you whispered, keeping looking forward. “I don’t feel right.”

He nodded discreetly. “Same. I’m looking for somewhere we can go.”

“Oh, you won’t be leaving.”

Goosebumps ran up your skin. You shivered. This voice was not the voice of Mrs. Dodds. Not in any way.

And apparently, not in any shape or form, either. Because something screamed in a god-awful tone that would haunt your dreams for years, and when you turned, it wasn’t a person in her place, but a creature. A large thing with leathery, grey skin and wings, and sharp teeth and awful eyes. And as she flew at you both, you screamed louder than you’d ever screamed before. It hurt your throat so bad, and as you sprinted out of the way, Percy yelled out too.

This thing did not give up. Your heart was pounding so hard in your chest you thought you’d have a heart attack. It shrieked so loud you thought you’d go deaf.

And then, as it flew at Percy, it said something in that awful, grainy voice. “I’ll kill you first. Your blood matters more.”

And then you realised…the door was open range. You could run and get help for whatever the hell was happening.

And then, as if heaven had answered your prayers, the doors opened.

Revealing a wimp, and a teacher.

You could have screamed. What were they going to do against this thing that was out for blood? No, you needed proper help.

And it came in the form of—

“Percy! Take this!”

A pen. You really did scream then. Out of terror for the thing that caught Percy by the neck of his hoodie, and out of fear and anger.

But he did, Percy caught it, and as you ran into the safety of being behind Mr. Brunner, you watched something weirder happen—the pen turned into a sword.

Percy’s arms dropped with the weight of it. But he raised it and swung aimlessly.

And it caught the thing in the head. It screeched so loud your eyes rang, and both yourself and Grover—who was hopping from foot to foot flittingly—hurriedly covered your ears with your hands.

And as Percy dropped heavily back to the ground, the thing turned into pure gold dust.

And all that was left, was silence.

And later, when you questioned Mr. Brunner in anger and fear, he told you to go talk to the counsellor. You were stressed, he said. And you grew even angrier.

“I am not!” You yelled at the top of your lungs. Something in his eyes showed pity. “I know what I saw and how I felt!”

He insisted you talk to the counsellor. After that, it was as if she’d never been at Yancy. There was some other math teacher now—one you didn’t know the name of, since you skipped all math lessons—and whenever you mentioned Mrs. Dodds, people would give you weird looks.

Everyone but Grover.

You turned to him because you knew he was nervous and jumpy. You could get answers. When you mentioned Mrs. Dodds in a flit of fury, he would scatter about and jump and say ‘I don’t know, alright?!’ and literally run off. He was scared of you, but you were scared, too.

And it all became even worse, the night you stayed with Percy and his mom.

It had been loud already. The sea was crashing and roaring against the shore in a way you’d never heard before. You’d done the wilderness therapy, and never had you come across weather like this.

In the end, Percy’s mom, Sally, woke you both up—though you’d barely slept in the first place—and ushered you into the car.

And that wasn’t the most unsettling part—it was the sight of Grover in the doorway.

“You!” You narrowed your eyes. “You’re here! Why?”

Sally turned to you with a desperate expression. “He’s trying to help, hon. Now get in the car, we need to go!”

The weather was so loud, it was headache-inducing. And the car smelled of wet dog with Grover in the front seat.

“You own a Rasta cap!” You exclaimed, fuming, as Panicked Percy tried to calm you down. “You smell of wet dog! And you FOLLOWED US HERE!” Your blood froze with your breathing when you felt vibrations through your shoes. At first, you thought maybe it was the weather. After all, besides that and Grover, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Percy had pulled you in front of him and blocked you every time you tried to turn around all the way to the car. But something really did roar now, and you looked straight at Percy.

“What the fu—!”

And on that line, the car flipped.

Your head went fuzzy. Your arm burst into sharp pain that made you scream with the others in the car as it turned on its hood. Pressure rose in your head from being upside down. And in the windscreen mirror, you watched a tall, large giant of a monster get closer and closer. It roared so loud your bones shook, and you really did scream again after that.

You looked to Percy, who was fighting to get out of his seat belt, and you looked down to do the same.

Except you looked at your arm, and witnessed your wrist puffy and floppy, and coloured dark already. Broken. You practically felt the colour drain from your face. Everything felt…rushed? Too quick. Too hard to comprehend.

And you wouldn’t remember running from the car. You couldn’t recall how you got out of it. But you remembered Percy’s mom being snatched up by that monster as she screamed blue murder. Percy screamed right with her. Grover was pulling on your arm to get you to run.

“Straight ahead!” He kept yelling. “Right up ahead up the hill! Don’t stop!”

But you were stuck watching. You were stuck watching Percy clamber onto the thing in tears and rainwater and pale, you were stuck in your place as his mom was crushed to nothing, and you were stuck as Percy yanked the thing’s horn, and heard it snap off.

The only time you moved again?

To help Grover pull Percy up the hill.

You were confused and scared and disorientated and nothing was making sense. And Percy had passed out. You were all drenched by the time you reached an archway.

Grover told you to go on ahead over the sound of thunder clapping and roaring in the sky. You didn’t even know what you were doing. It was as if you were on autopilot. You didn’t feel yourself running, and running so fast you’d never ran so quick before. Your wrist ached and pulsed. You felt sick. Your throat was raw from screaming.

You felt a little like you’d lost yourself, you’d never felt this before.

And you collapsed at the feet of Mr. Brunner, feet tucked under you as you heaved for breath, and then looked up. Mr. Brunner. Except Mr. Brunner wasn’t in his wheelchair. Your first thought was oh, hey, a pony! And then…

“What the hell?” You yelled, your tears mixed with the rain.

You sat with a warm blanket and hot cocoa, as Percy was tended to. And allowed the floods of tears to come as they came.

Chapter three

A long chapter, sorry guys! But I hope you enjoyed this! It’s a little rushed so we can get into the main plot, but hopefully it wasn’t too bad!

Taglist: @bl6ody @embersparklz @lilyevanswhore @rottenstyx @hawkeye12 @rory-cakes

#capsize #pjo #Percy Jackson x reader #Percy x reader #hoo #percy jackson #trials of apollo #annabeth chase #heroes of olympus #jason grace #leo valdez #nico di angelo #fanfiction #the lightening thief #pjo x oc #pjo x reader #percabeth #Spotify

377 notes · View notes

frostedfaves · 3 years ago

Text

Just Like Magic

Masterlist

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: Yelena invites her new best friend to hang out and ends up having to share. (Combined requests from @emilyprentissslut and anon)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, dark!milf!wandanat with younger (21+) reader, dom/sub dynamics and mommy kink, a bit of manipulation/coercion, smut: oral, penetration, bondage, slight edging, nipple sucking

A/N: this took forever to write and I was going to post it where I last left off, but as long as I took with this, I wanted it to have somewhat of a proper ending. although I did leave off in a way that I could add onto this if I decide to later! anyway, can’t wait to hear your thoughts!

“You finally made it.”

The blonde girl offers you a sarcastic smile as you pass her on the threshold, your eyes wandering for a moment while she locks the door behind you.

“I told you that I couldn’t come over until 2.”

“As if you have anything more interesting going on.”

Yelena grabs your arm and leads you into the kitchen, giving you a playful shove toward the island as she continues to the refrigerator. You hop onto one of the stools, placing your bag on the floor beside you just in time to catch the bottle of water tossed directly at your face.

“I see your reflexes are still working,” she teases as another voice cuts in.

“That’s no way to treat your guests, Lena.”

The taunting grin on your best friend’s lips shifts to a scowl as two women come into view. Their eyes seem to be glued to your form, one pair holding a welcoming gaze and the other an air of indifference. Yelena gives them your name and identifies the pair as Natasha and Wanda, and Natasha steps closer to you with her hand outstretched.

“Don’t listen to our little dorogoya.” Natasha nods toward the younger blonde with a teasing smirk. “We’re her mothers.”

“That’s not technically true,” Wanda clarifies over Yelena’s incoming protests. “We do love her like we created her ourselves--”

“But mentors would be a more accurate ‘M’ word,” Yelena adds, pushing past the pair to grab your bag from the floor. “Let’s go before they say something else that makes me gag.”

“It was nice meeting you!”

Your words are rushed as you scramble out of the kitchen, trying to avoid staring at Natasha while she subtly unzips her hoodie. Her hand releases the zipper once you’re out of sight, but Wanda grabs it to finish the job.

“You’re a tease,” she comments while raising her tank top, and Natasha places her hands on her cheeks with a smile.

“Tell me what she’s thinking.”

“She’s definitely interested, but she needs more.” Wanda lowers her head and touches her lips to one of Natasha’s exposed nipples. “I think I need more, too.”

Natasha bites her lip and threads her fingers through her lover’s hair to pull her flush against her chest.

“Then take it.”

“Wait!” you call out before Yelena can throw the ball again. “Where's the bathroom? I have to pee.”

“You Americans and your weak bladders.” She rolls her eyes playfully as she plops on the ground to take a seat. “It’s the last door on the left.”

You enter the house again through the sliding door of the kitchen, passing through the room to the hallway. The bathroom is easy to locate and you’re in and out pretty quickly, but soft musical notes floating through the crack of a door stop you before you can make your way back outside. Opening the door further reveals a staircase heading toward what you assume is the basement, and before you have time to form doubts, you find yourself descending.

The music guides you to another cracked door, and you freeze in your movements when you notice Natasha and Wanda in the far corner of the room. Making sure you’re still out of sight, you take a look around the parts of the room you can see from the doorway, and it doesn’t take long to figure out what the space is for. There are various ropes, chains and ball gags hanging along the walls, and shelves hold harnesses, vibrators and dildos of all sizes.

“Flavored lube?” Wanda eyes the bottle curiously as she takes it from Natasha.

“Yeah, I figured it would be fun to try.”

“As if you don’t taste amazing enough on your own,” Wanda places her hand on Natasha’s chest, causing her to chuckle.

“It’s not for us, love.” Natasha raises her brow, and her wife seems to have a look of realization.

“Do you think she’ll like it?”

“I don’t think she’ll mind a little help getting this inside of her.”

You nearly give away your position with a gasp when the red haired woman holds up a harness with a protruding length that seems almost as big as her forearm. Deciding you’ve seen way more than you were meant to, you head back upstairs as quickly and silently as you can, trying your best to ignore your wandering thoughts as you join Yelena again.

“What took you so long?” she scowls as she jumps to her feet again. “You were staring at that ugly painting on the wall, weren’t you?”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” you argue, turning your back to grab your water and give yourself extra time to catch your breath.

“If you keep chugging that, you’ll have to pee again.” You hear her laugh before you feel the ball lightly hit your back. “But I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You had yet to discover if she was right or not.

“Dinner was amazing. Thank you, Miss Maximoff,” you address Wanda as she collects everyone’s plates, not quite meeting hers or Natasha’s eyes until she stops in front of you.

“You can call me Wanda, honey. I don’t mind at all.” She offers you a sweet smile before looking past you toward Yelena. “Lena, do you mind helping me clean up? I need to show you something anyway.”

Yelena opens her mouth, fully prepared to make a comment about Wanda being able to handle the whole house with a simple flick of her wrist but a pointed look from Natasha stops her.

“Sure.”

You watch her grab everyone’s glasses and follow Wanda into the kitchen, and you release a quiet yelp when you feel Natasha grab your chin a moment later. Your eyes widen when you realize just how quickly she traveled to your side of the table from her chair, and you feel nerves settling in as her eyes study your form.

“You’re a gorgeous little thing, aren’t you?”

The longer you stare at her, the calmer you feel as the desire to push her away leaves your body. She moves her thumb and presses against your lips forcefully until you part them, her smile widening as she begins rubbing along your tongue and your lips close around her.

“That’s it, such a good girl for me. Do you think you can behave like this for Wanda, too?”

“I would hope so.” Wanda’s voice fills the room again as she reenters, placing one hand on your neck as she lightly kisses the other side, just below your ear. “You wouldn’t want to be punished before you’ve even had a chance to be rewarded, would you?”

“No, Wanda,” you answer the best you can around Natasha’s thumb, and her grip on your neck tightens.

“You call us Mommy now.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Perfect, printsessa,” Natasha praises as she pulls her hand away, Wanda also stepping back as she pulls you to your feet. “Now why don’t you lead us downstairs? I believe you already know where to go.”

“You knew I was there?” you ask timidly and Wanda laughs.

“Why do you think you went down there in the first place?”

Natasha grabs your shoulders and turns you around, giving you a light shove toward the hallway. You cautiously lead the two women toward the basement door, glancing into the kitchen and feeling a knot growing in your stomach when you don’t see Yelena at all.

The door is locked behind you once you reach the intimidating room again, and you’re pushed onto a bed before each woman grabs one of your hands and chains you to the wall. Wanda straddles you and kisses you eagerly, moving her hips to grind her covered pussy against yours. Vibrations pass between the two of you as you moan into each other’s mouths until she pulls away and stands on the mattress to take off her panties.

“You think you can make Mommy cum like this?” She challenges while lifting her dress and lowering herself to sit on your face, a quiet moan escaping when you press your tongue against her clit in response. “Good fucking girl.”

“What about while your other Mommy fucks you?”

You can feel Natasha removing your pants and underwear, bending your legs at the knee as she joins the two of you on the bed and hooks her arms around them. You can already feel yourself clenching a bit in preparation for what you know is coming, and a muffled moan escapes you when she runs the tip of her tongue along your folds.

“What does she taste like?” Wanda cries out to her lover while you suck on her clit desperately, and Natasha pulls away just long enough to answer.

“Like she was worth waiting five months for.”

Wanda continues to ride your face, forcing herself to keep going past her orgasm while Natasha teases you relentlessly with her tongue. Just when you think she might let you cum, she pulls away abruptly, leaving you whining into Wanda’s pussy and grinding against nothing.

“Patience, printessa,” she scolds you from across the room. “You don’t get to have things simply because you want them.”

You jump and let out a sound that’s a cross between a yelp and a moan when her hand smacks your sensitive clit, gasping when the slap is followed by the head of a dildo running through your folds toward your entrance. Bucking your hips toward it causes it to slip inside you a bit, and Natasha groans at the sight.

“Look at my pretty pussy so eager to take me.”

She takes her time easing half of the length into you as you clench around it occasionally, thrusting gently for a bit and then roughly pounding her way in until her hips are nearly meeting yours with every powerful stroke. If Wanda wasn’t keeping you muffled, you’d be screaming right now. From pain or pleasure, you couldn’t tell the difference anymore, you just knew something inside you felt amazing.

“Whatever you’re doing to her, Tash, please don’t stop,” Wanda calls over her shoulder through gritted teeth in between groans. “She’s fucking killing me right now in the best way possible.”

“Don’t worry...” Natasha roughly tugs your waist to bring you closer and Wanda scrambles to balance herself on the mattress as she continues to ride your face. “You know I don’t plan on letting her go anytime soon.”

2K notes · View notes

blueicequeen19 · 3 years ago

Text

Prize Pt. 1

"Yo, have you seen the tits on Maybanks' sister?" Kelc nudges me and I blink at him, the last of my buzz was fading and I'd been spacing out. To be honest I was over this party. The same shit every weekend was getting old.

"Dude, she's a Pogue." Topper rolls his eyes in disgust.

"So? Pogues still have tits." Kelc counters. I follow his line of sight to the pretty little blonde in a tiny bikini next to the pool. She did have nice tits. They were full and perky on her slender frame. Her body was taunt with muscles from surfing because what else do you do when you live on an island?

"She's alright." I take a swig of the vodka bottle next to me. Better they think I'm not interested so I don't have to hear the constant nagging that comes with Kelc and Topper. If they spent as much time trying to get laid as they do arguing with each other, they'd be in better moods.

"How did a Pogue get into a Kook party anyway?" Topper scoffs, sipping his beer like the prude he is. He has a point though. No one is fighting so I know the rest of her clan isn't here. No way her brother would let all these dudes gawk at her for this long. I'm suddenly betting that she's a virgin. There's no way she's been able to get a guy alone with the family she's got. I'm surprised she gets to leave the house.

"Who cares? It's nice to have something new to look at." Kelc waves Topper off as we all continue to watch her. She's not doing anything but talking yet I'm still hypnotized. It's like she feels the same pull I do because she suddenly keeps meeting my gaze. The more she catches me watching, the shittier her looks become. Most girls fall at my feet when they catch me checking them out. Not this girl. She looks ready to cut my balls off.

"Dude, I'm out. My mom will kill me if I come home late again." Topper gets to his feet and Kelc chuckles.

"Later mommas boy." Topper flips Kelc off before disappearing out the back gate. Now if only Kelc would fuck off.

"I bet she's a virgin, dude." Kelc says and I fight to remain calm. Anything to not draw attention to the fact that I had the same thought. I didn't want Kelc to be interested.

"I doubt it." I grumble, leaning forward to count the money on the table. I didn't make near enough for the amount of coke I brought. I look up over the wad of cash and meet her narrowed gaze as she wraps a towel around herself. It takes me a minute to realize she's heading right for us.

"Do you have a problem?" She asks and I can't help but smile.

"Why would I have a problem?" I ask, tucking the money in my pocket and leaning back into the chair.

"You've been watching me nonstop." She snaps, rolling her lip at me. I chuckle, glancing at Kelc as he eats this up.

"I was just wondering how a Pogue got into my party." I cock my head and she rolls her eyes.

"All that Kook and Pogue stuff is bullshit. At least I'm not forced to wear a pink polo." Her jab makes me smile and Kelc busts out laughing. So what if I wear pink? She's the only one who ever dared call me on it.

"Are you jealous? Do you need a pink polo of your own?" I taunt her and her cheeks redden in anger.

"You're unbelievable and your party sucks." She stomps off and I look to Kelc who is equally amused.

"Dude, I think I'm in love." Kelc smirks, both of us watching her ass as she walks away. I shake my head. This girl was going to be trouble.

After our run in, I find her at every party since. She glares at me, I glare at her. She insults me, I insult her back. Every little thing she does has my attention.

Thankfully I don't have to run any guys off because she does that herself. No one seems to meet her standards and she's breaking a lot of hearts. It's not until late one night that I overhear a conversation about her that I become fully invested.

"She's desperate to lose her virginity but no one will fuck her because their afraid of her brother." I don't have to hear a name to know who this gossip is talking about. My little Trouble.

"Plus a lot of guys don't want a virgin. They want someone who knows what they're doing." Another girl adds. She couldn't be more wrong. I find myself heading up stairs after her. I can't help myself. I wanted to get her alone. If she wanted someone to fuck her, I'd gladly do it. I follow her up the stairs and down the hall before I catch her elbow and pull her into the nearest room - a bathroom.

"What the fuck, dude?" She demands, slapping her hands against my chest.

"I heard you were having issues with something and I wanted to offer my services." She narrows her eyes at me like she has no idea what I'm talking about.

"Come on, Trouble. If anyone is a good fit it's me. I'm not afraid of anyone in your family and I can keep a secret." I tease, letting my gaze linger on her lips and her eyes widen when it dawns on her. It's only a moment then she's scowling at me.

"How did you—."

"I know everything. Do you want my help or not?" I was growing impatient. I had to know what was under the skimpy clothes she wore. Was she shaved or waxed? Landing strip? What did she taste like? What sounds would she make when I flicked her clit? Fuck, my dick was already hurting.

"I uh—, right now? This is a bathroom?" She stutters, a blush on her cheeks. I softly cup both sides of her face and tip her chin up so she's looking right at me.

"Have you ever been kissed?" I whisper and with a lick of her lips she nods.

"Just once." She breathes, her hands instantly go to my waist and I resist rubbing my erection against her.

"I'm going to kiss you. How you should be kissed. If you want more, meet me on my dads boat at midnight. Deal?" I swipe my thumb over her bottom lip and she nods, her pupils already blown. I bet her heart was racing in her chest.

"Part your lips just a bit. Let me in then slowly follow my lead." I reassure her as she shudders. I back her up against the wall and slowly bring my lips to hers just as she parts them for me. A satisfied hum meets my lips as I kiss her nice and slow. After a moment I tilt my head and nudge her lips with my tongue and her tongue darts out to flick mine. I reach behind her head, tugging out her ponytail as our tongues swirl around each other. Her hands come up to grip my neck as she starts to kiss me harder, more urgently so I grab a fistful of her hair, pulling her ever closer so we're chest to chest. A moan leaves her lips when my free hand slides down to cup her throat. Our kisses grow eager, harder, sloppier. If we didn't stop I would end up bending her over this fucking counter right now.

I break away first, smiling as she sways a little before straightening.

"That was—." I cut her off with a quick peck, satisfied that my kiss just blew her mind.

"Midnight. Don't wear panties."

#smutwarning #rafe cameron smut #outer banks smut #rafecameron #rafe fanfiction

149 notes · View notes

titanicsimp · 4 years ago

Note

Could you write some smut reader/Zeke/Levi? Btw the one reader/Zeke/Reiner/Porco was ✨✨✨🤤👀👀❤

I worked on this fic for a MONTH thanks to my fever brain <’3

Zeke Yeager x female!reader x Levi Ackerman

cw: threesome, oral sex, vaginal sex, anal sex, creampies, backshot, double penetration, fingering, biting/marking, rough sex, clit slapping, face slapping (once), spit kink, very minor injury (cut on lip), slight angst

The scent of smoke fills your senses with every soft puff of breath he lets out along your neck, his lips trailing along it like you are made off of the nicotine he’s so addicted to. As his hands dip below the fabric of your shirt, you can’t help but wonder how you ended up here, meeting in the middle of the night in a lonely storage space, in the arms of a man who by all means should be the enemy.

When his lips find yours, you can taste the answer on them. You had been lonely, so lonely. The man you loved had long made it clear he had no intention of being with you, he barely spared you a glance most of the time. When you had confessed how you felt, he had flat out rejected you, no reason had been specified outside ‘I can’t.’. Zeke was the exact opposite of him, not only as a person but also in his interest in you. He didn’t avert his eyes when you passed by, he didn’t give you cold stares, instead he gazed at you with lust without any hesitation or shame.

Was it weak of you to give in to this morally corrupt man so easily? Probably, but you were sick of spending the cold nights on Paradis alone, and Zeke was more than willing to keep you company.

Zeke’s touch feels wrong, yet it awakens a fire inside of you. Every spot he touches seems to tingle with anticipation, and you sigh into the kiss. Had it been so long?

Too lost in your thoughts to hear the jiggling of the doorknob, you are unaware someone has just entered the room, the feeble lock having easily given in. By the time Zeke notices, his hand has already been snatched away from under your shirt, his normally great senses having been slowed by his arousal.

“Do I have to cut your hands off again, beast?!”

You look on in shock as Zeke’s hand is forced to his back, and a knife is brought to his throat. You recognize the voice instantly, you have spent too many years around him not to. “Levi!”

“You think you can assault one of my soldiers?! You think you can lay your dirty hands on her?!” Though you can’t see his expression from behind Zeke, his voice lets you know he’s furious.

Zeke huffs but doesn’t move, an irritated look on his face at the interruption. “I think you have the wrong impression here. This wasn’t my idea.” His tone is smug, provoking Levi to dig the blade into the skin of Zeke’s neck.

“He’s right!” You say quickly, your hands quivering by your side. Though you would prefer to just disappear at the moment, you need to speak up before it gets even further out of hand. Out of all people, why him?!

The knife retreats from Zeke’s throat, leaving a single scarlet droplet in its wake. His lips quirk up slightly into a smile, smug at the short freeze he had noticed from the man behind him.

You want to avert your eyes when Levi steps out of Zeke’s shadow, but you don’t want to be disrespectful, not more than you already were by messing around with the enemy anyway.

“What did you say?” Levi asks, steel eyes commanding you to repeat yourself.

Your throat feels dry out of nowhere as your gaze locks onto his. “I said that he’s right. What you saw was my idea, captain.”

His usual stoic expression twists to one of hurt for just a brief moment, disappearing within seconds. He regained his composure so quickly that you question whether you actually saw it or were just imagining it.

Levi returns his knife to its sheath, eyes burning holes into your form. “We’re leaving.”

You blink in confusion, looking from Zeke to Levi and back. “What? I know what Yeager has done, but I wasn’t aware that interpersonal relationships aren’t allowed, seeing how things were going with-“

“It’s not about that!” Levi barks out, making you flinch. You had seen him angry like this only a handful of times, and only in situations far worse than this.

Zeke comes closer to you, facing Levi with a shrug of his shoulders. “Seems like y/n wants to stay with me.”

This whole situation is growing more awkward by the minute. Normally you would go with Levi without a second thought, but now you found someone that desires you you don’t want to give it up that easily. The thought of spending another 6 years of your limited life alone makes you stand your ground.

“You can have her,” Levi says, causing your heart to plummet to your stomach.

“When I’m six feet under the ground.”

You stare at Levi. His expression and voice have calmed down, but his anger seems to roll off of him in waves. Should you be happy? More than likely this has nothing to do with you, and all with the promise he made to Erwin.

You fiddle with your skirt uneasily. Gods, how could you be doing this? What a betrayal to all who have fought and died by your side these past few years.

Zeke glances over to you, taking in your nervous form before sighing. “I’m not sure if it will wreck your little soldier, but I don’t mind sharing.”

If you weren’t absolutely frozen in shock, your jaw would drop to the floor. Your turbulent thoughts are instantly blown away by Zeke’s words, a whole new moral conflict arising. Heat rises to your cheeks at his suggestion, the word choice of ‘wreck’ making your knees embarrassingly weak.

Levi grits his teeth. “I must have knocked some threads loose last time we fought for you to even suggest such a thing.”

His rejection doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. He didn’t want to sleep with you when it was just you and him, so now with Zeke here? No chance.

Zeke takes off his glasses, examining them in the light of the lantern before polishing them on his sleeve. He’s practically oozing disinterest, which you are guessing is the point. “I understand. You don’t want to do anything that will leave you embarrassed.” He says.

Levi stares him down, but Zeke continues casually polishing his glasses. “What are you implying?”

You look at Zeke, shaking your head slightly. Just drop it, this is madness.

“I don’t think I need to tell you what I’m implying.” He sighs when Levi doesn’t say anything.

“Just stop!”

Their gazes both snap to you after you yell. Your fists are balled, form trembling slightly from embarrassment and adrenaline. Sure, the prospect is exciting, but it will never happen, and at this point, you are starting to feel humiliated over the continuous rejections from Levi.

“I’m leaving.” You tell them and start walking towards the door, adjusting your messy shirt on the way. Levi tries to grab your arm when you pass, but you slap his hand away. “Alone.”

You already have the doorknob in your hand when the wood of the door shakes with impact. Wide-eyed, you look at the boot that’s keeping the door shut. The owner of it gazes at you with a conflicted look. “If you want to stay with him, stay.” He spat out the word ‘him’ like it was poison on his tongue.

Your gaze travels up his form and to his face, confusion written all over yours. What is this pushing and pulling? Stay, leave, which is it?

“Y/n, come.” You look back, seeing Zeke beckoning you with open arms, his glasses back on his face.

You chew on your lips, glancing between the two men once again. Levi drops his gaze, avoiding your questioning eyes. Ah yes, that’s how it is, isn’t it? The previous moments were exactly that, moments, and they had passed now he had come back to his senses.

Slowly, your hand slips from the doorknob, and as it does you can sense Levi tensing up next to you. Not daring to look at him in fear of conflicting your heart any further, you go back to Zeke. As you stare at your new lover with a stinging heart, you hear shuffling behind you. When you turn your head you find that Levi has propped an old chair under the doorknob, closing the storage room off more effectively.

“You didn’t think I was going to leave her with you, did you?”

What? Your mind races as Zeke pulls you closer, hugging your back to his chest and his fingers finding your chin. Levi is... staying? You are given no time to process what this means as Zeke’s lips press against yours. He drags you into a wild kiss, forcing your mouth open by your chin so he can push his tongue past your lips. One of his legs pushes yours apart from behind, your skirt hiking up on his knee. You squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment, the person you admire the most watching you get devoured by another man.

Zeke pulls away from the kiss slightly, leaving his tongue sticking out so he can show off the string of saliva connecting it with yours. He glances at Levi from the side, keeping you panting in your position. “Let’s get to it then, if you hadn’t interrupted us I would’ve already been between her legs.” Heat creeps up your neck at his crude words.

“Bastard.” Levi curses under his breath, sharp eyes finding yours. You can’t place his look, there’s anger there for sure, but also something else.

After Zeke’s little display, you are expecting him to leave the room any second and have him never want to look you in the eye again, but instead of doing that, he starts undoing the straps of his uniform.

It’s impolite to stare, but how couldn’t you? In all these years you’d never seen him anymore bare than in his nightclothes, and here he was, getting ready to strip right in front of you. Taking advantage of your distracted mind, Zeke swiftly pulls up your shirt, exposing your bra to them and making goosebumps rise on your skin from the cold air. As Levi’s eyes trail over your chest, you regret your choice of bra. It has a very low-cut cup, barely covering your nipples.

Zeke’s one hand remains on your chin as the other snakes up to the exposed flesh of your breasts. You shiver when he traces a finger just above the edge of your bra. “You even wore something nice for me? I’m honored.” Zeke presses his lips to your ear but still says it loudly enough for Levi to hear. You really had. It’s not like you had a ton of fancy underwear laying around, 98% of it were practical ones that weren’t exactly eye candy.

You gasp when Zeke backs up for a second and swiftly pulls your shirt off completely, forcing your arms up. He easily catches your wrists together in one colossal hand, keeping your arms up to ensure you can’t cover yourself.

“What do you think, Levi, should I take off everything?” Zeke asks, amusement sounding in his voice.

Your wide eyes move to Levi, a frustrated expression showing on his face. You would’ve thought he wasn’t enjoying it if it wasn’t for the obvious imprint in his pants.

Zeke tuts at Levi’s lack of answer, freehand creeping down your stomach and to the fabric of your skirt. “You’re right, it’s better to take our time.”

He crunches the fabric up in his hand, slowly pulling it up more and more until your panties are revealed. His breath is hot on your ear, becoming noticeably faster when his fingers grace over the silk of your underwear. Your arms wiggle in his grip as his fingers tease over your heat, sliding past your clothed slit. The more pressure he puts against the material, the more your body heats up, and soon he can feel a damp spot through it.

You look at Levi through your lashes, lids low as you hang back against Zeke’s body and let him explore yours. The embarrassment has mostly faded and you allow yourself to stare at him to your heart’s content. You notice everything; the subtle twitches of his face, his widened pupils, the way he swallows heavily every time a tiny mewl escapes your mouth. All of it combined with Zeke’s touches is sending electricity through your body.

Zeke’s hand trails up slightly, leaving your damp panties to stick to your core. You turn your head to the side, giving him a pleading look to take them off. He tugs at your arms, making you stand straighter and causing your ass to bump against his crotch, letting you feel the noticeable bulge there. His hand dips underneath the elastic of your panties, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. The pads of his fingers cause shivers to run down your body as they glide over your mount before dipping between your legs. You open your legs slightly so he can reach you well, causing him to chuckle.

“Eager aren’t we?” He has a hungry glint in his eyes when they meet yours.

You lean into his touch when his fingers stroke over your slit, gathering your slick on them. He parts your folds gently with two of his fingers, his middle finger teasing over your entrance. Levi comes closer, lured in by the pants and whimpers falling from your lips. Heat rises to your cheeks as he stands in front of you, barely any distance between the two of you. He looks down at where Zeke’s hand is teasing your cunt, Zeke’s finger lightly pressing on your entrance before moving away once again.

Levi’s hands come up, cupping your soft breasts in them. You bite your lip as he rubs your hardened nipples through the fabric with his thumbs. His gaze shoots up as soon as a moan sounds from you, one corner of his lips quirking up. More moans slip past your lips as he rolls your nipples between two of his fingers, the thin fabric of your bra adding even more friction.

Zeke frowns behind you. All he got was a few whimpers until now, but Levi touches you and you are moaning like a whore. No, he can’t have that.

You cry out when two of Zeke’s fingers suddenly thrust into your tight heat, a wet squelch resonating throughout the room. You barely notice Levi’s hands freezing on your breasts as Zeke’s fingers curl inside of you, intently searching for the rough patch on your walls.

Levi grabs onto your chin, his other hand harshly fondling your breast. He isn’t pleased like when you moaned for him, far from it. His lips crash onto yours, catching your open mouth by surprise. The moans enticed by Zeke’s fingers are muffled by Levi’s tongue, both men groaning as you shake between their forms. This isn’t how you expected your first kiss with Levi, but you might just like it more, the desperation behind it intoxicating.

Zeke’s fingers finally find their target, and he notices instantly as your arms jerk in his grip, your cunt clenching around him. He pushes and strokes over the spot feverishly, and not even Levi’s mouth can muffle your moans anymore.

“You should feel how she’s sucking me in, Levi. I’ve never felt such an eager cunt.” Zeke taunts. Levi doesn’t answer, lips moving against yours so roughly that you feel like your lips will be bruised afterward.

You’re getting close, you can feel it as your whole body starts tensing, bucking into Zeke’s curling fingers. You aren’t sure if Levi means to add to it, but as his hand dips below the fabric of your bra, nail softly raking over your sensitive nipple, you feel yourself rushing towards the edge.

It only takes a few more strokes of Zeke’s fingers before you cum around them. Your legs buckle and tense as you orgasm, Zeke praising you and grinding his bulge against your ass. “That’s it, good girl.”

Levi causes you to yelp out in pain when he bites down on your bottom lip out of nowhere, breaking a tiny part of the skin. You stare at him in shock as he backs up, still shaking from cumming as you watch him wipe the trickle of blood away from his lip. Even Zeke wasn’t expecting that, his fingers leaving your heat quickly and forcing your face to the side. He examines the small cut on your lip even as you try to cringe away from him cupping your face with slick covered fingers.

“Don’t cum for that animal when your mouth is on mine.”

You look at Levi from the corner of your eye. He doesn’t seem angry or shocked with himself, instead, he seems pleased.

Zeke chuckles. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Levi.”

His grip tightens on your wiggling wrists as you try to get some space between the two of you. He tuts at you, making your eyes dart back to his. You can tell from his grin that the little sympathy he might have had just now has disappeared.

“Open your mouth.” He says. He can feel your jaw tense at his words. He loves how innocently wide-eyed you look at him while knowing full well that your cunt is throbbing at the idea of obeying him.

Slowly, you open your mouth, and Zeke’s fingers ease off of your jaw. When you have opened your mouth wide enough for his liking, he slides the two wet fingers past your lips, deliberately going past the cut. Your taste is mixed with a faint hint of blood, but you don’t stop to think about it as Zeke’s fingers press down on your tongue. While you are lapping at his fingers, he finally lets go of your wrists, letting your arms fall to your sides.

You hear Levi sighing close by. “Seems like you are all show and no action. Couldn’t have expected more from a circus monkey.”

Zeke’s eyes stay on yours, daring you to look away even as they talk. “It’s called foreplay.” He responds casually.

Seemingly satisfied with your suckling at his fingers, he slowly pulls them out of your mouth. Taking in your swollen lips, he can’t hold back the urge to make you look even more pathetic. He wipes his fingers off on your cheek, leaving your own spit on it. Is it embarrassing? Most definitely, but in a different way than normally. Something about their rough treatment makes your abdomen flutter in excitement.

Zeke suddenly pushes you towards Levi by your shoulders. “Entertain him while I get these tight fucking pants off.” Zeke grumbles and you can instantly hear him start fumbling with his belt.

Your nerves chitter as you look at Levi. His watchful gaze always makes you scared to make a wrong move. You want to be good to him, for such a long time already that the need to is practically overflowing.

Tired of your staring, Levi makes the first move, pulling your hand forward and against his crotch. Your eyes dart from the bulge you are cupping in your hand to his face. “I’ve waited long enough, take off my pants.” The slight tremor in his voice as he speaks and the pink color on his cheeks has your heart beating faster.

He lets go of your hand, allowing you to move it. You slide your flat palm along the imprint of his cock, making him part his lips in a pant. Making quick work of the button on his pants, you start sliding down the elastic of it, taking his underwear off with it. When his cock is exposed, he pushes your hands away, quickly taking his underwear and pants off completely. He glares at you as he takes off his shirt as well, hair getting tossed on the way. “Strip.” He tells you. The way he throws his clothes to the side is yet another surprise in this odd night.

You let your skirt fall to the floor first, then your wet panties, and lastly your bra. Shivers run up your body from both the cold and the nerves that course through your body as you are naked in front of Levi for the first time. He watches you for a moment, his length twitching excitedly against his stomach. You are watching him as well, but you aren’t sure where to look first. His chest is lean yet muscled, dipping down his in a delicious V just above his crotch. Not following where the V is going would be a shame, and so you eagerly eye his cock. It’s long, curved to the side just slightly with a girth that already ensures you that he will fill you up well.

Wetting your lips, you step towards him, closing the distance between the two of you back up. Reaching out, you wrap your hand around his length. It feels hot and heavy in your hand as you give it a testing pump. You hear Levi’s breath hitch when you look at him through your lashes, eyes lidded. As your hand pumps his cock slowly, he can’t help but tense at the memory of all the nights he spend imagining his hand was yours. Watching you jerk him off, your pretty face so close to his, makes him want to hold you, but also ruin you until you cry.

“Y/n.” He starts and you cock your head to the side slightly, showing that you are listening even though your eyes are trained on his cock again. “Turn around.”

Your eyes snap back to his, searching for what exactly he wants but finding only more questions at the intense lust he’s showing. Precum leaks from the head of Levi’s cock as you obediently turn around, still within reach just like he wanted. You swallow heavily as you are now faced with a fully naked Zeke, his hand eagerly pumping his cock. He gives you a lopsided grin as his thumb rubs over the head of his cock, making it twitch in response.

Levi’s fingers press down softly between your shoulder blades, instructing you to bend forward just slightly. It’s not necessary for what he’s planning, but after Zeke made it a point to show off, he intends to pay him back. You yelp when Levi kicks your legs open and one of his hands grabs onto your hair, roughly pulling at it. He thrusts his cock between your thighs, causing them to be even slicker by combining your already present wetness on them with his pre. Tiny mewls leave your lips as he slides his cock back and forth, the top dragging against your soaked heat. Your plush thighs feel amazing already, but just sliding against them is not what he intended. He grabs onto his cock with his free hand and pushes the tip between your folds. Your surprised look makes Zeke chuckle, cock still in his hand. Is Levi going to put it in? The question rushes through your head and you feel the tip of his cock catch onto your entrance.

“Not yet.” He groans, unsure whether he’s telling you or himself.

The head of his cock slips away from your entrance, his length now snuggly between your folds. Your wet cunt feels better than he could’ve imagined as it drags past his cock, everything about it beckoning him to take you already. Hand on your hair tightening painfully, he starts thrusting slightly as you squeeze your thighs to keep him near. Your heavy pants are interrupted by a moan every time his tip slips against your clit, sending pleasure through your body.

“Look at those pretty lips.” Zeke says, coming closer to your bend-over form.

His cock is glistening with his precum, the head of it flushed red. As he’s closer to you you can really take it in, and the size is startling. Gods, you already have Levi’s sliding against your cunt and now there’s another right in front of your face, this is insane.

Zeke observes the bliss that comes over your face with every thrust of Levi’s. “Your shortness comes in handy for once, like this she’s at the perfect height to suck my cock.” Zeke tells Levi, tapping his cock on your parted lips.

Levi shoots him a nasty look. How he can be so cocky is truly beyond Levi. It doesn’t matter though, it’s clear that you like him better, your body speaks volumes on that. His thoughts making him slide forward faster, his hips connecting with your ass in a loud slap. As you open your mouth to moan at Levi’s actions, Zeke makes little time of thrusting his cock into it. You cough and sputter as you choke on his length, being given no time before he greedily slides himself down your throat.

Tears form in your eyes as Zeke fucks your mouth roughly, your nose bumping against his trimmed pubes over and over again. Levi curses behind you, jealously stirring in his chest. He disgusts himself with how the sight of Zeke defiling you both angers and arouses him. You scream around Zeke’s cock when Levi harshly brings his hand down on your ass. He hits your soft flesh repeatedly, his cock twitching against your heat at every hit.

Zeke coos at you as your tear-filled eyes overspill, the stimulation from both sides becoming too much. His hand strokes over your cheek comfortingly, though he refuses to slow down his thrusts into your squeezing throat. You feel your ass sting from the continuous slaps Levi is landing on your ass, the pain mixing with the pleasure.

Levi stares down at the darkened skin of your ass, his handprints littered all over it. A smile twists onto his face, proud of his work and the way your cunt is drooling over his length in return. Meanwhile, you are still choking down Zeke’s length, the strangled sounds from your throat making it clear that you are struggling. Your sounds draw Levi’s gaze back to where Zeke is fucking your face just in time. Levi recognizes the look on Zeke’s face instantly, head lightly thrown back and eyes closed. Without a second thought, Levi uses the hand in your hair to pull you off of the other man’s cock. You gasp and sputter for air, just as surprised as Zeke as he curses. “What the fuck?!”

“I’m not letting you cum in her mouth, I’m still planning on coming near it.” Levi explains casually as he slides his cock out from between your thighs.

You are still hacking and coughing as the two men exchange dead glares. Will you survive this? You truly wonder as you regain your breath. It’s like being pulled apart between two forces, but you would be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying every second of it.

“Shit.” Zeke runs a hand down his face, stroking it over his beard. “We can’t take her like this.”

You look up suddenly at his words. Hold on a second, he can’t be tapping out now?!

Zeke gestures towards a sturdy crate off to the side. “Sit on that, Levi.”

Levi grimaces and you look between the two men, just relieved you aren’t being left like this.

Zeke sighs and waves towards the crate again. “Do it or I’ll shove my cock back down her throat, and this time I won’t stop till I’m done.”

You look at Levi, who despite looking slightly disgruntled, agrees and goes to sit on the crate. Zeke swiftly picks you up after, the muscles of his chest presses temptingly against your back. He only holds you for a second before he sits you down on Levi’s lap, having you straddle him.

You place your hands on Levi’s shoulders, a shy smile on your face. He can’t help but chuckle slightly at that, you are still unsure even as his cock is pressing against your cunt. Zeke comes to stand behind you, hands grabbing onto your sore ass. He makes you push it towards him before he spreads your cheeks, whistling at the sight of your dripping hole.

“Don’t know how you resisted all this time.” He comments towards Levi.

Levi’s eyes don’t leave yours, too enthralled by finally having you on him to have Zeke ruin the moment. “Hurry up already, shit beard.”

Zeke lets one of your cheeks go to grab onto his cock. “As you wish.”

Surprising both you and Levi, Zeke aligns himself and pushes into your cunt in one swift thrust. You cry out loudly, nails digging crescent shapes into Levi’s shoulders. Levi is caught off guard for a second as he watches your blissed-out face, and Zeke takes the opportunity to pull out and thrust in with force once again.

“Let’s see if you get the same sound out of her.” Zeke taunts, smacking your sore ass once before pulling out of you. It’s obvious to even your foggy self that he did it just to rile up Levi.

You are panting again, your body shaken by Zeke’s surprise. The walls of your cunt sting from the sudden stretch, but at the same time squeeze eagerly around nothing, waiting for more.

Levi cups your chin in his hand as the other goes to your hip. You watch his dull blue eyes shimmer as he shifts under you till his cock is poking at your dripping entrance. For a second, you wonder how different this would’ve been if he had accepted you sooner.

With a hard push to your hip, he thrusts you onto his length, forcing your spasming walls to accommodate him in one go. To Zeke’s disdain, you do cry out for the other man. Not just the sound either, you cry out his name excitedly.

Levi pulls you in by your chin for a quick, sloppy kiss. It feels so hot inside you, so tight, he’s losing his sense and that’s exactly why he was afraid to do this with you. After this, he won’t want to let you go, while the world may force him to do so. He can’t think about that now though, not while your lips are on his. In this moment you are here, and he will enjoy you fully.

With one of Zeke’s hands still firmly on your cheek, he pulls it to the side, allowing a clearer view of how your hole is stretched and stuffed around Levi’s cock. He feels his face flushing. Though he would’ve liked to enjoy your cunt for himself, this sharing has turned out pretty entertaining so far.

You gasp against Levi’s lips when Zeke presses the tip of his cock against your other entrance. Breaking the kiss, Levi keeps his hand on your chin, thumb rubbing over your bottom lip soothingly, careful to avoid the cut he made. “Take a deep breath.”

Your breath comes out in trembles as Zeke pushes past your tight entrance, his cock coated in your slick. You can feel every inch of him slowly sliding into your ass, causing you to whimper as you soon feel overwhelmingly full. The wall separating their cocks twitches as both their lengths slide against it.

“You took that so well.” Zeke says as his hand finds grip on your free hip. He brushes your hair away from your ear, leaning in closer till his warm breath washes over it. “Makes me wonder how many men you let fuck your little ass.”

You bite back a moan when Zeke bites the top of your ear softly and, unbeknownst to you, connects eyes with Levi. “What do you think, Levi? You are her supervisor after all.”

Levi’s jaw clenches and he drops his hand slightly from your chin. “Seems like I missed a lot.”

You swallow nervously at the angry look in his eyes, your holes involuntarily clenching around their cocks. Quick like always, Levi moves his hand to your neck in the blink of an eye. You quiver between their bodies as he squeezing down on the sides of your neck.

“Who else did you do it with?” He questions, his gaze not allowing you to avert yours.

You gasp as Zeke starts moving, dragging his cock out just a little before thrusting back in. He’s more than eager to add onto your punishment, your body still struggling against the intrusion.

Levi shoots a glare over your shoulder, but Zeke shrugs it off. “You feel how she’s squeezing down. Seems like your cadet likes it rough.”

You didn’t think your embarrassment could return in this situation, but it does. Your perverseness was already exposed, but now the full extent of it is coming out as they question it.

“Tell me who fucked you!” Levi snarls, his hand squeezing harder around your throat. The fact that it happened right under his nose makes his jealousy spark into a wildfire.

His cock twitches inside you at the way your mouth quirks up into a smile. You are enjoying this, aren’t you?

Switching tactics, he leans in closer, ghosting his lips over yours and sliding his cock halfway out of your heat. You fall right for the bait as you try to move in to kiss him, whining when he pulls away just before you reach his lips. “Tell me who.”

Levi can feel your throat moving under his hand as you start and stop speaking multiple times. Your eyes and mouth go wide when Zeke thrusts into you hard, making your ass sting all over again from the impact.

“Tell him.”

You nod your head up and down desperately. “Alright!” You yelp out as Zeke continues his sharp thrusts.

“Jean! Jean! Just a few times.” You say quickly, your cheeks burning up from shame.

Levi stays quiet for a moment, and you would have been scared if his cock wasn’t buried inside of you. He pulls you closer by your throat, examining your face. “Did he fill you like this?”

You want to answer, but your mouth is left hanging agape as Levi suddenly slams his full length up into you. Choked sounds leave your lips as he forces your hips to stay up as he joins Zeke in a harsh pace.

Zeke’s hands come around your front, fondling your breasts and soon squeezing your nipples with his fingers. “You sure have yourself a good slut here.”

All you can do is moan and cry out a jumble of their names as they fuck into your tight holes. Gods, have you ever felt this good before?

“I’m jealous.” Zeke grunts out, rolling your nipples between his fingers before giving your breasts a forceful squeeze.

Levi grunts as he watches Zeke squeeze your breasts together, his eyes glued to the cleavage it created. The sight makes him want to stick his cock between them, but that will have to wait for another time.

“Levi! Zeke! Ah!-” You mewl, your slick dripping down Levi’s cock as you bathe in the pleasure of being pinned between them.

Zeke and Levi look at each other, and though they couldn’t be more different, the two men understand each other’s gazes perfectly at this moment. Stilling inside of you, Levi makes your hand clamber desperately down his shoulders and chest.

“Levi, please!” You whine, attempting to move your hips but being hindered by Zeke’s restless thrusts, his hands having left your breasts to hold your waist instead.

Just as Zeke’s cock slides out of your tight hole till the tip, Levi thrusts up into you, filling you completely. Your eyes roll back from the pleasure as they switched up the pace, one now pounding into you while the other pulls away.

You barely even realized that Levi’s hand was still on your neck until he removes it, making you sigh under the relief of the pressure. “I waited so long, assuming you would break under my touch. But look at you now.” He grunts out.

Zeke chuckles as he bends forward to run his tongue over the length of your neck, causing you to shiver. “That’s on you, Levi. I saw it right away.”

You can feel his voice vibrate against your skin, lips so close you can feel them slightly ghost past when he enunciates. “Though I have to admit, the extend of it surprised even me.”

Your hands run from Levi’s pecks to his firm abs while Zeke’s broad chest presses against your back. The slaps of their bodies hitting yours resonating beautifully throughout the room. How did you get so lucky to be sandwiched between these men?

You bite your sore bottom lip as you feel the coil in your abdomen start to tighten. They too can tell you are getting close, your hips clumsily moving in search of more friction.

One of Levi’s hands moves between your bodies, slender fingers quickly seeking out your swollen clit. Screams get caught in your sore throat as he rubs agonizingly slow circles over your clit, his fingertips never faltering in the precise movements.

“Shit.” Zeke curses out behind you, thrusts growing sloppy as he feels your body starting to quiver from your incoming orgasm.

Levi’s free hand grabs your face, squeezing your cheeks together, his lips quirked up in a lopsided smirk. “You hear that? Shit beard over there is about to cum.”

Your chest heaves heavily with your moans as Levi’s fingers work your clit faster, causing your holes to clench around their dick tightly.

“Bet you’d like that huh? Have him fill your ass with his cum?” Levi asks mockingly, squeezing your cheeks tighter.

His cock can’t help but twitch inside of you at the sight of your pathetically blissed-out face.

“Mmhm! Yes!” Is all you can cry out, so close to your release.

Levi releases your face, his eyes seemingly growing more darkened with lust by the second. Without warning, he moves his hand away from your clit slightly only to bring it back down with a slap. You squeeze your eyes shut as you cum from the sudden sharp pleasure, your legs shaking at either side of his.

You barely register Zeke’s wild pumping into you or the way Levi groans out your name as your orgasm rips through your body. The stimulation of their touches only prolong your bliss, mewls, and whimpers leaving your mouth like a chant.

With a hard slap to your ass, Zeke brings your focus back on him. You are still cumming as he squeezes the soft flesh in his hand, thrusting into you one last time. He breaths out your name as he empties himself inside of you and the warm sensation of his release spreading through you feels sinfully good.

Zeke leaves his cock buried to the hilt inside of your ass till the last twitch, your tight hole objecting when he starts pulling out. You feel his cum leaking out and spreading over your cheeks when he has pulled out of you completely. His hands grip your ass tightly as he spreads it, groaning at the sight of your leaking hole. At every thrust of Levi’s, your tight entrance twitches and forces more of Zeke’s cum to leak out.

Levi’s fingers have returned to rubbing quick circles over your swollen clit while he fucks you, and the intense sensation after you have barely finished cumming has your eyes rolling back as you cry out his name in encouragement. “Ah-! Don’t stop,” your unfocused gaze finding his “More.”

“You want ‘more’?” Zeke repeats, mockingly mimicking your slurred tone.

He grips his still-hard cock in his hand, pumping it in his fist. “Do you want more of him, or of me?”

You can barely muster an answer as Levi bounces you on his cock, your body shaking with the need to orgasm again. “B-Both!” You choke out.

“Guess I have no choice.” Zeke chuckles as he positions the tip of his cock at your twitching hole. Even though this is the second time, you still pleasantly surprise him with the way you eagerly suck him in.

Levi can feel the way your cunt spasms around him when Zeke thrusts his length into you, your mouth once again opening in a wide O. He’s the one who made you cum, isn’t he? So why are you still so damn focused on that shit face?!

He calls your name, but your foggy mind doesn’t register it. You are too close again, and after cumming so hard already twice, you feel like this time you won’t be able to stop.

Slap

The side of your face stings slightly and Levi gives you a dark grin as your gaze connects with his, your eyes cleared from their earlier fog. “Don’t go drifting off on me now, brat.”

You nod your head, your arms wrapping around his neck. You are back to focus, but you hope he doesn’t think that will prevent you from cumming. The way that they fill you is just too good.

“You can’t blame her. Her slutty body is betraying her.” Zeke says as his mouth moves to your neck once again. You don’t think anything of it as his hot tongue glides over your skin, so used to their constant touches by now.

Levi’s fingers leave your clit, once again followed by a sharp slap. This time he doesn’t do it just once though, he repeats the slap three times before going back to rubbing the abused nub. The way your sounds and labored breaths hitch in your throat every time have him closing in on his end faster than he wants.

Zeke’s gentle lapping and sucking at your neck turns animalistic as he suddenly bites down at the juncture of your neck and shoulder and you yelp as his teeth dig slightly into the sensitive skin. It only lasts for a few seconds before he sucks a giant hickey on top of the bite mark, placing a gentle kiss on the bruise afterward.

Shit, shit. Trembles rattle your body as you drench Levi’s cock with your slick, cumming from the added pleasure of Zeke’s bite. You let your forehead fall against Levi’s shoulder, mumbling slurred words and moans into his skin, your tiny muscle spasms alerting both men of your orgasm.

Levi pushes Zeke’s head away from your neck. “What do you think you’re-” He stops his sentence, taking the other man in with narrowed eyes.

Zeke slows his thrusting, raising his shoulders in innocence. He’s about to say something, but Levi grabs Zeke’s attention by taking your face in his hand.

Their conversation has completely gone over your head, still tingling all over as the tip of Levi’s cock hits the sensitive spot on your wall repeatedly, dragging out your orgasm. The way they slowed down has you whine in displeasure as well as curl your toes at how it increases the intensity of each dragged-out thrust. The hand on your chin barely catches your attention, only truly noticing it when Levi’s voice pierces your thoughts.

“Open up and stick out your tongue.”

You do as he commands, your mind not even questioning it for a second. Levi chuckles at your display of obedience, you always were good at following orders. Zeke can make marks all he wants, but Levi knows who owns you on the inside.

Keeping a good grip on your chin whilst continuing to fuck into you, Levi observes your open mouth for a second before spitting in it. You mewl as he keeps your mouth open, watching his spit run down your tongue.

Zeke grabs you by your hair, forcing your face out of Levi’s grip and forcing it to the side. He groans at the mess Levi just made, your eyes growing watery as you moan with your mouth wide open. Zeke let’s go off your hair after noticing Levi’s glare. Shit, he could say so many things, but he’s close again, and he’d rather making a mess of your soft ass than argue with Levi.

“Swallow.” Levi orders when your face is turned back to him.

You close your mouth slowly, eyes staying on his as you swallow. A choked sound comes from his throat as he snaps his hips up into you, your hands flying up to grip the back of his hair.

“Fuck!” He curses. “Be a good girl and cum again, when you do I’ll fill you up.” He says, wanting to drag another handful of screams from your throat before he finally cums.

You nod your head, tears forming in your eyes from the intensity as both men desperately rut into you. Your holes spasm around them, your tired body ready to fulfill Levi’s wish any second.

Zeke’s forehead rests against the back of your head, his glasses fogging up from his panting. Every tremble of your perfect body pushes him closer to the edge.

“Z-Zeke.” He thinks he imagined it for a moment, but then your sweet voice calls out for him again. “Zeke!” One of your arms has left Levi so you can place your hand on the back of Zeke’s head.

You are pulling at both men’s hair now as your hips sway in a desperate attempt to ride their cocks.

“Levi!” You call out as well, the man busy clenching his jaw in an effort not to let too many moans out.

“Please! Please!” You beg, your fingers trembling as they grab at their locks. You scream out in pleasure, your orgasm interrupting your pleading. “I-” It’s so hard to talk, your throat feeling squeezes without any hand being near it. “I can’t take anymore! Please, cum!” You cry out, continuously interrupted by wild pants.

Both are happy to oblige, having had their fun in torturing you and now eager to give you your award. Zeke pulls out of your ass in one quick slide, pumping his slick cock in his fist. He’s the first to cum as he empties himself all over your ass and back, his cock jerking in his hand at the sight of your skin getting more and more soiled by him.

Levi presses a hard kiss to your lips before finally giving in to his release, making sure your beautiful eyes are on his as he lets go. You can feel every hot shot of his cum inside of you, your cunt clenching around him tightly. Zeke is just admiring his handy work from behind you as Levi fills you up for what must almost be a minute. Your hand in Levi’s hair twirls his soft locks between your fingers, your heart squeezing as your exhausted mind ponders he pend up he must have been himself.

You smile weakly as Levi kisses you again after he’s finished cumming. It feels appreciative, and he really does feel that way as he can’t remember the last time he felt so good.

Zeke takes in the way he painted your skin with his cum one more time before turning around to get his clothes, leaving you nestled on Levi’s lap. You let your head drop to Levi’s shoulder, not caring that his cock is still inside you as exhaustion nips at your body.

Levi strokes your hair gently, but his watchful gaze is glued to Zeke. It’s a good thing that Zeke is putting on his clothes because it’s clear from the look in the other man’s eyes that his presence is no longer welcome. Always the defying type, Zeke gives the side of your hip a quick tap before exiting the room.

“See you soon, y/n.”

After the door has shut after the blonde man, Levi immediately jumps to action. He moves you off of his cock, his cum streaming out onto your thighs and his lap.

“Shit.” He mumbles at the mess.

He kisses your forehead softly, making your lidded eyes look up at him. “You did well, but do this again and I will leave you like this for the other scouts to find.” He tells you strictly, hands coming up under your arms to lift you up.

You can only nod weakly, not able to find your voice anymore. Perhaps he’s a little mad at you, but you don’t regret it at all. Your lips twitch into a tired smile as you think, ‘yeah, I really did do well.’.

#levi x reader #zeke x reader #smut #lemon #levi ackerman #zeke yeager #levi smut #Zeke smut #zeke jaeger #aot #snk #levi ackerman x reader #zeke yeager x reader #zeke jeager x reader #aot smut #snk smut

2K notes · View notes