#yes i used the sparkle brush i am NOT drawing stars

[neoasari]

huehuehue it's just because i like this part of kuraki hoshi a lot... let's stay together for eternity...

[elsfleur]

⋆·˚ ༘ * COOL ABOUT IT

ellie williams x reader

summary: it was an odd thing to enjoy your work, but with a passion for music and a fling with your coworker the days at the record store seemed bright, until of course you meet her girlfriend.

content warning: use of substances like weed, somewhat established relationship, mentions of cheating, mentions of nsfw content, somewhat angsty

word count: 1,432 and part two found here

📼 ʾ ⠀

the employee’s room smelled perpetually of weed and sandalwood cologne in her grace, and you watched as the girl you’ve grown to adore pressed down your herbs along her pot with a concerned expression at the jasmines and chamomile tainting her trusted old smoke, eyebrows furrowed.

“this is the girliest shit i’ve ever rolled in my life”

“shut the fuck up, williams” you reprimended, not missing the way her iris sparkled with amusement, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips displaying the softest of creases by her cheek.

ellie rolled her eyes before finally turning them to take you in, she had grown accustomed to mapping you out in her head as one would dissect a drawing, memorising the curves and angles effortlessly until your features sneaked their way into her mindless sketching, ripping out the pages in embarrassment. the stars were back beneath her lids as she maintained eye contact while licking on the silk paper painfully slowly, a pathetic tease.

“pretty girls first” she motioned you the blunt and leaned back on the couch to grab your hidden lighter by the r&b records’ archives, the hem of her shirt lifting up with the movement to expose pale skin begging to be painted red in suction, though you brushed away the filthy thoughts as to not feed into her ego, placing the silk between your lips as she lit it up for you, inhaling floral and exhaling smoke directly at her face, watching her pretty features get fogged away.

“it’s medicinal, just so you know” you defended the frilly choices “supposed to help with anxiety and sleep”

“yes, doctor!” she saluted taking the blunt from between your fingers and inhaling herself, letting go towards the ceiling “nothing like taking a good sleeping agent in the middle of a work shift, our boss must be so proud”

you fell into a comfortable rhythm of silence, passing the silk back and forth until it inevitably burned your fingers to a halt. ellie was staring again, this time against her own will. she enjoyed the way you puckered up and your cheeks flushed at the drug effect, watching your eyes get glossy and your attitude brighter, enjoyed your hands and calluses grabbing on to the very last inch possibly smoked of the substance, your hair and its natural cascade, your twitchy nose to the scent. she had sketched you eight times the night before without real attempt, feeling as though trapped by a love curse at your sight, her brain escaped to you like a boat finding lighthouse.

“why are you all the way over there” she questioned your distance on the couch, though barely even half a metre away, you knew instinctively what game she was playing with the innocent phrase.

“i told you i am not kissing you again until you play something for me, it is already betrayal enough you have heard me boast about how i want the new guitar we’re selling to learn without telling me you could play it”

“i’m really not that good”

“does it genuinely look like i care?”

she thought for a second before giving in with a sigh, heading out the door towards the empty store’s front and carrying back the black dyed instrument with her onto the seating, significantly closing the previous gap between you. ellie found your anticipating gaze once more, the ghost of a smile hovering over her lips so softly it was barely recognizable though you both knew, silently. her tattooed arm made its way to the front of the guitar, playing on the chords to confirm tuning before she fully began playing to you, a love song being quietly hummed under her breath just enough for you to make out certain words.

once finished, her hands lightly trembled in anxiety before gathering up courage to look at you, enthralled by her performance in a way the jokes you anticipated making and snarky retorts dissipated into thin air, mouth agape and too slow to notice her ego boost at your sight.

“you want me so bad right now” she smirked earning a playful slap to the arm in response that evoked melodic laughter to echo through the whole room loudly.

“fuck you” you replied before shutting her up with a kiss, soft lips pressed against her chapped ones. she moved the guitar away as best she could without breaking your contact, letting it drop on the carpet with a surprisingly loud bang that was anyhow disregarded as she snaked her arms over your waist pulling you to her lap. you grazed your teeth over her bottom lip before pulling it softly, her low whimper making it known who truly controlled the situation though her fingertips rose under your t-shirt to the clasp of your bra with familiar ease. you chuckled into the kiss at her desperation.

“who wants who so bad again?” you teased in a whisper, taking her palm into your own and pulling it up to cup your breast, your moans mixing into each other's at the new sensation.

“please” she begged doe-eyed and you nodded raising your arms up to help her remove it and toss it aside before working her tongue down your neck and onto your nipples, she sucked so forcefully you felt your eyes roll back while her left hand grabbed your other neglected breast before switching focuses.

you faintly heard the ringing of bells beneath the heavy breathing that filled the room and pushed ellie’s head away from your body, her eyebrows furrowed and lips pouted at your reaction in a way that sent shivers up your spine “there’s a customer” you explained letting loose of her grip and searching around for your clothes.

“i’ll take it it’s fine, at least i’m dressed” she joked standing up and going into the main room with a vocally cleared throat and smoothed out uniform.

minutes passed and ellie still wasn’t back, that’s when you made your way towards the entrance as well and watched as a flustered ellie insisted a customer go home. you watched the interaction unnoticed as long as you could, but the black haired girl soon caught on to your staring and smiled apologetically as a greeting, causing ellie to turn around and face you with a gulp.

“is… everything okay here?” you questioned.

“hi! i’m cat, ellie’s girlfriend” the customer introduced herself with an extended hand you did not take as you stared between her and the girl you’ve been having an affair with for the last six months and you have grown to consider a friend, fuck, more than that, so much more than that. her silence to the interaction hit you like a bullet.

“oh i’m sorry, how stupid” you faked a smile shaking her hand “i didn’t know ellie had a girlfriend, is that new?”

“well if you think three years is new” the girl giggled.

“yeah, no, we’re not really uh close so i wouldn’t know, congratulations on three years or something”

“cat, shouldn’t you be getting home? we’re about to close up here” ellie interrupted and the girl though furrowing her brows nodded before pressing a kiss to her lips and wishing you both an uncomfortable goodbye before skipping out the store, wind blowing through it with the opened door that made you as cold as you felt interrupting ellie’s attempt at a sentence.

“it’s cool” you said with your hand up, stopping her words until you fully watched cat’s silhouette be far away enough from the store “i was just a fuck right? not enough to ruin a three year relationship over, i won’t tell, anyways shift’s over so”

“angel, listen-“

“don’t fucking call me that?” you spat out unnerved “whatever this was ellie, or actually scratch that–, i’m sorry i apologise for thinking this was something when it clearly isn’t now you can stop with the pet names and whatever other antiques you’re thinking of pulling and save them for your girlfriend”

you rushed to the employee’s room, tripped on the guitar and cursed out loud your pain while jumping on the single good foot you now had towards your backpack, ready to leave. you do not listen to a word ellie says while walking out, you do not wait nor do you turn around. you do not see the tears that spill from her eyes like open faucets, the sob that stuck to her throat weighing down like a rock, the four words that came out way too late in a whisper not even the records could hear: but i love you.

[lady-charinette]

Chapter 4 of "Practice makes perfect" Spy x Family

There was something Twilight noticed that could potentially endanger Operation Strix.

At first, it had been a minor thing, nothing of significant importance, but ever since the incident with Yuri, it started happening more frequently.

Yor couldn’t look him in the eye for more than a few seconds.

Unless they were talking about Anya and school.

Still, it made for some potentially high risk situations.

After all, who would believe them to be married for a year when they can’t even hold eye contact for longer than a few seconds?

He would have to talk to Yor.

It was still early in the morning, so Loid made his way to the bathroom where he knew Yor was brushing her teeth. Anya didn’t seem to be awake yet when he found Yor alone in front of the sink.

“Yor.”

Yor startled, glancing back at Loid briefly, her hair kept out of her face by a fluffy red headband. “Yes?”

Loid leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed and gaze serious. “Why are you avoiding looking at me?”

Yor spat out the toothpaste in her mouth, splashes hitting the once pristine mirror and sliding down its smooth surface. Apologies tumbled from her mouth as the secret assassin hastily tried cleaning the mirror, silently hoping it might just distract her husband from his question.

It didn’t.

Loid cleared his throat. “Well?”

Yor sighed, running a dry paper towel down the now clean mirror again for good measure before she rinsed her mouth. “I um…I-I don’t know what you mean!”

Loid noticed the position of her feet and the way Yor’s hips twisted, all pointing in the direction of the door.

An escape.

Loid quickly slammed his foot on the other end of the doorway, blocking the only exist with his whole body. He felt the air rush past him as Yor now stood very close to him, obviously not having anticipated her escape route to be so swiftly blocked.

When their eyes met, Yor jumped and averted her gaze. “Ah- sorry! Where did I put-“

Before Yor could attempt another distraction, Loid asked softly. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but would you please tell me if I make you uncomfortable, Yor? It would be easier for me to decide how to conduct myself around you in public without seeming suspicious but also respecting your space.”

At his words, Yor finally looked him directly in the eyes.

And held his gaze.

Twilight didn’t know if it was because of the bright bathroom lights, the early morning sun peeking lazily in through the half-opened blinds or the remnants of sleep in his eyes, but Yor suddenly seemed to glow. Her eyes sparkled like stars in the dark nights following a bombing, the soft redness on her cheeks only accentuating the ruby red of her eyes.

‘Huh? What am I thinking?’ this wasn’t the time nor place to have such thoughts. Perhaps Twilight was more sleep deprived and stressed than he thought.

His attention focused back on Yor when she bit her lip, her eyes fluttering but remaining on him. “You…are doing it again, Loid.” Was her face redder than before?

Loid blinked, “What?” Had he said something during his internal monologue? He didn’t remember speaking.

Yor briefly looked down at her feet before she returned her gaze back to his. “Y-You…you keep giving me that look…”

Loid blinked rapidly.

A look?

If only the mirror were in front of him, Loid could check what sort of expression he had on his face now that caused Yor to become so uncomfortable with him.

Did he look too stern? Upset? Unsettling?

Handler used to tease him of being a ‘cold, sharp eyed guy’ back in his rookie days, but Twilight had practiced his facial expressions in front of a mirror every day since. He knew what expression to make to gain the upper hand in a situation. He knew what expression to make to disarm people, so how did he look like for Yor to react like this?

“A…look? What…what kind of look, Yor?”

She bit her lip again, an action that inexplicably seemed to draw Twilight’s attention, before she hesitantly replied. “It’s…it’s very intense, Loid.”

She swallowed, another inexplainable action that caught Twilight’s attention, before he focused on her words.

Intense?  

Well, he supposed all his years as a spy did shape and require a person of certain intense character, but Twilight wasn’t so sure if he could be described as intense all the same.

“I…I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Yor. It wasn’t my intention.” He relaxed his stance against the doorframe, no longer blocking the exit with his body and towering over her. “I didn’t realize…I thought you might have avoided my gaze for different reasons.”

Was all there was to it? Was Yor shy? Was his gaze simply too intense?

Loid turned towards the door to allow Yor privacy to finish her morning routine, but a hand firmly gripping his wrist stopped him in his tracks.

This time, it was Yor that had a very intense look about her.

Twilight had spent years with Sylvia as his handler, he knew how intense women could get. And Yor meant business.

Loid felt the faintest dampness beginning to build up on the back of his neck. “Yor?”

A determined expression caused the fire in her eyes to light up like a rising phoenix from its ashes. “You’re right Loid, we have to practice!”

…Practice?

At his befuddled silence, Yor helpfully supplied: “Practice holding eye contact!” her cheeks were tinged pink, not unlike after she would emerge from her shower.

Yor silently waited for Loid to speak, her mind racing with newfound worries. ‘If people notice me being too embarrassed to look Loid in the eyes, we’ll be figured out and reported to the secret police! I can’t allow that to happen!’

“Um…yes, of course. When would you like to start, Yor?” Loid offered an easygoing smile, but it wavered when Yor suddenly leaned in close to him, her eyes never leaving his.

“Right now.”

Loid swallowed thickly.

--

The next morning at Berlint City Hall:

Sharon sipped her black coffee, pulling a strand of hair behind her ear just as Yor entered the break room with a boisterous: “Good morning, ladies!”

Almost immediately, all the women shared knowing glances with each-other before Sharon revealed her thoughts on Yor’s mood. “Someone seems to be in a good mood, something good happen, Yor?”

Yor busied herself with making coffee for herself, smiling at Sharon. It wasn’t unusual for Yor to smile, but this time it nearly blinded Sharon from her leaning position against the window. “Ah, it’s just – I spent a nice evening with my family. We went for a family outing and um, Loid and I went on a date yesterday.”

Yor had been so excited to try out their newfound eye contact record that she asked Loid if it was alright having their monthly dates a bit earlier. He had agreed without objections, they’d spent a lovely evening eating at a nice restaurant, maintaining good eye contact judging from people’s reactions around them and a long walk through the park.

Millie’s smirk resembled that of a Cheshire cat. “Oh? Did the two of you have a lovely evening together?”

Camilla, who had bit her tongue to wait for the right moment to tease Yor, finally spoke. “Oh my, Yor! I didn’t peg you for that type of person! It’s the same with my boyfriend and I! I just get too shy to look him in the eye after all the things we did the night before!” the pretty blush on her face could’ve fooled Yor into believing she was running a high fever were it not for the salacious look in her eyes.

Yor was oblivious to the woman’s double meaning. ”Oh, yes, I think I know what you mean. Last night was really intense, Loid insisted we continue and I guess I got swept up in it too. It was pretty late when we were done.” It had been funny actually.

Loid had praised Yor for overcoming her shyness to the point they managed to impress other patrons in the restaurant of how smitten they looked at each-other. He had asked if they could continue practicing for a while longer after coming home, his enthusiasm had infected Yor and they had stayed up late as a result of that.

Sharon’s cigarette almost fell from her slack grip. “B-But where was your daughter?”

The silence in the break room of Berlint City Hall was deafening until Yor opened her mouth to respond. “Oh? Anya was sleeping of course, but we were quiet to not disturb her sleep.” Of course, holding prolonged eye contact didn’t require much talking, but Yor and Loid had tried emulating situations of every day life and holding steady eye contact while conversing over the mundane to the more complex things in life, such as the exact filleting technique of a fish being eerily similar to that of skinning a person. Not that either Loid nor Yor had any practical experience in that, of course. That knowledge had been gained through “extensive theoretical research.”

Camilla seemed to regurgitate her coffee. “Wow, who knew they had such an active sex life.” She rubbed her forehead in distress.

Sharon adjusted her glasses, her fingers sweaty at the assault of images her mind conjured up of her innocent, pure co-worker engaging in such depraved acts with her daughter in the same house. ”You know what they say, it’s always the quiet ones…”

Millie blinked rapidly, taking a sip from her coffee. “Wow, I envy her.”

Yor hummed happily, completely oblivious to the distress her coworkers found themselves in.

For some reason, her coffee that morning tasted much better. She idly wondered if the image of Loid’s warm blue eyes engraved in her mind chased the bitterness away.

Thanks for reading!

[bokettochild]

Apples the Pink Bunny

Did someone ask for this? 

No.

Did I have an anxiety/emotionally overloaded evening?

Yes.

For this reason I am awake at 2:44 am on a school night to write myself a 13 page comfort fic. So, enjoy or don’t enjoy, but here’s Legend being a soft bunny with the chain for 6,268 words.

(Inspired by this and this.)

 There is a bunny on the edge of camp.

 It crouches in the shadows, eyes glinting gold and red in the firelight, nose twitching as it watches them.

 Wind watches it back.

 He doesn’t think that the others have seen t, no one’s said anything, and they all know how Warriors hates rabbits. So, he doesn’t say anything, not to them, he only wanders around the camp casually before settling down close-ish to where the bunny hides.  

 There aren’t many wild animals in his Hyrule, aren’t many animals at all, but Four’s taught him how to convey that he’s friendly to the minish and some of the forest life, so he tries to employ that knowledge now. He doesn’t look the rabbit directly in the eye, but he does force his ears forwards towards it, letting them flick away here and again, fingers rubbing softly as he glances casually as velvety pink paws.

 He waits until he can see the rabbit watching him before he begins to whisper soft and quiet. “Hello, hello there lil’ guy.”

 There’s a huff from the bunny, but it takes a single agonizingly slow step forwards, body stretched out and nose twitching as it watches him, ears pricked up curiously. When Wind doesn’t do anything different, just keeps speaking low and soft, the bunny lops its way over, ears up and attentive as it stops beside him, eyes turned up to stare into his own with a surprising amount of boldness for a creature close enough for him to smash in one blow.

 “Hello.” Wind murmurs softly, moving slowly as he raises his hand over the rabbit, only to find himself starting as the bunny simply stares at him with the most unimpressed expression on it’s fuzzy face. Even Wolfie, who is strangely intelligent even for a dog, or so he’s heard has never looked so unimpressed with something, and the sailor finds himself lowering his hand sheepishly as if scolded, meeting the rabbit’s eyes and starting when it doesn’t flinch away, instead watching him intently with shivering nose and twitching ears.

 “Hey Wind, watcha got there?” The rancher calls over, drawing the attention of the rest of the camp and making the sailor’s heart race.  

The bunny’s going to be startled! It’s going to run away! All that work to get it to come over and he won’t even get to touch it!

 But the rabbit doesn’t move, or rather, it doesn’t bolt away. Soft lavender eyes stare across the camp, unusual in their shade but lovely to gaze into as Wind finds himself transfixed with watching the silky sheen of the petal-pink fur and the glimmer of stars in lavender and golden eyes.

 “Wind?” The rancher’s voice rings with concern, and the sailor snaps bac to attention, a warm smile easily falling over his face as he turns to the camp. “It’s a rabbit.” He says quietly, careful not to startle the beast. “Twi, do you think it’ll let me pet it?”

 The rancher’s brows furrow as he looks over, markings shifting with the rest of his face as he stares at the rabbit warily.

 To their surprise, and apparently the rabbit’s too, the tiny animal freezes in place for all of a second only to have the slight tilt of Twilight’s head sending it diving into Wind’s lap, startling the sailor enough for his to blink in surprise, but not so badly that his hands don’t instantly bury themselves in the pink fur.

 And oh! It’s softer than he thought it would be! It’s nothing like Wolfie’s rough pelt or the feathers on Wild’s winter gear. The bunny’s fur is like fine down, or maybe silk, or- He runs his hands through it again, eyes widening with every stroke as the rodent shivers in his lap, eyes fixed on Twilight and ears pressed low as he huddles in the space left between the sailor’s legs as he sits criss-cross on the ground.

 “I guess that’s a yes.” Twilight chuckles, low and deep. It’s a sound that makes warmth flow through Wind’s chest, but the rabbit only shivers, huddling lower the longer Twilight’s gaze rests on it.

 “I think you’re scaring him.” The sailor hums softly, gently pulling the rabbit into his arms with an ease that comes from years of cradling his baby sister when she was small. The rabbit nestles close, eyes still on Twilight as it seems to shake itself, bt its doesn’t struggle against him, and Wind takes that as his cue to pull himself gently to his feet and cross the camp towards where Time and Wild sit playing a card game.  

 The champion is explaining the rules for the nth time as Time chuckles low and soft, purposefully asking questions that Wild’s already answered and earning pointed stares in return. The sailor’s approach lands just as Wild looks instants from pulling out his hair, and instantly cornflower blues are locking onto him with a strained smile, the champion apparently desperate to escape the game he’d asked for in the first place. “Hey, Wind, watcha have there.”

 “A rabbit.” He replies, moving one arm to let lavender eyes peek out and stare at the champion, who’s eyes fall open in awe as his cards spill from his hands.

 “It’s...you’re...” Wild’s eyes sparkle with awe as he looks from Wind to the rabbit in his arms. “How did you catch it?”

 The rabbit shuffles closer to Wind’s chest as the words are spoken, and the sailor has to settle a hand on it’s back to calm it again as it edges away from the cook’s glimemring eyes.

 “It was on the edge of camp.” Caution leaks into the pirate-hero's voice as he scrunches up his nose. “You better not ask if you can cook it.”

 Blue eyes shoot wide as Wild shakes his head violently, earning a soft laugh from Time as his apparent orrer at the idea. “No! It’s-” Wild’s fingers twitch. “I couldn’t- Can I hold it?” The second-youngest's eyes travel up to stare up into Time’s leadingly, wide and innocent and so terribly like Aryll’s face when she’s asking Granny for another bowl of soup or piece of bread that Wind can’t help but giggle as he gently scritches the rabbit’s ears.

 “That’s up to Wind.” Time answers gently. “But I don’t see why not.”

 Softly glowing blue turns to meet his own as Wild stare up, pleading, at him. “May I?”

 “Sure” He giggles, crouching low in front of the champion. “Have you ever held a baby?” Wild’s brow furrows, considering for a moment before shaking his head. “Okay, how about a kitten? A pup?”

 The champion only shakes his head, and Wind finds himself frowning as he looks first at the bunny in his arms and then up at Wild, who’s face is quickly falling to one of disappointment.

 “Here,” Time offers, gently arranging Wild’s arms properly. “It’s like this.”

 Between the two of them, they get the bunny situated in Wild’s thin arms, and within seconds the champion’s free hand is dragging through plush fur as awe shines across his face, Time and Wind both laughing fondly as they watch and occasionally reaching out themselves to scritch the rabbit’s long ears.

 Between them, there are eight heroes, and as of late, a rabbit has joined the mix, slung easily in Sky’s sailcloth as they travel.

 The creature didn’t seem keen on leaving, and while it’s in no way fond of Twilight, the others find that they can’t resist sneaking to the back of the group to gently scritch it’s ears, or laugh as it hops about exploring the land around them when they stop for a break.

 The Hyrule they’re in isn’t one that anyone recognizes, the forests strangely rich and the land both better kept than Wild’s while still more wild than the others. Fights in this world are intense, and only their two wanderers seem to be able to battle the insane variety and numbers of monsters with anything resembling ease.

 It’s strange too, having to hide the rabbit whenever battle comes, but the creature is smart, darting away when battles come, a scowl in its fuzzy face as it burrows beneath tree roots or into the brush, waiting until the battle is over to re-emerge, hopping slowly across the blood soaked ground without trepidation, not once blinking at the blood and grit that gets in its fur as it hops from one hero to the other, eyes flickering between violet and lavender as it analyzes them, chirring angrily at any of them when they try to hide wounds, and nestling in the laps of the younger hero’s with a put upon look when Warrior’s has to stitch something up.

...

 “He needs a name.” Wind declares after the second battle, his good hand petting the rabbit’s long ears while Sky helps to wrap the sprain in his wrist.

 “Isn’t bunny enough?” Warriors eyes the rabbit disdainfully. “You didn’t give the wolf anything fancy.”

 “He’s not just a bunny though!” Wind protests with a well-placed pout. “He’s our bunny-friend!”

 “And the wolf isn’t your wolf-friend?” Twilight cocks a brow, something like hurt flashing through his eyes before he actually winces, hissing softly as Warriors continues to stitch him up.

 “The wolf comes and goes. Besides, he’s a wild thing, so it’d be wrong to name him like a common dog.” Wind explains, shrugging lightly but stopping when Sky pushes his shoulder back down with a whispered reprimand for moving. “The bunny stays with us though,” Wind continues, holding still this time save for the hand that continues along the bunny’s pelt. “He needs a real name.”

 “Agreed.” Wild sounds, shuffling over with a leafy vegetable in his hands that their rabbit friend takes with a pleased chirr, glancing up at the champion appreciatively before setting his sharp teeth to the plant, earning a smile from the champion.

 “Any ideas?” Time starts, glancing around camp and earning a flick on the ear from Hyrule, who’s still trying to clean a wound on the man’s face.

 “Seriously Time?” Warriors protests, but it’s too late, the others are already musing quietly and beginning to consider ideas.  

 “Petal?” Sky tries, glancing down at the rabbit in Wind’s arms. “Like, cherry blossom petals?”

 “Cherry!” Wild gasps, eyes glimmering hopefully.

 “Pinky.” Warriors snorts distastefully, earning an angry chitter from the rabbit, but the captain only glares back at the animal, as if it had just insulted him, mimicking the chitter pathetically and drawing laughs from the others.  

 “It’s a boy, right?” Twilight questions, cocking a brow, and the others exchange looks. “I think so? I’m not sure I want to check....”

 “Nothing too feminine then.” Sky nods slowly.

 “Floor.” Four suggests solemnly. “Floof the Poof.”

 Eight sets of eyes, including the rabbits, turn to stare at the smithy disbelievingly. Red glimmers in his eyes for all of a second before he starts and flushes. “Sorry,” The smith rubs at his neck nervously, red blooming over his face and down his neck. “I was thinking aloud, Intrusive thoughts, you know?”

 “What about Apple, for apple-blossom?” Time speaks slowly, eyes still on the smithy as he speaks, concern but fondness in his eyes.  

 The rabbit in Wind’s lap looks up, staring at Time and munching in a way that almost looks considering, violet eyes fixed on the eldest hero’s single one, the two locking gazes, neither blinking until Warriors sighs and snaps his fingers, startling them both.

 “Aaaand, that’s a yes for Apples.” Warriors rolls his eyes. “No angry chitter, no arguments against.” The captain’s gaze levels them all. “Unless anyone has any objections?”

 “Nope!”

 “I think it sound’s cute?” Sky chuckles, patting Wind’s arm to signal that he’s finished and scratching the newly named Apples behind the ears. The rabbit huffs in his rabbit way, but they've all grown too used to the grouchiness of the animal to do anything other than laugh at it.

...

 Apples is a wonder, and they are so very happy to have him.

 There is nothing so convincing to make Sky finally relax than to have a pink mess of fur barrel into his lap and force heavy eyes to close under the soothing feeling of fur on his fingers and a small warm body pressed against his own.

 Sky’s restless sleep and eternal exhaustion ease with every night and Wind giggles as each evening after dinner the bunny climbs resolutely into Sky’s lap, glaring pointedly up at the Skyloftian until long fingers are dragging through his fur and crystal blue eyes are falling shut contently.

 When Sky shoots awake at night, there's a rabbit there that presses tiny paws to his chest, dark eyes staring up into his face in the darkness as ears flick and a tiny nose twitch, worry in the rabbit's expression as Sky sighs, a light smile on his face as he raises a hand to run through long fur. “I’m good, Apples, it was just a dream.”

 The rabbit always snorts, scowling lightly and buffeting Sky’s chest with its head, but the Skyloftian only chuckles lightly, wrapping the bunny in his arms and shifting to lie on his side, the rabbit held close as he fades back into sleep.

...

 When Time broods, brows low and frown lines pulling at his features and aging him by decades, most of the others know not to disturb him. They let each other have their space and they never press. Wolfie will, at time, curl up at the old man’s feet or sit at his side, allowing callused fingers to run through his thick fur as Time sits and stares at the ground, mind a world away where none of them ever wish to see, if the pain and sorrow in his gaze is to be read properly.

 Perhaps a rabbit cannot be expected to understand this law of privacy though, even if he is unusually intelligent.

 Time’s hair falls into his face as he perches on a stone on the edge of camp, gaze fixed on Lake Hylia below them as his elbows rest on his knees, face downcast and frowning as pain glimmers in his single blue eye.

 Apples, who had been stretching his legs after being carried in Sky’s arms during their traveling that day, pauses, ears flicking up and towards the old man, paws freezing just off the ground as he watches, nose twitching.

 The heroes watch, Wind darting up worriedly as the bunny lops closer to Time, but he freezes when the pink ball of fur pulls himself up next to Time with surprising agility, head butting carefully against their leader’s armored thigh as a soft squeak break through the air. Time doesn’t stir, not at first, but then the rabbit settles next to him, one paw on the old man’s leg, eyes following Time’s down to Lake Hylia.

 Scarred hands twitch before finally landing in silky pink, pulling through the long fur as tension bleeds from Time’s shoulders, a breathy sigh escaping their leader before a soft tune begins to drift through the air.  

 The rabbit gently settles down, head resting beside his paws as Apple allows Time to pet him slowly.

 The others are to far to understand the words, but Time’s soft murmurs break the silence, Apple’s ears twitching while an intelligent bunny face stares up at the tear-streaked face of the hero of Time.

 When Time rejoins the rest of them for dinner, it’s with Apples nestled in his arms, a sad sort of peace in the hero’s gaze as he settles down to join in the meal, never once releasing Apples while they eat and joke, and by the time the meal is finished, the pink bunny is soundly asleep in Time’s arms.

...

 It’s Four that seems the most curious about their little friend, and while the rabbit doesn’t seem particularly playful, the smith will occasionally catch up the animal, laughing s Apples sighs in an almost reluctant manner, and carry him off into the woods near where they are.

 The Minish love Apples, and Four himself delights in diving amidst the pink fur or the first time while the bunny looks at him in utter shock.

 Air enough, it was unlikely that Apples had ever seen a Hylian shift into a Minish before. But at this size, Four can enjoy Apples’ fur far better than as a Hylian, and it’s delightful to lead the rabbit around, chattering lightly as Apples lops along behind him, ears pricked and nose shivering as they move through Minish towns and groves, exploring the tiniest nooks and crannies they can find and having all sors of adventures.

 Of course, there are dangers to being smaller than a rabbit, and the first time a spider attacks them, freakishly big and easily big enough to rip off Four’s head, it’s Apples that darts to his rescue, chirping and scolding in his rabbit way as he thumps his feet and pins back his ears in a strange imitation of Wolfie’s growl.

 The spider is in no ways eager to give up her prey, and Four finds that, despite killing monsters on the daily, he has to turn away in disgust as Apples tears the spider apart, eyes flashing with gold as the seemingly harmless pink rabbit unleashes mass destruction on not only the one spider, but also her sisters that emerge from the burrow beside them. Long legs and venomous maws stretch over the top of him, reaching out to grab the Minish Hero, only to have a rabbit dart over, teeth flashing and harsh chatters sounding as legs and bodies are torn asunder.

 When the spiders stop emerging, the small patch of grass is full of the remains of spiders, and Apples is rubbing at his nose and sneezing softly, absolutely covered in the remains of the monstrous insects.

 “Thank you...” Is all the smithy can breathe out as Apples’ eyes meet his own.

 He’s replied to with a sneeze.

 Four shifts back as soon as possible, carrying his bunny savior back to camp and carefully helping to clean the rabbits long fur, murmuring softly and thankfully all the while. And if he shares a but about his previous adventures, and Ezlo, who while being a hat shared some things in common with the grouchy rabbit, well, it’s not like Apples will be able to tell anyone!

...

 It’s Wild that seems the most enraptured with their new little companion. Always asking the older hero’s questions as he sorts through his inventory, offering all sorts of foods and treats to the rabbit and cooing in delight each time something is accepted. No one knows what it is exactly what it is about watching Apples eat has Wild so happy, but there’s no denying that the easy grin that steals over his face is better than the solemn frown and sad thoughtfulness that takes over on occasion.

 The first time they see Wild go into a memory, it’s Apples that catches their attention, the rabbit shrieking worriedly as he bumps against the champion’s still hand, concern filling his violet eyes as he stares up at the champion, paws raised to press against the hero’s stomach while ears and nose twitch and shiver worriedly.  

 Apples doesn’t even panic when Twilight steps over, although he does shrink back, wary as the rancher gently shakes Wild’s shoulder before sighing and sitting next to him. The rabbit mimics the motion, but on the other side, eyes flicking from Twilight to Wild with nervous concern and wariness, but when neither move he contents himself with gently rubbing against the champion’s limp hand.

 When Wild blinks awake again, eyes darting too and fro to take in his surrounds and breathing harsh, Apples jumps up, paws settling on the kid’s thigh and catching his attention, making the young hero still and stare. Tears well in cornflower blue eyes, and the rabbit doesn’t even sigh when Wild scoops him up, burying his face in Apples’ fur and sobbing quietly.

 Were their hearts not aching for their brother, soft chuckles would have sounded around camp when Apples had freed a paw to gently pat the champion’s cheek.

...

After the first few weeks and a few more switches, Sky will come to find Apples every time that bedtime draws near, scooping the bunny out of the lap of another hero with a chipper “My turn now!” as he almost skips over to his bedroll, bundling both himself and his emotional support bunny into his sailcloth with a smile as Apples rolls his rabbit eyes and presses his paws to Sky’s own blue eyes, pushing them closed before settling against the Skyloftian’s chest. The Chosen Hero is always asleep within minutes, sleepily singing Zelda’s lullaby between snores as Apples’ violet eyes watch the rest of the camp.

 When Time need space, the rabbit will follow, gently resting a paw on his leg and sitting with him, eyes filled with an understanding that is ridiculous in a rabbit, but somehow believable as Time’s callused fingers work through pink fur, songs and stories drifting from tired lips as long ears twitch ever so slightly to catch the words.

 When Wind is playful, he’ll dart up and after the rabbit, who will always sigh in his rabbit way and either dart away or give chase, running the youngest hero ragged until Wind collapses, giggling and breathless, with Apples hopping up on his chest to bat at his face, as if to say “I win, I beat you, you lost so give me pets” and Wind does, eventually hauling himself up, and inevitably knocking Apples over before administering thankful ear scratches and pets until Apples springs free and continues going about his rabbit business.

 Hyrule, though quiet, will often be found with the rabbit beside him, sometimes with Apple’s pushing his nose against the traveler’s hands and guiding them to better hold a knife while he’s carving, or a needle while he sews. It’s strange to see a bunny of all things unroll a bandage and offer it to the healor, but be it Hyrule or someone else that’s injured (provided it’s not Twilight) the rabbit will be springing over with his bunny brows furrowed as he scolds and fusses, nudging things over to Hyrule before the traveler can even ask someone for them, and climbing into bags and pulling out potions when the Hyrule’s healing glow begins to fade.

 Sleeves are tugged at when the Traveler is exhausted, unreleased until Hyrule agrees to rest, and when they eat the bunny will chitter and fuss and kick up a riot until Hyrule will humbly ask for seconds or Wild will offer them, stern indigo eyes following the travel’s movements until his bowl or plate is empty.

 When Wild is cooking, the rabbit will sit at his side, watching the process and chittering or nipping when the champion goes to add something dubious to the food, or begins to spice it too much for the younger ones to handle. Wild only ever laughs, offering bits and bobs of food as he works, and chuckling with delight when the bunny accepts them, Apple’s sharp teeth working away at leafy greens as stern violet eyes watch the young hero work.

 And when memories strike, harsh and horrid and often sad, the bunny climbs his way into Wild’s lap and sits until the hero stirs again. Apples’ fur is drenched time and again with tears, and every time, without fail, tiny paws gently pat the Wild’s head, lavender in normally violet eyes as a tiny nose nuzzles against a reddened and drooping ear.

 Four delights in exploring with Apples, and whether it be carrying the bunny off with him and chattering, or shrinking down and riding on Apples’ back, the two never fail to find something interesting to do.

 Through all of it, Twilight will gaze sadly at the rabbit who avoids him like death, and Warriors will scoff and roll his eyes, although fondly, as the younger heroes all fuss over their new friend.

 It’s only so much time before the captain breaks.

 It’s a nightmare, blood and blades and shrieks of two little boys and many trusted friends echoing in the captain’s mind, making him start awake with tears in his eyes. Warriors shivers in the night air, drawing his scarf around his neck and wrapping himself in his arms as he moves towards the fire.

 To his surprise, Apples sits before the flames as well, ears flicking towards the captain’s movements but gaze fixed on the flames with an almost sad air.

 The captain merely snorts and dismissed the rabbit in his mind, but with ever second the world around him presses closer and Warriors becomes more and more agitated. And still, the rabbit doesn't move, doesn’t look at him, Apples only sighs deeply as he stares into the fire, and when Warriors shoots the rabbit a confused look he starts when he sees what looks to be tears in lavender eyes.

 “You too huh?” Exhaustion loosens his tongue as he hunches before the fire, watching the flames dance. “Bad hunt? Lost mate?” The rabbit chitters something unintelligible, tiny body stiffening almost like Twilight’s does when he gets defensive. It draws a laugh from the captain’s throat, barking and bitter as his gaze rests on the burning remains of a log. “I feel you there, didn’t expect a rabbit to have trauma though.”

 An unimpressed glare is leveled his way, this time drawing a genuine but startled laugh from the captain. “So it’s like that huh? Too tough to talk about it?” 

 One ear twitches Apples wrinkling his tiny nose before stomping one of his feet agitatedly and huffing a short and sharp little breath at the flames.

 “I hear you.” Warriors laughs, a little broken and a little teary, eyes returning to the coals, shimmering with the ghosts of memories as screams echo in ears too used to their calls.

 Apples twitches, hesitant, ears flickering and feet stomping grouchily for a moment, before Warriors finds himself with a lap full of rabbit as the pink bunny pushes his head into Warriors’ hand, nearly demanding to be pet.

 “Oh,” Warriors scoffs, voice wet and harsh. “That’s how it is, huh? All your other Hylian’s are asleep, so because I’m awake from nightmares and goddess darned trauma, you figured I was available to pet you?”

 Another insistent nudge, and Warriors is rolling his eyes, pushing his hands through long fur with a sigh.

 It’s like silk, he muses to himself, blinking in surprise and running his hands through again. Like the finest of fabrics in the castle, like Artemis’ dresses that she wore when the war was over and they celebrated with dances and feasting and speeches of honor to the dead. Apples’ fur is like glinting red hair, oiled and brushed every night before bed. It’s like baby’s hair, impossibly soft and delicate.

 There’s a small body curled in his lap, and Warriors’ hands run over it curiously, stroking impossibly soft fur as he becomes lost in the wonder of the color, in the texture. Screams and blood fly from his mind as the captain’s fingers trail through the fluff, and warmth floods trough his chest when he takes Apples’ face in his hands and rubs at the rabbits' cheeks, laughter bubbling in his chest, warm and bright as the bunny scowls up at him.

 The next morning, when the heroes awake, its to find Sky shaking his head as he looks down at his usual sleeping companion held tight in Warriors’ arms, a blissful smile on the captain’s tearstained face. Apples scowls up at them, but he’s curled close to the man’s chest, with ample room to escape, and no one believes for a minute that he’s there against his will.

 The jabs and eye rolls continue from both parties, but on long nights, when the others are asleep and rabbit and soldier both find themselves awake, Warriors will scoop the bunny into his lap, losing himself in Apples’ fur before drifting off again.

 Wild has the pictures to prove it.

...

 Twilight sulks the entire time, the sadness in his eyes turning into a full-blown pout as he tries time and again to win Apples’ affection, earning teasing from all parties, but especially Wars.

 “I didn’t even want the thing, and he insists on climbing all over me!” The captain jests. “Yet you court him with more care than a knight with a lady he favors and he still rejects you!”

 The rancher’s scowl and accompanying growl always sends Apples closer to whatever other hero is nearest, the rancher’s eyes narrowing as he huffs out retorts that go from being teasing to being genuinely hurt. The captain stops after a time, apologizing, but Twilight blows him off, excusing it as teasing while clearly looking hurt.

 No matter what he tries though, food, cuddles, gentle words and careful movements, nothing will win the rabbit over, and when they again land in a world that none of them recognize, it’s too late to keep trying.

...

 Ravio blinks down in surprise as the rabbit that sits in his living room. It’s raining wildly outside, and the animal is positively soaked, so he can hardly deny it access, but even so, it’s not every day that woodland creatures are entering the house.

 …..Alright, not anymore. Not with Mr. Hero having gone missing.

 Only Sheerow flies about the house, chirping and singing as he helps Ravio with the housework and keeps the merchant comfortable, and while he doesn’t ind in the least being with only his bird friend, he does rather miss the constant presence of birds outside the windows and deer wandering in from the forest to graze in the front yard. Mr. Hero never minded them, claiming that the beasts kept the grass short, but Ravio knows his friend, and he’s seen Mr. Hero dozing while surrounded by woodland creature enough times to know that the affection the animals feel for his friend is mutual.

 Even so, Mr. Hero isn’t here, so there really shouldn’t be any forest creatures flocking into his house, especially not one that’s going through his things.

 “Hey! Stop!” The merchant protests, darting forwards and scooping up the creature in his arms, only to be met with familiar violet and golden eyes staring back at him. “Mr....Hero?”

 The bunny squeaks something that sounds like it might be in the affirmative, and Ravio stares.

 “How did you...” He’s leveled with an unimpressed stare that is all he needs to see to know for sure it’s his friend. “Were you cursed?”

 There’s a firm nod in return, and concern bubbles in his heart as the merchant holds his friend a bit tighter. “Can you reverse it?”

 Violet eyes roll, but Mr. Hero isn’t panicking, and he even points towards the chest in the corner where he keeps most of his adventuring things, which itself is enough reassurance that one of his many items (some of which are Ravio’s own handiwork) will do the trick to turn him back.

 “Oh good.” Ravio sighs, sagging in place and taking In his friend properly. Again, Mr. Rabbit Hero points at the chest, and he’s getting the idea that his friend wants him to let him go so he can change back but...

 Soft fur rubs at his fingers and the feeling of a small body held in his hands is just so pleasant!

 “One minute, please? Just one?” He pleads, turning on all the power he can as he aims a sorrowful look at his friend. “Your fur is so soft and I- can't I pet you for just a little bit, before you change back?”

 Mr. Bunny Hero sighs, but the huff and nod are easy to read and Ravio clutches his friend to his chest with a cheer. “Thank you Mr. Hero!”

...

 “Apples? Apples?” Wind’s voice is breaking by now as he calls out into the underbrush. The last switch had them all separated, and while the heroes have successfully regrouped, they’ve failed to be able to locate their fuzzy ninth member.

 “He’s got to be here somewhere!” Wild whispers, scratching at his scars worriedly and prompting his mentor to gently push his hands back down again, it does no good, the habit that died with fur to play with reappears in its absence, and Twilight’s pelt is too cumbersome and heavy to be carried and stroked while they walk.

 “Apples?” Sky chokes out, staring at the path before them, but nothing can be seen except a lone traveler who stalks along stiffly towards them.

 “We’ll ask this traveler.” Time sighs, eyes heavy with worry as he pushes to the front of the group, raising a hand in greeting. “Ho there.”

 “Ho.” The traveler returns, sharp violet eyes staring at them all from under pink and rose-gold bangs that peek out from beneath a blue cap. “What brings fighters like you into these parts?”

 “we’re looking for a rabbit.” The captain says, taking no consideration for how ridiculous he sounds. “Normal size, but as pink as a cherry tree, you can’t miss him.”

 Hopeful gazes turn to the stranger, who’s gaze darts away for a brief moment. “Sounds like my boarder’s pet.” There’s a strain to the man’s- or is he a boy?- voice as he speaks. “He disagreed a few months back and only came back yesterday. His-His owner was delighted.” The stranger speaks slowly, flushing slightly as he meets their eyes with an awkward attempt at a smile.

 “He...he already had a family?” Wind and Wild both droop, and the other’s all sigh in collective disappointment as the stranger shifts before them, the light catching in the hilt of the sword on his back.

 “Yeah... Sorry if you got attached.” The stranger winces, incredibly awkward as his eyes dart over them all, as if desperate to find anything else to talk about. “Why so heavily armed, just to look for a bunny?”

 “Monsters.” Sky answers softly, eyes downturned as he twists his cloth in his fingers.  

 “Aren’t those for heroes and soldiers to bother with? Not common folk?”

 “We aren’t exactly common.” Time explains. “Monster fighting is sort of our job.”

 “Uh huh.” The stranger shifts back on his heels. “Last I checked, the only person the royal family was hiring to get rid of monsters was me, and I don’t recall hearing any changes about that recently.”

 “Why you?” Wild tilts his head to one side, curiosity mingling with his sadness as he takes in the stranger.

 “Hero’s duty.” The other drawls,, scowling slightly as his nose scrunches up, wiggling the tiniest bit in distaste.

 “You’re a hero?” Warriors deadpanned, disbelief tainting his voice as he looked from pegasus boot clad feet up to red and green tunics, fluffy golden hair and sharp violet eyes. Said eyes stared back with an intensity that was strangely familiar, irritation glinting in their depths.

 “Unfortunately, yes.”

 And just like that, the Hero of Legend joined their group.

...

BONUS

 Twilight blinked down at the pink rabbit in front of him in shock. “Apples?”

 Apples- Legend? -The pink bunny- shuffled his feet, ears twitching as violet eyes flickered from the rancher's blue eyes and back down to the ground. “Um...chances that this is kept a secret?”

 Disbelief pained the Ordonian’s face. “Do you know how much they’ve missed you?”

 “I was right there.”

 “And you never told them?”

 “Well, you never owned up to being Wolfie, not last time I checked!” The bunny hero shot back, nose shivering in frustration.

 “They don’t need to know about that,” The rancher dismissed. “That sort of power isn’t something I feel comfortable sharing.”

 “Well newsflash,” Legend scowled. “I didn’t either. And it’s not like I could change back to prove myself or something, I was cursed! Anyways, can you imagine how absolutely off the hook crazy I’d sound if I just waltzed up to you and said ‘hey I’m the Hero of Legend and I’m also the bunny that’s been with you for the last two months.  was cursed but now I’m not, want me to join?’”

 Twilight scowled. “Fine. Valid. One question first.”

 “Deal.” Legend groaned.

  “Why did you never let me pet you?”

 “I’m sorry, what?” Violet blinked up at the rancher in confusion.

 “Why did you never let me pet you.” Twilight repeated simply.

 The veteran bunny stared up at him, blinking slowly. “You are a freaking wolf. Did you not notice? I may not have known it at the time, but do you think a rabbit can look at a wolf and go ‘hey look! New friend’?” At the wolf shifter’s silence, Legend scoffed. “Yeah. That’s why.”

 “Okay, valid.” Twilight nodded. “But one last thing, why didn’t you never talk?”

 “Cursed.” legend rolled his eyes. “The nature of this one is different, I’m just my soul's reflection, not an actual animal, there’s a difference, and it’s one I’d like to not have to worry about for much longer. Now, how do I change back?”

 “Well,” The rancher offered a weak smile. “We’re gonna have to ask Sky for help.”

 That night, rather than sitting by the fire until he drifted off, Sky settled down next to Legend, pulling the hero into his arms happily as the vet had put up token protests before snuggling against him. Sky hadn’t slept as well in months, and Twilight took no small amount of joy in being able to play with the vet’s silky hair all through his watch.

[the-girl-who-cried-wolf]

Comedown - L.H.

5SOS Luke Hemmings fanfic

I've been listening to Luke's album on repeat lately, and thought up a little scene that i couldn't stop myself from writing. This one is somewhat inspired by Comedown, hence the title, but also a mix of other songs off the album too!! Enjoy reading <3

Background: dating someone famous always comes with worries and fears

Warnings: none (slightly sad-angst?)

Word Count: 1.2k

The late-night moon hung low over the city, its glow blending with the lights shining from below. A warm summer breeze drifted through the open window of the bedroom, rippling over the sheer curtains and flowing through the room.

The quiet hum of city reached through the fog of your dreams to gently tug you from sleep and you stirred in the sheets, reaching out for the body that should have been beside you. You hand was greeted by the cool rumpled sheets and a frown scrunched up your face as you looked around for your boyfriend.

His broad shoulders were silhouetted by the city lights soaking through in the window as he sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his legs, fingers fiddling with one of the rings on his fingers.

You shifted in the sheets and sat up, the noise making him turn his head at little. “Luke?”

“Hey. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” You waved off his concern, a little yawn escaping you.

He turned back to face the window, running a hand through his messy curls. Silence. Only the wind outside and the sound of a car horn in the distance. He was tense, that much was obvious, but this seemed…different. Like whatever was bothering him was more than just a bad dream or a simple worry to be brushed off.

“You okay, love?”

You shuffled over to sit beside him, feet brushing the cool floor and hands tucked under your legs, your arm pressed flush against his. You felt him lean into your warmth as the midnight air washed over you both now, a moment of silence lapsing before he spoke.

“I…I’m not sure,” he whispered, his gaze sinking from the twinkling city lights to the moonlight reflecting on the wooden floor. A hand subconsciously running over the stubble on his jaw as he took a moment to gather his words.

"I’ve been thinking, y/n," he shook his head a little and looked up at you. His stormy eyes were dark in this dim light, and his brows were drawn together to form a small crease between them. You thought about reaching out and smoothing it away with your hand.

“Thinking about us,” he continued.

A shiver ran through you, a spark of worry. “What do you mean…us?”

He stood suddenly, the warmth disappearing from your side, and began to pace back and forth. The worry in you was growing, raging through your gut now as he paced, running his hand over his jaw and through his hair again.

"Please, Luke. Talk to me." You voice sounded so quiet and weak as he paced and paced, and you couldn't even bring yourself to move.

He stopped at the window and looked out, the soft light settling on his features smoothly, highlighting the crease that knotted his brows together.

"Don't you hate it?" the barest of tremors shook his voice. "Don't you hate living in the spotlight?"

You bit your lip as you thought. There were only two real answers to that.

"Sometimes," you replied, unsure of where he was going with this, "but I have you."

You could see his eyes close for a moment, then he turned to pace back and forth once more.

"I'm not worth this," you shook your head in protest, even though he didn’t see it. He just continued talking as he moved, fingers now playing with another ring again. "No matter what we do, what you do, they will always be judging." He stopped at the window again, his bitter scowl turning out to face the sleeping city, making it clear who they were.

You had both seen the magazines and articles last week, the photos of you that were not flattering to say the least. And the accompanying headlines...you couldn't forget the way Luke had swore and cursed them all.

"You're better off without me."

"No." It came out a little sharper than you had intended, as you stood and walked over to stand in front of him. You gripped his hand to bring his attention back to you, but his eyes tracked the moonlight dancing over the floor. "No, I'm not better off without you, Luke. I can barely breathe when we're apart, how could I ever live without you?"

Tears began to blur your vision, but his eyes still stayed downcast. You needed him to understand.

"I knew what I was getting into when we started,” you voice had become a whisper, “I’m not quitting now, okay?"

You reached out a hand to cup his face, drawing his gaze back to yours. “Nothing else matters, as long as we’re happy, Luke. As long as you are. Are you happy, with me?”

“Of course, y/n, but that’s not the point. You deserve better than-“

“Do you love me?” the sudden question caught him of guard, his eyes finally meeting yours.

“What?”

“Do you love me?”

You searched his eyes for a response, but he squeezed them tightly shut for a moment, letting out a defeated breath before answering. “Yes! Of course I love you, y/n. I love you with everything I am- but- but love doesn’t make it all right.”

“No, love doesn’t make it all right, but it’s doesn’t have to. It just makes it worth it.”

You traced a hand traced along his arm as you spoke quietly. “I always knew that things might not be so easy…but I love you, Luke, and I want to be with you. All strings attached."

His ocean eyes met yours, full of wonder, and a single tear slipped out and left a trail down his cheek. You lifted a hand to cup his face and wipe it away with your thumb.

“I don’t deserve you.” The whisper fell from his lips as the smallest of smiles began to creep onto his face, despite the tears. You gently pulled his head down until his forehead was resting on yours.

“Funny,” you whispered back, “I was just about to say the same thing.”

A huff of a laugh escaped him, making your mouth curve into a smile as he leant forward to press a kiss to your lips, then another. His lips lingered on yours before he pulled back to look at you, drenched in moonlight, and happy to be in his arms.

“Thank you, y/n.” You watched the reflections of light sparkling and swirling in his eyes, and the corner of your mouth tugged up into a smile.

“What for?”

“For not leaving me alone.”

He leant in to kiss you once more, then wrapped his arms around your waist to pick you up and carried you the few steps back to bed. Your giggles faded as he laid you down and hovered over you on his arms, the curls of his hair falling down into place. You both stayed there for a moment, silently reading the stars in each other’s eyes, constellations of a map that would lead you both home - to one another.

This time when his lips met yours, it meant so much more. All the doubts and fears and insecurities, they were undeniably there, but so was the love, bringing with it the certainty that you were going to make it. Together.

Thanks for reading!!

[masterlist]

[cazimagines]

Dancing the night away

Synopsis: You accomply Zemo to a ball yet you feel like you don’t truly belong there and you still compare yourself to Zemo’s ex wife but Zemo comforts you and assures you he loves you

Warnings/Tags: Fluff, all the fluff, plus very spicy end scene not 18+ but hella close

Word count: 2k

Authors note: As I promised a fluff one shot after the last one. We all need more loving Zemo in our lives. Also I just wanted to say that I love and appreciate every single one of you who likes and comments on my one shots. I used to write fanfiction on sites like Quotev and Wattpad and they never really got any attention which was quite down heartening to someone who wants to carry on writing for their career so all the love you have been showing to my Zemo one shots mean the world to me. Thank you all so much.

Once again Zemo had outdone himself. Buying you the most expensive dress in the shop, lavishing you with jewelry and make-up. Looking into the mirror even you could admit how stunning you appeared. You were wearing a tight-fitting emerald green dress that flurried out at the bottom in a swirl. The front of it cut down into a low v shape showing off the sides of your breasts.

You looked like how every little girl had always wanted to look like yet you couldn’t help but wonder...was this you?

You had never imagined you would be someone who would have a lot of money or meet someone who owned money. Let alone a Baron. It had happened so suddenly and you were swept up in a daze. It felt unreal, like every time you fall asleep you expect to wake back up in your old bed in your apartment. The truth was, deep down you felt like you didn’t deserve this.

You jumped as you felt hands wrap around your waist. Resting upon your stomach and pulling you in towards their chest.

“You look like the goddess Venus” Zemo whispers as he leans his head on your neck drinking in the scent of your perfume.

“If I hadn’t already promised the president I’d be there I would say screw this dance and take you right here”

“Zemo!” you gasp, your face instantly truing bright red at such a bold remark. You two had never gone that far in your relationship yet. You needed time to be ready before you ever went that far. Zemo respected that choice though he loved to tease you like that.

He chuckles, kissing your neck briefly then pulling back to admire himself in the mirror. “We will be the best looking couple there darling”

“You think so?”

Though his mouth was still turned into a smile he turned to you serious, “I know so y/n”

You break out into a big smile making Zemo smile flashing his teeth as well. He pulls you into a soft kiss, his hands gently holding onto you.

Following Zemo, he leads you to his car and a little while later you arrive at the ball. It felt like there were thousands of people there and they were all staring at you.

Zemo loved the attention. He politely smiled at everyone and greeted his friends there, introducing you to them.

You tried to make polite conversation but you had always been rather awkward. You didn’t know what you could say to people like them but Zemo made up for it by talking for you.

It felt like hours of you walking arm in arm with Zemo till he finally led you to the dance floor.

One hand on your waist and one holding yours, you two started to waltz to the music. Zemo started intently at you. His eyes sparkling in joy just to be in your presence while your face seemed to be in a permanent state of blushing.

“Have I told you just how much I adore your blush?” Zemo asks

You slightly chuckle still looking away, “Everyday” you breathed

“And I will continue telling you every day till you believe it”

“...Zemo”

“Darling, look at me” he whispers

Slowly you manage to drag your eyes off the floor and up into his warm chocolate ones. His grip on your hand tightens as he smiles warmly at you. “Words can not describe how stunning you are y/n. Poets would weep with joy just to be in your presence, even the stars would blow down to your light”

“I love you so much Zemo” you whisper

“I love you too”

You two continue to dance for the rest of the song till the music stops. You excuse yourself to step outside for a few moments.

Though Zemo loved to tell you how much he loved you, there was always a part of you that seemed to always doubt him. You were someone so common compared to him. Compared to his ex. He hardly spoke about her. You knew they were married with a child but they were both killed and it hurt him deeply. One day you snuck into his office and found a picture of her. She was so beautiful, so different to you.

“I hate seeing you looking so down darling” you hear Zemo say as he follows you outside. He stands behind you wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing your shoulder.

“I’m fine” you try to reply but Zemo shakes his head, “I know you y/n, I know you are upset by something. I want to help you with whatever is lying heavily on your soul but I can’t unless you tell me”

You don’t say anything for a moment, you just breathe in and out trying to calm your nerves. Zemo pulls back from you. He turns you around and picks up your hands in his. He brings them up and kisses them gently.

Finally, you gather up the courage to just let it all go, to just say everything that had been bothering you.

“I don’t feel like I fit in here Zemo! Before I met you I was just an average person. Someone everyone here would look down on. Part of me still finds it hard to believe you even like me. Why would someone like you, a Baron, who could have any supermodel settle for someone like me. It doesn’t make sense. I feel so outcast here and I can’t help but think about your ex-wife. She was so beautiful, I saw that picture in your office of her. I know she is prettier than me and I just can’t understand why you would choose me after being with someone like her. I just don’t understand why you choose me Zemo!” you cried, letting the tears freshly leave your eyes.

Zemo looked shocked as you spoke but his facial expression soon turned to one of sadness. He raised his hands to your face, placing it on your side, and with his thumb, he brushed the tears away.

“Oh, y/n…” he whimpered as he struggled for a moment to find the right words.

With his other arm, he wraps it around your side and pulls you close to him till you could feel his breath on yours. His eyes stare intently into yours as he speaks,

“When I saw you in that restaurant a year ago, I was awestruck. My life had turned to shit. I’d lost everything and it felt like I was drowning in the waves of pain but when I saw you it was like the angels had blessed me. What drew me to you most though was your eyes. In the sun they shone, darling, tantalizing, drawing me in deep and under. I just had to talk to you. Other women may be pretty. Perhaps. But you darling. You look like the gods came down and painted you with the best colours in existence. Everything I say to you I mean and I want you to believe it. I would do anything just so you could see yourself the way I see you. I understand how you feel about my wife. It was my fault, not talking about her to you but the way I love you isn’t the same way I loved her. I always felt like I was forced to be in love with her like it was the right thing to do. Everyone told me I would be an idiot not to pursue her so I did. Yes, I liked her but I never felt connected to her. But you darling, I would throw everything away for you. I don’t care what anyone else says because I love you. I treasure you. Just looking at you makes my heart race still and my body feel warm. I want to hold you, touch you, taste you but at the same time, I’m scared I would taint you. That you were too beautiful, too innocent for the likes of me.” Zemo declares, never taking eyes off you.

Through his words you feel yourself melting. A warmness takes over you as your heart too nervously flutters. You place your hand over his chest and you can feel his heart quickly beating, almost in time to yours. He looks at you, his eyes wide, lips slightly parted as he desperately waits for your words.

“You mean the world to me Zemo, I’ve never loved someone as much as I love you and never will. I could never come close to your way with words but...thank you. For saying that. It...it means so much to me to hear that. I’m still going to occasionally have doubts. I’m afraid that’s the way I am and I don’t think that will ever change but I’m not leaving you Zemo. Never”

Zemo wraps his arms around you bringing you into a hug as you rest on his chest, encompassed in his warmth. “I will be there every moment of every day to help you through your doubts”

Eventually, you pull back to look at him, at his lips. You were so drawn to him at that moment. You two were so close it was intoxicating. Pushing forward, you closed your eyes to kiss him. Zemo’s eyes fluttered shut as well and he raised his hands to wrap in your hair. They got tangled in them and he slightly tugged making you moan.

You both freeze as your blush comes back but you pushed past your embarrassment, kissing Zemo harder. Your core started to warm and this time you weren’t going to run away from your desire. You part your lips slightly and Zemo takes that invitation to explore your mouth with his tongue. You push into his further, wanting to feel his body against yours. This caused him to take a few steps back till he hit a wall. You moved your body slightly up and down his as you two kissed. He pulled back, out of breath as he gazed in wonder at you.

“Am I okay to go further?”

“Yes” you gasp, “Zemo I…” you knew it now, you knew you were ready, “Zemo I want you”

His teeth flash as he smiled at you before he lowered his face to your neck, sucking on a section. His hands also lowered down your back till they grabbed your ass. It elicits more moans out of you as his teeth graze your skin. His mouth wanders all over you like he was attempting to kiss every inch of you. As he moved his head lower you tangled your hands in his soft hair, tugging it slightly which made him groan.

When he reaches your chest area he grabs the back of your legs lifting you. You wrap both your arms and legs around him as he walks you over to a table and lays you down on it. You continue to hold onto him so that his body was between your tights and his chest was pressed against yours.

While everyone danced inside you and Zemo lost yourself to the pleasure outside.

[winter-fox-queen]

Kisses Like Wine

The Thief x Reader

Warnings:  None

Reader is blank canvass female.  Age gap, maybe ten years?

Inspired by the new wine commercial, of course. I am not sure if the next installment will be during the next teaser or what.

Do you like legends?  Well.  Here is one for you.

Imagine a maid, seduced by a powerful man.  Imagine a stormy night…yes, a dark and stormy night, I know, I know.  But it was.  Imagine a frightened, naive young woman pushing a baby out into the world, laying on the paving of the wine cellar because that as the only place they could think to hide her. Several glorious and expensive floors above, another woman is laboring, drawing her last breath.  My father, my brother, my sister all sitting in a half circle as the power flickers out, as the staff hasten to light candles.

The maid, my mother, takes money, some silver, and leaves me.

I wonder what was going through my father’s mind, as he looked at me that first time. I wonder if his wife hadn’t just died he would have kept me at all.

But he did. And that, I thought, would be as interesting as things got.

I was wrong.  Of course. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be a story worth telling.

Once a year, the family gathers into the vault. My siblings enjoy it, after all, this is their once a year visit of the treasures they will inherit.

Now, you will think, that my siblings hate me. They don’t. They are mostly indifferent, modeling after my father, warming up when he’s not around, or when they need me. So their going over the wealth I will never touch in my presence does not smack of cruelty, just carelessness.

As long as I behave myself, I will always have a roof. Always be fed. Have a stipend. My education was paid for, I have a nice, plain little car I picked for myself. So, I ignore a lot of things.  I live in a castle, after all. Really, what more could I want? I remind myself of these things more and more often, recently.

My interest picks up when he gets to the jewel cask. A crown said to be worn by King Alfred the Great sits over it, and he moved it aside reverently to open a plain, silver oval of a box.

“And here it is,” he croons. “The Star of the North.” It is beautiful. Even in the florescent light of the vault, the pale blue sapphire, large as a hen’s egg, sparkles with a galaxy of stars.  It is the only piece that moves me. I could stare at it forever, lost in the depths. Looking at the stars.

If you were to ask me, later, why I risked my life to go after it, I don’t know what I’d tell you. Was it for the jewel?  Was it to impress my family and maybe have my father actually look at me?

Or was it because of him?

**

The night that changed my life, I was standing in the corner of the third floor ballroom, humming “Masquerade” under my breath. It was an accurate song – A masked ball, people wearing dazzling costumes. I was dressed in a costume I’d seen once on the cover of a book – fake iridescent black swan feathers showed tones of blue and purple. I didn’t want to fool with actual wings, so I had hennaed butterfly wings, jeweled and sparkling, across my bare back. I thought I looked nifty, but it was not the warmest costume choice.  “You can fool any friend who ever knew you…” I whispered under my breath.

A flash of bottle green attracted my eye despite my best attempts. I was drawn to a man in a satin green jacket.  His mask was a fox’s face made out of green leaves. His eyes were dark, his hair dark, as well, with a slight curl. Our eyes would meet, over glasses, over shoulders, and I kept moving away from him, away from the danger he represented.

Away from the wanting that was curling, slowly, softly inside.  Want stirred by the way he held the delicate crystal stem of a wine glass. By the way his eyes traveled over my figure. The knowing smirk, as if he was a mind reader. I went and got a drink of my own, determined to not look at him again, and as if hearing my wishes, he disappeared.

I pretended not to look for him as I eventually settled in another corner. A hand, large, graceful despite that, holding a bunch of fanned playing cards appeared before my face. I barely kept from shrieking. “Pick a card,” a voice purred in my ear.

I didn’t want to admit he startled me, though it had probably been obvious. I turned enough to see it was him, the green fox mask. “You’ll see what I pick.”

He laughed. “Just choose with your eyes, keep it in your head.”

I looked at his hand. The ace of spades. Queen of Hearts. A mix of number cards. I picked the Jack of Clubs.

“Done.” I said, turning to look up into his eyes.

The alarms started ringing. “Forgive me,” he said, “That’s my cue.” He pulled me to him, and spun me onto the dance floor, among confused and worried guests.  I felt the strength of him, as he moved, the assuredness, the grace,  He turned me and gently pushed me into the arms of a man standing on the side of the dance floor, and in the chaos I lost track of him.

I recovered and ran towards the vault.

“It’s locked. The security are inside…” I heard my brother say. I backtracked, and ran down another hall, trying to think.

If the guards were inside, he could just waltz out the front door. So going up would be stupid.

But the lower floor was on lock down.  Probably. I didn’t really know what the thief had managed to accomplish.

A breeze across my back.  The tower room behind me – the door was partly open. I ran through it without thinking.

And there he was. The mask and jacket were gone. He had a pack on his back and he was lowering a rope out the arched window of the tower.

“Whatever it was you took, give it back.” I told him. “Give it back and I won’t tell them where you went, or what you look like.”

He was on me in a second, arm wrapped around me, my body pressed against the stone.  His free hand was around my throat, pressing gently. “Why should I?”

I am ashamed to admit, I was very aware of his body pressed hard against mine. That strength. He could hurt me, but I was not afraid. Not of him.  His hand on my throat was more of a lover’s touch than a threat, and I could see his eyes in the light from the hall. He was not angry. He was…pleased.

“I know who you are,” I whisper. “And you never kill.”

He shrugs awkwardly. “I only took a few trinkets. Your family has so much left, but it seems to me their greatest treasure they ignore completely.” He brushes his lower lip against mine, and I shiver. I can feel a slight smile before he claims my lips.

“Come find me yourself,” he whispers in my ear, and he is gone, out the window.

I slide down the wall and stare out the window, wondering at myself.  At the urge to follow him down, though he takes the rope with him, leaving only a metal spike with a loop in the wall.

Later, we find that he managed to trick the security guards into going into the vault, then, while they were in there, triggered the alarm.

We don’t know when he stole the crown or the Star of the North. We just knew they were gone. His plan was neat, meticulous, and hard to figure out.

When I undressed that night, I found a card in the corsetry of my bodice. The Jack of Clubs.  The back?  The face of the devil.  My guess had been right – I knew who visited us that night.  One of the greatest thieves of all time. No name. Some called him The Thief, some called him the devil.

I pressed the card to my lips.  Come find me.

Alright.

I will.

[pascalpanic]

Caffeine Rush: Chapter Four / Irish Coffee

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!Reader

W/C: 3k

Warnings: alcohol, language, sexual harassment, physical fighting, Javi is a legend for this chapter/next lmao, reader wears makeup and heels but clothing is otherwise not described

A/N: HI I’m gonna forgo summaries for this series from now on, if anyone has an issue with that pls lmk and we can go back to it, I’m just sick of using like the same summary lmao! Hope you guys like it, idk when chapter 5 will come but somewhat soon!

previous chapter || next chapter || masterlist

Irish coffee: a cocktail consisting of hot coffee, Irish whiskey, and sugar, stirred, and topped with cream. The coffee is drunk through the cream.

Four nights after you first kissed Javier, and now many kisses later, Javier insists he take you to the one place he knows in D.C.: a nice bar in the downtown area. You’d spent the days visiting museums and monuments, giving him a tour of the Georgetown campus too. He’d hum along to the radio in your shitty car while you drove place to place. He surprised you with how much modern music he knew.

If the past four days have been getting to know Javier, privately becoming acquainted with each other’s minds and lips, tonight is some kind of grand exposition. Your brief whirlwind of a romance has been contained to your coffee shop and small restaurants off the beaten path. Javier is a well-connected man; he’s sure to know people downtown. From what he’s explained to you, he’s somewhat of a powerhouse in the DEA. Everyone downtown knows a version of the man, who goes by Agent Peña, but all you know is your Javi, your Javi who kisses you goodnight after buying you cupcakes, who drinks your peppermint mochas like it’s the nectar of the gods.

So, it’s safe to say you’re nervous. If he’s bringing you somewhere where he will know people, which he offhandedly told you, you’re going to be the living legend’s date for the night. As you stare into the mirror, your brow furrows in concentration, drawing a line across your eyelid with a pencil of kohl, your phone rings on the vanity in front of you. It makes you jump and the eye pencil drag upwards across your eyelid- most definitely not where you intended it to go. “Fuck!” you shout in annoyance and toss the pencil down. When you pick up, your voice shows your frustration. “Hello?” You ask sharply.

“Hey, abejita,” a smooth voice answers: who else but Javier. 

“Hi, Javi,” you sigh as you press the button, moving the call to the speakerphone. “You made me fuck up my eyeliner.”

“Sorry. Just calling to talk.”

His words make you smile and your ears feel warm as they rush with blood. You aren’t picking him up for another hour. “What, you couldn’t wait that long to talk?” You ask him, biting down on your painted lips with a smile. 

“No. I’m bored and I miss you.” It’s true, he thinks to himself. He hasn’t seen you all day. After spending the last three days in nearly 24-hour contact, he misses the sound of your laughter and the way your soft lips feel pressed against his stubbled cheek. 

“Well, I suppose it’s been…” you trail off as you calculate, “about 20 hours since I’ve seen you. I”m practically going through withdrawals,” you laugh, and it makes Javier’s chest warm to hear that beautiful sound, even through the tinny receiver of the hotel’s phone. “You know, if you have a cute nickname for me, I need to have something equally cute for you.”

“There’s a difference, abejita,” Javier teases, opening the hotel window to smoke out of. “You’re cute. I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

“I am many things, little bee, but I am not cute,” Javier chuckles as he sticks the cigarette between his lips and lights it up.

“Well, I think you are,” you refute in a stubborn tone. “You bought me cupcakes on our first date. That’s cute. You come to my work and bring me treats and kiss me in front of my coworkers. That’s cute too.”

Javier shakes his head. Sure, the things could be classified as cute, he supposes, but they’re not the normal Javier. Sexy, rude, intelligent, any of those words could describe him. He’s a playboy, a heartbreaker, and all in all is, by principle, a lone wolf. Well, he was. He’s been chasing Escobar for years and years… and now he’s dead. Maybe he can allow himself to start anew, and this new beginning has to have you in it.

He takes a slow drag from the cigarette, getting lost in his own thoughts and forgetting to answer. The silence makes you suspicious. “Javi? Did I lose you?”

The words snap him back to reality. “No, I’m here. I’m sorry, I… zoned out there.”

“Good,” you smile as you wipe off the messy eyeliner and apply a new, perfectly winged layer of the dark makeup. “I suppose I’ll just have to see what comes. Nicknames have to be earned, not given. Did you ever have any nicknames when you were little?” You ask as you brush a sparkling powder over your eyes.

Javier thinks for a second, almost to the point where you have to ask again if he’s there. That seems to be Javier’s biggest flaw so far. “No, not really. Sometimes the other kids would call me Peñita. Didn’t like that one,” he chuckles, and you can hear air rush past the microphone as he exhales the smoke into the ever-darkening D.C. sky. “My mom had all kinds of names for me, but they were the things you’d call a little kid.”

You nod, then realize he can’t see you and you need to speak. “That’s cute. Tell me about your parents,” you ask him as you continue to brush various makeup products across your face.

Javier shakes his head. “That’s more of an over-drinks topic, I think.”

“When have you ever held back information from me?” You scoff lightly, as if you’ve known him a thousand years. It hits you as you say it, the whirlwind this entire thing has been. You’ve known Javier for five days, and he’s already everything to you. And he’s going back to Colombia in 3 weeks. It makes your heart sink in your chest, and anxiety creeps in, the realization that he might not be falling as quickly as you are. Maybe it’s time to pull back a little, you tell yourself. He won’t be here long.

“Ha,” he says dryly and takes another drag from his cigarette. “Well, I’m ready when you are, if you want to come get me a little earlier.”

His emotionless tone makes you panic. You wonder if you just went somewhere you shouldn’t have by asking about his parents, if you’ve just crossed some line you didn’t know existed. You desperately want to ask him, to reassure yourself and get rid of the worry slowly collecting in your gut, but you don’t. You can’t. You shouldn’t. “I’m still getting ready,” you tell him, and it’s truthful. “I’ll be there at 7, like we said. Is that alright?” you ask. 

Javier blows a breath of smoke into the night, the cloud of smoke mingling with the heat puff of his breath. “Sounds good to me. I’ll leave you alone to get ready,” he tells you with a small smile.

“Alright. I’ll see you then. You’re wearing something nice, right?” You clarify one last time. 

“Whatever you wear will be beautiful on you. Don’t worry about it.” Javier, ever the king of flattery, looks down and appraises his own outfit. “But yes, I’m wearing something nice.”

You smile at the reassurance, looking down at the swirling colors of your makeup palette. “Well, thank you. I’ll see you in a bit.” -

You have to say you’re surprised at the level of refinement of the hotel. You’d expected the DEA would’ve put Javier at some shitty little hotel, but it’s surprisingly nice. You remember a few days ago, the sheer terror masked behind a stoic face, but you chuckle as you consider that this famed agent had very few context clue skills. This hotel is nice, a couple of stars at least. Why would they put him here if they were firing him?

Javier stubs out his cigarette in an ashtray when he sees your car approaching, straightening his sport coat. You hold back a grin as he walks over, but the fighting ends when you see him smile as he opens the door and slides in. 

“Hi,” you beam at him, and he leans across the center console, stealing a kiss.

“Hey.” He sneaks one more kiss, one that lasts a little longer and dares to use a bit of tongue. He only breaks away when you do with a laugh. 

“My foot is on the brake right now; be careful but kiss me one more time,” you ask of him with a grin, and he happily complies, cupping your face and kissing you. When he breaks away, your eyes open slowly and you can’t hold in your happiness. “Alright, now we’re going. You’ll have to guide me,” you tell him, and he nods. 

“Sure. You’re just going to go out of here and onto that street to the right,” he says and points the way for you.

Your car follows the path, nodding along to Javier’s instructions. “Jesus, that’s a fancy place. How much does that hotel cost a night?” You marvel as you stare at the gorgeous building in your rearview mirror.  

Javier shrugs. “I’m about to find out. They’re only paying for a few nights for me, then I’m on my own. I’m guessing it isn’t cheap,” he chuckles as he looks over his shoulder. “Or I might switch hotels. Don’t know yet.”

Frowning, you take a turn he’d earlier instructed you to follow. The hotel fades from sight, the dark blue of the December night filling your rearview instead. “Well, I know of a place you could stay for way cheaper.”

“Oh yeah?” He asks, adjusting in his seat to face toward you more. “What is that, pretty thing?” He asks, a hand resting on your thigh. 

“Stop,” you giggle and rest one hand atop of his. His fingers are much larger than yours, a fact that makes you shudder as his fingertips find bare skin there. “Pretty thing? That’s weak,” you tease, and Javier just rolls his eyes. “I was going to say you could stay with me, but now I’m not sure,” you say teasingly, eyes locked on the road and most certainly off of Javier. 

His brow furrows. “Well, I can pay you then.”

You shake your head. “Javi. We’re dating… aren’t we?” You ask, the hesitancy creeping into your voice. Now that you say it aloud, you’re not entirely sure that you are. “I mean, I don’t know, I just kind of thought,” you stumble over your speech, word-vomiting out whatever you can to backtrack. 

The man next to you tilts his head, but he nods. “I… I haven’t dated anyone in a long time,” he admits, his fingers starting to slowly grip your thigh rather than rest atop it. “Is this what dating is like to you?”

You nod too, knowing he’s watching you, staring down at the steering wheel. “I… yeah?”

A small smile cracks on his face, making the mustache there twitch softly. “Then I guess I’d say we’re dating. But that doesn’t matter, I don’t want to live in your place rent-free for three weeks.”

“It’s an extended vacation,” you chuckle and bring your hand back to the steering wheel to have two hands for a turn. “Don’t worry about it. I’d like having you around. We’ve already been together nonstop for a couple of days. What’s a little more?” You ask as you look over at him, seeing his eyes soften and his forehead relax from its tightened state. “And besides, any hotel is going to be painfully expensive right now. D.C. during the holidays makes the hotel rates skyrocket.”

He nods as you speak, processing the idea. “Well, do you have a guest room? I don’t want to invade your space, I can sleep on the couch if you don’t, or I can stay in a hotel.”

“Javier,” you chuckle, putting your own hand on his thigh to reassure him. “We’re not moving in together permanently. You’ll stay with me until you need to go back to Colombia, and that’s that.” Your mind has been made up. He can’t argue it, and he knows it from the firmness in your grip on his leg, in the way your body goes rigid as if the words are some formal deal that requires a handshake.

“How do you know I’m not some serial killer who does exactly this to lure you to your death?” Javier asks dryly as he looks over at you, lifting a hand to trace the side of your face slowly.

“Because you’re Javier Peña. Your name was in the newspaper next to Steve’s. You work for the DEA.”

“Some of the guys I work with could definitely be serial killers, that doesn’t discount anything,” Javier grumbles, which makes you laugh and makes him even grumpier. 

“The fact that you said that to me in the first place is my proof, Javi,” you chuckle and pat his thigh softly. “I’m an excellent judge of character. I just graduated from 7 straight years of studying psychology. Remember that?” Javier’s quiet and you know you’ve won. “Then tonight we’ll get your stuff after dinner and get you settled in my place. How does that sound?”

He’s quiet again, studying your face and the way your cheeks move with your lips, the way your brows rise and fall when he’s being ridiculous. He’s just as trained as you are, with 10+ years on you to prove his competence. You like him. You might even love him already, he thinks to himself. Your pretty lips purse at his silence and he finally cracks. “That sounds great, abejita.” Javier leans across the console to kiss your cheek, which makes you shiver softly, like any touch from the man does. “Thank you.”

“Thank me by buying me some drinks, huh?” You tease, turning back to focus on the road. 

-

The bar was nice. Really nice, you learned as you walked in. It projected the essence of Javier to you; naturally, you loved it from the moment you looked around. The room had a low ceiling and wood paneling around the walls, a floor that your short heels clacked upon as you walked to the only open stools- well, only one stool, you realized as you walked. Javier walked behind you, a hand on the small of your back, admiring your legs in the outfit you wore. 

When you finally found the available spot, where you’re now sipping a drink, you’d found that there was only one stool. 

“Do you want to go sit in the restaurant?” You asked Javier as you nodded with your head to the side of the establishment with tables and booths.

He shook his head and pulled out the stool. “You sit. I’ll stand.”

“Javi-”

“Just sit, abejita. I’ve been sitting all day. I can handle a little standing,” he chuckles and kisses your head, gesturing to the stool. When you sit, he smiles down at you and wraps his arms around you loosely from behind. You lean back against his strong chest.

Over the past few days, you and Javier have made infrequent contact, a hug in greeting or in goodbye and plenty of shared kisses. This, however, speaks directly to your touch-starved soul, the way his body practically encompasses you. He orders himself a whiskey and the drink you’d ordered on the first night you met him for you, then continues to stand there.

You crane your head around to look at him, smiling. “I love this place already,” you say, admiring the way you can hear over the hum of the other patrons and the quiet music playing. You’re much more accustomed to places your friends would drag you, where it was more for the cheap drinks than the atmosphere. 

The crow’s feet by his eyes are more pronounced as he smiles at you, but he looks even younger as his lips curve up softly. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Shit, is that Peña?” A loud voice calls from somewhere else in the building, and Javier turns, his face falling flat then smiling as he sees the voice behind it. 

“Be right back,” he murmurs and presses a kiss into the top of your head. 

It’s someone he recognizes, that’s for sure, as the man and Javier wrap their arms around each other and firmly pat the other’s back. “No shit! When did you get back to D.C., man?” The other guy asks. “Escobar just died and they’re already sending you back?”

The bartender delivers your drink, and you turn your back to Javier, thanking them and sipping at your liquor. Over your shoulder, you can hear the man and Javier talk shop, about Colombia and their days as DEA trainees, about Escobar’s recent death and Javi’s recent promotion. You glance over your shoulder at him, smiling as he easily talks with the group. You’ve not had the privilege of seeing Javier with his friends- or what seem to be his friends- yet, and he seems fairly social but humble. You appreciate that.

The talking goes on for a while, and you sip at your drink and look around the bar, appreciating the wood that makes a nice noise as your fingernails tap against it rhythmically. 

When your drink is about half-drained, the bartender sets another in front of you. It’s different from what you were drinking, a fluorescent neon color surely made by a mix of ridiculously fruity liqueurs. You look at the bartender with confusion and they nod to a man at the end of the bar. He’s not looking at you, which makes it all the easier to stare at the drink in confusion and disgust rather than drink it. His tie is absolutely egregious, boldly patterned in bright colors. There’s not an ounce of taste about this man.

The drink goes untouched, sitting in front of you as you study it. There seems to be layers, maybe, or maybe the mixed alcohols just congealed awkwardly. You sip your drink and then Javier’s whiskey, refusing to drink whatever fucking concotion sits in front of you.

Five or ten more minutes pass of Javier talking with his friends. You don’t mind- you know the feeling of catching up with people you haven’t seen in a long time. In that time, the drink remains untouched, and you ask the bartender for a refill of your go-to drink.

Not long after the second one arrives, you feel a hand on the curve of your back. You turn, hoping it’s Javier, and instead find it to be the man at the end of the bar who ordered you the drink: Tie Guy. Panic sets in immediately and you arch your back to dodge the hand, which only follows your spine. “Hey. Thought you’d like this drink. You tried it yet?” The man asks, voice clearly showing that he knows you haven’t. 

“No,” you say with a swallow, turning away from him. “Not exactly my style.”

“I thought it was such a pretty drink for such a pretty thing.”

Pretty thing. When Javier called you that earlier, even though the name wasn’t one you liked, it was at least endearing. To hear it again, dripping with sleaze and ill intentions, you shiver and push it further away. “I’m sorry, sir, it’s not my type of drink. My boyfriend will be right back, and-” you try, hating the defense you try to pull.

“He drinks whiskey,” Tie Guy says and gestures to Javier’s ¾ full glass. “No fun. Boring. Too manly, pretentious. Real men can drink something fun like these and not need to worry about someone thinking they don’t have a set of balls,” he says and his fingers trace the rim of the martini glass the concoction sits in. Now you’re definitely not drinking it, now that he’s touched it. 

“Please, I’m not interested,” you try, turning around to face the man that towers over your seated body. “I’d appreciate it if-”

“Hey,” a familiar voice- thank fuck, it’s Javier- calls from behind you. “Excuse me,” he says and pushes Tie Guy out of the way, his arm wrapping around you. It’s a relief, a grip meant entirely for comfort and not for the coercion the man across from you had tried. You melt into it instantly. “She said to back the fuck off, or could you not fucking tell?” He hisses at the man. Javier pulls away from you, stepping towards the man who instinctively steps back.

“Whiskey drinker,” the man snorts and rolls his eyes. “So manly, so over the top. Gotta let everyone know that you’re the alpha, the dominant male, huh?” He asks, getting in Javier’s face. He’s taller than your Javier, but lankier. The fact that Javier could take him crosses your mind, though you hope desperately that it doesn’t come to that.

“What I drink doesn’t fucking matter,” Javier says and shoves his chest. “What matters is that you’re fucking harassing my girlfriend. Back the fuck off,” he says and turns from the man, back to you, his hand on your upper arm. “You okay?” he asks quietly, and you respond with a nod and a forced, close-lipped smile.

“Yep, go ahead, go back to your little prude,” the man laughs drunkenly, his voice full of vitriol. “Oh, no, I bet she loves to act all shy, but then she’s a kinky little thing in bed, isn’t she?” He asks, taunting Javier. “Ties your ass up and whips you, with that sass. I wonder if she-”

The sentence isn’t finished. Javier’s fist flies through the air and connects with the man’s face, followed by a loud, ringing thud as the taller body hits the floor.

-

caffeine rush taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @yooforia @oceanablue @sara-alonso @pedrosmustache @feelingmadclever @hnt-escape @radiowallet @obsessivelysearching @sugarontherims @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @linnie0119 @1800-fight-me @autumnleaves1991-blog @toilet-keeper @evelynseventyr @metalarmsandmanbuns @shannababyy @sambucky21 @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @theorganasolo @jagi-yaaa @mrsparknuts @tacticalsparkles

[whatifxwereyou]

The Oncoming Storm Part 5: Peace of Mind

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

I've decided that when I get to a point where the "choice" is made between Liu and Lao, the stories name will change to help avoid confusion. That way you can follow either path or both. Then I will try to update those as much as I can. I know where both are going for the most part. God, I'm such a cock-tease lol.

This bit is a bit shorter than usual but I plan on updating AGAIN tomorrow! Surprise: Kung Lao will be back tomorrow. Side note: should I draw MC? Anyone into that? And as always, open to suggestions and will include any I like.

Part 4 Part 6 Chapter Index

You jumped upright in bed, the breeze from the window making your sweat covered body shiver. Wiping your face, you searched the room and found that you were utterly alone. In your mind’s eyes you could see the writhing of bodies that had woken you.

It had been a dream.

A wildly inappropriate dream.

Hands trembling, you held your head in your hands. Your face was red and hot and when you closed your eyes, you could see Liu Kang’s strong body over yours and feel his familiar hands. You blinked your eyes and kept them open wide. “Oh boy.” You laughed at yourself and then flopped back against the bed with a frustrated whine. It had been miserably difficult not to let your imagination run wild the day before but apparently all your self-control disappeared when you slept. After the day you’d had and the tension that had built like static when you were fighting, how could you be upset with yourself?

You knew Liu Kang well at this point. Well enough that his touch was familiar. It was cruel and unnecessary of your imagination to do that to you during your sleep. How were you supposed to find your arcana when your brain was made of Liu Kang spaghetti? The attractive, confident, and kind Liu Kang was your teacher and you had to find a way to set a boundary between that and whatever this was. “Calm down, Y/N.” With that you took slow and deep breaths.

Adjusting yourself on the bed you crossed your legs and closed your eyes to meditate. But your imagination betrayed you, and you could feel his breath on your neck and hear his voice in your head. Pinching the bridge of your nose you laughed at yourself but flopped again on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

This was a natural thing. To be attracted to someone you were forming a new relationship with. You were finding your footing as friends and the draw between you would change with time. Deep down you were certain it was more than that and you were dismissing a very obvious attraction between them.

No matter what it was, there was no chance you would trust your imagination to let you sleep. You would have to clear your thoughts and find some peace before you could rest again. Getting up, you changed into the red and black flowing hanfu and decided to take a walk. That would get your mind off the day before and erase the memory of Liu’s, well, everything.

There were very few others walking through the temple that late at night. You decided that you hadn’t slept for long before your dream had woken you. Not dwelling on the memory of it, you kept walking until you were utterly lost and honestly nothing had felt quite as good or wondrous in some time. Raiden’s Temple was beautiful and ancient. Exploring it made you feel like a curious child, which in your opinion, was better than a frustrated adult.

There were many sprawling hallways and you felt that this one was particularly high within the ravine. You caught sight of the night sky through an archway and leaned against the stone. A monk walked behind you with a polite bow carrying a heavy pot filled with water. You nodded in greeting and then stepped onto the platform. At the end of the short platform was a huge statue of Raiden, seated cross legged in meditation.

The sky was radiant, and you wished to be closer to it and considered the roof but instead you set your eyes on the hat of the statue. You carefully climbed up with a few skilled jumps and then sat atop the edge of the hat, overlooking the ravine. Below you could see the fight pit, but it appeared small from there.

Seated atop the statues wide brimmed hat, you got comfortable and admired the brilliance of the night sky. The glassy moon filled the night around it with brilliance, dimming the stars in its halo. Wisps of pale clouds traversed the sky as if carried by invisible birds. You could see the milky way and the sparkling of stars that you had never seen before. You couldn’t remember ever thinking that the sky was this magnificent. In those moments you felt lucky to be alive and privileged to see the world in such a way.

It seemed funny then that your home popped into mind. There had been times where you’d sat on the roof of your apartment above the dojo and watched the sky, but it had never felt like this. That life felt so foreign now that you were oddly detached from it. Hopefully, your sister was okay. Your mother had passed away years ago and your father had stayed with your sister while you took care of the dojo in his honor.

Did they think that you died in the fire? What had become of the dojo? Had any of it survived? Did they think you’d done it and murdered those men? Were you a wanted criminal now? Had Kung Lao told anyone what had become of you? You had a thousand questions for your childhood friend, but you weren’t sure that you were ready for the answers either.

“Y/N?” You sat upright and turned in search of the voice. Liu Kang was staring up at the statue curiously. You peeked over the edge and offered him a wave despite your stomach doing a flip at the sight of him. With a confident grace, he leapt atop the statue and joined you. You returned to your spot, sitting comfortably on the hat and he sat next to you. Together you stared into the starry night, admiring the beauty of Raiden’s Temple. Every so often you heard the footsteps of another monk making their way but there was little else besides Liu’s controlled breathing and the occasional shifting of his prayer beads from his hand to his wrist. “Are you okay, Y/N?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” You decided to be honest. You weren’t a big fan of lying but telling Liu the absolute truth of your dream was a level of embarrassment and honesty you weren’t prepared for. “My mind and heart were all jumbled up, so I came to find some peace.”

“Did you find the peace you were looking for?”

“I did.” You decided with a smile. What you were feeling toward him wasn’t a bad thing, you’d decided. It was a conflict in your mind still, but not all conflict was bad.

“Seated atop a dangerously tall and ancient statue overlooking the most perilous of pits?”

“The view can’t be beat. And it’s private.”

“And yet I invaded your privacy as I often seem to do.” Liu turned to face you, his arm rested against one knee.

“It’s only an invasion if it’s not welcome, Liu.” You reassured him. Silence fell again but it wasn’t the warm and comforting silence you’d become accustomed to with Liu Kang. He radiated with both fire and uncertainty. “Are you okay?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” He brushed his fingers again over the prayer beads. “I decided I would check on you and as I made my way, I felt that someone was up here.”

“Oh?”

“Your energy is tangible,” he said all while avoiding your eyes. Your eyebrows shot straight up your forehead.

“So, you knew it was me?” The butterflies were back. He was good at that. Liu nodded. “That’s remarkable.” So much for peace of mind. Were you ever going to manage sleep again without your renegade thoughts getting carried away? “I’m glad that you found me.”

“Your energy reminds of a shadow flickering beneath the lamplight. I’m curious. Can you sense my energy, as well?” The confidence had returned to him. There was still something beneath his confident exterior that you couldn’t decipher, and you watched his thumb carefully brush over each of the beads in his hand. “I think it could be common to sense others with a dragon marking.”

“Yes, I can.” You chose your words carefully. “I always thought that your presence was fiery, but I didn’t realize that was literal until earlier.” Liu turned to face the edge of the statue again and his brief smile faded. You adjusted to face him better, careful of your footing. “What’s on your mind, Liu?”

“You were in my dreams.” He seemed sad. Inwardly, you panicked. He’d been in your dreams too, but something about his demeanor made you feel as though it were in a quite different context. How were you supposed to process any of this? “I lost you.”

You made sure not to let the sigh of relief be audible. “You lost me?”

“Not the best phrasing but no less the same. You died.” Liu said this with such finality that it shook you, and a chill ran down your spine. “I couldn’t go back to sleep with that image of you in my head. Selfishly, I needed to see your living and breathing self.”

“Liu…”

“I know that you’re capable, Y/N. I can see why Kung Lao values you so highly. I suppose that it is natural to fear for someone that you’ve bonded with. And we have bonded, haven’t we?” You were at a complete loss for words. He’d said a lot without saying much at all and you were left to interpret it as you would. What terrible timing. Your heart was so confused. “Am I wrong?”

“No, you’re not wrong. We’ve bonded.” You decided then to confess at least part of what was keeping you awake that night. No details, just a small bit of truth. “I dreamt about you too. It woke me up and when I couldn’t find the peace to return to sleep, I wound up here.” You smiled weakly and turned back to face the sky. “I tried to meditate the stress away but in truth I’m used to meditating with you, so it brought me no peace.” Liu seemed oddly relieved by your confession. If only he knew the truth. You weren’t sure how he would react. In fact, your face burned just thinking about it.

“I assure you that I’m capable, Y/N. I’ll be fine.”

“I know.” You said nothing else on the matter. He hadn’t been in danger in your dream, in fact, quite the opposite. You sat in silence again and much to your surprise, he shifted, scooted closer and slipped his arm around you shoulder. His hands were warm even through your sleeves.

“Until you’ve mastered your arcana and healed then you are the one that we should worry about. There’s still time before the tournament, but it doesn’t mean that we will be entirely without danger.” Liu gave your shoulder a comforting squeeze. “The sooner you can control your arcana, the better.”

“I know that with your help I’ll manage sooner rather than later.”

“That’s a lot of faith in me.”

“In us both.” You smiled at him. He adjusted, arm falling away from your shoulder. You missed it instantly. His arms were warm and strong. “This is a hurdle we will conquer.” You turned to watch the stars again and pulled your knees closer to your chest, resting one arm over them, the other resting between you and Liu. Liu’s eyes were on you. You could feel them watching you rather than the sky. He needed to see that you were okay and that his dream was just that. Whatever came next, you were ready for it. One way or another, you would fight. Still, he did not turn his gaze and you were distracted by him. “You’re staring.” You let your gaze flitter to him out of the corner of your eye.

“You get this look on your face while you’re thinking. It’s fascinating to watch your expression shift and change even minutely.” The fondness of his voice was overwhelming. To be spoken of with such reverence made you feel better than anything ever had. “You feel your emotions very deeply. It is a gift.” He turned his gaze back to the night sky, right arm rested on his knee. His left hand then found yours between them and rested atop it.

You swore you might be blushing for the rest of your days at this rate. The fondness of his voice and the gentleness of his hand made your heart race. You supposed that when you thought about it, you had flirted on and off. At the very least you had grown fond of each other. There’d been plenty of close calls the last few days, but you hadn’t been sure if you were overthinking or not. But this moment was far more transparent. An arm around you. His hand over yours. Deliberate displays of intimacy.

You weren’t sure you could sit still much longer thinking like this, so you turned to ask him if he wished to study. Instead, you clammed up and found him far closer to you than you had anticipated. You could feel his breath, the warmth radiating from his energy, surrounding you like a distant and welcome flame. He admired your face, stopping at each of your features with his dark eyes, and then brushed your hair away. This was an intimacy that you had grown quite fond of but also it was different than before. His fingers left a ghost of a touch against your forehead and your cheek, gently tucking your hair behind your ear. The fear in his eyes had gone, the nerves and uncertainty had gone with them. All that was left to his stare was warmth and admiration.

His hand brushed against your jaw softly and then rested against your cheek, his thumb brushing just beneath your eye. He tilted you closer. Your heart stopped in your chest and you didn’t breathe for fear that it would stop him. It was a moment you never wanted to end. Eyes half-lidded you caught a glance of his lips, parted ever so slightly and nearing yours. Then a horrid crash echoed from behind the statue.

In an instant, you were apart and both sliding to the other side of the statue in search of the sound. Liu leapt from the statue gracefully and you peered over the side, catching your breath. Below you could see a monk there, speaking with Liu. There were pieces of something shattered on the ground. You carefully climbed from the statue to join them.

The monk muttered his apologies. Liu had bent down to clean up the shards of the pot that had been dropped. Water was spread over the stone floor. Your fingers were numb and the action of helping clean up the shattered pot felt surreal. Honestly, the entire night had felt surreal. From waking up from an inappropriate dream, to staring at the stars with Liu. The monk bowed his head and took the shards with him as he made his way to wherever he was meant to. You stood upright and fixed your hair. You could feel that Liu’s eyes were on you again. Even though you were no longer seated close together or even touching, the tension hadn’t faded.

“We should rest.” The fog of the moment had at least cleared, and you knew that if you didn’t go to bed now then you’d likely wind up doing something irresponsible with Liu Kang. Why were you resisting this obvious tug? It seemed oddly taboo, though you couldn’t place your finger on the reasons why. You were both consenting adults, so why shouldn’t you embrace this? Oddly enough, you felt guilty even at the thought.

These emotions were far too complex for the middle of the night.

“I’ll walk you to your room.”

“Thank you, Liu.” Together you walked through the hall of the temple and you were suddenly grateful to have him guiding you. You’d wandered so far and so aimlessly that you had no idea where you’d wound up. It would have taken you ages to find your way back. You opened the door to your room and leaned against it with a smile. “Try and get some rest, will you?”

“You too, Y/N.” He peered behind you into the room, and you followed his gaze to where the book laid on your desk.

“…did you want to read?” You were sure sleep wouldn’t come easily and Liu seemed reluctant to leave. You were reluctant to let him go.

“Are you sure? It’s late.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

Liu didn’t ask twice and so you opened the door the rest of the way and allowed him inside with you. You sat on the floor, leaning against the bed, and Liu picked up the book and joined you at your side. His familiar voice was like a lullaby and only a few minutes past before you were drifting in and out of sleep with your head on his shoulder. If Liu noticed, he didn’t say anything or move you. He kept reading. Before you knew it, you were out cold.

[shatouto]

YOUR BABY VADER IS SO GOOD I NEED TO GIVE HIM ALL THE HUGS. please tell me he gets like. a weighted blanket or soft clothes. or! or! or! anakin and obi-wan go to the market because nobody knows that anakin was vader, and anakin gets some nice clothes in pretty colors and theyre very soft and he gets some ingredients for cooking and droid parts to play with and everything is nice and good for him

GOSH thank you!!! aww i love that idea sO MUCH just reading your prompt makes me feel warm fuzzy inside. im not sure which baby vader you’re referring to (because there are so many of them in my wips and i love it) but i’ll assume this is the au ive been writing with @obiwanobi. so pls enjoy this near 2k of tooth-rotting fluff; i took some liberties

who likes sweet things

The clinic smells like bacta, as clinics do. But instead of sterile durasteel walls, the floors are carpeted and the walls are painted and the windows are curtained and everything is multicolored and joyful. Across from Anakin sits a healer - a kindly woman, very small in stature, with large, gentle eyes, wispy hair and pointed ears. She chats happily with Obi-Wan while working in tandem with the medical droid to secure the prosthetic to Anakin’s elbow.

“...disheartening, isn’t it?” She chirps, her three-fingered hands deftly fastening bolts around the cap and manipulating the droid to screw down the simple plating. “I can’t count the number of innocent civilians who have come here to fit a new limb. Just last week, I constructed an entire exoskeleton for this young lady. Poor girl, so young.”

“That is so good of you. I am glad for the young lady to find you. She came to the right place.” Obi-Wan smiles. “Those of us who have some sense all know Healer Saada’s prostheses are of the highest quality in all of Coruscant.”

“Ah, young man. Flattery gets you nowhere. Have you learned nothing as a youngling?” Saada shakes her head at the Jedi, then turns her great eyes to Anakin, ears perking. “And you. You’re a rather quiet boy, aren’t you?”

Anakin presses his lips into a tight, blanched line. This woman may not be a Jedi any longer, but she is not Force-blind. He glances to Obi-Wan, breaths bated.

Obi-Wan rests a hand on his shoulder. “He’s quite shy, Healer Saada. Please do not worry.”

“Oh, poor thing.” The healer hops onto a moving droid. It rolls towards the counter, where she sorts out some bottles while asking, seemingly in an absent-minded manner, “Where did he come from?”

Anakin catches his gaze the moment Obi-Wan looks at him. Obi-Wan parts his lips, as if ready to lie.

“Tatooine,” Anakin mutters.

Astonishment freezes across Obi-Wan’s face, and Anakin turns away. The admission isn’t for her, though he supposes he doesn’t mind her knowing. She’s just a person. She doesn’t even know his name, or what he has done, or what the dead Sith Lord has made Anakin do to earn his demise. Obi-Wan does.

“So far away!” the healer comments lightly, turning around with a soft smile. “What a great trip you must have made.”

“Indeed he did. He lives here now,” Obi-Wan clarifies. Anakin opens his hand, and the healer places a stretchy ball in it. She instructs him to practice squeezing it to get used to the new artificial limb, before sending them off.

They exit the clinic and out under a vast starlit sky. Gentle winds whirl overhead as they climb into their speeder, heading for the usual park where Anakin takes his walk. The night has gotten cold, yet the darkness is unusually diluted. As they pass by downtown, music wafts up alongside the scent of butter and frying oil. Anakin looks down to see a sea of lights over a town square, and colorful awnings draped over kiosks of all sorts. There seem to be many people there, eating, laughing, hand in hand. He eyes them closely, fingers tightening on the side door of the speeder.

“It’s a celebration, Anakin,” Obi-Wan supplies, as they come to a stoplight. Anakin turns around, and his heartbeat ratchets up when Obi-Wan reaches over to brush a lock of hair from his forehead.

“What are they celebrating?”

“Harvest season. It’s an old tradition, I’ll give you that. Coruscant barely has a greenhouse on it, let alone agricultural land.” Obi-Wan chuckles, then quiets down into a thoughtful smile. “Though I suppose the election result is as good of an occasion to celebrate as any.”

“Election?” Anakin asks, just as they pass by a great billboard with the face of a brown-haired, brown-eyed woman in a night-purple cape. The speeder is going slow enough for him to decipher the words written beneath it. Obi-Wan keeps saying he’s a fast learner, so he tries to read at every turn. “Chancellor… A-Ame…” He frowns. “Amidala?”

“Very good, Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s eyes crinkle at him for a second before returning to the path ahead. “Padmé Amidala is the new Chancellor now. It was a rather close call. She is well-loved by many people, but not quite so in the Senate.”

Half of those words mean almost nothing to Anakin. “Why?”

“Well,” Obi-Wan hums. “One could say the Senate hasn’t been loving its people so much, in a while.”

Obi-Wan grows pensive, as he oft does. The faint, warm light from below and the cool starlight from beyond color him in an otherworldly tint. His profile is startlingly delicate, from the slope of his nose to the soft fluff of his whiskers and beard. Even the flutter of his lashes is graceful. Then Anakin remembers he shouldn’t stare. His eyes strays towards the bright lights and jovial music beneath.

“...But I am hardly brave enough for politics,” Obi-Wan muses, after a stretch of silence. When he looks Anakin’s way it is with some tiredness in his small smile. “Say, Anakin. How would you like to stop by the night market, for a change?”

They lower their altitude as soon as Anakin nods his agreement. Obi-Wan parks their speeder, draws up Anakin’s hood, and takes his right hand. Anakin’s synthetic nerves light up, even though it’s only enough transmission for him to feel touch and not warmth, it being a very standard model of prosthetic. His face warms up under the hood of his cloak. He’s glad Obi-Wan doesn’t notice.

They let themselves be carried by the stream of the crowd, of parents jogging after excitable children toddling about with sweetmeats in their hands, sugar on their cheeks; of young couples, one’s arm around the other’s waist, sharing bites of fluffy sweet bread or sips of mulled wine. Light shines golden and amber through bottles of syrup and jars of honey, glitters on the crystal sugar and drizzled glaze on heaps of candies in open boxes. The smell is divine whenever they pass by a warm stall with steam bannering overhead.

Anakin shivers lightly, even though the crowd blocks most of the winds. Obi-Wan tugs at his hand. “Let’s get you something warm.”

He follows Obi-Wan. A paper cup is pressed into his hand, ample and warm against his skin. The drink smells and tastes sweet with a note of toasted bitterness, the texture creamy and rich on his tongue. There are floating white chunks of some sort of confectionery in there.

“What’s this?”

“Hot chocolate.” Obi-Wan raises his identical cup and touches it to Anakin’s. “Do you like it?”

”Yes,” Anakin says, and Obi-Wan’s smile warms his belly more than any hot drink.

They continue on their path, still a straight line from one end of the market to another. Anakin’s wide eyes travel from stand to stand: here a string of patchwork puppets, there a counter of carved wooden figures; and perfume vials, colorful figures (“It’s artisan soap, Anakin”), bouquets of everlasting tissue flowers tied in silk ribbons. There are clothes: soft robes in various colors, touted as “warm in winter and breezy in summer,” per the merchants; tunics with blossoming patterns embroidered at the collars or sleeve hems. There are kiosks of datatapes, illustrated by sparkling holograms of a High Republic castle, or a great speeder model, or even some holodrama character whose name Anakin can’t remember.

And then a booth takes his breath away. Glimmering under the light are shelves after shelves of mini household droids, custom-made transmitters, and a variety of artfully wired core processors. Replacement parts bathe in the blue glow of holograms depicting the corresponding droid models; and below all of this is a row of toolboxes of gleaming silver and shiny ivory, even iridescent inlays of mother-of-pearl. The booth seems to be one of a kind in the vast entirety of the market.

Anakin stands, transfixed. His fingers itch, and one of the tools begins to quiver and lift into the air, unbeknownst to the seller who has his back to it. He wants it. The thing will be his.

“Anakin? Anakin!” Obi-Wan’s hushed voice rustles by his ear, jolting him back to his senses.

The tool drops down with a small clang, barely audible in the noises of the festivity. Fear bursts coldly in Anakin’s chest - he shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t, his Master would be very unhappy if he found out his young foolish apprentice had tried to waste his time playing with droids again. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, bowing his head, even as Obi-Wan squeezes his hand.

“Do you want that?” Obi-Wan asks, softly.

Anakin peeks up. The empty paper cup is still slightly warm in his hand, and he crushes it absentmindedly, tightening and loosening his fingers just to have something to do. “I, uh…”

Obi-Wan’s hand covers his own, gently prying the crushed paper cup out from the curl of his fingers. “I would love to get it for you, if you want it. It’s the toolbox on the bottom shelf, second from the left, isn’t it?”

The light on Obi-Wan’s smile is a honeyed gold, pooling stars into his eyes, and Anakin is transfixed again, not quite by the tinkering booth this time. He looks down as his face warms and his heart still pounds hard, and slowly he nods.

—

They come back to Obi-Wan’s quarters with a small armful: a new set of robes in muted, ashen pink; a box of tools with carved handles that are probably more fancy than they need to be, but still practical enough; a new array of spices and condiments; and a great tin of “absolutely decadent powder for drinking chocolate, Anakin, I can’t believe I let you persuade me into buying this.”

“You are the one who likes sweet things,” Anakin counters, arranging the new addition into their pantry. Obi-Wan laughs aloud by his side.

“Now how could you possibly know that?”

“I cook. I know that.” Anakin shrugs, and admits, “...and Ahsoka said so.”

Obi-Wan’s brows shoot up. He’s quiet for a few seconds, but the wide smile that follows only seems all the more brighter for it. “Best friends now, aren’t you?”

“No,” Anakin huffs and closes the pantry door. He doesn’t say more. Ahsoka gave him her old voicebook plug-in and lent him her comics; in exchange, he would pack her this spicy meat stew whenever she needed to leave for some time. They struck a fair deal, is all.

Obi-Wan doesn’t say more, either. They settle on the couch, Anakin almost rushing to fish out the toolbox from its paper bag. Finally having two hands to work with again, he examines it with zeal. It’s a good set of tools, he knows it; he hasn’t been allowed to touch these things for years, but he still knows. It’s in his blood. He can still wire standard circuit boards for protocol droids (the slightly outdated type) with his eyes closed; can definitely assemble a cleaning-type mouse droid from scratch if he’s allowed to scavenge for parts. He smiles down at the lacquered handles and the durasteel glint, picking up and balancing each microscrew, each hexagonal wrench, each tiny plier.

“...I hope it was enjoyable for you,” Obi-Wan speaks up, all of a sudden.

Anakin turns to him, not bothering to wipe off his smile. “It was.” He chews on the inside of his cheeks. “I’ve never had so many things. Thank you.”

Obi-Wan studies him for a long moment, more intent than he ever did. By the look on his face, Anakin expects him to say many things, but he doesn’t. He just pats Anakin’s elbow, where the prosthetic is joined, and murmurs, “You’re welcome.” His eyes have a moist sheen to them, smiling though he is.

[gureishi]

Aha, a fic absolutely nobody asked for! I wrote this purely to appease myself, but perhaps somebody else will get some pleasure out of it, too?

Saeyoung X Reader, Rating: E (BDSM: dom Saeyoung, sub f!reader; discipline; protocols; honorifics; subspace); Words: 5236

set me on fire

A crucial disclaimer: This fic is a depiction of a consensual dom/sub dynamic. Please know that I am absolutely not an expert on BDSM or kink in general! I write, as always, from a combination of experience and research; you should never read anything I write and think, “Ah! It must always be this way!” Please do your own research~ And, of course, skip this one if these aren’t topics you wanna read about! <3

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The slip of paper feels unsettlingly solid as you draw it out of the box, hold it with trembling fingers. The curvy scrawl on it is your own—though right now, you hardly recognize it.

“Show me,” he says; his voice is lower than usual, eyes hard as he watches you. You aren’t supposed to talk, so you hold it up to him wordlessly—you don’t miss the way he swallows (hard, almost audible) or the way his breath hitches in his throat. He rips the piece of paper from your hand; a thrill runs up your spine.

He chuckles as he reads the paper, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“Is this even a punishment?” he asks, his tone teasing. You can feel his intense gaze on the back of your neck. “I feel like you’ll enjoy this too much.”

You’re on the ground at his feet, naked except for the cuffs around your ankles. You shake your head, which is all you’re supposed to do, in this scene; he kneels, using one finger to tilt your face roughly upward.

“Will you enjoy it?” he purrs; oh, and he’s really asking, that familiar sparkle of Saeyoung in his eyes beneath the pretense. You bite your lip, nodding; feeling yourself floating away again, the ground disappearing beneath you at the feeling of his fingers—now sliding down to grip your throat, stinging where you’re already bruised.

You gesture with one hand, the signal to ask permission to talk; he cocks his head to the side, considering it. Even now, you notice the way his hair falls messily to the side—he’s tried to tame it, but it springs free so easily, curls falling across his forehead. He’s cute, you think—wondering, with a little thrill of desire, what sort of punishment you’d get if you told him that.

“Fine,” he says dismissively, letting go of you. Oh, but you want his fingers around your neck; you shift toward him and he smirks, knowing this.

“Can I…?” You reach for him, a little unsteady with your ankles bound like this. Your fingers skim over his erection, through his pants, and he hisses.

“You already broke one rule,” he mutters, low and throaty (and he sounds nothing like himself, and everything like himself; his eyes are like fire). “Do you really want to break another one?” “No,” you murmur, letting your fingers fall. The cardboard box on the floor beside you, full of the punishment slips you’d started writing out months ago (and there are still so many in there: things you’ve already forgotten, ideas that absolutely terrify and delight you) seems to stare at you too: full of promise and intimidation.

“Now, kitten.” He’s kneeling again, on your level, fingers—yes!—gripping your throat, his other hand dancing tantalizingly over your thigh. “You came before I said you could once. Are you gonna be good for me this time?”

“Y-yes,” you pant, your thighs trembling as his coarse fingertips part them.

“Good kitty,” he whispers hoarsely; his fingers tighten around your throat—just the right amount, making stars burst before your eyes. “You’d better.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Later, he holds you in the bathtub, fingertips rubbing gentle circles on your sore shoulders. You’re wrapped up in smells: his familiar spicy-sweet fragrance, and the lavender bubbles, the rose-scented candle—you’re finding it hard to keep your eyes open.

“You with me, babe?” He dips his head, pressing his lips to your shoulder. You twist to smile sleepily into his face.

“I feel…soft,” you say, which is true; so often, after you play like this, you feel like your brain has melted—it feels sloshy inside your head, like everything’s not quite where it’s supposed to be. You love this feeling—and sometimes it takes hours for it to fade, for you to settle comfortably back into your body. Baths help; his firm back behind your head, and his gentle hands on your tight muscles, help too.

“You wanna go to bed?” he murmurs; his fingers part your hair, working through it—it’s damp but not wet, and you’ll have to wash it tomorrow, but you don’t mind—the way he brushes through it calms your racing heart. “Or do you wanna stay here a little longer?”

“Stay here,” you murmur, letting your head fall back onto his chest. He wraps both arms around you, pressing his lips to your temple. His hand, hazy and indistinct under the water, reminds you of the slip of paper; a memory swims to the forefront of your mind as though through honey. “Oh!” you say—louder than you meant to, startling him a little. “The punishment! When are we gonna do it?”

He laughs, and it makes your whole body tingle.

“Well,” he says, drawing out the single syllable—there’s a touch of the version of him you saw in the scene earlier, as he considers it. Then he settles—your regular, sweet boy, soft lips moving against your cheek: “We have Zen’s play tomorrow,” he says. 

“At the play?” you squeak. Your friends will be there—you’ll be exposed. Vulnerable.

“It’s one of those outdoor Shakespeare things,” he says, brushing your your back, kissing your earlobe. “So it’ll feel pretty, uh…relaxed. If you wanted to, you know. Try it then.”

Ah, what a difference between the man who’d loomed over you earlier—hard eyes, cold face—and your sweet, blushing boyfriend, stumbling over his words. But they are the same—god, you adore him more than words can describe.

“Yes,” you say—feeling the way he squirms beneath you, thrilled by your enthusiasm. “Okay. Yes. I want to.”

He’s got your earlobe between his lips; for a moment, you feel his teeth, excitingly sharp. Your eyes flutter shut; he’s pulled back in an instant, tucking your head under his chin again, feathering soft kisses over your brow.

“Good,” he whispers. “I can’t wait.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

As soon as you see your friends rushing chaotically toward you—Jaehee and Yoosung in the front, Jumin lingering behind—you realize that this will be much more difficult than you’d anticipated.

Yoosung throws his arms around you, and you hug him back—mentally, you run through the protocols, pretty sure there’s nothing in there about hugs. He’s chattering excitedly and you don’t quite hear, peeking at Saeyoung through Yoosung’s hair. He raises his eyebrows—daring you to.

No speaking without permission—you know.

Yoosung’s hand, on your back, brushes against the edge of the harness you’ve got on—hidden by a t-shirt and a sweater; still, the leather straps are firm and stiff enough to be noticeable. You flinch, shifting away from him.

“Oh!” he says, big eyes taking in your strange posture. “You okay?”

Frantically, you give Saeyoung the signal, a casual little flick of your fingers. He pauses, thinking; it feels, for a moment, that everyone’s eyes are on you (though you know they aren’t). Your cheeks flush.

Finally, he nods.

“Yes!” you gasp, realizing you haven’t spoken since leaving the house earlier. “Sorry, just got the shivers for a second.”

Yoosung, thankfully, doesn’t question this—and you greet the others with smiles. Saeyoung lays a hand at the small of your back—a gentle reminder of the rules (as if you needed one). You bite your bottom lip, grateful that your friends are loud—grateful that Saeyoung can answer for you (nice, general questions, like “how have you been?” and “how was the drive here?”—easy, not requiring any particular response from you).

Jaehee ushers you over to a blanket she’s already set out on the grass—close to the stage, of course; she’s explaining that she’s seen the play once already, that she’s picked the best angle to catch all of Zen’s entrances. Someone has brought lawn chairs, though you’re relieved to see Jaehee and Yoosung sink directly onto the blanket, on either side of the picnic basket. Sitting below him is part of the game, and you’re not sure how it would look to the others if you were the only one on the ground. You feel your cheeks flushing again and you take a deep breath, nervously lifting your hair off your neck—which feels hot and a little sticky. The harness is tight underneath your clothes—the perfect size, bruising your skin as you shift.

Jumin is saying something about the quality of the set that makes the others laugh; you don’t quite hear him because Saeyoung comes up behind you, chest against your back—one hand slides into the front pocket of your jeans and his breath is hot on your ear.

“You gonna make it?” he murmurs; he’s got that rough voice on, just for you—so different from the sweet way he speaks to the others. You grit your teeth as a little spark of desires flares within you; he doesn’t miss the way you subtly try to rub your legs together, the small, silent moan that escapes your lips.

You give him the tiniest nod, showing him you’re good, you’re here, you’re in it—you don’t want him to stop. He grins, fingers wiggling inside your jeans pocket, making your breath stutter.

“You’re doing good, little kitten,” he whispers. For a moment, he presses against your back, and rainbows swim in front of your vision; for one wild second, you want to throw all the rules out the window, spin around and tackle him to the ground right here. The thought alone is thrilling.

Your vision clears and he’s pulled away; you don’t miss the wicked glint in his eyes, but it’s gone an in instant. And then he’s skipping ahead, unfolding one of the lawn chairs—seemingly berating Yoosung about something, a big grin on his face.

As unobtrusively as you can, you take a seat on the blanket, between Jaehee and Yoosung—right at the foot of Saeyoung’s chair, of course, where you’re supposed to be. You feel eyes on your back and spin; Saeran’s watching, a curious expression on his face. He never asked why you were so quiet in the car (of course he didn’t)—he would never ask what you’re playing at, what sort of strange scheme you’ve concocted. He looks away, shaking his head the tiniest bit; he lives with you, after all. He doesn’t not know.

You bite your lip, feeling embarrassed again. The harness feels impossibly bulky under your clothes, all of a sudden—obvious, like everyone can see it. You tug at your sweater, trying to focus on your friends’ conversation. The sun is setting, casting an otherworldly glow over the stage. The harder you try to listen to your friends’ voices—or the scenery, or the soft blanket beneath you—the more distracted you feel by the heat that’s building between your legs. As discretely as you can, you try to adjust, the friction of your jeans and underwear giving you the tiniest hint of relief.

Oh, but there’s a hand on your shoulder; you turn, gazing up at him—and he’s not looking at you at all—he’s saying something to the group at large, smiling—but his grip is firm and definitive. He’s telling you no.

So you try to sit still. He taps your shoulder twice with his index finger before pulling it away—good job. These signals are thrilling at home—a delightful way to communicate without words, a secret code that makes your mind feels sparkly—but in public, it’s something else entirely. Your heart is pounding so hard you’re certain your friends can hear it; your legs twitch, heat pooling low in your belly. You’re wet already, you can tell—embarrassingly so, just from the harness under your clothes; just from staying quiet for him. You wish he knew—you’d love to see the look on his face.

You take a slow breath, trying to steady yourself. You’re not sure how you’re going to make it through a whole play, in this state.

Jaehee’s voice drifts through the glittery haze you feel and you shake your head, trying to clear your clouded mind. You raise your eyebrows and she repeats herself (and thank god for Jaehee, you think—she doesn’t ask any questions like why aren’t you talking? or why are you making that kind of face? If she knows what’s going on, she doesn’t say so).

“The first scene is the best one,” she says, eyes shining; there’s a woman sitting on the edge of the stage now, bare feet hanging over the edge, strumming an acoustic guitar. “Just wait until you see what he’s wearing.”

You open your mouth to speak—forgetting, for a moment, the situation you’re in—and immediately feel Saeyoung’s hand on your shoulder again, squeezing. You look up at him and he tilts his head to the side: a warning. The heat is building inside you again—for a split second, there’s that hard look in his eyes, the one that’s normally reserved for private moments at home. You can’t resist: you squeeze your legs together, biting your lip. You know he sees; he exhales shakily, conscious of how turned on you already are.

You realize you haven’t answered Jaehee—and you can’t, of course. His warning signal was clear; the confusion makes your head spin deliciously. You squeeze your thighs tighter, unable to stop them from trembling; you wiggle your shoulders, trying to focus your attention on the way the straps of the harness burn as you rub against them.

Jaehee (bless her) has started attempting to explain the plot of the play to Saeran, who looks only mildly interested. Saeyoung asks her a question and the sound of his voice (even this version of him—bright and friendly) makes your toes curl. Perhaps his enthusiastic demeanor—so distinct from the persona he’s put on for the game you’re playing—actually escalates your excitement; it’s the thrill of the pretense, the almost unbearable delight of keeping a secret.

Then Jaehee is shushing everybody; the woman with the guitar stands; the lighting on the stage shifts (and it’s so well-timed, you think: the sun is just sinking behind the trees, the first stars coming out). She leans over, whispers that you should watch the stage right door for Zen’s first entrance; her shoulder brushes yours, and again you flinch—terrified she’ll feel the harness (delighted by your fear).

Your phone buzzes. All your senses heightened, you jump, grabbing it. Your heart does a little flip when you see his name—oh, but he’s so calm, sitting behind you, leaning forward a little to peer at the stage (for all the world attentive to the play). But you know better.

“Little blue building to the right of the entrance. Go,” says his text. You peek at him, but he isn’t looking at you. Just as you’re getting to your feet, his hand shoots out—and his fingers dip into your back pocket, and he’s placing something there, a tiny smile dancing over his lips.

You’re sure your whole body is flushed. You feel a little light-headed as you stand, edging backwards so nobody notices the obvious lump in your pocket—and you’re pretty sure you know what it is; you’re embarrassingly on edge, obviously aroused. You don’t want to know what your face looks like right now, but you can imagine. 

Only Yoosung sees you slipping away, and he turns, raising his eyebrows quizzically. You see Saeyoung lean forward and mutter something to him; then you’ve turned and you’re jogging, then running, making your way through the crowd of spectators on lawn chairs and picnic blankets, vision blurring as you make your way to the little blue building.

It’s not hard to find, positioned conveniently near the entrance to the park. There are five doors along the front: single occupancy bathrooms (you wonder hazily, as you pick the one on the far right and tug the door open with shaky hands, if he looked this up beforehand, or if he just noticed the building on the way in. Both are plausible).

Locking the door behind you, you breathe a huge sigh of relief. Your legs feel like jelly; you can feel your clit, swollen and hot, practically throbbing through your jeans. Your phone buzzes—and again you jump, your entire body on high alert.

“Tell me when you’re there,” he says. 

“Here,” you text back with shaky fingers.

Instantly, you feel something vibrating in your back pocket, and you almost yell aloud; you pull out the little silicone vibrator, unable to stifle a small moan. 

He’s typing again; urgently, you unbutton your jeans, sliding a finger down over your underwear. Your mind feels thick; thoughts languid, drunken.

“You know what to do with it,” he texts.

You exhale shakily, full of relief. He’s controlling the toy with his phone—you can picture him easily, eyes trained on the stage, fiddling with his phone (held discretely in one hand). Your friends are used to him doing this: always typing, checking something, his attention a million places at once. 

Oh, but if they only knew what he was doing with his phone at this very moment; the thoughts makes your knees almost give out, and you steady yourself with a hand on the wall of the dark little bathroom stall.

He’s got the vibrator on a low setting—it’s an unbelievable relief, to finally get the stimulation you’ve been craving since the game began: since you got in the car, lips shut tight, harness rubbing deliciously against your bare skin beneath your shirt.

You hiss as the pressure changes: he’s turned it up, and your hips twitch forward against your will; you’re panting—your head feels like it’s floating about a foot above your body, glittery white clouds closing in around the edges of your vision.

He texts again and you have to try three times to read it: your eyes won’t quite focus, and the heat inside has almost overwhelmed you entirely.

“Tell me if you get close,” he says. God, and you picture his face: the little half-smile as he (ah!) increases the pressure again, making the little toy buzz harder against you. Your hands shake as you try to hold it to yourself, clenching your legs together. Oh, but the clouds are edging closer: you can’t feel your feet and you know you’re gasping out loud, a painful sort of pleasure threatening to tear you apart.

He’s texting again and you grit your teeth, trying your best to read: “I bet everyone knows what you’re doing in there,” he says; and you’re sure he’s smiling now, that slow, lazy grin that’s only for you.

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god oh—

“Almost,” you text him frantically, legs shaking hopelessly, stars dancing before your eyes; and you pray that he’ll let you come: you’re desperate to dive over that edge, feel the relief, that blissful, magical—

The buzzing stops.

“Good girl,” he texts. “Come back now.”

And you knew, of course—knew this was part of the punishment all along, expected it—but still, you feel hot tears pricking the backs of your eyes, desperation coiling within you as you obediently tug your jeans back up. You hiss as you button them—you’re so sensitive, wet and swollen, on the very cusp of orgasm. You slip the vibrator back into your pocket, groaning at the friction of your underwear against your raw clit as you shift the tiniest bit; the smallest thing, you think, could push you over the edge right now—you’re afraid you’ll come instantly if you try to walk.

But you can’t: that’s the whole point.

You feel that everyone’s eyes are on you as you stumble out of the bathroom: back through the crowds of people, using his bright hair to guide you toward your group. You make your way slowly, breath shallow, legs wobbly as you try to push back the desire bubbling inside you. And you were right, walking makes it worse: the harness chafes against your chest and your underwear rubs in all the right places; you have to pause twice to catch your breath, stilling your racing heart, pushing back the burning feeling inside as firmly as you can.

Your friends are watching the stage when you get back; Jaehee was right, you think vaguely, Zen’s costume is excellent—and it’s only once you’ve awkwardly curled yourself onto the blanket that Saeyoung leans forward, his breath hot on the back of your neck.

“You did as I asked, right, kitten?”

His whisper makes your blood sizzle in your veins. Carefully, and as discretely as you can, you nod; you feel his intense eyes taking in your obvious arousal: the way your thighs are still shaking a little, the uncomfortable way you’re sitting, thighs pressed tight together. He makes a soft little sound: almost a groan, low in his throat.

“God,” he purrs in your ear, “Don’t look so desperate for me, or I won’t be able to hold back.”

Please, you want to moan—please don’t hold back.

You nod, eyes lowered; you feel like you’re floating in a thick liquid, every cell in your body full of electricity, limbs almost numb with desperation. He pulls back—once again, his attention seems to be elsewhere (though you know it’s all on you—it always is).

You bite your lip, peeking at the paper program that’s open on the ground before you. Five acts: oh no.

The little flame at your core blazes. You hiss, quietly as you can, squeezing your legs together. Five acts—maybe two hours. You can do this.

He leans forward again, one finger pressing into your back, between your collar bones—right onto the strap of the harness. Another warning: stay still.

You can do this—you think you can.

God, you hope so.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

By the end of the play, you’re a complete wreck. You feel almost drunk: mind cloudy, legs unsteady as you scramble to your feet. Someone suggests waiting for Zen, going out for drinks together; Saeyoung takes one look at you (and you know how you must look: unfocused eyes and flushed cheeks) and tells the group that you’ll have to do it another time.

Luckily, your friends’ general enthusiasm overshadows the state you’re in. You sway as you walk and Saeyoung catches you, sliding one strong arm around your waist.

“You good?” he whispers in your ear; and the fingers that brush your hair off your sweaty forehead are gentle; the act is gone for a moment, his expression concerned as he presses a hand to your cheek—rough fingers on burning skin.

You nod vaguely, leaning on him for support as you trail behind your friends. Again, you feel Saeran’s eyes on you—observing, curious. Still, he doesn’t say anything, and you silently thank him for that.

“You sure? Gimme a color, please.” He steers you toward the exit, hand steady on your waist.

“G-green,” you mutter, startled by how hoarse your voice sounds. He grins; there’s that look in his eyes again, hard and commanding.

“You’ve done so well, sweetheart,” he whispers; his breath in your ear just worsens the situation: it’s like there’s a burning coal in you now, sitting hot and heavy in your stomach. You tremble and he laughs softly. 

He handles the farewells; you hear him explaining away your silence, telling the others that you’ve been sick (you haven’t), that you’re getting over it—that you need to rest. You offer cursory hugs to your friends, cheeks hot, body stiff. Saeyoung helps you into the back seat, fingers lingering a little too long on your thigh. Your head swims—his touch feels like an electric shock.

He plays music on the way home; Saeran sits in the passenger seat, and nobody minds the silence. It’s not so strange for the three of you to ride quietly, the stereo loud, the windows rolled down. The breeze cools your burning cheeks.

Time unfurls strangely: you’re on the highway; no, now you’re in the garage; and he’s helping you out of the car, a steady hand at the small of your back; the bunker swims in and out of focus as he leads you inside—Saeran is saying something, disappearing into the living room—Saeyoung is speaking to his brother, his voice soft—and you’re in your bedroom, the door shutting with a definitive click behind you.

“So,” he says. He’s let go of you know, looking you up and down. You try to stand straight for him; your mind feels like it’s full of cotton balls (wonderful) and the hot coals inside you have dissolved into molten lava. “You did amazing, baby,” he murmurs. He comes closer, slipping a hand around your waist—his touch is gentler now, his eyes melting. 

You nod weakly and he grins.

“You can talk now,” he says; he moves closer, closer—oh, and you feel a distinct and familiar pressure against your thigh. You wonder how long he’s been hard, aroused as he’s watched you—hiding it expertly, masking his desperation with the bright persona he’s curated so carefully.

“Thank you,” you pant.

“Was there something you wanted to do, kitten?” His fingers dance over your waist; he’s unhooking the button of your jeans, laughing as you pant, keening, hips rocking desperately forward.

“Can I—please—please—will you let me come now?” you gasp, hardly knowing what you’re saying. You picture glitter raining down from the ceiling, silver and shiny and cool on your skin.

“Is that what you want?” he purrs. He walks you back, pushing you gently onto the bed. You give in entirely, letting your body melt as he adjusts you: sliding you up so you’re on your back, head comfortably cushioned by the pile of pillows.

“God, I…Saeyoung…please.”

“Say no more.”

He tugs at your jeans, pulling them down your legs in one swift motion. Then he’s crawling onto the bed beside you, sliding one hand under your shirt to feel the smooth leather straps of the harness. Through hazy eyes you see the way he’s panting, pupils dilating; he slips your underwear off, tossing it aside. Then he’s tugging up your shirt, pressing his lips to your stomach—nibbling, sucking, marking you where you’re already bruised.

As you cry out, he slips one finger between your legs, pressing gently against your impossibly overstimulated clit. He groans as he feels how wet you are; he moves his finger against you, slowly at first, and you feel that the glitter is pouring harder, faster, pooling around you—overwhelming you, carrying you away.

“Already right on the edge, aren’t you, little one?” 

You moan, fingers scrabbling hopelessly against the sheets, hips shaking uncontrollably as he flits his finger over you—finally, finally giving you what you need, fanning the flames, letting the fire burn rampant through your muscles.

He shoves the harness aside roughly, bites down where your skin is red and raw; and his finger moves faster, faster—

—and the fire rages, the glitter falls—

—stars burst, the world ends—

And, at last—god, thank god—you’re pushed over the edge, gasping out his name as your whole body shakes; he restrains you with a hand on your hip; and all you can see is the burning look in his eyes as you tremble through it, panting and gasping; falling to pieces.

You’re still shuddering as he presses his lips to your jaw, mutters in a low voice: “You are amazing, my love.”

“Saeyoung,” you say in a voice that’s reedy and thin. “Fuck me.”

He grins—and there’s pure delight on his face now. His eyes flow as he bounces off the bed, tearing off his pants with remarkable speed.

“If you insist.”

You gasp as he flips you over; you lay face-first on the bed, legs straight out behind you, and he slides a pillow under your hips. His hands are in your hair then, tugging it, lifting it off your back—then you feel his weight on your thighs, as he presses against your entrance.

“Please,” you murmur again; and he slides into you, roughly, both hands on your waist—your face is shoved hard into the mattress and it’s difficult to breathe; he groans as he rocks into you, tugging at your hair, nails on your scalp.

You can feel from the way his hips shake that he’s been pushed to the edge too—unravelled by the danger, the expectation, the delight of watching you fall apart. And he’s praising you, murmuring your name, whispering his adoration as he rocks into you—faster, faster.

He pulls out of you, flipping you around so you’re facing him; his fingers curl under the harness, eyes widening as he takes you in: you feel dizzy, swollen, sparkly; little; safe.

Then he’s inside you again and you weakly lift your legs, wrapping them around his waist, pulling him closer. His countenance is softening now, the scene melting away as he meets your eyes. Often he needs this: the eye contact, the tenderness, as the character he’s been inhabiting fades away.

“I love you,” he murmurs, rocking into you slowly now, a hand on your cheek, sweet gold eyes on your face.

“Love you,” you gasp, pulling him in for a kiss. His hips stutter; his shoulders shake—he comes, shivering in your arms as you move your lips against his, tongue darting out to taste him, fingers curling in his hair.

And for a moment, you stay like this: he collapses against you, your arms tight around him, his breathing unsteady.

Finally, he pulls away. He grabs a towel, gently cleans you off, a little smile playing across his lips.

“Uh, wow,” he says—and this is Saeyoung again: voice soft, eyes adoring—“that was something.”

You laugh, shaking your head. He moves closer, unhooking the harness with nimble fingers. You wince as he slips it off; your skin feels raw.

“I saw glitter fall from the ceiling,” you tell him. He’s still moving, grabbing the cream you use for bruises from the windowsill, dipping a finger into it.

“Is that a good thing?” he asks you.

“Very much yes.”

His fingers are soft as he rubs the cream onto your chest, tracing the red lines the harness has left behind. He presses his lips to your shoulder: warm and tender.

“I feel a little bad for our friends,” you say, and he grins, hair falling messily into his eyes.

“I honestly don’t think they noticed a thing.”

“I know that was technically a punishment,” you say thoughtfully, brushing his hair back off his forehead, “but, uh…”

“You wanna do that again sometime?” he asks, perking up. “Cause I definitely wanna do that again. I have another idea, where we can…”

“Later, baby.” You pull him to you and he sighs, settling in your arms, head on your chest. “But yes. Yes, I absolutely want to do that again.”

He kisses the your shoulder, where a small purple bruise is already forming.

“I adore every version of you, and every single thing you say and do,” he whispers, voice like melted chocolate. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” you say. You kiss his lips, gentle as a summer wind. “Same goes for you.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

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Seashell (KNJ)

Pairing: Merman!Namjoon x MarineBiologist!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Merman!Au, Strangers to friends to lovers

Word Count: 4,393 

Summary: Working as a marine biologist was a dream. You loved the ocean and its creatures, and one of those creatures loves you back. What happens when things go sideways and you have nowhere else to go besides to the one person who felt like home?

Warnings: Slight allusion to animal mistreatment.

Note: This took way too long...

   You breathed in the fresh salty air of the beach; it stung your nostrils pleasantly as you sighed, content laced in the action. The sunset on the horizon was beautiful, decorating the soft sand and calm waters delicately. Every day after work, you would walk down from your house that was up the hill, towards the soothing beach you saw every day. You could clearly see your small beachside house from the shore, making the rarely visited beach that much more intimate.

     Just like always, you played along the shore like a little kid. Drawing things in the sand, splashing around in the shallow waters, collecting seashells. It was just the thing you needed after a long shift at work. The sand between your toes and the salty air in your hair calmed the tension you had from the hours before. Being a marine biologist wasn't easy, especially when you were constantly getting into arguments with your boss over the health and safety of the local coral reef. He always said it wasn't a huge priority, but in imminent danger or not, you felt it needed to be protected more.

    "Why can't he understand that it's better to protect it now rather than later?" You grumbled, taking a seat on a rock that breached the barrier between shore and ocean. A cliff stretching overtop half-way, giving the area a cave-like feeling. You walked to the edge and put your feet in the cool water, smiling as the familiar tide of the salty water caressed your skin. You splashed the water around, watching the deep blue swirl in a smooth dance, the deep orange light of the lowering sunset blushing the surface with blinding sparkles. It mesmerized you. So much so, that when you felt something brush up against your feet, it gave you a heart attack.

     You shot your feet out of the water and slid away from the edge of the rock. Breathing unevenly as you looked down at your feet for any abnormalities. After you calmed down, you chuckled at yourself for overreacting, "Gosh, it was probably just seaweed... Scardy cat." You moved back towards the edge, peering into the deep blue, tumbling backward when a sudden splash caught you off guard. You shrieked, falling on your back, groaning at the sudden, sharp pain it caused.

    "Oh no! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to startle you!" You heard a deep voice say, you sat up and looked at the source of the mysterious speaking. Eyes landing on a muscular man with honey tan skin. Deep, sparkling brown eyes. Wet dark blue hair saturated with water. But what caught you off guard the most was the fin-like appendages protruding from the man's forearms, resembling those of a fish, the shape familiar to you as you saw the same appendages on the little creatures you interacted with on a day-to-day basis.

     You didn't even realize you weren't moving or speaking until he spoke up again. "Um... Hello? Are you okay?" You blinked before nodding a 'yes', not trusting your words flow out of your mouth. He gave you a smile, and you didn't miss the beautiful dimples that adorned his equally beautiful face. He placed his hands on the edge of the rock and pushed himself out of the water, landing on the edge with a thud. You gawked at his toned body and strength. If only you knew what to expect when you looked down.

     Your eyes almost fell out of your head when you saw that instead of legs, the man had a beautiful blue tail. Scales shining in the light as they effortlessly flowed down the limb. Scales also dotted around his abdomen, creating a satisfying transition from human to sea creature. The man noticed you staring and chuckled, the sound deep as it vibrated against your ears.

"Never seen a merman before?" He teased.

"M-merman?" You echoed.

"Yeah, you know, half fish half man."

"You guys are real?!" You shrieked.

"Ouch, yes, of course we're real."

    You realized your harsh words and quickly apologized, "I was just surprised is all... This isn't a prank... right?" You cautioned. He shook his head and motioned you to come closer, which you did. Something was telling you the man should unsettle you, that you should scamper back to your house, locking the door, far away from the mystery man. But another part of you trusted him. Maybe it was the fact he resembled a human, or maybe it was the curiosity of the marine biologist in you, you weren't sure.

    The man gently took your hand and placed it on his tail. You let out a quiet gasp as the familiar feeling of fish scales met your fingertips. No doubt it was entirely fishlike, the way it felt semi slimy but smooth. He took your hand again and put it on the fin that was attached to his forearm, and yet again, it felt just like a fish, down to the T.

"Believe me now?" He asked.

"Y-yeah," You nodded, "I'm Y/N by the way..."

"Namjoon."

"Nice to meet you, Namjoon."

      You didn’t go back to the beach for a couple days, scared to face the reality that you thought was just a dream. But it wasn’t, the pain in your back told you otherwise. Merman. The word ran through your head over and over. Merman. The creature that originally made you curious about the ocean was real. It breathed, swam, talked. 

      How was this even biologically possible? You always thought that if Merfolk were real, they’d be bald for less traction in the water, have more scales than skin, no nose even. But Namjoon was handsome. Like a siren. His skin had this beautiful honey glow and he seemed to be sculpted by Poseidon. He had the looks of a god, yet when he smiled he turned into a cutie. 

      You sat on your back porch thinking about him, the setting sun a familiar memory. Why are you thinking about him? You wanted to say it’s because you're a scientist and he interests you biologically, but deep down, you know that’s not the truth. He interests you as a person. How could someone so good looking be so shy and clumsy?

      You sighed, opting to go see if he was there at the rock. It wasn’t a long walk; you got there in no time, but the place seemed to be vacant. Nothing but you and the waves brushing up against the rocks. It was quite calm today, calmer than normal, which made you want to stay here for a bit. The sight was familiar, the setting sun, orange rays, sparkling ocean. You took a deep breath, humming at the distinct smell of sand and salt. It was always so lovely.

“You’re back.” 

     Surprisingly, you didn’t jump six feet in the air when you heard his voice, you just calmly turned your head to the side. There he was in all his tan glory, the setting sun making him look ethereal. “Yeah... I am.” You sighed. “I thought I scared you away...” Namjoon said gloomily, swimming over to where you dipped your legs in the water. You didn’t say anything back, what could you say? ‘Hey, you’re literally defying everything I learned in college and I don’t know what’s true anymore’? That was one reason, but the most damning one was, ‘You interest me as a person, and nobody interests me. It’s scary how we seem to click.’ How do you say that?

      “I... don’t scare you, do I?” Namjoon asked, making sure to keep some distance between the two of you. “You don’t have to be scared, I’m not dangerous.” You giggled at his words. No, you didn’t think he was dangerous, if he wanted to kill you he would’ve done it earlier. What was dangerous is the way you want to be around him. You wanted to make him smile, you wanted to get to know him. You never felt that with anyone else. It was dangerous how much you wanted to have him as a friend. “I know that, but finding out that Mermen exist was a shock.” You partially admitted. “I guess it would be for anybody.” He chuckled. “But you came back.” He pointed out. 

      “Yeah, I did.” He swam closer, testing if you were going to push him away. “Why?” He whispered. You bit the inside of your cheek, you were never good at lying, and he’s asking the question you desperately wanted to answer with a lie. But you couldn’t. Not when he was looking at you like you weren’t a selfish human. “I’d like to say it’s because the scientist in me is curious about mermen.. But the truth is, you just interest me as a person.” Namjoon was silent for a bit, contemplation clear on his face. 

      “You’re a scientist?” He finally said. “Marine Biologist.” You clarified. His eyes lit up, and in his excitement, jumped up on the rock and cupped your face in his soft hands. “So you like the ocean?” He gasped and you swore you could see stars in his eyes. “Yes, I love the ocean and everything about it.” You chuckled. “Then we’d be great friends!” His smile was huge and you couldn’t help the urge to poke one of his dimples. 

Friends... Could you be friends?

   "Not fair, fish boy!" You yelled. "Oh, it's totally fair!" Namjoon retorted, splashing you with water once again, using his massive tail to his advantage. It felt like getting hit by a tidal wave. "You play so dirty!" You complained, sending a splash towards him, weak compared to his tsunami. It had been two years since your first encounter with Namjoon. The day you went back to the beach again, the two of you talked and got to know each other. At first, you planned to go home and finally forget about him, but after a lot of begging, Namjoon convinced you to come back, and then it became a habit.

     Namjoon swam up to you and pulled you close into his arms. He usually did this when he saw you were tiring from keeping yourself afloat. "You're not fair." You huffed as you rested your head on his chest. You heard him laugh, deep and smooth, causing you to smile. Namjoon became your only friend since you could never connect with the people you interacted with daily. He would bring you shells, pearls, flora, and much more. Your house looked like a beach itself.

     "I'm so lucky I found you, Y/N." Namjoon sighed, you looked up at him and smiled, "What makes you say that?" You tilted your head to the side, awaiting a response. "You're just so.. awesome. You teach me things about humans and you've always been there for me. My brothers have heard so much about you that your name is a regular topic in our house." He admitted. He had mentioned his brothers before, all 6 of them. You always laughed at the funny stories that Namjoon would tell you about the energetic Jungkook or the grumpy Yoongi. Confining in you whenever he had a fight with his older brothers, mostly Seokjin, and you sat there as he complained about his younger brother's shenanigans.

     "Your sure they're fine with you hanging around with a human?" You questioned jokingly. Namjoon threw his head back and groaned, knowing the question all too well. You used to ask seriously, honestly worried about him, but after the eighth time, it just became a joke to annoy the merman. "I'm not answering that." He grumbled. You couldn't hold back your laugher and Namjoon begrudgingly joined you, laughing along.

     You couldn't help but admire Namjoon. His pretty eyes, cute dimples, plump lips, everything about him screamed perfection. His muscular arms and toned body always seemed to make your legs weak, his smile made your heart thud, and his personality mirrored a charming prince. You always admired him, and it scared you. 

     "Y/N, you're staring~" Namjoon's sultry voice caught you off guard, you quickly looked away, hiding your red face in embarrassment. "You're adorable!" He mused as he poked your cheeks, causing you to whine and swat his hands away, "Stoopp," You complained. He chuckled and pulled you close, stroking your hair, making you look up at him.

      The look in his eye was comforting, homely. It made your heart soft, wanting to melt into the warmth of his tan chest, to fall asleep to the melody of his breathing. You missed feeling warm. You missed hugs. You were touch starved and this god of a merman was giving you what you needed. Even if the two of you said nothing, the only noise filling your ears that of the ocean's wave, it wasn’t awkward. It was never awkward with Namjoon. 

"Can I kiss you?" He asked.

Until now.

"W-what?"

"Can I kiss you? Do humans not kiss?" He tilted his head like a lost puppy.

"Y-yes humans kiss, but why do you want to kiss me?" You blushed.

"I like you. I really like you." He admitted.

"Don't play jokes, Joon..."

     "But it's not a joke, I really do! I love your hair, your voice, your eyes, the way you scrunch your nose at the mention of sea kelp ramen." You scrunched your nose, and he giggled, "Yeah, like that, so, can I seal my confession with a kiss?" He asked, a silent plead hiding in his eyes. 

      Your brain was frying, thrown for a loop. Yes, you found Namjoon majorly attractive, not just in looks, but in personality. How he could go on and on about the botanical world of the ocean. How sometimes he was clumsy with the huge blue appendage that he’s dealt with for years, yet still fumbling over it from time to time. How he spoke so lovingly of his brothers. 

     However, you were a human; he was a merman. You had two legs; he had a tail. How was it supposed to work? How could you give him everything he needs? You couldn’t hold him at night, you couldn’t go on dates, you couldn’t even see each other unless it was here. 

      But you were selfish. You were selfish and wanted to be with him, despite all the reasons why you shouldn’t. Why you should back up and tell Namjoon that it could never work, that you couldn’t be the one for him. But you were selfish, and you nodded your head, pushing down the bubbling guilt you felt in your chest when you saw him smile. It was blinding.

       He leaned in and you felt his plump lips meet yours, fitting together like a puzzle piece. It was soft at first, gentle as if your lips were glass, easily broken. He wrapped his other arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He tilted his head to kiss you deeper, pressing his warm lips against yours eagerly, desperately wanting to imprint the shape of your lips in his mind, remember the curve of your cupids bow and the warmth that made his heart beat faster.

      If you were standing, your sure your knees would’ve wobbled with the way his soft touch sent your heart soaring. You couldn’t focus on anything but him, the merman in front of you. His slightly calloused fingers rubbing circles on the small of your back, his tail wrapping its way around your legs, his wet hair dripping salt water down your face. 

      His arms flexed as he gripped your waist tighter, waiting to keep you there, flush against his body forever. Nothing but the two of you and the ocean, lovingly caressing you with its calm waves. The thoughts of the long-term nothing but ghostly whispers, lingering in the back of your mind. You wanted to stay here forever, in his muscular arms, wrapped up in his beautiful tail.

     Unfortunately, you had to breathe, so you pulled away, huffing to make up for the lost oxygen. You looked up at Namjoon, eyes half lidded. "Wow," Namjoon sighed, "I want to kiss you forever," You giggled and buried your head in his chest. "Can we... be a thing?" He asked, hesitance laced in his voice. It was a question you secretly dreaded, because you knew you couldn’t refuse him."As long as your brothers are fine with you dating a human." You teased. Attempting to swallow your guilt.

"Y/N I swear to god."

      Today was a rough day, and that’s putting it lightly. You woke up feeling amazing, the memories of your fun with Namjoon still fresh, even if it was yesterday. However, when you stepped into work, things turned sour. 

      You never had a terrible relationship with your co-workers per se... But you weren’t a people person either. You found it hard to have a conversation with someone who you just didn’t click with, unlike Namjoon. Though, you weren’t expecting this. 

      It was no secret the company you were working for was going under. They just never seemed to make the right decisions, always favoring money over their actual job. Protecting and researching sea life. It ended up being there downfall after a lawsuit ended up on their way too shiny desks. You don’t know exactly what happened, but pieces of information made its way through the grapevine.

      Apparently, they made another greedy decision. The local sea otter population was dwindling slowly. Sadly, you’d see less and less of the little guys. It was the company's job to humanely capture and help the otters, eventually releasing them when scientists, like you, found out why they were dying. Humanely was the key word. A key word they didn’t pay attention to when a cheaper, crueler way of capturing the otters arose. 

      You already felt shitty. If only you’d known, you could’ve done something about it sooner. However, you were at the bottom of the food chain. Your job was to utilize those years of college to research these animals. Everyone knew you were always extra caring towards these creatures. How could you not be? They had no idea what was happening, you at least wanted to ease their anxiety in the form of positive reenforcement. 

     Little bits of fish here and there, pets for the animals that you could touch, giving the water bound creature the extra large tanks. It was the least you could do. You always wanted the animals to feel okay, because they shouldn’t be away from home in the first place. But your ways of comfort caused time, and money.

      Which was the perfect reason for your boss to lay you off. Of course it was a coverup, they needed to let employees go, to keep their money, you understood that. But they couldn't do it without a sound reason, So, when you found out all of your co-workers threw you under the bus to save their own asses from getting fired, it infuriated you. 

      How could they? What did you do to them? Nothing. It was a dog eats dog world here, and you knew it from the beginning. It was obvious most of the people here were in it for the hearty amount of money being a marine biologist could get them, not for the animals. 

      You didn’t know what to do, the closest place that would hire you was 30 miles away, meaning you’d have to move. You’d have to leave without Namjoon, and that broke your heart. The thought of not seeing his dorky face every day after work tore your heart apart. This is what you get for being selfish. The universe was turning on you, making you feel the pain of heartbreak and the hopelessness of your world crumbling before you. 

      Soon, you find yourself sitting on the rock that is full of memories. Some good, some bad. Like the time the two of you had your first argument, idiotically about who knows more on sea life. Or the memory where Namjoon gifted you a seashell necklace that you still wear till this day, you never take it off. The sudden sound of splashing water tore you out of your thoughts. 

      “Darling!” Namjoon’s warm voice flowed through the air, blessing your ears with some sort of comfort. He smiled at you, his cute dimples showing, giving you the urge to poke them. However, his smile faltered when he saw the tear stains tainting your cheeks.

      “Seashell, what’s wrong?” He called, heaving himself up on the rock. Seashell, the nickname made you smile. You never thought it could be a pet name, but Namjoon seemed to make it work, insisting he’d use it since they were your favorite thing to collect and the ones he gave you sat proudly on a designated shelf.

      “It’s been... A bad day.” Your voice came out rough and shaky. Namjoon reached out to you, pulling you into his arms. He was wet, and the water saturated through your nice work clothes, but you didn’t care. You wanted to be selfish again and have Namjoon hold you before you told him the news. News that would not only shatter you, but Namjoon too. 

      Tears flowed out of your eyes as sobs wracked through your body. You wrapped your arms around Namjoon’s semi-scaly waist and held him closer, desperately wanting to burn the feeling of his warmth into your mind. Namjoon let you cry before trying to calm down your frantic breaths. “Hey... Y/n. Breath darling. Calm down.” Namjoon whispered to you, resting his forehead against yours.

      “Breathe with me.” He ran you through a basic breathing exercise. In through your nose, out through your mouth. After you calmed down, you felt the pressure building up behind your eyes and you dreaded the headache that was to come tomorrow. 

      “There you go.” Namjoon smiled, pulling you into a chaste kiss. “Now, talk to me, seashell.” You weakly smiled, gathering the remnants of your courage that laid in pieces around you. “I...” You took a deep breath, “I got fired today...” You choked out, almost breaking down again. Namjoon cupped your face and rubbed his thumb over your cheekbone. “Oh, darling...” He pulled you closer to him once again, holding you tight. “But... That’s not all...” You murmured into his chest.

      Namjoon pulled you away, giving you a look that said ‘Carry on.’ “T-The closest place that can hire me is 30 miles away...” The tears started coming back. “And... And that means I would have t-to leave but... Joonie, I don’t want to leave...” You choked down a sob and buried your face back into Namjoon's chest. He said nothing as he held you closer, silently comforting you the best he can. 

      You can tell by his slumped body language that he was feeling hurt, lost, heart broken. Your selfish actions have led to somebody’s despair and it made you sob harder. Guilt wracked its way through your body, and you collapsed in his hold. “Come with me...” Namjoon whispered, petting your hair. 

      You shot your head up, looking Namjoon right in the eye. “W-What? I can’t Joonie. I’m not like you...” He held your hands and started scooting towards the edge of the rock. “Yoongi hyung! He can help!” He exclaimed with a newfound hope. “How?” You chuckled somberly at the excitement in Namjoon’s eyes. “He’s what we call a sea witch. Remember when we talked about them one day?” You nodded, remembering how you glowed like a child when you found out about Merfolk magic. “Yoongi hyung might know a spell... To help us.” He lowered himself into the water, placing his hands on your knees. 

      “What are you saying Joon?” You pressed. “I-I don’t want to lose you... So... I want to be selfish and take you with me.” He sighed, eyes a mix of intangible emotions. You froze, Namjoon? Selfish? Never. He was the most selfless person you’ve met. Always willing to help you, hold you, gift you things, make time for you. If you’d ask him to pull a scale and give it to you, he’d do it in a heartbeat to make you happy.

      You were the selfish one, knowing that one day you’d have to part ways. Falling in love with someone who felt like the home you lost long ago. You were the selfish one for giving in, for desperately wanting happiness, even if you knew it would hurt everyone in the end, Life throws wrenches in your road all the time, but you still let him fall in love with you. You let him kiss you, hug you, hold you, all for your selfish desire to be loved. “Your not selfish, Joon...” You sighed, and he gave you a soft smile.

      “Yoongi knows this transformation spell. He showed it to me a month ago... I thought maybe it could help us... Be together.” Namjoon was desperately dancing around the subject, but the hints he gave you were enough. “He can turn me into a mermaid?” You gasped, Namjoon nodded, taking both of your hands in his, kissing each one. 

      “I-If you want to...” He stuttered, nervous. If you wanted to... Did you want to? What did you have to lose? You don’t have a job, or friends... What about family? You're a single child to deceased parents, the only connection you had with your family was the New Year's postcards you got from your second cousin who seemed adamant about keeping it peachy with everyone who has your family's blood. 

      So what did you truly have to lose? If you went off the grid, who would look for you? Would they care enough to look for you? Your cousins are all married with their own lives, and your aunts and uncles only seemed to acknowledge you when they disagreed on your political opinions. The only person who ever made you feel loved in a way you lost when your parents passed was the merman, who looked on the brink of tears, floating in front of you. 

If you went with him, you had nothing to lose, so why refuse?

“Go get the grumpy old man. I’ll be here.” 

“Really? You’ll come with me?” Namjoon gasped.

“Yes.” You smiled.

“I love you so much, Seashell.”

“I love you too, Joonie.” 

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Phantom Children Pt. 5

Hey guys, it's been really busy for me at university so I have no idea when I'll have free time to write this month. Chapter 5 is actually still unfinished, but I didn't want to leave you guys hanging, so here's the first half of chapter 5.

In Which: Another deal is struck upon the ice

AO3 | Prologue | 4 | [ 5 ] | 6

THE PIT SINGS. A low, groaning thing. Muffled like how sounds distort underwater. It reminded Danny of the sounds of Jupiter he would listen to when he really needed to study; the sounds heavily mixed to be more ambient yet still echoing traces of the original, haunting melody of the universe.

The Pit calls for him. No, not the pit—the ectoplasm in the pit is what calls him. Pulls the waves toward him as if he were the moon, bright and full, whispering with garbled voices hello-hello-hello. His core whispers back the same words every time he is near it. Hello-hello-hello. The Pit lingers in the back of his mind and sings in familiar words he does not understand.

Talia calls it a fascination. Ra’s calls it a connection.

A visceral link. Like calls to like. Strange ectoplasmic middle fingers to the laws of the universe—to the great equalizer that is death.

(Danny thinks Ra’s is wrong. Not completely wrong, but not right either.)

When his ghost form is no longer trying to cannibalize his human self, Talia dials up his training. Before, she was merely an observer. Now, she fights him in the ring, teaching him how to dodge with bruised ribs and broken bones. Brutally correcting his stances with harsh jabs and quick strikes. Sweeps him off the floor with a twist of her leg when he forgets how to use his feet. Each day left him with such bone-deep fatigue that mor more once he fell asleep during his sixty minutes in front of the monitor.

They know, now, that the Pit has no adverse effect on him. That he can use the pit more than once.

Bruises and fractures, cuts and scrapes; injuries mean nothing when a dip in green waters will wash everything away.

Even the possibility of insanity starts to feel far-fetched.

Danny should hate this. He should really hate this.

He loved it.

Phantom had always been a fighter. A protector. An underdog matched up against bigger and stronger foes but always somehow coming up on top. He was popular. Liked by the citizens of Amity Park despite his dumpster fire of a reputation near the beginning. Somehow in the year and a half since Phantom’s conception, he went from town menace to this larger-than-life figure. (Ha!) The hero of Amity Park with all of the expectations and responsibilities that came with it.

But Danny—plain, ol’ Danny Fenton—wasn’t any of that. Wasn’t allowed to be any of that. Because Danny Fenton was a wimpy kid who tripped over air and regularly got shoved inside lockers. He was the ghost hunters’ son who was deathly afraid of the paranormal. A C-average student in a family of geniuses.

A persona unwillingly crafted and carefully maintained, because at least this way no one other than Jazz or Wes will be able to connect Fenton to Phantom. Who would believe it?

But here, in Nanda Parbat, he was neither Fenton nor Phantom— he was something more. He had no secret identity to keep from the people who have vigorously researched him. He had no need to hold back.

Here, Danny was free to be Danny.

“Daniel.”

Even if he was called by the wrong-right name.*

Danny floated up from the pit, his transformation seamless as he stepped onto the edge on quiet feet. Tahlia threw him a knapsack. “Ready yourself, we have places to be.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I get my sixty-minutes after the Pit, remember?”

“I did not forget.” She smiled, resting her hand on her hip. “I simply thought that by beloved child might relish a change in scenery.”

Danny perked up, hands tightening around the straps of the knapsack. “We’re going outside?” Tahlia nodded. “Like—outside-outside. With the sky and trees and—and the stars?”

Amusement softened her sharp features, jade eyes sparkling with mirth. “The very same. Though the place we are going to is quite fickle in nature, and I am unsure if we will get another chance to go. But if you really insist on it then—”

“Wait!” He snapped his mouth shut, clutching the bag closer to his chest.

(Family, his core whispered. Family-safe-safe-protect-need-see-confirm-family-home)

The sixty minutes he gets to see his family was…precious. One of the few times the restlessness in his core would draw back; melt away like frost in the spring, leaving some sense of contentment behind. It was his refuge. Sanctuary. Physical proof that what he was doing here—(staying away-away-why-go back-back-return-home-family-home-protect)—meant something.

But.

Outside.

The Pit might have increased his training regiment, but it also allowed him to leave (escorted) the walls of his rooms. And this—

Danny could go outside.

He could go outside.

If he didn’t accept this now, then who knows when the opportunity would arise again? His family wouldn’t mind, right? Jazz did say something about how spending time outdoors is good for one’s health.

He swallowed a lump in his throat. “My…my family will be alright, yes?”

Tahlia cocked her head. “Why wouldn’t they be? You have done nothing wrong that goes against our agreement, and you have progressed wonderfully in your training. I am quite proud.” At Danny’s disquieted expression, she sighed. She raised her hand. “I swear on the blood of the demon—on our blood—that I will honor our agreement and do no harm to the Fentons and your friends during our trip.”

She lowered her hand. “Are you satisfied, habeebi?”

Reluctantly, Danny nods. An agreement from Tahlia is probably the best he could do at this point. “How much time do I have to prepare?” “Everything you will need is in that back. Though, it might do you good to dress very warmly.”

----------

Danny’s first breath of fresh air was biting. It filled the lungs crisp and clean, chilled him to the bones though he could feel no cold. Each warm exhale expressed itself in swirling mists, disappearing into the slate gray clouds above. A facsimile of his own ghost sense.

Fenton did not think much of breathing; Phantom did not need it.

Danny had never realized how wonderous it was to breathe.

“We head northeast,” Tahlia called out. Like him, she is bundled in thick black layers with long leather gauntlets strapped at the end of the sleeves. Her bag secured tightly, and a sword strapped to her back. Her long black hair is bound in a tight braid beneath her fur-lined hood.

The path is covered with snow, deep enough that his first few steps past Nanda Parbat’s gates sinks his leg midway up his calf with a loud crunch. It was hardly as deep as some parts in the Far Frozen, but over there Danny had the choice to simple float over. Tahlia trudged through the snow with a preternatural grace. The path ahead was marked only by the faint traces of footprints almost—but not quite—covered with fresh snow.

Among the many things the League had taught him, this was one: the devil is in the details.

They speak little on their trek. Not that Danny particularly minds, absorbed that he was with world around him. Nanda Parbat, he learned, was built high in the mountains. Cocooned from the rest of the world by the snow-capped mountain ranges that surrounded it. A fortress of wood and stone that seemed distinct yet so carefully hidden. The high walls protected the buildings within from view. Its roofs—elongated and curved—and tall towers modelled after east Asian architecture. Though which country, Danny does not know.

Their destination—past a large protrusion of stone that covered the fortress from view once crossed—was a lake. Frozen a pale blue with ice, surrounded by more mountain walls and the opening of a cave off to the side.

Perplexed, he said “What, are we gonna go ice fishing? Just so you kno, I’m not that big of a fan. The last time I went with my dad I was nearly eaten by a sea monster.”

“We should have enough food for this exercise, Daniel. And you need have no fear of sea monsters, this lake is devoid of any such creatures.” Once they reached the mouth of the cave, she unstrapped her bag, setting it against the stone wall. Danny mimicked the motion. “We are here to train.”

“With…?”

She gestures to the katana strapped to his back.

“With swords.”

A nod.

“On the ice?”

She smiled, leading him to the edge of the frozen lake. “It has become something of a family tradition of the al Ghuls, to cross blades upon the ice.” She plants a steady foot on the lake, walking towards the center with long strides.

Danny followed behind her with some trepidation. He wouldn’t die from frostbite, he was sure, and if he fell he could always fly himself out. But that didn’t stop him from flinching at the rumbling sounds the ice made beneath his feet.

“My father trained both your father and I on this lake.” Tahlia unsheathed her sword as she took her place across from Danny. “And as your father no doubt trained Damian on his own lake, I have the pleasure of training you.” She slipped into a stance. “On your mark.”

Danny slipped into his own stance, feet apart, both hands on the hilt. Then, something nudged at the back of his mind. “Who’s Damian?”

Tahlia tilted her blade, the polished sword gleaming and sharp. “Your brother. Now—begin!”

“Wait, wha—” Danny barely managed to parry the blow.

Sparks flew as blades crossed and Danny twisted off to the side.

He slipped. Head meeting the ice, the deep crackling sound of the lake making him tense.

Tahlia points the tip of her blade against his chest. A single elegant brow arched high in dissatisfaction. Danny glared at her, brushing the fringes of his hair away from his face. “To be fair, you shouldn’t say stuff like that right before a fight. You caught me off guard.”

“If you find yourself in a fair fight, you have failed to prepare enough.” She sheathed her sword before extending an arm to help Danny to his feet. “The goal of a fight is to end it—no matter the cost. Now, take you place.”

Danny picked up his sword, then, hesitates. He looked up at Tahlia. “Did you mean what you said?” Do I have a brother?

Tahlia smiled, drawing her blade once more. “Impress me and you’ll find out.”

Danny narrowed his eyes.

“Now—”

He adjusted his stance. You’re on.

“Begin!”

Danny lunged.

[herald-divine-hell]

kitchen counter make-outs

Amayian and Leliana

This is a long one, and a bit spicy, so I am sorry for that, if you did not want it. I did add a fair amount of fluff, though. So I hope that makes it more bearable.

Word Count: 2849 words

Tags: Fluff and Smut (by accident)

-

Amayian woke to the scent of brewing coffee in the air, and a wash of pale gold in his eyes. The cold feebly sought to seep through the thick timbers of the cottage, but they did not touch him, as brittle and sharp as their icy teeth were. Heat swaddled him—heat from the blankets strewn about his naked body, and the heat that poured from himself, as well. It was almost strong enough to lure him back for a few more moments of sleep. Almost, but not entirely.

When had it last been since such a deep slumber came upon him? More than a few years, he thought. Perhaps well over a decade. At first, it had been hard to do so. His mind was aware of his surroundings even when he wished it not to—heard the scrapping of branches, the whistling of the winds, the howling of wolves; felt the smoothness of the bed, every crinkle of the bed sheets. But more importantly, he felt the tickles of Leliana’s hair upon his chest as she pressed flush against him; heard the soft breaths of sleep leave her as she rested her eyes; smelt the scent of incense and rosewater that melted away the fears that whispered within the depths of his mind. As she has always done, she helped me find sleep. He still wondered what exactly he did to deserve her. Not what I did, no. She chose me. Regardless of what faults I have, she still chose to love me. And she still does, no doubt. She was very adamant that her love only has grown since they decided to reveal their feelings. With what little he could possibly give, it still amazed him. She once said he could always strive to make her smile, and that would be more than enough. Amayian decided that he will do so, and more. It was the least that he could possibly give, least what she possibly deserved.

Getting up was harder than he thought. The blankets and coverlets slipped off his nude figure as he rose. The chilling air trailed over the length of his broad back with scrapping fingers, light gooseprickles rising at their wake. But beyond a faint brush, he felt little of it, in truth. By magic or by merely being accustomed to such temperatures, Amayian paid it barely little mind. Though, he would still have to put something on. Walking around nude, even around his wife, would probably be in poor taste. He had at least some sense to know that.

Tugging up some loose woolen black trousers, Amayian slipped out of the bedroom. The coffee scent grew stronger, wafting through the corridor in strengthening rolls. Alongside the scent came warmth in strolls, melting away any lingering coldness as it swept over him. At the same time, it tugged at his eyelids, murmured for him to slip back beneath the covers and sleep for a few more minutes, or hours. For the first time in a year, he was tempted to do so; and it felt strange to find that temptation so strong and sweet, the underlying fear of being ravished by any wandering wolf or bandit swept away from his limbs, loosened and crumbled away from his heart. Not even with the Inquisition he had ever felt so safe, though he knew it had stemmed from there. Perhaps even earlier, with the Warden, during the Blight. Funny, how one could feel so safe, when in reality they were not; that death was always around the corner, waiting before them, and trotting after you from behind—ever encircled by death, but finding a bonfire nestled at the center, to rest, and throw off the darkness, even if it was for a little while.

And now, he could do it for as long as he lived. Amayian hoped he could, at least. With Leliana, and the children.

That brought a smile to his lips, as he trod through the hall, tittered to the left down another passway, into the main living area. A burning fire nestled into a curved alcove made of smoothed gray stone, rounding as an arch at the top where a mantle laid with numerous paintings. Along the sides of the hearth were decorated spirals of flowers and veins, melding at the center a flame surrounded by rays of light. Trails of smoke buffed whisply up into the chimney, staining gray with orange. Two wide windows cut into smaller squares by crossing wooden beams, glistening with white-silver frost knitting along the glass, hung at either side of the hearth, allowing pale-gold and silver light to stream through.

A light tapping of silver against porcelain came at his side, a whistle almost swallowed by the murmuring crackles of flames. As Amayian turned his gaze, his breath caught. Always it seemed to catch whenever Leliana was before him. This time was no different.

The glow of fire crowned her copper hair in sheen of amber, like a veil of dawn’s sunlight, red and gold and orange. Light flowing through windows lightened her skin, drew out the scattering of freckles along the lengths of her arm, swarming the small of her neck, peppering across her shoulders and the hints of back that was revealed from the large shirt she wore. One of his, no doubt. It fell well past her knees, pooling almost at her ankles. The shoulders were too broad, hanging loose off a shoulder, sloping down to reveal a slight, freckled-shouldered.

He did not know when his feet took him up to her, but before he knew it, his arm was around her slender waist, his lips laying a kiss onto that pale, gleaming shoulder. He felt his breath catch, drawn tight, as her shoulders grew rigid and her back straightened. Only for a moment, however. Just as quickly, he felt her muscles slack, her body slipping close until they were pressed flush together, her head tilted to give him more access. The worried within his limbs, to presume too much and that he had angered her, slid away like oil off a table covered in water. The scent of rosewater and incense washed over him, the lingering drags of cold from the night and all the lumbering weariness of sleep melted away; though warmth filled him as easily, overfilling him, shrouding his mind in a rose-tinted mist.

Simply being near Leliana was enough, and yet she allowed him to access more, to peak into the light that dwelt within her heart. Sometimes he felt as if it was wrong, that he should lock it back and push it into her hands, that she would be wasting it on him—

No. She chose you. Everyday it seemed he had to remind himself of that, and everyday he was more grateful for that; and everyday, he cradled that light within her heart, and thought it was far more brilliant than the stars and as warm as any sun.

Amayian kissed her neck again, stroking a circle into her stomach. “Good morning,” he mumbled against her skin, filling his limbs with her warmth, his mind with her scent, peace falling upon him like rushing water cascading off his body. He heard her giggle, and thought it was the song of the first spring wind coming out from the heart of winter.

A slender pale hand rose, lightly freckled, a glint of silver and violet flashing in the morning light, and fingers prayed over the stubble of his jaw, stroking his jawline, and the scar that followed along the curve of his neck, up a little behind his ear. “Good morning,” she said, in a voice as light as chiming bells. “I made you some coffee.”

“You didn’t have to.” He began to say, though Amayian could not keep the smile off his lips.

“Yes, I didn’t have to. But I wanted to.” A fondness was in her voice, though it was sharpened with a strain edge. His heart leaped in fear, but he settled it down with a hard grapple, silencing its whines.

Struggling to hold the thumping in his chest, he whispered a soft, “I’m sorry.” And as he was about to draw his arms back, Leliana whirled around, facing him with a light smile on her lips and fire in her eyes. Brown-twined blue eyes flared with hints of gold, sparkling like gems beneath a sea.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, though she was forced on her tip-toes. “And why should you be sorry?” asked Leliana, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes a touch. As he was about to speak, a finger swiftly rested upon his lips, and lightly tapped before beginning to idly trace over the scar that cut over his upper lip. “You needed your rest, and I wanted to return all the things you’ve done for me, one small one at a time. You do not need to apologize for asking, however, or feel worried that you may be using me.” She shook her head, her hair stirring with a light bounce, pale light shivering over the strands like rippled sun-lit water. “You aren’t. You being worried speak otherwise.” And she smiled, more broadly, teeth revealed, in that endearing way that made his mind mush and his heart seeking a way out of his chest with the way it hammered.

His lips were upon her, capturing the soft gasp that turned into a moan. He lifted her easily, resting her onto the counter, and slipped between her spread legs. A hand slipped behind his neck, onto the small of his neck, playing with the locks there. The other raised up, stroking his cheek, tracing scars that litter his face. Warmth rushed to his head, blossoming over his cheeks, as his lips melded against hers. Sparks flitted through the darkness of his sealed eyelids, capturing the softness of her lips, the breathness of little moans that escaped between them every so often, the feel of her hips in his hands as they strolled along the length of her sides.

He pulled away, the warmth covering his face in a heavy blush, and smiled slightly. “Sorry.”

Redness shrouded her cheeks, drawing out the freckles that splattered over her nose and cheeks lightly. Amayian fought the desire to lay kisses all over them. He could not help it. Leliana had a very kissable face. But she whacked his arm lightly. “Amayian…” Sighing, she shook her head again, though her smile still lingered on her lips. “You may repay me for that apology with another kiss,” she declared, grinning up at him, her legs drawing him further in by tightening around his waist.

“As the Most Holy declares,” he said, unable to keep off the smile on his lips, as if he wanted to. Another kiss took her retort, this one more delicate, more searching. He felt her hips roll against him, a whine leaving her lips as one hand slipped down, felt smooth skin against his calloused fingers. She wore no smallclothes, and he felt a fire spark in his stomach, stirring his loins.

Amayian drew her bottom lip back with his teeth, allowing Leliana to catch her breath. For a moment or two, his finger slid up and down the length of her folds, gathering wetness that slick his fingertip. Leliana caught her breath; then released it hagged. Her shoulders spiked up, her head lolling back, and his lips were upon that pale swath of neck, laying kisses here, faint bites there.

Vibrations pulsed against his lips, his ears tickled by her moans. As he slid a long finger inside her, he felt her walls shiver and tighten around him. He smiled more at that, pressing another kiss to a new mark that slowly turned the red skin a faint purple.

Rocking his finger back and fro, he littered kisses upward, lingering for a moment at her chin, before trailing along the gentle curving line of her jaw. Amayian took in her moans, the feeling of her body pressed against him, his hand trapped between the soft, hard, and warm hold of her hand; he took it in, and more. The way Leliana’s eyes fluttered and the corners crinkled into wrinkles, brows furrowing, and soft, bruised lips shuttering. He watched as her pale cheeks redden further, watched as the sunlight twirled her hair into a crown of fire, ripples of amber and gold—flowers amongst the snow.

Amayian kissed her again, captured her moans, pressed here and relented there, following a dance he would dance for a thousand years if he could. His heart was in his ears, yet it dimmed next to the soft sounds released against his lips.

His thumb grazed a ghost touch over her clit, and Leliana thrusted her hips forward, whining once more. “I love you,” he murmured against her lips, striding his other hand up along the flaring of her hip, the dip of her waist, up until his hand slipped into her amber-flamed locks. He pressed harder against her, raising his speed and slowing it from time to time. “Let me show you how much I love you.”

Laying kisses on the other side of her jaw, he trailed down, leaving marks behind and memorizing marks from before. He felt her pulse against his lips for a moment, sucked another hickey there, and then descended; ever as his finger rocked back and forth. He slipped another in, and heard Leliana’s breath catch. Another note that lifted high before falling back to the gentle rhythm. “Amayian...Amayian...please..”

He unraveled the ties of his shirt, began to leave marks and kisses behind upon her breasts. It pooled off her shoulders, breasts bare for the world. Goosebumps riddled her skin. Delicately, he cupped a breast. His hand was large enough to cover it entirely. Scarred palms gently squeezed and molded the one breast, as he took the other’s nipple into his mouth, toying with it with his tongue and scrapping it faintly with his teeth.

Her breath came in shaky, trembling gasps. Every so often, a moanful whisper of his name flowed past his lips, twined with curses in Orlesian and Common Tongue. He smiled around her nipple, before returning the same treatment to the other. Leliana’s nipples had always been exceptionally sensitive. The first time he had noticed it, he had overwhelmed her; until she uttered their safe word. He could not help it. He so enjoyed hearing her moans, hearing and seeing her relax before his eyes...because of him. Making her release was also a nice side benefit as well.

Making her release, just as she did then. He felt her soak his fingers, her walls throbbing in tightness and releasing then and there. He slowed his pace, whispering soft words against her skin, letting her ride out her orgasm.

With eyes upon her—Leliana’s own, bearing down with that heated fire, dazed with mist as they were—he slipped his soaked fingers out, and just as he was about to fill his mouth with her taste, she latched down a hand on his wrist. Drawing it slowly up to her mouth, Leliana slipped it into her mouth, moaning at her touch, a curl of a smile on her lips. He throbbed in his breeches, suddenly finding the loose trousers too tight. But he wanted a taste all the same.

“I wanted to taste you,” he said, struggling not to growl. He did not think he fought against it well.

“I could say the same about you.” Her eyes bore down on him, on his knees, rolling down the expanse of his broad chest, focusing on the forest of dark hair on his chest, a scar like a river cutting from his right shoulder down to his left hip. Amayian watched as she licked her lips. “I want to taste you as well.”

“You will,” he murmured, suddenly shy and flushed. The way Leliana stared at him….with so much desire...and love...and adoration. Maker, he did not deserve her. “Let me do it first, though. Please?” Hastily, he added, “If that is alright?”

That smile grew more, more fond and more loving than that wicked smile she had when she took his fingers into her mouth. He still felt their phantom touch around them. “You may. You’re too endearing, you do know that right?”

He felt silly for smiling so broadly at that, but Amayian did. “Thank you.” He felt her fingers begin to stroke his hair, massaging it softly. It made him smile, growing the blush on his cheeks, as his lips began pressing kisses to the scars littering her thighs, faintly stroking it with a brush.

And when his lips were finally between her legs, he felt her thighs tremble on his shoulders, press against his ears, drawing him closer. And closer he got, close to the sun of his life, knowing he may be burned

But for Leliana, that was okay. Amayian knew she would never hurt him. She never could. She was the fire, nestled in that heart of winter.

[gallickingun]

remember me || t.a.

SUMMARY: Tamaki Amajiki saves a civilian. He doesn’t expect her to buy him coffee and teach him about the wiles of floral culture.

PAIRING: Tamaki Amajiki x Fem!Reader  RATINGS: T+ WARNINGS: mild violence and language, etc.  WORD COUNT: 6.9k+

LINKS: ao3 | masterlist | mobile | writing tag

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* TAG LIST *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ is at the end of this post!

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is my first submission for the @bnhabookclub​ provisional license event! if you want to participate, here is the post! and if you want to apply for the server, here is the application!! 

i have to get sappy here for a second. i had 2 panic attacks while writing this because i was so self-conscious, so riddled with doubts about a. was i getting tama’s character right b. was i even on par with the great and wonderful writers of this fandom and c. am i proud of this? eventually, after talking it through, i realized that it doesn’t matter how i measure up to everyone else. i should be writing this because i want to, and because i’m enjoying myself. so, special thanks to @freckledoriya​ and @k-atsukidayo​ who have once again been my lifeline. i love you guys ♡

if you like this, feel free to request more HERE!

Tamaki Amajiki had never given flowers much thought.

He usually passes by the windows of a floral shop and notices the blossoms just enough to smell the variance of air – from stale to sweet – and then he moves on, not much effort spent towards the colorful display of petals in the open windows.

But now, after finding you, he cannot stop thinking about the way they bloom.

“Columbine,” your eyes light up, thumbs pressed to the dark red petals, “they are used to symbolize anxiety.”

Tamaki’s eyes graze over the flower, wondering how you could know so instantly that he might connect with this specific budding plant. The tether he feels to it is strange, something particular but also aloof – as if he could not place it if he tried.

Anxiety is something very relevant to Tamaki’s life, a demon he has struggled with every day since he could comprehend the reason his stomach tied into knots, the worry he keeps pent up in his chest burning ulcers into his belly. He wraps his arms around his waist at the memory of meeting you, the way his entire body was wrought with anxious thoughts, mind unable to comprehend the extent of your impact on him at the time.

You tilt your head as if able to realize that his mind has begun to spiral, “We don’t usually add these into bouquets, but something about them is just so beautifully broken, I can’t help but fall in love.”

It is a typical day on patrol when he first stumbles upon you, nothing special or out of the ordinary, not really.

Tamaki has been working under Fatgum’s agency for a few years to date, and he’s comfortable with the route that he’s been assigned, a routine he has held since the beginning of his deployment. The elder hero understood from the very start that Tamaki tends to try and avoid social interaction. In response, Fatgum made sure to create a patrol route so Tamaki could walk the least populated paths while also providing an effective amount of protection to the community. It’s the least he could do for the young Suneater, a new hero steadily climbing the charts despite his difficulty in speaking with the press outlets.

Some days Tamaki will try to stop by various vendors’ carts, eating foods that will create good manifestations for his quirk or just to support the local economy. It also allows him to try and force himself to have a discussion, even if there isn’t much substance to it, trying to grow more familiar with the ideology of small talk. He’s decided that he is going to stop by his favorite sushi bodega today, already thinking up his lengthy sashimi order as he starts towards the food stand.

And then he hears someone cry out.

Tamaki races in the direction of the distressed sound, channeling his quirk as he rounds the corner. The tentacles that are thanks to the octopus he regularly incorporates into his diet are extended from his fingertips, ready for action as soon as he skids to a stop in the street.

Your body is pressed against the wall of the alleyway, face cut by the brick beneath your cheek. You connect your gaze to his, your brilliantly shining irises seeking him out like a moth to a flame. Tamaki can’t help the way his chest constricts at the sight of such a helpless person, and then his heart lights on fire when he sees the burly man currently trying to take advantage of you. He snarls, digging his heels into the concrete, tentacles growing straight from his fingertips.

Before you can part your lips to try and beg for help or mercy, Tamaki is landing a swift blow to the thug’s head, successfully knocking him unconscious to the ground. You clasp your freed hands around your neck, coughing violently as you bend over at the waist, stars in your eyes and shards in your throat. A thin river of tears streams freely from your lids, and when you’re able to look back up at him, you’re far from embarrassed.

“Th-Thank you,” you manage, voice hoarse. You lick your lips and swipe your hands at your face to rid your skin of tears and snot, “Seriously. That guy-he came outta nowhere!”

Tamaki finds the adrenaline of the short-lived skirmish to have fled from his system, leaving behind only the crippling anxiety that makes him blush from head to toe. He swallows the growing lump in his throat when he realizes he’s been staring at you without responding for at least a full minute now. Your hands are shaking and your shoulders quiver, but Tamaki is frozen in place, feet unable to start towards you.

Fatgum taught him how to comfort civilians, but he’s never been good at it, and the way that you look at him like he hung the moon in the sky does not make the encumbrance of his task any less intense. He knows that the objectification and idolization of heroes is inevitable, no matter how poorly he projects himself onto the public. The reality of it all only does more to constrict his throat, the familiar shroud of apprehension blanketing his body and curling around his spine like a snake. It slithers its way up into his throat until he can’t breathe, tongue deadweight in his mouth.

“Black-eyed Susan,” you muse, plucking a set of three yellow flowers from a vase not too far from him. You turn the buds between your thumb and index finger, the canary-colored blossom blurring in midair as Tamaki tries to stay focused on it. He’s not so close with you that he can smell your perfume, a distinct scent even when you are hidden amongst the blossoms in the greenhouse, but near enough that your presence is dizzying.

It is hard to focus anyway, what with the way your eyes are sparkling under the lowlights of the greenhouse.

You bring the bright flower toward your face and scrunch your nose as you sniff it, eyelids fluttering closed in bliss, “They’re used to express a fierce sense of justice. Usually, we use these in our arrangements for hero galas and festivals.”

Your eyes turn to him, connecting with his violet irises as a smile tugs the corners of your mouth upward, “Don’t you think they’re stunning, Tama?”

For some reason, when he answers, you can’t help but feel there’s a duality to his words, as if he is saying one thing but meaning something else entirely. Tamaki’s eyes are trained in on your face, not the flower, and his lips move in slow motion, like syrup dripping from his tongue, “Oh yes,” Tamaki is close to smiling, “quite stunning.”

You return to your arrangement and begin to hum a gentle melody between heavy breaths as you meticulously place the flowers in their perfect order. The way your brow furrows, creases ever-present on your forehead, draws Tamaki’s attention.

For a fleeting second, he wonders if he were to press his mouth to your worried skin, would you find yourself able to relax? To allow your body to melt into his touch?

“U-Uh, yeah,” he forces the words out, a hand brushing the back of his neck to try and relieve some of the tension he’s feeling. Tamaki adjusts his cape, taking a step forward, just like Fatgum taught him in his earliest days of training. He reaches out his hand for you to shake, but you’re fumbling towards him to capture his frame in a hug before he can make sense of what is going on.

You cup his face in your hands as you pull back to look him in the eyes, completely oblivious, it would seem, to his current state of panic, “Thank you so much! You’re Suneater, right?”

Tamaki gulps down what is left of his dignity and nods in silent confirmation, eyes a little glossy as he gazes over your face. He takes in your features, noting the slope of your nose and the bow of your lips, and he wonders if he’s ever seen anyone as pretty as you before. Normally his body would turn him to mush at the mere sight of a person such as you coming so close to him, but there is something different about your aura, the way you carry yourself.  Your hands pull from his face, and he can’t help the manner that his body follows you, desperate for more.

Just as he’s coming to his conclusion about your beauty and grace, he realizes that you’re talking again, lips moving animatedly. Only this time, you aren’t speaking directly to him. You’re on the phone with the local police, letting them know that there’s been a low-level thief apprehended in the streets.

Tamaki is in awe of you – absolutely shocked at your ability to take charge of the situation, to hold onto it with an iron grip and make it your own. He should be the one alerting the cops, giving them an address and a rundown of what’s happened – that’s his job. And yet, here you are, phone to your ear and authority in your voice, detailing the scene down to the hair and eye color of the perpetrator currently propped up in the alleyway. He’s still unconscious, with his head lolled to the side with tongue protruding from his mouth.

Amajiki’s jaw is hanging just slightly, you notice, so when you step forward, crowding his space all over again, you nudge his chin with the crook of your thumb. A gentle giggle parts your lips, your head tilted in such a way that reminds him of a curious young animal, “Do you want to stop in at my shop? The police said they should be here any minute.”

“Y-Your shop?” he stutters, eyes flitting around to the different curbside stores on the strip of the road in an attempt to pinpoint the building you might be speaking of. He sees a few food stands and a bodega selling travel brochures, but nothing that screams you.

Although, does Tamaki really know enough about you to determine what kind of shop you might own or manage? He chastises himself for jumping too far ahead, his intense and sudden feelings forcing his heart to tumble over his inhibitions.

The habit of his emotions leaping into his throat is one he has struggled to curb for years now – he’s fully aware of his naturally forward-thinking spirit. He can take one action, one string of words, and force it into a new, paradoxical reality which he has fashioned all on his own in a matter of moments. The fabric of this new world is woven so intricately that it’s difficult for him to pull himself out of it, the alternate universe sucking him in and creating a vortex in which his mind can play.

You nod, grabbing your phone out of your pocket and unlocking it quickly, heading to your pictures folder for something specific. The split seconds in which you are distracted give him time to pull himself out of the recesses of his mind, to mend the fabric of time to bring him back to the present. You proudly hold the device up in his face, and he blinks harshly so he can focus.

The photograph on your screen shows him a rather familiar front display stand, dozens of budding flowers framing a beautifully crafted window sign that he’s seen every day since the start of his time at Fatgum’s agency. Tamaki tilts his head, trying to take in the store fully before he admits that he patrols by your flower shop consistently.

His head spins – he can’t believe he never stopped into your store before. Could he have met you a long time ago? Could he have seen you every day for the past few months, getting to learn your favorite flowers and flavors and the specific perfume you wear to smell so enticing? Another question plagues his mind – would you have stopped to give him the time of day had he not met you by saving your life?

“Oh,” he forces himself to speak, to dislodge himself from his tumultuous thoughts, “I-I’ve seen that shop before. You own it?”

You’re looking at the photo now, marveling at it with proud, shining irises. The picture distracts you from his enlarged pupils and blushing cheeks, and he’s thankful for the reprieve of your daunting gaze. Tamaki takes advantage of the seconds of your distracted scrutiny to map out your frame again, attempting to commit as much of you to memory as possible, given the short amount of time he has with you. He swallows the lump in his throat, licking his dry lips when you shove your phone back into your pocket, and he must refocus his eyes on some facet of your face other than your lips.

“There’s an adjoined coffee shop just to the left of it.” You’re smiling at him, and Amajiki thinks his heart is going to beat right out of his chest, flesh bruised from the intensity of its ministrations underneath the skin of his pectoral. The beginnings of a bashful tinge of pink warm your cheeks and ears, and Tamaki speculates whether your body is reacting to him or the heat of the afternoon. You lick your lips, “We can grab a scone and a cup of coffee if you like? My treat since you saved me.”

Tamaki is immediately refusing, holding his hands up as he shakes his head, ducking away from you entirely. “No, n-no, I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Your lips are pulled downward in a pouted frown, eyes losing a little of their luster. Tamaki regrets instantly that his mind is so tied down to the rules, the reality that: “Heroes aren’t supposed to accept bribes, gifts, or rewards in any form.”

You are twirling a different yellow flower between your fingers – this one is much more fragile in nature. Tamaki eyes the papery blossom and ponders the antiqueness of its appearance, as if it were meant to be made into outdated floral prints on fine china.

Your eyes are focused in on the center of the bud, narrowing just enough that he can tell you’re trying to concentrate, “These are yellow carnations. Carnations can mean so many different things – red for heartache, white for innocence, pink for the reality of being unable to forget someone – but yellow, wow yellow is something much more draining, exhausting.”

Tamaki is scooting closer to you, his body drawn in by the tone of your voice, “If the other flowers mean something so kind, h-how can this one have such the opposite effect?”

Your eyes are sparkling, but there is something hidden in the back of them, an emotion he can’t quite pluck out. Perhaps you have a familiarity with this type of flower? Does it hold a different power for you than the others? Are there memories tucked away in the recesses of your subconscious that wreck your spirit when you see this type of blossom?

“That’s the beauty in the buds,” you laugh at your attempt at a jesting remark, eyes hooded now as you glance downward, “if you choose the wrong one, you’re sending a different message entirely.”

Tamaki’s knee bumps into yours, and usually, he would pull away, but this time something feels different, weightier than before. His eyes cannot stray from you; he finds it difficult even when he tries. And so, he succumbs to the desire and leans closer. Near enough to you now that your body heat is intoxicating once mixed with the headiness of your perfume. He tries to keep his eyes from crossing and his hands in his lap, body uncharacteristically wanton for your skin.

You take a breath, your chest expanding, “Yellow carnations mean rejection, disappointment. Usually, they’re used as a revenge flower, given to someone who has harmed you, or taken advantage of you. We don’t do many yellow carnation bouquets.”

The phrase only seems to make you more determined – your brows pull together so tightly that your forehead creases, “Well,” you pause, brushing your hand over your face, “I guess it just won’t have to be any of those things then.”

Tamaki’s head tilts just enough to remind you of a confused animal. His inky irises are zeroed in on you, raven locks of hair falling in his eyes, “Wh-“

“It’s a date!”

His eyes practically bug out of his head, sweat starting to bead down his temples. He shakes his head and steps back from you, holding his hands up in the space currently separating your bodies. Tamaki attempts at conversation, trying to tell you in as few syllables as possible that no, that’s not okay, we can’t, I don’t think that’s allowed…

You shrug, “Listen, call it whatever you want - it’s just coffee.”

The police arrive with sirens blaring a few minutes later, taking down a statement and emailing Tamaki a new set of paperwork he’s going to have to fill out later regarding how and why he used his quirk. He secretly is praying that you will flee the scene once you realize how mundane this part of the hero job can be – interviews and paperwork and confessions on the street.

Maybe you’ll find him and the whole process tedious enough that you’ll run away, back to your flower shop where you can live on in peace, pretending as if you never met him. It’s not always fun and games being a hero, and typically, once a civilian realizes it, they walk away from the scene at hand and find something much more interesting to take up their time. Tamaki is sure you must have a thousand other things you would prefer to be doing than waiting for him to wrap up a discussion with a police officer, or so he’d like to believe.

For some reason, it does not surprise him to find that you are still waiting on him, patiently sipping a bottle of water given to you by another officer while you chat, feet twisting back and forth to pass the time. Tamaki’s mind begins to wander again to how he always passed your shop and never found you outside, watering the arrangements or even in passing in the window. He would have waved – that’s what Fatgum taught him to do. He has been trained to interact with civilians, to remind them that he is there for their protection and safety, as a beam of light in the darkness of their daily lives. There are other shop owners who he knows by name, their faces somewhat cataloged in the recesses of his mind, so he knows he would recall meeting you.

You’re remarkable; Tamaki would have remembered you.

And yet, he knows that now, every time he passes your shop, he’ll think of you, regardless of whether or not you’re outside watering the plants or inside working on an arrangement. Tamaki will be distracted with thoughts of your pretty smile, the way your eyes lit up when you spoke about your shop. Surely he’ll never be able to walk the beat of this street again without remembering you, his heart hammering in his ribs as he plucks up the courage to pass your shop each day. He’d bank on the hope that you’d see him, that you’d turn to wave, and he might be able to catch a glimpse of you, maybe even hold a full conversation more than a few sentences long.

It’s like his eyes are magnets for you now, drawn to find your essence like a northern pole. He turns his head so he can look over the officer’s shoulder, trying to find your frame again amidst the police and pedestrians alike.

Tamaki is more than surprised to find you staring directly back at him.

“What are these?” Amajiki points to a white flower he realizes he should have memorized based on its simplicity, and yet the hero knows that he’d sooner hear your bell-like voice rattling off the meanings to him, “I feel like I’ve seen them before…”

“Daisies,” you giggle, plucking a plume from your wall on display.

You twirl the flower around, taking an inhale of it before returning your attention to the hero stood in front of you. Your body moves without thinking  - inhibitions tucked away in a box in your heart as you step forward, so your body is almost flush with his own. You press one palm flat against his chest, eyes connected with his inky orbs as you grin.

Tamaki is frozen in place, his feet cemented into the ground. He couldn’t escape you even if he wanted to, what with the way his anxious heart stutters underneath the cage of his ribs. Amajiki is somewhat thankful for the bone structure around the organ, acting like a prison so his heart can’t flutter out into the open. His body blushes from head to toe, painting his skin pink, when he feels your fingertips brush against his cheek.

“You look so pretty, Tama,” you murmur as you tuck the bright white blossom behind his ear.

You cannot pull your gaze away from the fragile petals held in place by the thickness of his violet hair and the curve of his ear. The blossom looks so lovely and light in contrast to his inky hair, tucked away like a secret between the strands and his skin. You are practically whispering when you speak next, afraid you might shatter some unspoken moment, “A daisy symbolizes innocence and hope. They’re typically used to symbolize the potential of new beginnings, a promise of faith despite a certainly somber situation.”

Tamaki’s face is bright red, but he manages to speak, “O-Oh, so a get-well type of flower?”

“Something like that.” Your hand ghosts over his cheek, pushing the bud deeper against his temple so the petals are flayed outward, a hauntingly beautiful smile painted on your lips. “It looks purely providential in your hair, Amajiki. Like a light in the dark.”

When you catch him staring, your left eye drops in a wink. Tamaki knows that he has never felt his entire body blush before, but now he is privy to what the sensation is like, an intense heat traveling from his ears to his toes. It’s hot and stimulating in all the strangest of ways, pinpricks of heat underneath his skin, making it seem like he may balloon up and fly away at any given time. He coughs to try and conceal the way his throat is bobbing, covering his mouth with his gloved hand. Even his palms are bright pink beneath the white leather of his suit, turned darker in shade by the overwhelming heat of your gaze but thankfully hidden by his gloves.

The eye contact between the two of you must make you bolder, because you are walking towards him now with purposeful strides. Tamaki knows that no matter how hard he tries, he can’t make his body combust instantaneously to avoid talking with you, and he can’t quite run away when you’re striding towards him. None of those options would prove very heroic.

And, at the end of the day, despite his personal inhibitions and self-restrictions, his job is to be a good hero, to strive to provide the public with safety and comfort, and maybe today the word heroism just means coffee.

You step over to him, your body closer now than before, “You think you’re ready for that coffee now?”

“I-It’s three in the afternoon, what if the caffeine-“

“There is this cool, new invention called decaffeinated coffee,” you deadpan, raising a patronizing brow at him, smirk lilting your lips, “or you can always try tea.”

Tamaki runs his fingers over his jaw in trepidation, the pads of his digits soothing his sweating skin. He licks his lips and chews on the inner corner of his mouth, diverting his eye contact from you to the ground, focus now steadily on the toes of his boots.

The first thought in his mind is that he could be reported for this – he’s still on duty, and he’s decked out in his full hero costume. If he were to be spotted by one of the head heroes or a news outlet for being too friendly with a civilian after saving their life, it could end poorly for him in terms of his reputation. Not only would Fatgum be disappointed, the Suneater’s ranking would dip into the undesirable zone, and he’d probably lose a few of his current brand endorsement deals.

And yet, when you grab him by the elbow and loop your arm through his, Tamaki is frozen just long enough for you to begin dragging him down the street with little opposition.

“Hollyhock,” your eyes roll back in your head as you smell the pink flower in front of your face, a whimper caught in your throat at the dizzying scent. You groan, slumping down in your chair, “One of my favorites.”

Tamaki’s ears perk at the statement, eyes widening just enough so he can memorize the shape of the floral arrangement, stashing away the memory in hopes that he might pull it forward if he were to need it in the future.

“This flower is usually an accent piece, something to show that the recipient is ambitions, outgoing,” you place the stem back into the arrangement, neatly tucking it away to ensure the set is not disturbed. “They’re so stunning, such a phenomenal meaning. So often we don’t reward ambition, instead trying to stifle it.”

The hero turns toward the arrangement, eyeing it carefully. He tilts his head, careful of what he says next, “They a-are pretty flowers.”

“Yes,” your voice has quietened when you admire the blossoms, eyes glazing over as if you were under a spell. You sound far away when you speak, like you might be somewhere between here and there, feet planted on the ground beneath you but mind and soul much further away. “I think so.”

The scent of floral buds and coffee beans makes his head spin – or maybe it’s just the closeness of your body and the gentle breeze that blows your perfume towards him. Your smile mixed with the sunlight of the day makes Tamaki’s breath hitch, eyes averted from your gaze so he won’t turn every shade of red in the book.

“Bean There, Done That,” you rattle off the name of the shop, “they give me free coffee because I put together the floral arrangements for their shop.”

Tamaki is overwhelmed by the menu alone – his eyes roll back and forth over each flavor of roast and style of drink that they offer. Eventually, he feels terrible for holding up the line and he starts to stutter, attempting to spit out some flavor of some type of some kind of drink. His surprise only grows into silence when you half-step in front of him, palm jutting out to wrap around his bicep as you start ordering something that sounds like he might actually like it.

“I-I’m sorry,” he apologizes as you wait off to the side, his toes overlapping as he turns his feet inward. Your hand has since released him, but that does not stop his body from blazing beneath his costume from your touch. Tamaki coughs to hide the trepidation, “I-uh, I don’t really…I don’t really drink coffee? I-It doesn’t do much to help my quirk, so I tend to stay away from it.”

You shrug, folding your hands together at the knuckles in front of your waist, “It’s okay! I figured.” You’re turning to look at him, softness held in your irises as you behold his face, “Plus this place has a lot of options, so it can get kind of easy to feel bogged down, especially when you’re in a line, and other people are waiting impatiently.”

Wow, he thinks to himself, it’s like she’s in my head.

You’re pressing your palm to his arm now, warm touch once again like an anchor to his befuddled mind. When he looks down, you’re smiling, and some small part of him wishes your expression would never fade away into anything less miraculous than your grin coupled with dimpled cheeks and shining irises.

The crumpled petals look like sheets of tissue paper all bundled together, but somehow your magic touch makes them look appealing, beautiful even. Tamaki watches as your delicate hands swirl around the arrangement, tucking different colored flowers into various sections of the vase, transforming it from something that was one dull on its own to a symphony of color and meaning. He tilts his head and smiles, a gesture he’s discovered to be much easier now that he’s found you, “A-And, what are these?”

You glance up from your work, hands caught beneath a blossom, “Hydrangeas.”

He nods, as if he might know exactly what that word entails, lying through his teeth. When you see his unsure expression, you can’t help the grin that tugs upward on the corner of your mouth, “Do you know what these symbolize?”

Tamaki curls in on himself, shoes overlapping as his knees knock, “Uh, n-no?”

“Hydrangea flowers are beautiful because they are used to communicate gratitude for being understood,” you pluck a blooming flower from the stand, turning to hand it to him. When his knuckles brush yours, it’s like a dozen electric shockwaves tumbling through his veins, blistering his blood beneath the skin, turning him to ash inside. Tamaki gasps at the contact, but he’s thankful that you don’t laugh at his unexpected outburst, or rather you continue as if nothing happened, allowing him to shrink back in on himself with less shame than he may have been burdened with otherwise.

You lick your lips and take a short breath, eyes returned to the arrangement at hand, “Hydrangeas are beautiful and easy to manage, most people have them in their yards or gardens for decoration. I haven’t met many gardeners who know what the true meaning is, however, it seems that people always choose them for their bouquets.”

“When would you give someone a hydrangea?” Tamaki asks, eyes tracking your motions no matter which side of the arranging table you’re on. He cannot get enough of you, body drawn to your presence as he sits in wait of another story, another tale to tumble from your lips.

You are tilting your head, considering the question like it held the weight of a court behind it, as if Tamaki were your judge and jury. You sigh, the weight of the world seemingly settled on your shoulders, almost like you’d thought about this question far too much before, “I think if I were going through a hard time, and I had a friend who just was there for me, I would give them a bouquet of hydrangeas.”

“Why?”

He wishes he hadn’t blurted it out – how rude of him – but your answer makes it worth the accidental insensitivity.

“It’s easy to try and instruct someone on what you think they’re to do next,” you answer carefully, eyes following invisible directions as you stalk around the arrangement as if it were your prey. You grind your teeth together; Tamaki can tell based on the way your jaw quivers under the strain. “It’s difficult just to sit and listen. Even when it’s meant to be kind and helpful, it can sometimes be overwhelming to constantly be told how to react or what to say or how to handle a situation. Almost like they aren’t considering you at all, instead preaching to you of their prowess, how they might have done better if they were in your shoes.”

Your voice is almost chilling, hollow like a needle or a feather, “To find a friend who could listen to me without interjecting their opinion, without telling me what to do, now that is worthy of a hydrangea.”

He allows his subconscious thoughts to wander for a moment, thinking on the implications of you possibly having a mind-controlling quirk. Is that the reason he was okay with coming here? Was it all because you manifested a quirk that allows you to influence the minds of men? Or did your quirk work on women too? Did you-

“Hey,” your voice is gentle, subtle despite the loud volume of everyone else in the shop. Your palm is on his bicep, and for some reason, it anchors him instead of making him want to float away at the sudden contact. Your eyes are genuine as you whisper, “Breathe.”

Tamaki listens to you, taking a short breath in and exhaling soon after, eyes never losing direct contact with yours. His shoulders roll with tension, Tamaki’s lower lip tugged between the bite of his teeth. He swallows, realizing what a fool he must appear to be. How can a hero need assistance from a civilian just for breathing?

“I know what anxiety looks like.” You brush your thumb against his bulky costume, and Tamaki wishes a very secret thing then – something he would never admit aloud. He is curious about how intense your touch would be if he weren’t in his full hero outfit.

Would the pads of your fingertips be soft? Would he be able to feel the heat from your skin leeching onto his own? How much more calming might your skin be if it was direct on his own?

You tilt your head, a considerate grin tugging on the corners of your lips. He’s pleasantly surprised to note the dimples that dip inward, making you all the more appealing, as if you needed any additional help. Tamaki tries to say something, but it gets lost in his throat, so you speak instead, “I hope you don’t mind me ordering for you at the counter. I just wanted you to be a little more comfortable. I felt bad since I was the one who asked you to come.”

“N-No, it’s fine,” he forces the words out, turning to look you in the eyes. Tamaki grits his teeth together and muscles through the anxiety gripping his bones like a vice. He questions when the day will finally come when he might break. “I just feel bad for the people waiting on me.”

“This flower is pretty,” Tamaki licks his lips and leans forward, inspecting the blossom rather intently.

You laugh, and he’s reminded of how delicate you are when you giggle. His eyes are momentarily redirected toward you, taking in every curvature of your face, the dimples created by your smile, the way the gesture reaches your eyes, and it’s like little stars shine from your irises. Tamaki can’t help the way he grins, your laugh and your smile are infectious, much like your love for flowers.

“Have you seen one before?” you ask him, stepping towards the wall of blooms, “They’re a beautiful choice, a lot of meaning behind them. Most people have never seen one, though.”

Tamaki turns to face the flowers again, compelling himself to detract from your silhouette, “Are they rare?”

“Not necessarily,” you respond. You push yourself up on your toes to grab a bright red bud from the wall, twirling your choice blossom between your fingerprints. The scent wafts from the center of the flower, a small dusting of pollen coating Tamaki’s nose.

You giggle as you reach across to brush his skin free from the yellow powder, hand lingering just slightly too long for him to ignore your possible intent. You lick your lips, irises swallowed by your pupils for a moment, allowing him a direct line of sight into your soul. He reads you for a split second, and he swears that the look in your eyes mirrors his own when he thinks too hard about the way you move and the distinct notes of your smell. You’ve taken over every inch of his mind, every last curve of cerebrum and cerebellum.

For the first time, Tamaki is somewhat confident that you might be under the same spell.

“These are anemones,” you break him from his stupor, pulling his line of sight towards the budding flower in your grasp, “they signify anticipation – the build-up before the burst. Kind of like when you’re going to have your first kiss!”

Tamaki stutters, “T-That’s why you’d g-give someone this flower? Wh-When you want to kiss them?”

“No, silly,” you swat at him, smacking the back of your palm against his bicep. However, before you can turn away from him entirely, he notes the beautiful blush turning your cheeks to a rouge. You sigh dramatically with your hip leaned against the table, “I just mean that’s what the flower symbolizes – the tantalizing next step into the unknown.”

“Sounds scary.”

Your eyes light up as you turn to look at him again, irises gleaming under the bright lights of the flower shop, “Oh, but doesn’t it feel riveting?”

You are too close now, your pose intoxicating as he remembers every time you’ve come so near to him and he hasn’t had the strength to reach out and grasp you by the waist. Is this his time? Is this the day that he finally hands you a blossom and tells you the truth about the war raging inside of his chest? He has little soldiers prodding at his heart, stomping all over his bones, making them ache when he is adjacent to you.

Something within him wanders into the tumultuous thoughts of how you might respond, what his body would do in reaction to you. Would he finally find some relief from the plague of himself when he finally passes the threshold into adoring you on a physical level? Mentally, he’s been infatuated with you for some time now, but his throat can’t force the words out when he’s within ten feet of your frame.

Tamaki reaches out, his hand weighted down with reserve and implications. And yet, it’s almost like you lean into his touch before he can think on it too harshly, before he can make the rash decision to retract it and flee. He gasps audibly, eyes flashing to find your face, irises connecting like some sort of lighthouse out at sea, giving one another hope despite the disparity of every other moment leading up to this one.

“Anemones,” Tamaki whispers, voice curling from his throat, projecting onto you like a prayer. His hand is hot with hesitation as it rests on your rib cage, “I’ll have to remember that one.”

“Well, the people waiting on you can get over themselves. Everyone needs to learn a little patience, anyways.” You brush a hand through your hair, blowing away stray locks as they float back into your line of sight. You sigh, voice sounding dejected until your topic turns to blossoms, “I-I’m sorry if this wasn’t the place to bring you. I just figured it would be easy since it’s right next to my shop. I’d love to show you some flowers if you have time?”

“I-I’m on patrol,” he manages to push the words out from between his teeth, his throat grating like sandpaper, “I’m not sure…”

“Maybe another time, then?”

Dare he say you sound hopeful? And maybe even a little nervous?

How is it that each time his mind snaps him from you like a rubber band, you are right there, ready to stretch his limits yet again?

“I have seen this one…in Mother’s Day bouquets, I think?” Tamaki asks, unsure of himself this time as he circles the table. There are so many different types of blossoms, so many different meanings to decipher based on genus and color alone.

Your nod makes the pit in his stomach settle for some reason, and Amajiki releases a breath he didn’t realize that he was holding captive in his lungs. He’s not sure he understands why just the small reassurance of your head bobbing or your voice lilting on the right side of kind can calm the raging sea in his mind and stomach.

Tamaki is nearly tucked into your side, hands itching to find purchase against your body, his frame devoid of his typical uniform. The long sleeve shirt may cover the majority of his palms, but that does not mean he would refrain from baring his skin if it meant he could dip his toes into the edge of the ecstasy he might feel at your touch.

His fingertips are on the cusp of you, the calloused pads extended, beckoning you to come closer in a silent, desperate plea. Like your hearts are tied together in some other realm, as if you’ve done this a thousand times before, in a dozen other lives, you turn subconsciously to allow the collision of his fingerprints to impact the curve of your waist.

“Gladiolus means remembrance,” your voice is breathless as you point towards a set of buds that are seated proudly on the wall of flowers. You tilt your head upward, eyes shining as you press the heel of your palm into the column of his throat, thumb grazing his Adam’s apple to soothe it.

The weight of your words does not fall on deaf ears, Tamaki’s every sense on high alert as you speak next, “They can mean remembrance of someone past, or of someone you’re currently trying to honor. Or they can just mean a simple remember me.”

  ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* TAG LIST *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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[otomefoxystar]

Into the Woods

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Pairing: Mitsunari X MC

Warnings: NSFW, oral sex, vaginal sex 

Genre: Smut

There was a celebration in the wake of one of Nobunaga’s victories. The alcohol was flowing, and there was an abundance of food decorating the table. You were seated between Mitsunari and Masamune. 

“ We couldn’t have won without Mitsunari, his tactical advice always ends up being a crucial part of our plan you should be proud of him lass.” You smiled and grabbed Mitsunari’s warm hand, interlacing your fingers with his. He squeezed your hand tightly.

“ I am very proud of him, however, I must admit I worry when he is away. I wish I could always come, but I have so many kimono deadlines with summer coming.” 

Masamune smiled his cerulean eye sparkling “We’ll make sure he stays safe, but you know he’s gotten pretty good with a sword. I am confident he can take care of himself.” You looked at Mitsunari as he took a bite of food. 

“ Is this true? Have you been practicing?”

“Yes, in fact, Lord Ieyasu even said I was getting better.” 

He grinned and Ieyasu turned his head at hearing his name. 

“ I said no such thing” He glared at Mitsunari 

“ If I recall you told me that my form looked good.” 

Ieyasu rolled his eyes “ How do you always twist what I say?” 

You laughed “ I’m glad nothing has changed” 

Ieyasu grumbled and turned to Mitsuhide. Mitsunari put his chopsticks down and looked at you.

“ Do you want to go for a walk?” 

“ That sounds nice.” 

He smiled sweetly and stood up putting his hand on the small of your back. Masamune started whistling as you left the dining hall. The celebration was going on outside as well with a fair amount of intoxicated people. 

You looked up at the dark sky “ look at the stars Mitsunari!” 

He looked up. “ They are beautiful aren’t they?” 

You nodded your head “ Yes, you know the stars here look different from the ones where I’m from. They seem to shine brighter ” 

He kissed your cheek “ Maybe it’s not the stars, but the company you are with.” You looked at the stars pondering what he was trying to say 

“ You’re saying that because I love you the stars appear brighter?”

“ Yes, emotions can make us see things differently.” 

You smiled “ I can see that.” 

He took your hand 

“ I want to take you somewhere” You looked at him quizzically. 

“Where?” he smirked “ It’s a surprise.” you smiled, and he led the way to an open meadow. He put his haori on the ground.

“Sit down,” you did as he said and sat on his haori and he sat next to you. He laid down and pulled you down next to him by your arm. 

“ Look at the stars now” You both gazed at the twinkling of the stars. 

“ Mitsunari, this is perfect” You took his hand and started fiddling with his fingers and drawing circles on his palm with your nail. 

He looked over at you and you looked over at him. 

“I’m glad you came to us, I don’t think I could bear it if you left me.” You stroked his silver hair 

“ I will never leave you, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me forever.” 

He smiled, “ I’m okay with that.”

 As the two of you laid there together with your hands tightly woven together, you pointed out all the constellations that you could remember. He listened intently, fascinated with the information you were feeding him. A light caught the corner of your eye and you turned your head, and there was a shooting star racing across the sky. 

“ Oh! a shooting star, make a wish!” 

He looked at you confused “ a wish?” 

You smiled “ hurry before it goes away”

“ there’s another one”  

You both watched as the star faded.

  “ Did you make a wish ?”  

“ Of course” He looked at you curiously. “What did you wish for?” 

you smacked his shoulder 

“ I’m not telling, it won’t come true.”

 He looked at you tenderly and ran a finger along the lines of your face until he came to your lips. He ran his finger over your bottom lip, then he cupped both your cheeks and kissed you softly. His lips were so tender, so loving. His tongue entered your mouth exploring and caressing your tongue. As your tongues wrestled his hands were feeling your curves and you couldn’t help but moan. 

He broke the kiss, and the only thing that connected you was a string of salvia. He pulled your body closer to his so your bodies were flush against each other. He kissed beneath your ear where the skin was especially sensitive. 

“We’re outside,” you said breathlessly.

Mitsunari kept kissing down your neck, you kept resisting but it felt so good. 

“ I want to make love to you under the stars.”

 He opened up the collar to your kimono to reveal your chest. He kissed across your collarbones. 

“ But Mitsunari” He kissed your lips again. 

“ No but’s I’m far too excited now.” 

He helped you sit up, and unraveled your obi. Letting your kimono loosen and fall to your waist. Cupping your breast he kissed your neck 

“mmm,” you moaned involuntarily.

 “ You are so beautiful” 

he discarded the rest of your clothes laying you down on his haori. His lips went to your chest, kissing your breast. He pinched your nipples to make them harden. He took one of your nipples into his mouth sucking. Repeating the same action to the other one.

You pulled at his kimono opening it up to feel the hard planes of his chest. You rolled over towards him and sucked his earlobe, knowing he was especially sensitive there. He gasped, making you smile. You loved it when he made noises like that, but he was never quiet when making love. He got up and sat on his knees, taking off his kimono you could see his erection straining in his fundoshi. You sat up and pulled it off hearing him hiss from the relief of his cock springing free.

You took him in your hand pumping him, and when his head started leaking you rubbed it over his sensitive head using it as lubrication. 

“ahh,” He looked at you with darkened eyes. “ I need to be in your mouth." He sighed deeply

You looked at him surprised “ So demanding.” 

You stood up and backed him against a tree, and got on your knees. You pumped him a couple more times for good measure. You licked the underside of his cock from the base, over his pulsing vein to the tip. You circled the tip with your tongue. You looked up at him, and he had closed his eyes. He grasped the hair on your scalp to keep himself steady. 

You took his length in your mouth slowly, and once his cock hit the back of your throat you began bobbing your head up and down his length. He was sighing and gasping as you continued your ministrations. 

“ St-stop...I want you to feel good too, it’s my turn to pleasure you.” 

He laid you down, and settled his head between your legs. He spread your folds with his fingers and ran the flat of his tongue on your throbbing clit. 

“ Ohhh...yes” he looked up at you.

“Someone might hear if you don’t want to be heard you need to be quiet.” 

He went back to your clit moving his tongue up and down quickly. He entered two fingers curling them into you as he licked at your clit 

“ Ahhh”

 your walls started fluttering, and he started moving his fingers faster pumping them in and out, and he took your clit into his mouth sucking it. You arched your back, and he pumped slowly helping you ride out your orgasm.

He slowly pulled away and smiled at you while you caught your breath. He climbed on top of you, kissing you. He spread your legs with his knees and lined his cock up with your entrance. 

“ You ready?” 

you looked at him with need 

“ I need you Mitsunari” 

he pushed into you with one swift motion. 

“ I don’t think I can be gentle tonight.” 

You cupped his cheek “ you can be rough with me.” 

His eyes widened “ you don’t know what you do to me.” 

He wrapped your legs around his hips and lowered his body weight onto you. His thrusts started slow, but he quickly increased his speed. As he thrust himself in and out of you he pulled almost completely out only to slam back into you. You met his thrusts with your hips. 

He grunted as he thrust into you, and your moans became screams of pleasure. He stopped to give you a sloppy kiss. He wanted to give you maximum pleasure so he reached between your bodies and started rubbing your clit in circular motions. You started feeling warm from your toes to your ears 

“Faster! I’m going to come so hard!” 

He grunted and went faster and felt you clench around his cock. You scratched up his back.

 “Ohhh! Mitsunari!”  

Hearing you scream his name like that turned him on, and he thrust hard into you chasing his orgasm until he shot his essence into you and slowly stopped moving. Pulling out he collapsed beside you, both of your chests heaving. He brushed your sweaty hair out of your face. and kissed your cheek. 

“ I guess you couldn’t stay quiet, could you? I’m sure all of Azuchi heard you.” You blushed furiously

“ I couldn’t help it. I didn’t know my angel could be such a devil.”

He bit his lip “ I can’t control myself with you.” 

You looked over at him, and stroked his hair, looking into his eyes knowing how lucky you are to have him.

“ I love you”

he kissed your forehead.

“ And I love you, always will.” 

You both took your time getting dressed and walked slowly back to your room where you spent the night holding each other.