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thebearer · 10 months

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honestly, thinking about the last episode and thinking about pete, and i am an honest to god pete defender.

like he is so good to sugar, and tries to hard to be good for her, good for the whole family. he knows how fucked up they all are, and he's just there- a little sunshiney boy trying to keep everything together. he has the best of intentions, he really does.

the scene with donna outside the restaurant. how he's just trying to do what's best and he feels empathy for her? he sees the best in people and honestly, i get why they're hard on him- he's not their usual type in the family, but pete deserves all the love and support genuinely.

just picturing your first true berzatto family get together. donna wants to see the new baby, so they have it at the restaurant. steven and michelle from out of town, jimmy, leo, donna, everyone- the whole gang. you're overwhelmed, especially when donna starts drinking.

pete just kinda comes and sits by you, while you're alone and unsure in the corner. you'd already been hounded with a million questions, carmen is trying to keep the peace in the kitchen, trying to check on you, trying to keep everyone from killing each other.

"how are you doing?" pete asks, sitting beside you, baby mikey in his arms.

"i-i'm good." you muttered, eyes darting around the room.

"it's a lot." pete sighed.

"it is a lot." you muttered, nodding slowly. "i mean, i knew it was gonna be a lot. carmy warned me on that but it's like..."

"so much worse than you thought it would be?" pete looked at you carefully.

"yeah." you nodded. "i, uh, i understand a lot more now."

"they're, uh, they're actually really nice. all of them, on their own." pete offered. "like steve and michelle, they're great, really. easy to talk to, always really nice, super fuckin' funny. and...and you know jimmy. leo is... leo's kinda a ball buster. got this dry sense of humor, but he'll be nice to you, a little invasive you know? but he's got good intentions."

you nodded slowly, eyes scanning around the room towards each person. "what about his mom?" you muttered, looking at the white haired woman nursing another glass of chardonnay. "she, uh, she hasn't spoke to me the whole time. i tried to introduce myself and she walked right past me." you tried not to sound hurt, carmen told you to shake it off, but it did hurt. that was his mother, no matter how he tried to play it off.

"donna is... donna is a lot." pete hummed. "she... you can't force donna. ok? she'll come to you when she's ready. right now, she doesn't know who you are. and as fucked up as it is, it's her way of looking out for carm, looking out for herself. just give that one time. she's watching you."

you scoffed lightly. "yeah? that supposed to make me feel better pete?"

"no. no not at all." pete laughed. "but, just some advice. you gonna leave carmen anytime soon?"

"no." you furrowed your brows, shooting a glare at him.

"then you show her that. she'll ease into you. i promise." pete said.

"thank you, pete." you nodded sincerely at him. "thanks for this."

"of course." pete grinned. "it's a lot and they're all too caught up in their own to try and help so... we outsiders gotta look out for each other."

you laughed lightly, looking down at the baby in his arms. he had the berzatto nose, carmen's and mikey's. "you're not an outsider anymore." you grinned. "not with this little guy."

pete smiled proudly. "i'm still an outsider. just got like a lifetime pass in." you laughed, reaching out to stroke the baby's soft tuft of hair. "you wanna hold him?"

"are you sure?" your eyes flashed to him. "i'm not great at it."

pete shrugged, fishing his hand sanitizer out and tossing it to you. "just don't drop him. i won't abandon you with him. promise."

you freshly sanitized hands shook lightly, grabbing the baby a little unsure, shifting the weight in your arm until it was comfortable. baby mikey gurgled, face scrunching for a moment, before he settles, lulled back into whatever rest he was in before.

"ah, he likes you." pete boasted. "must know you're gonna be a vip like me."

you snorted lightly, swaying back and forth with the tiny baby. "yeah. hopefully."

"you will be." pete nodded, his eyes cutting over to the figure by the windows. "judging by carmy's face, you definitely will be."

you looked up, seeing your boyfriend standing there, a water in his white knuckled grip staring at you. you smiled gently, nodding him over.

"they got you on baby sitting duty?" carmen grinned, trying to play off how flustered he was before, how his heart was skipping a beat seeing you like that.

"somethin' like that." you hummed. "pete just asked if i wanted to hold him. he's cute. kinda looks like you."

carmen scoffed as pete boasted. "he does, doesn't he! i told nat that and she told me i was crazy! see, nat!" he stood, going to get his wife from across the room, a promise he'd be right back.

carmen slid into his spot, leaning over your shoulder to look at the baby- his nephew. "he's cute." he nodded. "sorry you got stuck with pete." his tone snarled, rolling his eyes gently.

"hey, stop that." you frowned. "pete is very sweet, alright? he's a good guy, carm."

carmen could feel his shoulders tense. he was a good fuckin' guy, he knew that, that's why they gave him such a hard time. "you're right." carmen muttered. "he is a good guy."

"what were you two talking about?" carmen asked, letting the baby wrap his tiny fist around his finger.

"he was just telling me about your family."

"oh." carmen rolled his eyes sarcastically. "i'm sure that was great."

"it was." you said firmly, looking at him. "all the good stuff, baby. promise."

carmen blushed, resisting the urge to kiss you while his sister and pete came back over, pete exaggeratedly talking about how the baby did look like carmy and mikey and you agreed, which then brought jimmy over to give his opinion, stevie and michelle following, until everyone was around you bickering and throwing back and forth about who was right.

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dulcesiabits · 5 months

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rules of rationality, p.2.

summary: it's unfortunate, but when you're injured, the only person who helps you is Alhaitham.

notes: 1.6k words, fic, part one, depictions/discussions of injuries, slight suggestive content, weird mutually pining situationship

The first thing you’re aware of is the lancing pain in your torso, like someone has run a red hot poker through your guts and stirred it into a mess.

The second thing you’re aware of is something firm under your head, like a stiff pillow. Not uncomfortable, exactly, but different.

Then, you open your eyes to see Alhaitham’s arms and a dusty book in his hands, floating right above you. Ah. You’re lying down. And you’re lying down on… oh shit. You groan and try to lift yourself up, but that only causes the pain in your torso to spike, so you drop your head miserably back onto Alhaitham’s lap.

“Get out of my house,” you manage to say.

“You’re in my house,” he replies calmly, flipping a page.

“That’s even worse, you know that?”

Now that your consciousness and your sensation are returning, you can make out a little more about the situation. You’re on Alhaitham’s living room couch, and there’s a blanket pulled across your legs. Your lips are dry and cracked, and you lick them with your swollen tongue in vain. Even the smallest movement sends fresh pain throbbing through your body like waves. There are bandages on your arms, and more peeking under the hem of your shirt.

“You shouldn’t move,” Alhaitham says. “You were badly injured when you were found. I can give you the full report from the doctor later, but it should suffice for now to know that the most major wound was on your torso, on top of several injured organs. The blood loss was substantial.”

“Wow. Thanks for telling me I almost died. But you’re not addressing the most important question.”

“Which is?”

“Why am I on your lap?” you say.

“Because you kept tossing in your sleep and disturbing your wounds. You wouldn’t calm down unless I was holding your hand, but since that was inconvenient for me, I moved you to my lap instead. You slept quite fitfully.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, mouth puckering like you’ve bitten a sour zaytun peach. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yes.”

You would scream, but that would only jostle your wounds. You were never going to live this down. You wouldn’t calm down unless Alhaitham, of all people, held your hand? Like you were some child, clinging to the hands of their mother, or worse, some romantic sap who couldn’t stand to be without him, even unconsciously? Honestly, you’d have preferred if your assailant had finished the job instead of leaving you to die of a slow humiliation on Alhaitham’s lap. With any luck, your wounds will finish you off instead.

Honestly, it’s not as if Alhaitham hasn’t seen you in more vulnerable and decidedly inappropriate situations, but there was a strange intimacy to laying on his lap that set your teeth on edge. You’re exposed like this. You’d have a hard time defending yourself if Alhaitham, for whatever reason, decided to go rogue and murder you like a crazed maniac.

But more than that, you’re the one who usually initiates things in your relationship. You’re the one who reaches out first, and Alhaitham either accepts your advances or wards you off with his blunt demeanor. There’s no guesswork with him, which you appreciate. But this is the first time you’ve ever seen Alhaitham willingly let someone touch him like this, and for such a prolonged period of time. Sure, you’re injured, but it feels unsettling, to say the least.

What made him treat you so differently?

It’s a strange little reverse of the situation only a month or so prior, when he had been the one to show up injured at your doorstep. Now, you’re the one who needs his aid, and it’s not a position you like being in. People are normally in your debt, not the other way around.

“What happened?” you mumble.

“That’s what I thought you could tell me.”

You cast your thoughts back, blindly fishing in the murky waters of your memory. What had happened? There was a new shipment of rare books coming in, some ancient poetry excavated in the desert, and you couldn’t resist the opportunity to snag some for yourself. But the dealer had been shifty and you didn’t like the look in his eyes. Years of intuition told you this was a rotten deal. When you tried to back out, things had turned violent. You had tried to flee, but then fought back when no other option was available to you. But even you couldn’t hold your own against a dozen experienced armed fighters. What happened after you passed out, you couldn’t say.

In hindsight, it had probably been a trap of some sort. Set up by who and for what, you couldn’t say. Your list of enemies was a mile long, though there was also the chance you had simply gotten caught up in something by accident.

Sure, you rubbed people the wrong way because you fell on the other side of the law, and you dug into secrets and invaded privacies most loved to keep under wraps. But you were harmless! Except to the people whose information you sold for a premium, but other than that!

You tell Alhaitham as much, and he drinks in the information slowly.

“It’s not like you to fall into such an obvious trap. Should I make an appointment with a neurologist for you?” he says.

“Only if you sign up for one with me,” you say. “Hey, I bet you wouldn’t have been able to resist the deal yourself. Some of those books were priceless antiques.”

“I can think of better things to risk my life for,” he says.

“So, how did I end up here, Scribe? Did you save me?” That part of the story had been bothering you like a loose rock in your shoe: the gap between you fainting in a warehouse and you ending up on Alhaitham’s lap.

“Hardly. The Matra were the ones to crash that little party of yours. They arrested most of the perpetrators, though some escaped.”

“Ah, how classically incompetent! But wait. They didn’t arrest me on the spot?” you say in disbelief.

“One of them— one of your contacts, I suppose— recognized you as my acquaintance and fetched me before anyone could ask too many questions. I was able to smooth things over, and arranged for you to recover in my home instead of the general hospital.”

“Damn. How much do I owe you for that?”

“Hard to say. What sort of price would you put on your life?” Alhaitham asks.

“I’m priceless. I’m basically one of the treasures of Sumeru.”

“I doubt it, considering you actively meddle in affairs that aren’t yours and cause endless grief to everyone involved.”

“Hey, I’m just doing my job,” you protest. “But you know… it’s strange for you to offer to host me here. It makes me wonder… Do you enjoy seeing me like this?” you say coyly. It’s an errant thought, one you’re not quite sure why you voiced.

“Not at all. In fact, I quite like how you usually are.” Simple, honest, direct. Just as Alhaitham usually is. You might have preferred it if he had lied instead.

“What the hell,” you mumble. “That’s unfair.”

“You asked. Why did you ask if you weren’t ready for the answer?”

“You know, coming from you, what you just said could qualify as a confession,” you say.

He flips another page. “And what if it does?”

Ah, this is dangerous territory. It’s time to back away. Your injuries must be more serious than you initially realized, if they were going to make you run your mouth like this and send you hurtling into social situations you can’t navigate with your usual finesse. “Then I’d have to turn you down. You know, the beautiful men and women of Sumeru would weep if I wasn’t available for their lovelorn gazes,” you say as lightly as possible.

“Considering your relative unpopularity, I doubt anyone would care if we did end up together.”

“Jackass. This is why you can’t get a date other than me.”

“I will take your criticism under consideration,” he says.

You close your eyes. The more you sleep, the faster you’ll heal, and the sooner you’ll be back on your feet and out of here. Then, you’ll find some way to repay your debt to Alhaitham, if only to establish some sort of balance in your relationship for your own sake. Emotions have a habit of muddling any situation they’re tangled with, and they’re a complication you want to avoid. Yes, it’s better to keep things transactional.

A hand drifts down to your face, fingers gently stroking your cheek. It’s a touch you’re intimately familiar with. Normally, you’d bat his hand away, or kiss his palm to see how far you can get with him. But you can’t muster up the energy to do anything other than accept his touch.

You would never admit it to Alhaitham, just in case it makes him more insufferable than usual, but his presence is comforting. There’s no one else you would trust enough to fall asleep like this, without any weapons hidden on your person or backup plans in mind. He’s the only person in the world who you know would never hurt you.

What the hell. You’re getting sentimental. Maybe it’s the unusualness of the situation. Maybe it’s the fact you’re hurt, or maybe it’s the way Alhaitham sheltered you in his home, despite his usual desire to avoid mess and fuss.

His touch is traitorously soft. You should tell him to knock it off, just on the off chance it stirs up sentiments you’d rather lie buried.

But you can’t. Or you don’t want to. Because for now, it’s just the two of you, and you almost feel like you’re someone precious to him as you drift off to sleep in his lap.

#liya writes #genshin impact #alhaitham #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham x reader #x reader #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #SURPRISE PART TWO!!!#just got hit with random inspiration for one but ive always wanted 2 write more for this reader #guess alhaitham was on the brain since i've been playing him a lot recently

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nhlclover · 1 year

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football | jack hughes

summary: at your boyfriends lake house, you get dragged into a family football game.

request: yes / no

warnings: sexual innuendo

a/n: i saw someone say this joke to harry styles at a show in australia and had to use it in a blurb

word count: 0.6k

The Hughes’ lake house had to be one of the most serene places I’d ever been to. The house was in somewhat of an alcove, providing a makeshift sound barrier, and on top of that, there wasn’t another house for about half a mile in each direction. The calm water, only occasionally disturbed by a fish, was peaceful to look at while I could sit on their dock and get a nice tan from the beating sun.

Yet for some reason I was not relaxing on an Adirondack chair and reading a book. Rather, I was being dragged into the Hughes brothers' game of football they were playing on the lawn.

“C’mon, y/n. You’ve been reading all day.” Luke whined.

“Yes and I think that’s something the three of you should do more considering you barely have high school diplomas.” I chirp back.

“Please, babe.” Jack says, standing in front of my spot on the chair, blocking out the sun. The way the light cascaded around my boyfriend's body made him look like an angel.

“Come play a few rounds with us? If you play with us I’ll play with my shirt off.” he smirks.

I roll my eyes but give in, knowing that they won’t stop asking until I do. “Fine. But know I am not playing because you are shirtless.” I say, pulling on my sweater over my bikini.

“Oh sure.” Jack says, doubting me, removing his shirt and tossing it where I was just sitting.

I was at a significant disadvantage with all three brothers being quite taller than me. Anytime I tried to catch the ball one of them would come out of nowhere, smacking it away before I even touched the leather. I was about to quit and revert to the dock, but didn’t want to ruin the mood after seeing how much fun they were having.

“Ready?” Luke shouted out. He was now throwing the ball to Jack, while being defended by Quinn, leaving me to defend Jack. “Blue 42… hut!”

Luke shouts out the meaningless football play, before setting his feet to throw to Jack. I follow my boyfriend as he runs in various directions to evade me. He may be taller but I’m still just as agile as he is. Luke sails the ball over Quinn, who jumps on him just as the ball leaves his hands. I stay with Jack, but his height gets the best of me as he’s able to jump up and catch the ball over top of me. Luke and Jack cheer, gloating in our faces.

“I hate football.” I groaned. “I haven’t even touched the ball yet.”

“Oh, you wanna touch it? Here.” Jack says, sticking out the football.

I go to grab it, but he pulls it back, raising it above his head. “You’re not funny.” I roll my eyes.

I reach to grab it, but Jack continues to hold it out of reach. I start jumping for the ball, coming close a few times, which causes Jack to cradle the ball and squeeze it into his chest. I jump on his back, reaching over him to try and grab it.

Suddenly, Jack pulls his arm back, which sends his elbow flying straight into my forehead at full speed. I recoil, jumping off his back and falling to the grass, holding my head in pain. Jack immediately kneels beside me, holding me instead of the football.

“Oh my god, y/n, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” Jack asks me.

I nod in response but stay down holding my head. “I’m okay, just give me a second.” I replied.

He stays quiet for a few seconds, letting me absorb the pain. I blink my eyes open, seeing Jack’s concerned face in front of me. The pain had already pretty much subsided.

“Are you okay?” he asked again.

“I’m fine.” I assure him.

“How’s your head?” he asks.

“You’ve never complained.” I smirk, cracking a joke.

Jack looks at me confused momentarily before understanding my joke. “Oh my god.” he rolls his eyes, standing up. I laugh at my own joke, taking Jack’s extended arm to help me up. “You are so not funny.”

#jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #new jersey devils #nhl imagine #nhl #hockey #luvzegras

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lnfours · 1 year

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summer loving (one) ⎸ t.h

⌙ summary: your mom and tom’s mom grew up together, swearing that their kids would be life long friends. and it was true, the holland boys were a special part of your life. but on the annual trip to their beach house this summer, everything feels different. and that’s because it is.

⌙ au: based on the book and tv show ‘the summer i turned pretty’ by jenny han. childhood friends to lovers

⌙ wc: 1.7k

⌙ warnings: swearing, hints of jealousy, a hint of fluff and angst.

⌙ pairing: tom holland x fem!reader

masterlist ⎸ teaser ⎸ chapter two ⎸ listen

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the waves crashing on the sand, the smell of salt and sunscreen in the cool breeze, the seagulls calling in the blue sky above the ocean, and the feeling of the sun on your skin.

you were home.

you smiled as you entered the holland’s beach house, it being a tradition to come every summer since you and your older brother were born. your parents had been life long friends of the hollands, nikki and your mom being so close that the two were practically sisters. the husbands always stayed at home to watch over things while the wives and the kids took a vacation. that’s how things have always been.

of course amongst you and your older brother, there were the holland brothers. four of them, in fact. two of them were twins, harry and sam, and the youngest one, paddy, being like one of your own brothers. he was your favorite, but you’d never let the other boys know that.

lastly, there was the oldest holland boy, tom. tom was your first crush, the only boy you’d always wish for on your birthday when you blew out the candles on your cake. he was protective of you, always defending you when the other boys made fun of you or left you out of things. if you were living in a fairytale, he’d be your knight in shining armor.

but this summer, you had a gut feeling that everything was going to be different. your suspicions were right when you weren’t greeted with a bear hug from tom, which had become a tradition over the years. instead, he walked up to you and gave you a small smile and an awkward wave.

you had furrowed your eyebrows, but let it roll off your back as you made your way to your room. it looked the exact same, the baby blue walls and white furniture. the blue and yellow floral bedding.

everything was just the way it was supposed to be.

you turned your head as there was a soft knock on your door, “hey, what’re you up to?”

you smiled at sam, folding your clothes as you shoved things into the dresser drawers, “putting things away,” you turned to look at him as he laid on the bed, head resting on his hand as he watched you, “what’re you up to?”

you and sam were probably the closest, the two of you bonding over your love for surfing and swimming all day long. the two of you ‘were like fish’, as your mother likes to say.

“probably gonna go catch some waves,” he smiled, “look at ‘em! practically callin’ my name!”

you laughed, looking outside the large window that sat across from your bed, “they do look pretty nice.”

“you comin’?”

you sighed, shaking your head as you threw your clothes down onto the bed, “fuck it, yeah.”

his smile lit up, “sweet! i’ll meet you outside in 5.”

he sprung off your bed and made his way to his own room, closing your bedroom door behind you. you grabbed a bathing suit, quickly throwing it on before grabbing your tote bag and throwing in a towel and your book, slipping on your flip flops before making your way down the wooden steps. you met sam downstairs, smiling to both of your moms as you entered the kitchen.

“already heading out?” nikki smiled, she knew you and sam loved to hit the beach on the first day.

“yup, the waves are calling to us!” sam said, tossing you a water bottle from the fridge. you smiled as you caught it, hearing another set of footsteps enter the room.

“just make sure y/n doesn’t wipe out this time.” your brother joked, causing you to roll your eyes and flip him off jokingly.

“one time! it was one time, austin!”

he let out a chuckle, looking at your mom, “do you care if harry and i head into town?”

she shook her head, “no, just make sure you’re not doing anything stupid.”

he fake saluted her before walking backwards into the living room, calling to harry. you looked at sam, giving him a small smile before nodding your head to the door.

“come on,”

“be careful you two!” the moms called out, both of you calling back to them and replying that you would before heading to the side of the house where they kept the surf boards. you grabbed yours before taking off towards the entrance of the beach, both you and sam looking out to the waves before smiling to each other.

“i’ll race ‘ya.” he smiled as you plopped your things into the sand. you sighed, thinking of an excuse you could use to distract him so you could get a head start.

“c’mon sam, it’s not fair. you always beat me-” you started before suddenly taking off towards the water. he laughed, calling back to you as he followed you in pursuit. you giggled as you plopped onto the board, paddling your way out.

“you’re lucky i like you enough for you to have that victory.” he said as he paddled next to you, finally catching up. you laughed, nodding your head to the right.

“c’mon, i’ve been waiting all year for this.”

“ladies first.”

the water was warm, the waves perfect for surfing as you and sam took turns riding them. you both had been in the water so long you hadn’t noticed that the sun was starting to go down, leaving you both with an hour left of sunlight.

you made your way to the shore, sitting your board next to you as you sat on the towel. you looked out at the view in front of you, swearing that no matter how many times you saw it, it could never get old.

“i’m gonna head back and see what the moms are doing,” sam said, pulling you out of the trance, “you comin’?”

you shook your head, “nah, i’ll probably read for a little bit before heading up.”

he smiled, “okay, nerd.”

you rolled your eyes and watched as he stood up, grabbing your board from the sand, “i’ll put this beaut back for you.”

“thank you,” you smiled and he nodded.

“‘course, see you when you come back.”

you nodded as he walked in the direction of the house, a board under each arm as he hiked through the sand. you grabbed your book from your tote bag, occasionally looking up from the pages to watch the sky turn into a mix of pink, purple, red and blue.

there was nothing prettier than an east coast sunset.

you were too lost in daydreaming and watching the sky change from blue to a mix of pink, purple and red to realize someone sat down beside you. when you saw a flop of brown curls out of your peripheral, you realized it was just tom. you smiled over in his direction as he brought his knees to his chest.

“fancy seeing you here,” you joked, “come here often?”

he chuckled, “ha ha, very funny.”

you smiled, “seriously, though. where’ve you been?”

“out,” he shrugged. you knew he didn’t owe you and explanation, but you were curious about what got him so down that it changed his entire demeanor.

“knew i’d find you here, though. you’re always on the beach on the first day.”

“yeah, it’s nice and quiet when it’s sunset. it’s peaceful.”

his eyes slightly widened, “sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. i can go, if you-”

you shook your head as you waved him off, “nah, it’s okay. nice to finally see you. was honestly getting a little lonely.”

he nodded, looking down at your book as he traced over the pages with his fingers, “reading anything interesting?”

“not unless you’re interested in reading about a girl who’s in love with a guy who’s a douche bag hockey player for their college.” you smiled over at him, your hair slightly falling in your face as the wind blew. he rolled his eyes, chuckling playfully.

“you’re always the sappy one.”

“i am not!” you laughed, shoving his arm playfully.

“mhm, okay.” he hummed. the two of you sat in comfortable silence, you taking in a deep breath before speaking, scared of ruining the peaceful moment.

“how’s alexis?”

he stiffened up, clearing his throat before speaking, “dunno, could ask the guy she cheated on me with.”

you frowned, “t, i’m sorry.”

he waved you off this time, “nah, don’t worry about it.”

“she kinda sucked anyway.”

he laughed, “you’re on the nose with that one, young blood.”

you rolled your eyes at the nickname, “oh my god, i’m literally a year younger than you.”

“14 months, actually.”

“seriously, i could drown you in the ocean right now and no one would know.”

“you’d honestly be doing everyone a favor.” his response concerned you slightly.

“forreal though, you doing okay?” you asked, meeting his eyes. his brown eyes looked right back into yours and they looked so pretty in the colors of the sunset. he gave you a soft smile.

“i am now.”

your heart skipped a beat, taking in his slightly crooked nose from breaking it one too many times during filming. the way his freckles looked on his sun kissed skin.

tom holland was perfect to you. the true definition of perfect, the man of your dreams.

you cleared your throat as you broke the eye contact, looking down at the sand, “how’s work?”

“good, honestly,” he shrugged, “taking a break for the summer, kinda wanna just relax and live life since i haven’t really gotten a chance to do that in the past 7 years.”

you nodded, “yeah, i couldn’t imagine.”

“what about you? how’s school going? your last year, right?”

you nodded, “you’re looking at a future holder of a masters degree in business.”

“wow, miss smarty-pants,” he laughed, “kinda thought you’d go for the doctorate, y’know? dr. y/n y/l/n sounds good.”

you laughed, “no thanks, i don’t need any more debt.”

he tilted his head, “fair enough.”

“still ticklish?” he asked and you looked over at him with wide eyes.

“...no…” you hesitated, but he didn’t buy your lie. he gave you a look before he started digging his hands into your sides. you laughed loudly, trying to pry his hands off of you as he tackled you to the ground.

“tom! stop!” you laughed, pushing his hands off of you as he looked down at you. he smiled back down at you, his curls falling against his forehead as his brown eyes locked with yours again. you noticed the way he studied your face, his eyes looking down at your lips. you hadn’t even realized you were subconsciously doing the same thing, your hands moving his curls from his face. he slowly leaned down, his nose bumping against yours. he knew he would regret it if you didn’t lean in, too. but part of him knew you were going to.

his lips brushed against yours and you could feel his minty breath fan your face. he was so close. the type of close you’d been dreaming about ever since you were younger.

“the moms want the both of you back for dinner.” sam’s voice broke the two of you apart, tom scrambling to get off of you as you sat up. you both nodded back at sam’s unamused look, him turning around as he headed back down the sand path to the house.

you grabbed your things and packed them into the tote bag. tom offered you a hand as he pulled you up off the sand. you smiled as a silent thank you, a small blush creeping onto your cheeks.

“last one to the house gets the loser’s dinner roll.”

your eyes widened as you pushed his chest, knocking him a bit off balance as you took off towards the house. he laughed, following you in pursuit.

“cheater!” he called after you.

“gotta keep you on your toes, holland!”

he shook his head, mumbling under his breath, “yeah, you definitely do.”

all you could think about was that this summer was definitely going to be different. maybe after all these years, your wishes would finally come true. but of course, time could only tell.

but there was one thing you knew for sure: tom holland was going to be the death of you.

add yourself to my tagged list here

tagged:

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graymanshoots · 3 months

Text

Rainy season

Prompt: It starts raining while you star gaze with Kyle and you didn’t bring an umbrella

Warnings/tags: fluff, non sexual nudity and touching, car cuddling, sexual and romantic tension no smut, use of ‘love’ instead of ‘y/n’, gaz finally getting love!

A/N:I had great temptation to turn this into a smut but the one comment I got answering my question said fluff so here’s fluff! (Comments, likes and reblogs appreciated!!!)

The moon hung high in the sky, its fullness taking up space between the stars. The wooded mountains were enveloped in a comfortable ambiance, with trees swaying gently and creatures bustling in the darkness. You lay on a blanket in a serene clearing with your boyfriend Kyle, your eyes trained on him while his were directed towards the seemingly clear sky. The moon's reflected light beamed over Kyle’s warm brown skin, casting a mesmerizing glow. You couldn't help but admire his pretty features, his lips curled into a smile and his eyes shining as he gazed upon the sky. Kyle glanced at you from the corner of his eye before fully turning to you. “You're supposed to be looking at the stars, love,” he said, gesturing above himself. “I am, got the prettiest star right here,” you replied in a dramatic manner, leaning over to kiss his cheek. He made a fake gagging noise and pushed your face away. “Cheesy! I should be saying that to you,” he teased, earning an eye roll from you. Kyle scoffed and pulled you closer to him, scrunching up the blanket beneath the two of you. “Don’t try anything; we’re still in public,” you warned when he pressed kisses to your cheek and behind your neck. “Because I’m sure a squirrel or deer is going to worry about what we’re getting up to,” he retorted with a cheeky smirk.

Your mouth opened to respond, but your words failed you when something wet hit your forehead. Your eyebrows furrowed as a few more droplets landed, and then you realized what was happening. “Shit, we’ve gotta pack it up,” Kyle groaned, sitting up reluctantly. The little picnic you two had packed was quickly put away, but you couldn’t beat the harsh rains that rolled in.

“Fuck me!” you yelled, running towards the car, basket in hand. Your hair and clothes were soaked, and you cursed yourself for not bringing an umbrella. “That’s what I was trying to do before the rain, love!” Kyle shouted right at your tail. He didn’t miss the laugh that fell from your lips, muffled by the progressively heavier rain. Kyle fished for the van keys and opened the automatic boot. You got there first and took a breather now that you were under cover, Kyle soon joining you at the boot of your car.

You were both panting heavily and soaked from head to toe. “I don’t think it’s safe to drive back down the mountain in this weather,” he commented, wiping his face with his wet T-shirt. “We can wait it out; doesn’t seem like it’s gonna be that bad,” you assessed, unsure of how long the weather might last as you looked out into the darkened trail.

“Well, we’ll see,” Kyle huffed, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing the wet fabric in the trunk. “What are you doing, Garrick?” you questioned suspiciously, causing him to raise his hands in surrender. “Hey, hey, no sex; just don’t want to get the seats soaked when we get in,” he defended, his chest glistening in the warm car lights.

“Right,” you followed after, pulling your clothes off until you both were stripped to your underwear. It felt chilly now that you were half-naked and outside in the rain, the only cover being the open boot that provided a decent amount of coverage considering how heavy the rain was.

Kyle climbed into the car to push down the seat so the two of you could get in through the back, his ass poking out as he climbed over. You drummed on his boxer-covered cheeks, the wet fabric sticking to his skin. “Hey!” Kyle glared back at you, swatting your hand away. “It’s so round, Kyle; you can’t blame me,” you said, cupping them, almost tempted to give him a wedgie. The chair finally gave and folded down, giving Kyle the opportunity to get away from your grabby hands. “We have a towel in here somewhere,” he muttered while you climbed in after him.

Pressing the side button, the car closed and locked itself, and the overhead lights dimmed and shut off. The rain was muffled, and the car was silent aside from the even breaths coming from Kyle.

In order to fit in the back seat, you were straddling Kyle’s waist as he lay back, his arm stretched towards the ground. He wasn’t paying attention, feeling around blindly for a towel until, “aha!”

Kyle brought up the large beach towel he had and wrapped it around the two of you. “Now we can get nice and dry,” he hummed, sitting up to wrap his arms around your waist. “I have half a mind to blame you for not checking the weather,” you muttered, leaning your face into his shoulder, his warm skin damp against yours.

“Maybe this was all part of my plan!” Kyle said, his expression unreadable due to the lack of light. “Aha, sure,” you tsked at his antics and leaned over toward the front seat to turn on the car.

The heating kicked in fast, and the radio followed after, leaving you with the ambiance of the rain and R&B of the radio station you guys had previously had on.

“Hey, love,” Kyle sighed softly as you looked back over to him, the navigation screen lighting up some of the car. “Hey, Kyle,” you responded, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “M’sorry our date didn’t go as planned,” he confessed, resting his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat. “I really wanted to make it special, you know, I’ve been gone for so long,” he continued, his thumbs smoothing over the skin of your hips. “Not everything is going to go as planned; I’m just happy I got to spend this time with you,” you reassured him, pressing a kiss to Kyle’s forehead and then between his eyebrows. You brought your hand up to his chin, bringing him to look up at you as you peppered kisses across his face. Tired of narrowly missing his lips several times, Kyle wrapped his hand around the back of your head, bringing your lips against his.

His lips were soft and sweet with the wine you two had shared previously. His grip was firm, pulling you further into him as he kissed you deeply.

There was a reluctance when you pulled away, Kyle’s cock beginning to stir beneath you. He lay back again, bringing you down with him, his arms wrapped around you. “Give me a minute, love, I just want to lay here right now,” he mumbled, to which you nodded.

As hard as it was when Kyle was gone, nothing beat the feeling of him when he came home to you.

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silent-stories · 1 year

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐇𝐔𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐓𝐋 - 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟓

Summary: When Y/N needs help on a hunt, she doesn't expect Bobby to send Dean Winchester to her. Now the two must work together to solve the case and Dean has to deal with Y/N's sarcastic and biting personality, that maybe he likes a little too much.

Pairing: Dean × F!Reader

Warnings: blood, spn level violence

Word count: 2625

Series

They got into the Impala with the intention of thinking up a plan for the hunt and following it as meticulously as possible: they had to speed things up.

“We should arrive early in the morning. Unless we're stopping to—” but when she saw Dean shaking his head, she dismissed that option. “Okay, no extra stops. Not even for breakfast?” She tried again, she couldn't stay awake and active without her black coffee every time she got out of bed.

"How can you live this life?" Asked the man sitting in the backseat of the car with a shattered face.

Good question.

"Everyone makes their own choices, right?" Y/N said, partly because she didn't know how to answer in any other way and partly to silence him once and for all with an allusion to his private life. Which worked perfectly as hoped.

"So" The girl started again speaking to Dean "We get to Toledo, prepare the weapons, wait for the sun to go down, leave the "fish food" near the lake, we wait for the creature to show up, we blind it with a light that we place exactly on Michael and we slow it down and then we slice it.”

It sounded very simple from how she described it but they both knew it wasn't going to be easy at all, especially to Michael, the one who played the more dangerous role.

Dean nodded, it was their last chance to kill the monster.

"Are you ready?" He asked with a smirk at Michael "Do you need to take a chamomile tea before starting?"

Y/N laughed glancing at the man in the back seat who pretended not to hear the question and turned to the window as if the scenery suddenly became incredibly interesting.

They arrived in Toledo twelve hours later, in the late afternoon. Y/N got the chance to drink hrr daily dose of coffee, while Dean to gobble down a double bacon burger.

"If's vefy goof" he commented with his mouth full, after inserting the last piece in his mouth.

Dean, Y/N and Michael were still aboard the Impala. The two hunters were rather calm in spite of everything, while their bait seemed more and more out of his mind.

“No, no, no. I... I-I can't do that. I just can't!"

"Hey! Calf down!' muttered Dean as he chewed. "Eferything's goffa be just fine."

«HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT, MH?!»

"Because we've faced situations like this before, and we know how to handle it," Y/N replied.

"Of course, you are not the ones who risk being eaten by that fucking thing!" Michael defended his theory, looking around as if feeling a sudden sense of claustrophobia.

“We can't do this without you, Michael. You're the only partner left, and everyone who works on this project—or who will work on it—is in danger,” he observed, tossing the burger wrap across the backseat as if Michael wasn't even there. “Even if you get out of this situation, someone else will work on that project and history will repeat itself.”

Dean was righ and the two hunters would have to deal with that later, anyway.

“Okay. Okay, I'll do it." Michael said even though he seemed about to cry.

"This is the right spirit!" exclaimed Dean enthusiastically, giving Y/N a small smile, which she returned with some satisfaction.

They waited for the sky to darken before reaching the lake: they needed the penumbra for the creature to come out into the open. Dean repeated several times to Michael that they would be there, close to him, ready to help him. Y/N just patted him on the shoulder.

When he got off the Impala, Dean and Y/N looked at each other, hoping the plan would proceed as planned. Then they took their weapons: guns with silver bullets for both, for Dean an ax and for Y/N a sharp blade.

"And with this we'll blind that son of a bitch," said Dean, taking the flashlight from the trunk before closing it and walking towards the trees in the grove nearby.

The location they chose wasn't the best but it was the most adequate: they had to hide in some way.

Not very far from the lake, camouflaged with the environment thanks to that slight darkness, Y/N and Dean were waiting with their eyes half closed in two slits to be able to see through the trees of that place.

"Do you think that flashlight will be enough to stop it?" She asked dubiously, looking down at the object in Dean's hands.

“It lives in the depths, right? There is hardly any light there, so I guess so.”

"You guess so?"

“It will work.” And this was strangely enough to give her the confidence she was looking for.

"Okay, so as soon as we see something moving in the water we go into action," she said, distracting herself only for a moment to be able get her binoculars from her jacket pocket. It was useful for sightings.

«And we have to make sure that it doesn't go back into the water, it has an advantage there. If it's that fast on land, we don't have any chance in an underwater fight, it would take us under and drown us in less than two seconds."

"Please don't be so optimistic!" She said sarcastically as she raised the binoculars to her eyes, scanning the surface of the lake. The more she zoomed in, the more she blessed the inventor of that instrument. The clarity of the images was reassuring. “So what do we do? Do we wait for it to move away from the water? We risk losing Michael too. You said it yourself that on dry land it's fast-"

"I'm working on it." At those words she was speachless for a moment. She lowered the binoculars and peered at him, motionless. What the hell did "working on it" mean? Michael was there waiting to be attacked and he hadn't even had the bright idea of planning anything specific?

“I'm so sorry Flash, but we have a really anxious man at the scene of the attack and little time left."

At that nickname they both came up with the same idea and their eyes widened synchronously. They looked at each other with the typical "do you think what I think?" look and when they both turned to Michael, they knew they had the same idea in mind.

They mimed the gesture of the phone, as if to invite him to use it in an emergency. At least now they were sure that, if only for some reason the monster would escape them, Michael had the flash of his phone.

Michael pulled out his phone and sighed deeply, his eyes closed. For a moment Dean thought he was going to have another anxiety attack, but luckily he seemed to calm down - as far as the situation allowed - soon after.

"Okay," Dean muttered under his breath, never taking his eyes off Michael. "Now we have to w-"

A rustle behind them. Dean and Y/N whirled around, in a snap. It's just the wind, he thought. But when there was another movement in the bushes, as they turned around, he changed his mind.

"I'll go check," said Y/N, daring to take a few steps forward. Dean grabbed her arm almost immediately, not squeezing as hard as he had that night when he had a nightmare.

“You're not going anywhere,” He indicated Michael with a significant nod of his head. "It's a trap. The thing knows we're here and it's trying to get us away from its dinner.”

They both looked around furtively. Michael stood motionless, hands clenched into fists, in front of the lake.

"Keep an eye on him."

"No, wait!", Y/N grabbed Dean's arm, just like he had done with her seconds before. "You can't go, you said it yourself, it's a trap."

"If we don't play its game, it will never come out," Dean said. “One of us has to go check and it won't be you.”

Y/N remained silent, she seemed almost surprised by his words, she stared at him for a moment then let go of his arm nodding slowly with a serious expression painted on her face.

Dean cast one last look at the girl and then advanced towards the darkness, disappearing between the trees. The handle of the gun tightly in one hand and the flashlight inside the jacket. It all seemed apparently peaceful, but he knew perfectly well that the Ahuizotl was there, hidden somewhere.

Dean cleared his throat, drew an arrogant smile on his lips and he began to whistle as to get the attention of a dog.

"Hey, I'm here!" he said aloud, looking from bush to bush. "C'mon! Come out, you son of a bitch!"

A movement to his right. Dean stiffened and swallowed a lot of saliva.

"I know you're there," he continued quietly, spinning carefully, trying to locate the creature in the dark.

He caught two small white lights just off the trunk of an oak tree. Dean frowned and froze, jaw set. The Ahuizotl's eyes were shining in the night. The creature growled and walked slowly forward. Dean backed away and as soon as he realized the thing was about to attack him, he turned on his flashlight and the thing backed away abruptly.

"Ah! You're not having fun anymore, are you?!"

Within seconds the Ahuzotl was gone again.

She wasn't really glad about Dean's decision when she saw him disappear into the woods taking her place.

"Dean?" She whispered in a low voice after some minutes spent in silence alternating her gaze from the thick vegetation to Michael still standing in the place they recommended to stay.

She knew she wasn't supposed to leave but the feeling that Dean might be attacked by that creature while she stood there made her stomach feel weird. She stared at Michael with hope.

The man turned back towards the woods but, when he saw only Y/N watching over him, he began again to breathe fast and to move his pupils from right to left

Honestly, he had all the right to be terrified: he only saw an arrogant girl who had revealed to him how easy she was to kill ordinary people. How could he have remained calm?

"I can't do it," the man said, words that Y/N was able to catch even from that distance through lip-reading.

"Don't panic right now, c'mon!" She couldn't even reach Michael to give him that little courage that would once again convince him to fight for the right cause.

Then that she was not good at that was another matter.

When she saw the man move away from the shore and then start running towards the opposite side, without a precise destination, she was forced to definitively unmask their cover and reach him, inevitably running after him.

“I'm running after a man who doesn't even like girls. I didn't think I'd ever say something like that" She thought aloud as she ran after him. "Michael! Michael come back!" Y/N's voice thundered louder than it should have. "I swear I won't throw you in the lake, but stop!"

And he stopped but not to do Y/N a favor, rather to catch his breath. She would have gladly killed him herself.

"I can't do it, I'm not like you!" The man vented himself, gathering his strength word after word.

"I know." She said looking back out of the corner of her eye but not letting Michael slip under her radar.

"We're all going to die, aren't we?"

"Certainly your improvisation did not play in our favor, since we are in the middle of nowhere now" she asserted sincerely deciding to use her machete as a defense weapon in case of attack.

Y/N heard noises of dry leaves crumbling and twigs breaking.

"And that's not a good sign, stay behind me."

Silence. Surrounding him there was only an eerie silence, broken from time to time by the rustle of leaves in contact with the night breeze. Dean looked around furtively, expecting to see that thing suddenly emerge, ready to feed on the most disgusting parts of a human body. But nothing happened. He frowned, suspicious.

The Ahuizotl probably went to finish what he had started, killing Michael and possibly Y/N too if he tried to stop it. Yet Dean felt something, a presence.

A movement. Dean turned away, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. But he saw nothing.

"I don't like that," he muttered to himself.

Then he heard growling, right there, behind him. He swallowed and froze for a few seconds before turning carefully. The Ahuizotl watched him, slime running down the sides of his sharp teeth. It wasn't the same one he'd been dealing with a few minutes earlier, it was smaller, but probably as bloodthirsty as its mother.

He sighed and gripped the ax handle even tighter. When the creature lunged at him, Dean decapitated it in one snap. The head rolled off like a bowling ball and the body fell on the ground. Its thick dark blood splattered everywhere. The tail kept moving and the hand at the end of it tried to reach Dean in vain. He grimaced, disgusted by the scene. Then with another sharp flick, just as Sam had told him to, he separated the tail from the body. He doused the creature with some gasoline taken earlier from the Impala's trunk and set the creature on fire without thinking about it twice.

A shot.

Dean looked up, beyond the trees.

Y/N...

He abandoned the fire and ran away, his heart racing at an almost alarming rate. He just hoped Y/N was okay and that Michael hadn't screwed up everything.

He arrived just in time to see the Ahuizotl stand up as if the bullet hadn't even grazed him.

"Hey!" he yelled for attention, but the monster didn't seem too interested, as he had a scared Michael right in front of him.

Y/N was lying on the ground nearby.

Dean wasn't one to pray, but in that moment he found himself mentally begging any god that she wasn't dead.

He picked up a stone from the ground and threw it at the creature, hitting it right on the head.

"I just killed your little, lovely son!" he added in a louder voice, so that the monster could hear those words well. When he turned in Dean's direction, he knew it had worked.

"I just cut off his head while his little hand went bye-bye," he teased him with a smirk.

The Ahuizotl leapt upon the hunter in no time, thirsting for vengeance. It had been so fast that Dean didn't even notice, the ax slipped from his hand.

He found himself pressed against the ground, the creature's paw pressed to his chest, its claws starting to tear through his shirt and a long trail of drool running down on him.

He hadn't noticed how sharp the monster's teeth were before. The creature's heavy breath, so reminiscent of the iron smell of blood, burned his skin. Dean narrowed his eyes and fumbled for his axe. He tried to retrieve the gun from his jeans or the flashlight from inside his jacket, but in the position he was in and with the weight of the Ahuizotl resting on him, it was practically impossible.

Suddenly the creature groaned and moved away quickly. A hand with long claws lay next to Dean. His tail had been docked. Soon its large head rolled on the ground too, its blood splattered on Dean and created a puddle.

"You've always had good timing," the hunter said when he saw Y/N holding a long, sharp, bloodstained blade.

Tags: @eevvvaa @spn730015 @supernatural111222 @youcancallmelily @clairenovakanddeanwinchester @dads-on-a-hunting-trip @3amstillawake @supernaturalmess @marvelandsupernatural @agirlwatchingalotoftvshows @candy-coated-misery0731 @impalaslytherin @rudy-the-winged-wolf @dean-winchester-6767 @samanddeansannoyingsis @roseblue373 @waynes-multiverse @random-spn-fan @xoxokiaraaxoxo

Series: @stitchintimefan @foxxymunson @sagexcandles @deans-spinster-witch @raisinggray

#dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean fic #dean winchester fic #spn fic #supernatural fic #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #dean fanfic #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean fanfiction #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction

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hymn-of-muse · 8 months

Text

Not My Flower.

a Yasha x Reader requested by @botanicalbard

"tell me, bard. you've been seen with the nein quite often, you're familiar with them, yes? tell me all you know of them." a man demanded in a low tone, face obscured by shadow in the dimly lit room.

you'd left the tavern after you and your friends had a few drinks, all you wanted was a bit of fresh air as the ale started to take affect on you. you we not expecting, however, to be grabbed from behind and dragged into the alleyway next to the tavern, a hand silencing you and arms holding you firm so you couldnt run away.

the next thing you knew, you found yourself in a small room, windows covered up and the lighting too dim to make out any doorway outline, unless it was behind where you sat on a stool, ankles restrained and hands tied at the wrist around the support beam you were leaning against.

a man, clearly trying to intimidate you into talking about your friends weaknesses and secrets, stood over you with his arms crossed. you could hear someone in the corner shift, so you knew it wasnt just him here.

"i'll ask you again-"

"no i heard you" you interrupted "im just not sure what it is specifically you want to know, i mean theyre a lovely bunch, sure, but you cant just be so vague, do you want me to give you an introduction for each individual? i can do that in song!" you told him smugly

"what?" he gave a confused look upon your sudden compliance "no-no, no songs, just tell me-"

"are you sure? i got a really good one! oh! or i could sing you a tale of the mighty nein's greatest adventures thus far! what a brave and interesting party of beings they are, like this one time-"

"stop that!" the man snapped, agitated by your interruptions and clear attempt at stalling him for more time. "enough of your games, bard, just tell me what i ask of you and nothing more. if you comply, we'll consider letting you go unharmed. got it?"

"come on, you went through all this effort and all you want is a little information? why not a whole story, huh? not even one song? all you want is small talk? thats so boooring" you groaned, putting emphasis on the 'o' in boring.

the man gave a grunt of frustration as he grabbed hold of your shirt collar and got all threatening in your face. "shut up! just tell me each of their weaknesses, secrets, some information i can ACTUALLY use!"

"one, ew your breath smells. two, nah thats lame. besides, by now they likely know im gone and will come looking for me. you made a huge mistake thinking i was a good kidnapping choice." you chuckled, still smug as ever.

"yeah? what makes you so sure they'll find you?" he grumbled.

"because the barbarian's my girlfriend, and she can get really physical when shes angry"

"heh, you think youre safe? youre not going anywhere till i get something outta you" he glared, raising a fist to throw a punch just when the door swung open with a crash, breaking it off its hinges.

in the doorway now stood yasha after she'd kicked in the door, the light outside illuminating the room and as she stepped in with heavy foot falls, the anger on her face was clear as day. she gave an icy cold glare to the man who's fish was frozen in the air.

"how did you..?" the other person in the corner finally spoke up with a weak voice.

"your neighbors made a noise complaint" yasha stated, storming closer to the man who threatened you a minute before as he stumbled back and reached for a weapon to defend himself with.

when he tried to swing a club at her, she grabbed it and tore it out of his hands, tossing it to the side and grabbing him by the arm. she swung him around and threw him into the other person, knocking them both out on impact when the hit the wall.

"are you hurt?" yasha asked you as she quickly moved to undo your restraints, a gentle hand moving to the side of your face to make sure you were alright. the look of concern on her face said everything.

"i knew you'd find me" you smiled sweetly at her, leaning your head into her warm hand as her shoulders dropped in relief.

"of course i did. i wouldnt let anyone hurt you." she spoke with a light chuckle to her voice, hoisting you into her arms and walking out of the room as she carried you. "not my flower."

reblogs are appreciated! im sorry this took a while to get done! /g

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dumbkiri · 7 months

Text

her muse pt. 1

being childhood friends doesn't matter to katsuki if one is quirkless and the other is stronger than him. he's going to be better than them no matter what. [name] can't take anymore of katsuki's bs and defends Izuku by challenging the hot head to a fight.

midoriya izuku x fem!reader

“Hey, Izu.”

Midoriya turned around and saw a girl with [h.color] hair and rainbow colored eyes looking at him. She was sitting in the cool stream of water with the small fish swimming past her. Her lower body was completely submerged and she was unbothered by the creatures near her.

“Why do you still follow Katsuki?” It was an innocent question she asked out of concern for her other friend. Her hands skimmed the top of the stream and the water collected in a sphere when she flipped her hand over. Her rainbow colored eyes flickered with curiosity as two tiny fish swam in quick loops in the ball of water floating in her hand.

“What do you mean, [Name]?” Midoriya asked and walked up to her to look at the sphere with admiration. He kneeled down in the stream looking from the fish to the girl. His green eyes shining with fun, “You’re quirk is so cool! You said it was mixed between your parents?”

[Name] nodded her head and she plucked the fish from the water sphere and put them back in the stream where they belonged. “Papa can control the elements and mama…well she can sing. Anyways, don’t change the subject!”

The girl splashed Midoriya in the face with the small water ball and he laughed with joy. He wiped his face and smiled at her, “I follow the both of you because I want to be just like you guys! I’m waiting patiently for my quirk! I’m sure that it’ll come in!”

[Name] stood up and Midoriya repeated her action. They stepped out of the stream and a whirl of wind came towards them drying their clothes off naturally. They both giggled as the wind tickled them and it lifted them off the floor just a few inches.

“Oh Izuku, I can’t wait for you to get your quirk!” [Name] flipped in the air while Midoriya flapped his arms with a giant smile on his face. “We’ll have so much fun and-”

“Hey! What are you guys doing?” A loud voice asked, interrupting the happy scene with his holler. [Name] and Midoriya looked over and saw their friend, Bakugo Katsuki, looking up at them with a flicker of jealousy in his red eyes.

[Name] set herself and Midoriya down on the ground and she waved at the blonde boy, “Hey, Katsuki! We ended up playing in the stream together!” The girl giggled and took a small leaf out of Midoriya’s green fluffy hair.

“So I used my quirk to dry us off!” She finished saying and tossed the leaf away. It swirled down and rested on the dirt floor alone.

Bakugo didn’t seem interested anymore and turned away saying, “ Anyways, come on! We got things to do!”

……

[Name] quietly stared out the window, barely listening to a thing her teacher was talking about. She watched as two birds were dancing in the sky together and she unconsciously looked to her right to gaze at Izuku.

He was diligently writing in his hero journal as usual. She could only smile at that.

“Hey teach, don't lump me in with these buncha’ losers.”

[Name] looked forward and saw the laid back position Katsuki was in. She rolled her eyes as he said, “I’m the real deal. These guys would be lucky enough to be a sidekick for a d-list hero.” An outroar erupted in the classroom as they all shouted at Bakugo for his remark.

Their teacher analyzed the paper and said, “You do have impressive test results, but [L.Name] is the one that tops you. She has a higher chance of getting into U.A than you do.” [Name] grimaced and ignored everyone that admired her for being so humble. She had to give her thanks to her teacher for calling her out like that.

“Uh, I believe anyone can get into U.A with the right mindset. They don’t look for students with particularly strong quirks.” [Name] said quietly and the class agreed with her in hopes that they could get in. But some disagreed saying that the acceptance rate of U.A was exceptionally low.

“Which is why that school is worthy of me.”

Katsuki jumped on his desk and declared to the whole class, “[Name] may have a strong quirk, but I top her attitude in terms of confidence. I aced all my mock tests and she failed two. I’m the only one at this school who stands a chance at getting in!”

Katsuki went on for a bit and the teacher got him off his high horse, calling out to another student, “Oh yeah, Midoriya, don’t you wanna go to U.A too?”

Silence consumed the entire classroom before it burst out laughing. They all mocked Midoriya for being quirkless and he stood up for himself which [Name] was proud of him. He didn’t have a lot of confidence just like her, but that was because of a certain ash-blonde kid.

Katsuki roared out and used his quirk on Izuku’s desk to blast him away from it. Midoriya slid backwards and looked up at Katsuki to hear him say rude things. “Listen up, Deku. You’re even worse than these damn rejects, you quirkless wannabe!”

[Name] stood up from her desk and took her coat off to roll up her sleeves of her white button up.

“You really think they’d let someone like you in when they could have me?”

“You got it all wrong! I’m not trying to compete against you!”

The nervous waver in Izuku’s voice pushed her to protect him. “Some kind of hero you’d be, Katsuki.” [Name] harshly said and everyone looked at the girl with fire in her eyes. She stood in front of Izuku as he backed up into the wall and hit his head. “Do you think All Might bullies the weak? You said you were going to be more popular than him, but you can’t even get along with the people around you.”

Katsuki tilted his head and glared at her, “You know you can’t always jump in for this loser. He can’t hang with the best of the best, he’d die in the exams!” His hands crackled from his performance of his quirk, yet [Name] didn’t step down.

“We have known Izuku for a long time, it’s been his dream to become a hero. Quirk or no quirk, I trust Izuku to be more of a hero than you could ever be. Now back off.”

Katsuki scoffed and turned his back to her. The class had settled down with the complete dominance [Name] demanded. She knew Katsuki wasn’t done with Izuku, but she was here to protect him this time. [Name] turned around and gave Izuku a hand out to help him up. He took it and quietly said, “Thank you for that.”

[Name] saw the blush on his face and she averted her eyes quickly releasing his hand when he stood up. With an awkward cough, she said, “It’s no problem, Izu.” Then she returned to her desk putting the black coat over her button up shirt.

……

“Hey, [Name], what you said back in class,” A girl with small horns on her head walked beside her classmate and spoke up, “do you really think any one of us could get into U.A?”

[Name] stopped walking and looked at her shorter classmate, “Well yeah, like I said, I don’t think U.A looks for strong quirk users. Most heroes benefit off on one another and-”

Fwoop!

A notebook flopped on [Name]’s head and she pulled it off her hair with her rainbow colored eyes settling into a glare. This was Izuku’s hero journal, but it was burnt to a crisp. This was the work of that good for nothing Katsuki. “Kaya, I’ll be right back.” [Name] politely told her classmate before flying into the sky near her classroom window to hear Katsuki’s cruel words.

“Just pray that you’ll be born with a quirk in your next life. Then take a swan dive off the roof of a building.”

She didn’t know what Izuku did, but the threat from Katsuki made her blood boil. [Name] flew into the classroom with the journal in her tight grasp. “Yeah, something is wrong,” She set the notebook on Izuku’s desk and approached Katsuki.

“I want to settle this stupid debate in the class. You and I, one versus one. If I win, you stop bullying Izuku and leave him alone.”

“Yeah and if I win, what do I get?” Katsuki asked with a cocky smirk on his face.

[Name] rolled her eyes and set her hands on her hips, “Whatever you want, who cares? I’m going to win anyway.” She was full of attitude and anger, it was laughable to Katsuki.

“Fine, follow us and we’ll settle it there.”

[Name] turned around and gave Izuku a reassuring thumbs up with a determined expression, “Stay here, Izuku. I’m going to stop this today. I’ll text you when it’s over.”

That text never came and Izuku watched in horror seeing his childhood friends being harassed by the same villain that bothered him earlier that day.

#x reader #anime imagine #manga imagine #my hero academia #x female reader #midoriya izuku x fem!reader #midoriya izuku #midoriya x reader #bakugo katsuki #bakugo x reader #midoriya izuku imagine

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homodotus · 1 year

Note

I really hope this is your requests line

This is my first ever request and I hope it's cool with you. So it's just a fem!reader in where reader defends kiri and helps the boys fight ao'nung and his dudes and after the fight, kiri patches the reader up something like that and cuteness at the end hope this isn't too long 😭

thank you @themastaralex for a request! tw: blood. word count: 3035

small hands

The wood here is dry and smooth against your knees as you lean over the dock, splashing the sea water over your heated shoulders. The wood has begun to warp from your years of fishing; two circular dents about the size of your knees, and two more beside it similar to your feet - a sort of signature to this far-off, idyllic fishing spot you so favour. The day is hot; the sun is unforgiving with its heat, but the waves carry its rays to the shore, fracturing the light like one of Tsahik's crystals. You can feel the tickle of sweat at the parting of your hair, dripping down the nape of your neck. You rise, a sigh of resignation escaping from your lips as your back straightens with a pop. You pull at your net, the rope picking at the calluses of your roughened palms as you work out the knots and pluck it from the flaking wood that splinters the dock. Your shoulders have broadened over the years, muscle thickening as you threw the net, hauled the crates of fish, fought the bigger prey with a spear; your stature had begun to mimic your father's, and you wait in itchy anticipation for tattoos to adorn your arms. You imagine it now, looking into the shimmering horizon: mighty hunts beyond the reef, toughened skin marred with impressive scars and jewellery decorated with razored teeth. The net blossoms in the air as you toss it, the rope striking the water in an audible slap before it sinks below.

It was in your periphery, as you turned into the throw, that you spotted the Omatikayan girl floating in the shallow waters of an isolated piece of beach. She has done this often in the few days since the forest people arrived -- she lingers in observation, fawning over some mediocre bit of nature that you could not understand her fascination with. You supposed you had outgrown the wonder of the reef - but still, she watches the water carry the sand as if it were riveting, feet kicking out of the water. It seems so primitive.

A tugging at the net brought you back to your fishing. There is a relief in your shoulders as they roll and loosen as you pull at the rope, fighting against the fish. You whisper your gratitude to Eywa, plucking the fish from the net and tossing them into baskets. It was a cyclical duty, the repetition of which would have others your age moan and complain, but it was mindless enough; it is therapeutic to work with your hands and not think too hard about things. Hours could pass before you even realised.

The midday sun was considerably more tolerant. Once more you are on your knees, pawing at the water; it is cool against your skin, and your muscles ache for a weightless soak. Droplets run down your forearms, dance at the end of your elbows. You run a wetted hand across your sweaty face, and your ears curl toward the sound of sloppy footsteps to your right; Tonowari's son is whispering to a couple of other boys as they walk, snickering behind their hands and pointing to the distant shoreline. You mumble your annoyance under your breath, palming water into your face once more. Skxawng.

"Look at her", you hear him laugh, "what is she doing? These tree na'vi are wrong in the head."

Another boy - Rotxo, you think his name is, replies, "she is a freak."

This is not your business, you tell yourself; they are not your people, she is alien, she is not true Na'vi. You stand to pick up the net, ignoring the way your fingers tighten around the rope, whitening at the knuckles, ignoring the way your stomach churns at their words, at your own words. Your ears flicker toward her soft voice as she regards them in ignorance, "Hm? What did you say?"

'Freak', they laugh, pulling at her tail and grasping at her arms. The girl's ears are flat against her skull as she curls in on herself.

You throw the net; it is half-assed and fruitless. Your eyes are closed and your jaw is clenched. Beyond the noise of your grinding teeth you hear another set of footsteps, this time fast and weighted. "Stay away from my sister!" A boy growls, and you open your eyes with a defeated sigh: two more Omatikayan kids, baring their teeth at the gaggle of Metkayina boys. The one that throws the first punch is tall but lanky, and though he is fast he takes as many hits as he throws. The other's shoulders are as broad as your own; he turns solidly into his punches, balances his weight on his feet well. They will do fine enough, you had thought, before watching Rotxo drag one of the Omatikayan boys through the sand by his hairy tail.

The net has sunk to the sea floor, no fish ensnared. You hiss in frustration as the rope falls from your hand and into the water with a sad splash, and you break into a jog toward the boys.

Rotxo's taunt is swallowed up by a breathless grunt as your body hits his; he flails in the sand like a beached fish, mouth gaping incredulously. You face Ao'nung, heart beating with a sudden adrenaline, and your breathing stutters. "Just because you are the son of a clan leader does not mean you are entitled to treat others like this. A son of Tonowari would behave better." Ao'nung is almost foaming at the mouth; you feel the spittle hit your face as he hisses. "You father would be disappointed in you."

The adrenaline coursing through your body did little to prepare your face for Ao'nung's charged fist; your lip split with a heated sting, and his knuckle collided into your nose with a sickening crack. Your tongue was overwhelmed with the taste of iron, and the saltiness was not so dissimilar to the sea.

You tried to breathe through your nose. You choked on blood instead.

There was no thought of consequence as you reeled back your fist, knuckles popping and shoulders flexing as if you were about the throw a net deep into sea. There was an angry thudding at your temple, a tension that made your eyeballs bulge and teeth bite at your inner cheek. The skin splits as you bring your knuckle-white fist down onto Ao'nung's face, into his teeth. A mix of spit and blood leapt from his mouth, pooling at his chin. His lip was beginning to purple. "Tonowari will hear of this, Ao'nung!" You hiss, driving your fist into his shoulder, the both of you breathing hard. At the threat, Ao'nung begrudgingly resigned, eye twitching in bottled fury; he shoulders past you as Rotxo spits at your feet.

There is a tickle at your chest, a blossoming warmth; it alarms you, looking down, to see how much blood is dripping from your chin. You tentatively touch your face, pulling back at the sting of your lip and the deep ache at the ridge of your nose. Your fingers are bloodied.

You turn to leave, breath held as to not choke on your own blood in front of the Omatikayan kids; she catches your eye, then. The forest girl. Her five fingers reach out toward you, muttering something shaky and incoherent, but you pull away from her touch. A tiredness settles within you, and you pinch your bleeding nose as you retreat to the docks.

You sit once more at the edge, reserving a moment to compose yourself before seeking out your net, trying to stifle the anxiety that begins to bubble in your stomach.

You ease yourself slowly into the water, small waves kneading your stomach and blood melting into ripples of orange. This time, you anticipate the pain: the sea water laps up the blood and cleans your wounds; instinctively you flex your hand as your knuckles sting, cursing as a sharp, burning pain shoots up your wrist.

You allow yourself to float, kicking off a piece of choral; you guard your hand, holding it close to your chest as the water carries you. It is seamless, weightless; the blues of the sky and the sea melt into one another. For a moment, you can forget the chastisement from your parents, the reprimands - certain to happen - and forget about your cuts and bruises. For now, there is only you, the water, and Eywa. It feels like home; the cool water at your back and the sun that kisses your face, like a fire on a rainy day, the smell of salt and distant petrichor.

You breathe in, filling your lungs with that fresh, chilly sea breeze, and arch backward into the water to find the net. You reach for it with your better hand, gathering the rope in your arms before kicking off the seabed.

She watches you break the surface, the curls of your dark hair contorting in the sun's warmth as you blink away the water. Her eyes explore you like they do the sand, the sea, the little fish that swim at her feet and pulse beneath the eclipse; it is all wonder and delicate curiosity. She has cocooned herself within her leafy shoal, gripping at the seams as if to hide herself. That look of guilt and nervousness lingers on her face still. Her five fingers pick at themselves.

Your own eyes are strong and unblinking, unwavering teal; you watch her as if to understand a foreign fish or a new knot that your mother teaches you. But her gaze remains just as soft, just as innocent. "Kiri," A gentle voice says, "come."

Tossing the net atop the dock, you find purchase on the thick column of wood buried deep into the seabed, sand churning as you climb it. Pain blossoms at your wrist again as you lift your weight, and you instinctively hiss. The girl draws in a sharp breath as she watches, and a taller woman emerges from a nearby marui pod to steer her inside, speaking to her softly. She huffs in frustration as she breaks your gaze.

You sit on the dock's edge a moment longer, testing the limitations of your wrist. "Kiri," you repeat, swirling the word around your mouth with your tongue, as if to see how the name would taste.

The flavour of it is polluted by the lingering zest of blood.

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

The ocean disappears into the darkness, and the setting sun makes the distant islands burn a deep red in the horizon. The gentle sea breeze tickles at her cheek, and there is little warmth other than the sombre flicker of mounted firelight. Kiri pulls the shoal tighter around her shoulders.Her five-toed feet are familiar with the lubricous and barky terrain of the forest, but the splintered and sand-sprinkled slabbed wood of the docks rasps at her soft feet. She picks at the twine of her belt as she walks its length, anxiously readjusting the medicine pouch at her side as her feet begin to blister.

You had looked different from afar, Kiri thinks, as you worked through the knots of your net and waded through the shallow waters with a pointed spear. The Metkayina were broader, their bones strong and limbs finned; your thickened muscle and robust stature were admirable - you looked as much a warrior as you did a fisherwoman. And though your jaw was strong and hard-set, your cheek was soft and your chin was dimpled; your patterned turquoise skin reminded her of the fractured light that danced on the sand that she so loved to observe.

The gentle image of your skin dwindled away at the distant sound of grinding wood. Kiri stopped abruptly at your presence, toe stubbing the dock at the sudden flush of nervousness. The muscle in your thigh braced as you crouched for the weighted crate of fish; the torchlight accentuated the muscle on your back and highlighted the veins that ran along your forearm, and kissed your skin with a healthy glow. Kiri hesitated before she approached, coughing softly for your attention. Her heart had never beaten as fast, and she chews at her bottom lip in anxiety. She unclips the pouch from her belt and holds it to her chest as you turn. Kiri's gaze focuses on the dark bruise at your lip, stark and ugly against your skin, instead of your own eyes. You sigh before she has even said anything.

"Come," you say, setting down the crate with a thud before you rise, beckoning for her to follow as you walk the dock. The sounds of the evening clatter and murmuring melt away into the darkness; it is quieter here, and the tension in Kiri's shoulders lessens somewhat at the sight of the glowing choral and bioluminescent fish. Still, she cannot meet your gaze.

"I have something from home to help with your face," Kiri whispers, opening the pouch and gathering the leaves, roots and vials into her hands, holding them out for you to see. She can feel a heat in her cheeks as you inspect with your forefinger warily. Kiri notices the rudimentary bandage around your injured wrist, and a lump forms in her throat, mottled in guilt. You breathe deeply, and your ankles pop as you lower yourself to settle at the dock's edge. The gentle evening waves lick at your feet, and you extend a hand in invitation when Kiri hesitates to join you.

"Show me your forest medicine." Perhaps it was because the ice had been broken, perhaps it was because you had finally spoken to her, perhaps it was because it was now just the two of you, perhaps it was simply because she was passionate about medicine -- Kiri could not decide, but she smiled. She sat facing your left, her legs crossed as she settled her trinkets beside her on the worn wood. Kiri displayed them perfectly in line, from least useful to most, bringing them up for you to see as she softly chattered. She looks at you in an excitement she hopes does not translate into childishness. Sometimes you entertain her with an interested hum or an ignorant but sincere question:

"No, no. This is far better. It has similar healing properties but it stings significantly less. I do not usually have much of it because Lo'ak always gets himself into trouble, and Tuk scrapes her knees a lot."

Your laugh is lovelier than Kiri had predicted. It is soft and comes easily from the throat; it feels like a tender kiss to the cheek. She looks up from the paste she is kneading between her fingers and into your gentle gaze. "May I?" Kiri whispers, and though you eye it warily, you nod. She is gentle as she thumbs your lower lip, mindlessly reaching out with her spare hand to tenderly cup your cheek for purchase. Her touch lingers at the softness of your skin, and she licks at her dry lips beneath your pointed gaze, throat darkening in a blush.

"Thank you, Kiri," you murmur, a shadow of a smirk pulling at your lips. Her ears flutter at the sound of her name, and they fold when she decides she likes it. The remaining paste is wiped onto a piece of dried tree bark and she pockets it for later; she washes her hands in the cold sea water, and dips her own toes in to imitate you, facing the dark expanse of the ocean.

"I should be the one thanking you," Kiri laughs breathily, swallowing around the lump in her throat. She watches you lick at your lip in her periphery, pretending not to notice. Her ears fold once more. Your face contorts in disgust at the grassy taste of the paste. "I am sorry," Kiri whispers, gripping at the wooded edge of the dock, jaw tense, "it is my fault that you are hurt." You gently nudge at her side, craning your head to try and catch her eyes, but she stares miserably at the small fish disturbing the sand below.

"Do not apologise," you say firmly, resting your hand atop the younger girl's knee; your touch is coarse, yet warm and tender, and your three strong fingers are large enough to wrap around her leg. A soft gasp escapes her lips. She wonders what her hand would feel like in your own. "That skxawng had it coming. You had done nothing wrong. Tonowari will hear of his son's behaviour, I promise." Kiri wonders what good it will do since her father wants to kiss at the chieftain's finned feet, but she appreciates the sentiment nevertheless.

You rise, and mindlessly she begins to do the same, wanting to follow. "Come", you say, voice softer than before, reaching out a hand for her to take. You whisper her name when she hesitates, and Kiri feels as if she could melt into a puddle. "I must show you the shore in the dark. When the waves break on the sand, there is light - a blue glow. You must see it." Her hands are smaller in yours, silky and delicate, smudged with green forest medicine. Your tender grip makes her stomach flutter, a sensation new and odd to describe, and she lets you pull her gently along the dock and onto the beach, gently thumbing your scabbing knuckles. The sand is cold and it tickles her feet, and she giggles at the feeling. You look back to smile at her, skin aglow in the dark and curled hair dancing in the night's wind, and she returns it in earnest with a toothy grin.

You tell her your name as you walk, and Kiri repeats it delicately as if it were as natural as the waves kissing the sand; it felt comfortable on her tongue, and sounded idyllic in her voice. The shoal loosens around her shoulders as she laughs and stumbles in the sand, and she looks at her hand in yours in such an adoration it almost frightens her. The night is beautiful, she thinks, you are beautiful, and it feels so beautiful to be alive.

#kiri sully #kiri x reader #avatar 2 #avatar: the way of water #mini fic #fem!reader #metkayina!reader

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theladyofbloodshed · 1 year

Text

A Court of Tangled Flames - Chapter 33

(The penultimate chapter, all fluff. If you know me, that means hold on tight for the last chapter)

Away from the muted chatter and bright lights in the great hall, Nesta was able to finally let out a breath. Her guilt hadn’t clawed its way out of her chest and announced her as Beron’s murderer. Each gaze that landed on her seemed to penetrate her soul, probing how such a powerful male had died so suddenly.

Grateful that nobody else was permitted, she lined up alongside the other Vanserras to begin the procession to the crypts. Her mother-in-law had warned her that they were cold and miserable, but Nesta was so tired that the cold might be welcomed to keep her awake. The confrontation with Cassian had left her dizzy. Everything that Eris had said had rang true. Cassian should have realised that she was vulnerable and not in a place to embark on a relationship. Mother above, she’d been shut in that damn house for sleeping with males, but when the male had been selected by the inner circle, it was permitted? Despite the awfulness of the whole interaction, it had cemented one thing in Nesta’s mind: nobody had ever loved her like Eris did. Nobody was ever so quick, so ready to defend her. He was her sword and shield. I would rather see my court fall to ruin and ash than ever see Nesta forced to be your mate. A tremendous declaration from a husband who meant it.

She spotted Orla amongst the crowd, a hand resting on Lucien’s shoulder while Niamh regaled them both with an animated tale. There was no sign of the Night Court now. Indeed, all the other courts had dispersed back to their homes which was a relief. Not only had the Night Court’s attention been insufferable, but even Helion had stared constantly, not solely to Nesta but Eliška too. The only stragglers still remaining were courtiers or friends who lived closest to the Forest House. Lucien peeled away from the sisters to join his family. That was a strange moment that Nesta never thought she’d see; neither did she expect to be part of that family. It couldn’t be easy for him to be there. Had the last time been when Jesminda’s life had ended?

The sons filtered either side of Beron’s body, lifting it with ease, under the sombre eyes of the court then they leading the way to the crypts.

Nesta sought out Eliška’s hand again, offering what little support she could. Her emotions had been like waves last night, undulating between despair, euphoria, relief, and emptiness. She’d wept for a husband who had tried to be kind at the beginning, but his own father’s cruelty had seeped in, changing him into the high lord that Prythian knew, so he hurt her, hurt their children because he didn't know how to be anything else. She had told Nesta stories that she doubted even Eris knew – ones she wouldn’t share with her husband – about Beron. About the volatile temper. The bullying. Trying to bond in her garden, but failing. The wars of their sons. She would heal. They would all heal.

The path to the crypts that existed deep beneath the Forest House was made of grey, twisting stone. Only family were permitted within for the procession; Beron’s tomb had already been prepared that morning by servants and priestesses. Nesta had to wonder if the whole court had been glad to be rid of him like a flea irritating the skin. A canal split the crypt down the middle. The faint trickle of water could be heard, flowing elsewhere. Sconces had been lit along the wall, casting flickering yellow light along their path.

‘Shall we just toss him in here? Nobody else would know.’

‘Eris,’ chided Eliška – though Xander and Lucien were fighting back grins.

Phelan let out a snort. ‘That’s not fair on the fish. You’ll poison them.’

There was no love for Beron. That became apparent very quickly. None of them held onto the male with much care, particularly when they bumped him against the worn stone wall.

Lucien asked, ‘How did happen?’

Everyone present said a different answer at the same time.

‘An enemy.’

‘Poison.’

‘His reflection.’

‘Fire.’

‘A witch.’

‘Bored him to death.’

Lucien raised his brows then said, ‘I see.’

And the matter was closed. Nesta did not know why the brothers were loyal to her and Eris. Eris had cut Phelan’s damn hand off. It was another item to quiz Eris about whenever she finally had her husband to herself.

The males positioned Beron over the mouth of the tomb, lowering him down. Uther knocked Beron’s head against the stone again, making Lucien snort, then Phelan dropped his legs unceremoniously with a shrug. Then, all four males, broke into nervous, uncertain laughter. The lady of the court touched a pale hand to her forehead, shaking her head slightly.

‘Thank the Mother that’s over with,’ said Eris brightly, rubbing his hands together. ‘Rest in peace Beron Vanserra, you vile piece of shit.’

He squeezed Nesta on the shoulder but put his arm around his mother, guiding her along the pathway towards the entrance, keen to remove her from the crypts. Nesta hung back a step to walk beside Lucien. He extended his arm for her to hold onto. She murmured, ‘Are you all right?’

Lucien gave a tight nod, so Nesta stroked against his hand with her free one. ‘I’m sorry, Lucien.’

Enjoying the role of high lord, Eris demanded a spread of food be brought to their rooms along with a spare bed for his mother to sleep in. It was only late afternoon, but all of them had been up throughout the previous night; Nesta and Eris had a lack of sleep the night before that too at Orla’s.

‘You don’t need to keep me in here, Eris,’ his mother said, after the servants had managed to wedge a bed into the lounge. ‘I’m quite well alone.’

‘Maybe I want my mother near me until I know exactly who to trust in this place. Maybe I need support in poaching my little brother back to our court – and who can do that better than mama.’

The other brothers had skulked away to their quarters with the exception of Lucien who squatted awkwardly in the corner, getting bothered by smokehounds. ‘You only call her that when you want something.’

‘I want my brother to move home,’ Eris replied simply. ‘You don’t suit black.’

Nesta held Cotton-tail aloft, out of the dogs’ jaws. He munched on a leaf of lettuce plucked from the spread of food, tucked into the crook of her elbow. The cake that she’d had her eye on in the hall had been delivered to their rooms. Without needing to ask, Eris had caught where her gaze landed then cut a massive slice for her.

‘I should probably have something savoury first.’

‘As your high lord, I command you to eat the cake.’

Oh, he was going to enjoy holding that over her head at every opportunity.

‘He’s going to be insufferable now,’ said Lucien.

‘He already was,’ she replied, making her mother-in-law laugh.

It was nice to eat together without the shadow of Beron looming over them. It had not yet been a day since the male had died but already the court felt lighter, like a great weight had been lifted from its chest. If Eris was burdened by his new title, he did not show it. The male lounged in a chair, feet reaching across the gap into Nesta’s lap, precariously close to Cotton-tail’s teeth. When the room was flooded with the golden evening light, Nesta left the family to enjoy each other’s company. There was so much that they needed to talk about, much they needed to catch up on. Something tentative and hesitant was blooming between the three so Nesta did not want to be a burden.

Eris caught her in the doorway, holding her wrist close to his chest. ‘You don’t have to go.’

‘You should speak altogether as a family.’

A smile had rarely left his lips since they had passed through the doors to their rooms. Nesta could not recall ever seeing Eris so light, so happy.

‘You are part of this family – I’m sorry to tell you that, if you didn’t already know. Don’t feel as if you need to leave.’

A family. The word choked her with joy. Nesta had killed his father last night. Hadn’t even stopped to think about what she was doing before her fire devoured Beron. But it had changed nothing. If anything, they seemed to love her more. A family was what she had wanted for so long. She tipped forwards towards her husband. His soft lips pressed to her temple, holding her to him for a while.

‘I am only slightly jealous that you can sleep.’

Nesta held his drooping head up. ‘I’ll warm the bed for you.’

‘I knew I married you for a reason.’ He kissed her again. ‘See you soon, Queen of Queens.’

‘If Eris chokes on the food,’ she called over his shoulder, ‘let him suffer. Lucien, how would you like to be high lord?’

Their laughter rang out behind her as she entered the bedroom. Safera was not far behind her; the gentle hound waited for her outside of the bathroom then slunk up onto the bed in Eris’ spot.

It felt as if her head had only just grazed the pillow when Eris woke her with a heavy shuffle of footsteps across the carpet. She hadn’t bothered drawing the curtains closed so darkness still seeped through the window.

‘Sorry, my love,’ he whispered as she grumbled and turned over.

‘Did Lucien go?’

‘No. He’s on the couch. Still talking with my mother.’

With a bone-tiredness, Eris removed his clothing and let it drop into a heap on the floor rather than picking it up like he usually would.

‘I have been waiting for this moment all day.’

With no sophistication or grace whatsoever, Eris flopped face first onto the mattress. The springs groaned under his weight.

‘I am more tired than anybody in history has ever been before.’

‘That’s an exaggeration.’

A long groan rattled from his throat as he continued to lay across the mattress like a plank of wood. At first, Nesta tried to be tender as she attempted to pluck the blanket from beneath his body, but he was too damn heavy to manage it. She ended up grunting as she strained to free the quilt. ‘Mother, help me, how much cake did you eat this evening?’

‘I’m so tired.’ They were the only words he could manage.

By the time that Nesta had managed to pull the blanket from beneath Eris, he was already sleeping. He’d earned it, she supposed. In three days, he’d gone into the Prison, been wounded, saved her from her magic, been whipped, watched his father die, become high lord, and chuck his father’s body into the crypts. She now understood why people prayed for uninteresting lives.

***

The light breeching their sanctuary was an ill-omen. It meant they had to get out of bed and Eris was loathe to do it. At Nesta’s first movements where she tried to sling her legs onto the floor, he shot out his arms and hauled her back towards him. For a while, Nesta allowed it. Their legs and arms tangled around each other, eyes heavy in the hazy morning, then her bladder could take no more.

‘I’ll check on our guests,’ she said, kissing his forehead on her return to the bedroom.

Although his body might have been present, his mind was not. Eris could have slept for a week, maybe longer. The duty that he had waited his entire life for beckoned, but Eris wished it could be postponed for another day. He’d be high lord tomorrow. All he wanted today was to be Nesta’s husband and not get out of bed.

At one point, he had thought that Nesta had joined him in the bed again. Her weight could be felt on the mattress as she moved closer to him. Then a tongue swept up his neck and tried to lick his ear.

‘Safera! Off the bed.’

She leapt onto the floor with a thump.

‘You spoilt madam. Sharing a bed with a high lord.’

Begrudgingly, Eris dragged his carcass from the bed and into the next room, but only his wife remained there. He had no recollection of her dressing at all.

‘Good afternoon, high lord.’

‘It’s surely not.’

‘It is well past noon. Your first act as high lord has been to sleep the day away.’

Eris rubbed at his eyes. ‘Lucien?’

‘With mother having a ride through the forest. Yes, with guards. Yes, one of those is Ashur. She will be safe.’

He folded his arms across his bare chest. ‘Where was my invitation?’

‘One, surely a high lord has more important duties than playing with horses. Two, they waited for you to wake up to accompany them. I tried to wake you up. Even Lucien tried to wake you up. I was very close to summoning Orla because I thought you were in an enchanted sleep.’

Eris strode forwards. His hands slid around Nesta’s waist, drawing her to him. ‘In your stories a handsome prince has to kiss the princess to wake her up.’

She laughed openly in his face then, grey eyes shining. ‘Did you just refer to yourself as a princess? And me your handsome prince?’

He stepped away, massaging his temples. ‘I am so tired still.’

All of those years plotting and scheming had finally taken their toll on Eris, so now he was paying for the long nights loping through the woods where he traded places with Ashur. He’d been nearly untouchable then. He could function well enough on shards of sleep day after day.

It had not quite sunk in yet that he was the high lord of his court and that his father was dead. It was a conversation he needed to have with Nesta though not yet. All he wanted now was to cuddle beside his wife and sleep longer.

‘What now?’

Nesta’s words had been hesitant. She wrung her hands together. Her shoulders had curled inwards as if she was bracing herself to weather a storm.

He tilted his head slightly to examine his wife from her head to her toes. ‘What’s the matter, Nesta?’

‘I killed your father, Eris. Where is my punishment?’

The words burst out of her like the lightning of a sudden storm, unable to be stopped. She pressed her hand over her mouth, eyes wide with terror because she had said it aloud.

‘My father succumbed to a sudden illness. We all saw it.’

His hands settled on the tops of her arms, steadying her. Eris reassured her that she was safe and not in any sort of peril. Nobody would be sorry to see Beron gone. None of them.

‘But your brothers. They’ll use it against us.’

Eris shook his head then touched his forehead against hers. ‘They know I am now the most powerful male in this court – with the most powerful female at my side. Saving their own skins is their priority first and foremost. If they did not swear fealty, I’d have executed them. They’ve sworn a vow and cannot harm us.’

‘You chopped off Phelan’s hand,’ she whispered, eyes still alert with terror.

‘And he learnt a lesson never to touch what isn’t his, didn’t he? Nesta, I am the eldest. Believe it or not, my father favoured me. What he did to me was only a drop of what he has inflicted upon my brothers over the centuries.’ He kissed her gently. ‘You are safe. I will always keep you safe.’

Despite having no inclination whatsoever to engage with the masses, Eris knew he must. Nesta was already in pristine condition, so he dressed to match, immobilising his fatigue for a couple of hours.

‘How do you feel about riding through a few towns and waving?’

Nesta nodded. ‘I’m probably capable of that.’

‘More than capable.’

To make her smile, Eris demonstrated different waves, each one becoming more and more ludicrous. It worked. His lovely wife rolled her eyes and shoved him towards the door, but Eris had spied that smile trying to spread across her face no matter how much she tried to hide it.

It was tedious work to wade through the mewling servants and sentries who swarmed them on their exit. Worse were the confounded courtiers whom even Beron had loathed. He only kept them around to punish them when his mood was foul enough. They were sycophants with sugar-sweet compliments and sickly smiles, but Eris was just as bad as he slipped on his own mask of charming, cunning court-trained-bastard. Without prompting, Nesta followed suit. She moved elegantly, sweeping past the bows and curtseys with the ghost of a smirk on her regal face. Mother above, she was a natural. Perhaps it was a little cruel to command the servants to ready their horses then give them the time it took to cross the house to be ready, but, like the polished and proper servants they were, two geldings were waiting in the courtyard. Nesta brushed off assistance and mounted without support as Eris did the same in unison. They were twin flames that flowed together. No male was as lucky as he.

They rode out through the forests with guards following behind at a steady distance in case any of the general public became too close for comfort. What they didn’t know was that Eris had a wife who could strike anybody down dead so the need for sentries was inconsequential.

Their horses galloped through the towering, golden forests, ushered by the crisp wind that signalled change. They made appearances in towns and even some of the larger villages that surrounded the Forest House. Many folk came out to watch and wave. They bowed low to their high lord though some eyed him warily, trying to understand what sort of male he was. History was forgotten; Beron wasn’t even the worst Vanserra to hold the seat. His grandfather had spiked the head of every male in the family onto the gates outside of the forest house except for his own son in his paranoia. Distant cousins and children did not escape his tyranny; only one male did – Beron himself, his only child. Beron did kill his own father at twenty years old though, so Eris did think his grandfather had been unlucky in that regard that his son had turned out to be just as rotten as he was. Eris’ great-grandfather had also married five times and each wife had been killed if she produced a daughter rather than a son. Nesta had really come off quite lucky, all things considered.

Eris glanced across to her. Though she said she was fine, he noticed the slight wince on her features each time the horse sped up along the path. Her legs hung like dead weights either side of the beast’s flank.

He called to the closest sentry. ‘Find the nearest tavern with decent food and scout it.’

‘High lord, it is unsafe to dine in public. No testers have come.’

‘Then you can test the food for poison for daring to question an order from your high lord,’ replied Nesta. One stern look from her had the guard digging his heels into his mare to bring her to a canter.

‘Remind me never to get on your bad side.’

Nesta rolled her eyes once more. ‘It is so rare for you to be on my good side.’

A lonely tavern stood at a crossroads. It offered rooms for the night for wearied travellers as well as the promise of a warm meal and a hot bath. A thatched roof sagged over the cream walls and tired flowers hung in baskets beneath the many windows.

‘Is it safe?’

‘Yes, my lord. Your mother and brother are present.’

Sentries took their horses and Eris forbade them from entering. There, as the guard had said, sat Lucien with a full glass of beer in his hands. An arm was slung around his mother’s shoulders. The lady herself sipped at a glass of red wine with colour blossoming in the apples of her cheeks. They were not alone. A pair of sisters had joined them at the table; Niamh drank beer while Orla opted for tea. On Niamh’s other side sat a female with beautiful, leathery wings.

‘I cannot believe you would not invite your damn high lord. I’ll have you all executed for conspiring against me.’

Eris stood at the end of the table with his hands on his hips in mock outrage.

‘I thought you were comatose in bed still.’

He grunted. ‘Just about.’

Without waiting for an invitation to join them, Eris pulled up a chair and gestured for Nesta to sit then wedged himself impossibly close to Lucien on the bench, just to see how his brother might react. Lucien, of course, took it all his stride. He poured half of his drink into an empty glass on the table then pushed it towards Eris.

‘Good. You’re here. You can foot the bill,’ said Niamh, a bright smile lighting up her face.

At Nesta’s arrival, Emerie increased the space between her and the other female, a slight blush crawling across her cheeks. Eris wasn’t bothered at all by whatever it was that was unravelling between the pair; indeed Niamh had calmed down since she had been travelling to Windhaven.

‘I didn’t expect to see you,’ said Nesta, a true smile on her face. ‘You’re safe?’

Niamh leaned over. ‘Don’t you dare doubt me. I could take on every Illyrian and Briallyn without breaking a sweat.’

‘I remember when you ripped up all of my freshly planted bulbs when you decided that you were a witch,’ scolded his mother. How beautiful it was to see a smile trying to break its way onto her lips too, after so long being subdued.

Niamh’s mouth dropped open in outrage. A slender finger was pointed squarely at Lucien’s chest. ‘It was him too. Lucien was the naughty one. I was the silly one who followed his schemes.’

‘You two used to cause such mischief. Your mother and I had to take it in turns to tell you off because it happened so frequently, rest her soul.’

If he could, Eris would have stopped time to make the night last forever. The evening was perfect. Their bellies were filled with good food and better ale. The merriment flowed with no signs of stopping. Eris was surrounded by the people he cared most about in a little tavern in the middle of nowhere. At one point, he dragged his poor wife onto his lap despite her nervous laughter because it had been too long since he’d had his arms around her. There were teasing words from Lucien, asking whether Nesta needed assistance with removing a pest which made all of the females in attendance laugh, even his own mother.

To speed up the return journey, they winnowed, leaving the sentries to return the horses to the Forest House. There were relentless jokes at Eris’ expense over his age and whether he desperately needed to get back to bed.

‘Mother is older than me,’ he replied to Lucien as he pressed clean clothing into his hands for the night.

She pressed a hand over her chest, ‘Only by twenty years.’

Twenty years was nothing. A wife too quickly, a mother too soon. Now, at least, she might find some happiness again. Indeed, the light was returning to her russet eyes. Eris did not know how much of it was due to her husband’s passing or how much was due to her beloved son returning to her.

‘Where is my wife? She might defend me.’

From the bedroom, Nesta called, ‘I won’t.’

What wicked creatures. All of them.

Lucien would stay another night at his mother’s behest – and at Eris’, she would stay in their rooms once more. Eris was glad to have both of them back, even if he wouldn’t admit it amidst the teasing. Lucien’s absence had made their mother wilt more. She had lived in a perpetual mourning ever since that day. Eris knew their bastard of a father held it over her head constantly, promising to let him come back if she did things for him, never fulfilling his end. Nesta had solved their issues with a short, sharp blast of her power, the wonderful thing she was.

The female in question was waiting for him in bed, sprawled out across the mattress. He crawled into the sheets, inhaling the jasmine scent of her hair as he settled beside her.

‘Without lying, how badly do your legs hurt from riding?’

‘Enough.’

‘They’ll be worse tomorrow.’ Eris rose onto his knees and began massaging her calf. She tried to pull her foot away, face growing red as she hissed something about his mother being in the next room, but Eris waved it away. ‘I’m not about to ravish you. Merely trying to save you a day of stiffness.’

His thumb dug into the flesh of her calf, hard enough for her to grit her teeth. It was needed to remove all of the knots and aches from the muscle. Her riding today had been impeccable. It was the most she had ever managed – not that she would have complained or asked to stop. She was the Autumn Court; beautiful but cutthroat, never bending, never breaking.

‘Thank you for yesterday with Cassian.’

A soft breath passed his lips. He raised her leg slightly higher to work on her thigh. Although it was an act to help his wife, running his hands along her legs also had the blood pumping quicker around his body.

‘You don’t need to thank me for defending you, my love. You are my wife. I’d stand in front of death itself and let it take me into its cold embrace rather than you.’

Nesta’s lips pressed together as she smiled. Through heavy lashes, she gazed up at him, almost bashfully. ‘You say such romantic things.’

He kissed the soft skin of her thigh.

In the fireplace of their bedroom, his magic twisted in ribbons of red and gold until Nesta flexed her hand and her own went to join it. Her grey eyes watched the flames as they turned together, becoming one. In each moment, the happiness slipped further from her expression. It warped her features until she bit down on her bottom lip to keep from crying.

‘Nesta, tell me what’s wrong.’

‘I don’t understand mating bonds. How can he be my mate? We have nothing in common. He treats me poorly. Why would the Cauldron put us together? I don’t understand it. The bond is always gnawing away at me and I can’t bear it anymore. I want rid of it.’

He pulled her onto his lap, holding her tightly to him.

‘Why aren’t we mates?’ She swallowed down her tears, gripping onto him fiercely. ‘We are a perfect match. It doesn’t make sense.’

‘Mating bonds don’t always lead to happiness. I have many theories and opinions on the Cauldron’s ability to select equals which I’d be glad to share with you one day.’

‘Of course, you would,’ she said, laughing slightly through her tears.

‘Books and books of notes of my observations,’ he murmured, kissing her softly. ‘A mating bond is no guarantee of love. There are countless examples where it is wrong. You are not wrong for having a mating bond that doesn’t bring you joy.’

‘But why aren’t we mates?’

Eris wondered if anybody had truly explained what a mate was to Nesta. If anybody had explained half of the things in her life that were new, or had they expected her to figure it all out alone.

‘Do not think that our love is less because we are not mated.’ He smoothed her hair down, the silken strands soft beneath his fingers. ‘There was no force pushing us together. Fate did not shackle us. We chose each other, Nesta. Do you not think that is special? More special than a bond you cannot run from? I’d choose you in every lifetime.’

A cool hand stroked along his cheek. ‘You say such beautiful things and I can never match your words.’

‘I’ve had centuries to prepare them.’

Nesta tilted her head up to meet his lips as he cradled her still on his lap. Their flames danced together, oblivious to the heartache occurring on the bed. One day, Eris would tell his wife that he detested the idea of a mating bond forcing two together. The very idea revulsed him. He had met people who had waited their whole life for a mate who never arrived. Others who loved the bond more than their partner. The evidence for bonds being tragically wrong were littered throughout history.

‘I waited five hundred years to meet you.’

Her nose wrinkled. ‘Mother above, you’re ancient.’

‘In five hundred years, you will still be absolutely devastating and I will be old and shrivelled and sagging – and you will have to kiss me.’

Her thumb traced the seam of his lips. ‘I can’t wait to grow old with you.’

@owllover123 @rarephloxes @fanboy7794 @sugardoll22 @this-is-rochelle @kitkat-writes-stuff @sv0430 @embersofwildfire

#a court of tangled flames

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no-m4gic · 1 year

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HII!! How are you!! Hope your well^^ i hope you wouldn’t care if I requested this but may I request Mondo Oowada, Hajime Hinata and Chiaki Nanami with a GN! or Fem!S/O who has a VY2(Yuuma) Personality from Vocaloid? Thanks^^

i don't know vocaloid so the personality may seem a bit wonky hope i didn't ruin it for you though! i don't know if you wanted the reader to also have a pocket weapon so i just included it because i have my own personal scissors i use as my pocket weapon also i just followed everything off the personality category off the source you provided...

MY FISH CURSORS MAKE EVERYTHING REALLY DIFFICULT TO SEE BUT I LOVE THEM

also i did headcanons for this, sorry if this isn't what you wanted!

sorry if it's bad and short- i'm rushing to clear my inbox.

thanks for requesting!

~ mod sitaya

CHIAKI W/ A S/O WHO HAS A YUUMA PERSONALITY

chiaki is a-okay with all that, especially that whole wakizashi thing...

she thinks it's pretty cool, mostly the fact that you're brave enough to have a weapon on you at all times.

though sometimes whenever you guys get into childish little arguments, she'll be half-expecting for you to threaten her with your wakizashi.

but you would never hurt her.

maybe.

you guys have a secret base in an old janitor's closet whenever you were hiding from nekomaru, akane or kazuichi or when you guys were just skipping class.

it took you both 2 weeks to decorate it with colorful and bright LED's, fluffy pillows and blankets, posters that may or may not be inappropriate, and a nantendo gamegirl charging dock for chiaki to well... charge her nantendo.

if you do sing vocaloid (or any other song), chiaki would always beg and persist to listen, even if you'd say no a hundred times.

well... not really good, but also good.

you guys would definitely argue a lot, since you both lose your tempers easily.

but then again after awhile it's either him or you finding the other crawling back to each other, begging and apologizing.

mostly it's hajime since you're stubborn.

if you guys find yourselves at a school event or a party, you would ditch hajime or drag him along to the drink bar to order well... 'drinks'.

and you'd call hajime a pussy for not wanting to drink any of it.

anyway... other than the arguments and parties, you guys get along pretty well. it's always you and him defending each other whenever hiyoko got a little too annoying.

whenever you decide to kick yourself out of the class or the school to sit alone, he'll join you. even if the teacher gets super mad and gives him detention, he doesn't care.

sometimes he'll come over just to seek comfort from you... and also seek for a place to break down and cry on, your shoulder.

you'll rub his back and comfort him whenever that happens.

on rare occasions, you'd teach and train him on how to use a wakizashi properly instead of randomly tossing and turning it.

i don't have a header for mondo yet 😭

at first he'd be surprised on why you'd be so warm and nice to him?

especially after monokuma exposed his whole brother secret. don't ask how he's alive.

however, whenever he got too aggressive or too close, you'd pull out your wakizashi and point it at his throat, of course at a certain distance, saying nothing but plastering an innocent smile on your face.

"what the fuck s/o?!"

but overall you'd guys get along, especially by bullying toko and making spooooky jokes around her, which causes her to run to byakuya screaming "master byakuya!!!!"

you recorded mondo teasing toko and her running to byakuya and sent it to the whole class as a mean joke.

soon enough it became a meme.

sometimes during group activities, you would have screaming matches on whose idea was better.

mmmmm good ol requests. again, apologies if this was bad.

#danganronpa x reader #danganronpa #chiaki nanami x reader #chiaki x reader #hajime x reader #hajime hinata x reader #hinata x reader #mondo owada x reader #mondo x reader #mondo oowada x reader

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welcome-back-to-hoimycraf · 2 months

Text

The cool water of the Eastvale River ran over fWhip’s feet, cooling him amidst the summer heat. He supposed it would’ve been more refreshing if he didn’t already have a higher-than-normal heat tolerance, but whatever. Let him enjoy the little things on his day off, dammit. He’d finally secured a day free of (most of) their duties as Count, so they were taking the time to let off steam and relax for once. It’d actually been great so far. They’d spent the morning at Gem’s for a nice brunch while it was still cool out, and he finally got the chance to try that frog-leg soup that was so popular in the Cliffs. It was… Let’s just say it was not for them- but it was interesting! Afterward, he’d messed around in the forge for about an hour or so before meeting with Jimmy at the river like they’d planned. They had picked a more secluded spot than it was downstream; farther away from the city and covered in trees for the smallest amount of privacy since they still hadn’t announced their relationship yet.

Speaking of their relationship, fWhip was just about ready to end it as another drop of water hit his paper. “Be more careful, will you?” He scowled. “You’re gonna ruin my whole notebook at this rate.” Yeah, maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea to bring a book near water, especially if it’s very important sketches of his next project, but… Actually, he doesn’t know how they were going to defend themselves, that was pretty stupid.

A mop of blonde hair named Jimmy emerged from below the surface with a smile larger than life that may or may not have softened fWhip’s hard facade. “Well, why don’t you put the book away and get in with me!” He offered, crossing his arms on the riverbank to flash that blinding grin at his boyfriend.

The Count took a slow, deliberate breath to try and calm down his unreasonable frustration, setting the vulnerable pages as far from the water as he could reach. “You know I can’t swim in my binder, dumbass. I’ve told you that a million times,” he said, with no real malice this time around, “Plus, some of us aren’t lucky enough to not have tits, Mr. Fish.”

The cod snickered at that, but quickly changed the mood around. “But I’m lonely!” Jimmy whined, pushing himself backwards to float into the deeper water. The position gave fWhip an ample view of the pathetic face the cod was making.

He didn’t entertain Jim’s pleas, only giving him a stare that said something along the lines of I love you but by Goddess do you annoy me.

The Codfather decided to pull out plan B, something so irresistible that even his cold-hearted, evil boyfriend couldn’t say no to. He waded closer and rested his chin on fWhip’s knees, staring up at him with the biggest eyes he could muster. “Pwease?”

fWhip reddened at the closeness and pressed a foot to Jimmy’s chest, pushing him back into the river. “Fine, but next time your puppy eyes won’t work on me. I’ve got more than enough practice with resisting Nova and Koda’s.”

Jimmy giggled as the ginger pulled their tunic over his head. “Excuse you, they’re guppy eyes.”

fWhip paused to give Jim a glare in the process, looking rather silly with his shirt still bunched around their arms. “That was a terrible pun and you know it.”

The fish sucked in a sharp gasp. “That was great! Admit it!”

“Nope,” he said, popping the P . He tuned out Jimmy’s argument for why he makes great jokes- the cod’s words not his- while they unstrapped the binder and pulled their shirt back on, tossing the garment to lay with the book. They let out a brief sigh of relief from the usually comforting restriction, pulling up their shirt and pant legs. “Ready.”

Jim looked up at them with giddiness clear on his face if his wiggling fins didn’t show that enough already. He quickly reached up to grab fWhip’s hands and the Count blushed at what he assumed would be a romantic gesture. He was clearly highly mistaken when he was unceremoniously tugged forward. The only thing they could do was yelp before the water enveloped him.

When he arose, Jimmy was snickering, most likely at the sight of fWhip’s hair flattening to his self-described egg-shaped head.

“You,” they sneered, “are the worst.”

The other giggled for a second before leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to the tip of fWhip’s nose and resting their foreheads together. “You loooove me,” he countered, drawing out the word for effect.

The Count only frowned and childishly blew a raspberry at the cod. “You’re right, but I’m not happy about it.”

Jimmy cheered at successfully dodging an assassination attempt. Hopefully, at the end of the day he’d still be alive to have that nice dinner “between rulers” in the tavern fWhip was always gushing about.

#fanfic #my fanfic #empiresfic #empiresshipping #empires smp #empires s1 #fwhimmy #fish husbands #fwhip #count fwhip #jimmy solidarity #the codfather

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cryptidwritings · 28 days

Text

Dark Water

Chapter 43 : L.A.S.T

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cw: drinking, manhandling, restraining, descriptions of gutting a fish, threats with a knife, light asphyxiation, use of a knife, hand whump, description of wounds, gore, environment whump, hastily tending to open wounds, desperate whumpee, angry whumpee, sadistic whumper

By month four of him being under Jacobsen, Isidro was no longer afraid of shadows under the door. By month five he had memorized their footsteps, the way they would grab the door, and their touch in the dead of night.

It was Reid’s footsteps that woke him, but there was something about the pirate’s gait that made Isidro sit up rather than pretend to be asleep.

The key scratched against the padlock. The removal was loud and sloppy, scraping and banging against the wood. Then Reid stumbled in; the smell of liquor was so strong, as if an open barrel was underneath Isidro’s nose.

Isidro watched as he took unsteady steps forward. The movement of his head was enough to set him swaying. Reid was a man of vices.

“A bit late ta be up, ain’it?”

“Where’s Moss?”

“He’s safe. Gonna be ‘sleep fer a while,” Reid stepped forward, reaching into his pocket, “I been givin’ him doses 'a this.”

He held a small corked jar, half-full of white powder. Isidro had seen it before; tasteless, best when taken with water on an empty stomach.

“He begged me for it,” Reid smiled, “can't imagine what else he would do. Aye?”

Isidro grit his teeth. “You could kill him.”

The pirate shrugged. “Risk, reward. He’s grateful I gave ‘im any at all after yest’rday,” he chuckled. “I would’a let the croc have him if I didn’t have other plans for the stupid sod.”

Isidro's jaw tightened as Reid’s smile curled more at the ends, meeting his eyes with teasing fascination.

“Oh don’t act so concerned. Ye haven't been very honest with him, have ye, Duncan?” he said the fake name caustically. “I'm guessin’ ye have ten ‘a those in ye back pocket, aye? Tried it on like a new pair ‘a trousers.”

The humidity disappeared and suddenly it was only him and the silhouette towering over him as he sat bound, back against stone. It wasn’t the first time, but if his gut had been right about everything else it was likely right about this being the very last.

“Or, I'm wrong and he's ye partner.”

“No.” Isidro defended. “Assassins don’t have partners.”

“Ye word ain’t exactly trustworthy-”

“Ask him.” Isidro challenged, “He doesn’t know anything.”

Reid stilled; arms crossed. “Then why is he here?”

Isidro said nothing. Reid’s expression told him he didn’t have to, and he was right. It didn’t matter why, only how, and that was obvious enough.

When Reid forced him out of the shed, all he could do was try to keep up. Besides the usual noise, there was Isidro's own stuttering footsteps that randomly dragged along the ground while Reid held him up, aggravating the welts on his skin that was sticky with sweat, beat down further by the humidity that siphoned out what little energy he had left.

The sun was stuck behind the trees, helped along by the light of a lantern over the dock that Reid dumped Isidro onto. He sucked in quick breaths and blinked away black spots, rolling to his side to see Reid at the end of the dock, hoisting a net from the water.

He turned towards the table, stopping suddenly when he noticed a foot beyond a set of iron bars.

“Moss?” Isidro called; still catching his breath. He grabbed onto the table’s leg and pulled himself forward, revealing the lad, slumped against the wall.

Then, hands grabbed at his shirt, pulling him upright. “What? Ye don’t trust me? Look.”

Reid yanked him toward the cell. Moss was fast asleep; his head cradled in the nook of the walls with his jaw slack, with a cup barely grasped in his hand.

“Told ye he begged me for it.” Reid said. “Think ye will, too?”

Reid tossed Isidro onto the table, pulling the rope over his head. The two metal tongues squeezed between his hands and the ropes, making them unbearably tight.

"Ye like these? Invented ‘em myself." Reid grunt, pushing a long bolt through the holes.

Isidro swallowed; looking at the reflection of the sky on the water. The sun was rising.

Reid moved the chair to the middle of the dock where he had abandoned the net. Fish flopped around inside, until he grabbed them and pushed his knife in.

He scraped the scales. They fell off with a click, followed by the unmistakable ting of the side of a knife’s blade lifting from a surface. The smell of raw fish was overwhelming. Isidro could hear the knife tear through the fish’s stomach, followed by it’s spine being ripped out.

How long was he going to make him lie there? If anything would make him go crazy, it was the waiting—the pull between knowing of his impending agony versus the hope that maybe it wouldn’t be right now.

“Ach!” Reid scoffed with disappointment. “Damn crocs... won’t have enough now.”

Isidro tensed against the restraints as Reid stood. His eye snapped open when he felt his grip like a vice on his left hand. The pirate was looking down at him with a soft smile on his face, but the rage of burning mischief in his eyes.

“Care to spare some bait?”

Isidro’s eye flashed toward the knife that quickly found his pinky. He didn’t have time to blink before the pain seared into his hand. His whole body tensed; his neck bulging, spine arching. His mind disconnected, and in a moment he was no longer in his body but somewhere else—outside, beneath—but in a millisecond he was slapped back together and a scream erupted from his mouth, tearing his throat apart.

“A-!”

His scream—his release—was suddenly corked by a thick hand over his nose and mouth. His eye snapped opened. Reid was looking down at him, watching his eye blur as his body shook with desperation.

“Shh, don’t want to wake up Moss, do ye? Think he’d enjoy seein’ ye like this?”

Isidro’s hand trembled from the feeling of blood gathering in his palm, and air hitting where it shouldn’t; igniting the overwhelming feeling of something being wrong.

The pressure released, and Isidro took a desperate breath as a tear fell from his eye. Reid’s finger caught it, swiping over his bubbled skin.

Isidro pulled his chin away from the gentle touch. “W-why don’t you just t-turn me in?”

Reid chuckled, “Ye would just do the meter jig. Where’s the fun in that?”

Isidro let out an involuntary whimper. Between deep breaths, he heard Reid's voice.

“I'll give ye the courtesy ye victims never got," he smiled. "Time."

The prospect made Isidro’s heart drop into his already tumultuous stomach. He shouldn’t even be here; he should be at home with his family, taking care of Ghost and the farm. This wasn’t supposed to be his life. He didn’t want any of it!

“GAH!! g-GOD NO!” Isidro screamed as the knife plunged into his knuckle, hitting bone with a horrendous burn, then a crack that made him gasp back, pulling his spit into his lungs. He coughed, blinking back the white-hot pin-pricks of pain that splashed across his vision. He heard a rattle, like an earthquake, quieting only when Reid adjusted the hold on his wrists.

Then Reid held something in front of him. The bottom flesh was torn and ragged; stretched as if pulled to separation. Blood leaked from where the freshly cut bone was still pink and dripping. Isidro’s eye widened. That was his finger.

“What a beauty.”

Isidro retched; his body trembling from the onslaught of disgust as bile erupted into his nose and down the back of his throat.

“Oh, I know what I’m gonna do.” Reid muttered to himself, “Luh...” he twisted the fingers on Isidro’s other hand. “Ah...s...tuh.”

The pirate chuckled like he had discovered something clever while Isidro was willing every fiber of his being to not break down sobbing. His throat was already raw from screaming, now coated with the acid from his stomach it felt like he had swallowed a torch.

“Last. That’s what that says, aye?” Reid nodded, pleased, “I’ll be the last face ye see before the crocs.”

Isidro realized the river sound he heard wasn’t actually the river itself, but the splashing of crocs attracted to his blood and flesh as Reid tossed his freshly carved finger in the middle of all of them.

“I think they like the taste.”

He bit back another scream when he felt the blade’s tip hit his adjacent finger; wanting so badly for Reid to plunge it deep in his chest instead.

...

When the metal tongues were loosened, it was early evening. A chilling cold had set in over the swamp; the fog thicker than usual. Isidro was lift from the table, his arms and legs like rubber; his head cottony and body pillaged of strength and stamina. His scream came as an exhausted whimper even as he was dropped on the ground.

His body twisted to find familiarity, but found none.

He reached out his arms to feel the wall, instead catching the sight of his mangled hand under a flash of lightning. One finger remained on his left, and a deep gash on the first of his right—the last remaining before spelling out Reid’s curse between red, swollen flesh that coated his hands and the rope in dark copper.

An iron door slammed shut. Isidro’s limited vision couldn’t pin-point where, though as he attempted to stretch he could feel his foot slip between two bars. They felt freezing against his hot skin, sending a shiver up his leg and spine, and he was suddenly taken back to years ago with the question on the tip of his tongue. Why? Though now he knew better than to ask.

More lightning flashed above, bringing with it the smell of rain.

Isidro opened his eye as another gust of wind blew. Reid was crouched, gripping the bars with one hand while the other sat upon his knee, loosely holding the bloodied knife. The willows blew behind him, picking up speed as the sun was blotted out with the looming darkness of angry clouds. More thunder struck, quickly followed by a clap, then Reid stood as the light from the lantern snuffed.

“Sleep tight, fish bait. I’ll see ye when the storm clears.”

Reid’s boots descended, disappearing in the torrent that whipped over the trees and rattled the ground. Isidro curled in on himself as he shied away from the door, listening to the rain approach like a tidal wave. Starting far off; large drops on calm water consuming everything in it’s path, until the swamp descended into the chaos of a summer storm.

A sheet of water flooded the deck, dispersing into Isidro’s cell. Within minutes he was drenched, with his knees to his chest as he shivered violently.

Lightning struck, slicing into a nearby tree with a horrendous crack. Splintering wood fell with a splash into the river. Isidro shut his eyes and shoved the heels of his hand on his ear, feeling every muscle twitch in the nubs of his severed fingers, involuntarily pulling them to curl; burning when there was nothing there to move.

The wound needed to be kept clean and upright; anything to stall him from bleeding out. Just a little longer.

He reached under his shirt with shivering fingers and moved it up, wiggling it from underneath him like a snake shedding skin. The rain pelted his bare torso, and by the time he had the shirt over his head, he was exhausted.

He pulled the right sleeve down with his teeth, freeing his hand, then draped the cloth over his left.

The blood took to the wet fabric, turning it pink, then dark red where his fingers once were. He took a few preparing breaths, pressing his head to the wall, just for a second, before wrapping his hand tight. He screamed once; tears fell from his eyes until the anguish melted with the pressure. It felt secure; better than exposed to the elements.

Better, but it still sucked. He kept breathing. There wasn’t enough air in the world to make him feel like he had enough.

His shaking hand reached for the bars as he tucked the other to his chest. With grit teeth, he pulled himself closer, then adjusted his grip up, blinking back the rain as he prepared for another burst of effort.

“Okay...” he huffed, counting in his head. Down from... three—no, five.

Five. His gut twisted with the thought of moving more, but he had to. Four. His stomach growled, sending shockwaves through his body as if he was eating himself alive. He was so damn hungry, but the thought of eating mixed with the pain made him sick. Three. Wait- Two-

Suddenly, there was a crack, and a stream of water pelted him from the poorly made roof of the cell that sent him to the ground, crushing his hand beneath him.

Someone had chiseled their way into his bones and was mining his marrow with dynamite. His vision went white as he screamed and jostled his body, slamming his bare back against the wall again, and again, and again to break up the agony.

He screamed to the sky. To the earth. To the sea. He screamed to his father buried in the briney deep, cursing the day he was born. His words were swallowed by the storm—echoed back with thunder and wind until he slumped back, panting, staring at the view completely changed by the storm that still raged.

He ended on his side, shivering intermittently between pangs of pain that melted with the cold that ate at his extremities. It was a kindness, much like that of his brain to allow his misery to fade just enough to disconnect.

taglist: @sparrowsage @kixngiggles @honey-is-mesi @annablogsposts

#pirate whump #hand whump #environmental whump #manhandling #sadistic whumper #cold whump #physical whump #whump series #captivity whump #whump community #tw restraints #tw gore #tw asphyxiation #dark water by jovi

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dalishthunder · 10 months

Text

Throw a Dart at the Map (p2)

Pairing: Nebarra/LDB (Gender Neutral Reader)

Rating: Mature

Words: 2260

Additional Info: Pining, yearning, fluff, drunk games

It had been over an hour since you'd hopped off the ship to see what the island had to offer, and the night only continued to grow colder, so being the sensible mer that he was, Nebarra had holed himself up in the ship's cabin. There really wasn't much in there, but he did strip the furs off of the bed and swaddle himself in them. It was too risky to start a fire, and he was starting to get a little anxious about letting you go out there alone... and he'd already drunk all of the wine.

It wasn't helping with the cold.

He had no idea how you did it. Probably stupid ancient dragon magic.

The door flew open, wind flooding the room with even more frigid air as you stepped inside.

"About time." Nebarra grumbled. "Close the godsdamned door."

"Awww, is somebody feeling a little nippy?" You grinned at him, face flushed from the elements. Shaking off the snow you muttered a quick, "Yol," and steam began to rise off you as it melted.

"Oh, stuff it. Did you find anything? Maybe an inn...?"

You shook your head. "Just an abandoned shack. But," Your pack clanged down on the table, and you rummaged through it, procuring a few bottles. I didn't come back completely empty handed."

He caught the bottle you tossed it to him. Flin. Well, it wasn't wine, but it would have to do. "Better than nothing."

"Stronger than wine." You said, nudging him to move over so you could sit next to him.

"Stronger than some wine." He popped the cork out, grabbing his straw from an empty wine bottle.

"Hey, I wanted some of that too!" You grabbed the bottle from his hand and took a large swig before he could do anything. The face you made as it went down was priceless, and he laughed, eyes drinking in the countours of your sour expression in the warm lamp light.

"Ladies and gentlemen, The Legendary Dragonborn, Defender of Skyrim, Drinker of Dragon Souls, Most Elligible Bacheloree of Tamriel, Savior of Nirn, Talos Reborn... allegedly, still doesn't know how to handle an itty bitty sip of alcohol."

You foisted the bottle back into his hands, smacking him on the shoulder. He played into it, swaying and falling back on the bed dramatically.

"Careful, this dragon has teeth, ahrk zu'u bahlok*."

"Don't I know it..." It was more a breath than a whisper as it left his lips.

You snapped your teeth with a grin, pulling out a bottle of mead instead. "But I think I'll stick to stuff that actually tastes good."

Nebarra sat up, jostling you with his shoulder as you took your first sip, snickering as it spilled down over your chin.

"Rude!" You smacked his shoulder again. "Now I'm going to be all sticky...."

His eyes certainly didn't catch on a droplet as it ran down your neck, wondering how it would taste on his tongue mixed with the salt of your skin. That was certainly not a thought on his mind as you wiped it away.

"Have you nothing to say for yourself, brigand?"

He sipped some of the flin up with his straw, trying to ignore the tremor of cold in his hands.

He was very much not one known for having a filter, and it was better he occupy his mouth than say something incriminating.

You stopped to look at him, annoyance fading to something more along the lines of concern. "You really are a little Nebsickle right now, aren't you...."

His eyes narrowed... not that you could see it. "Call me that again, and I'll gut you like a fish."

You just shook your head, putting down your mead. "Oh please...."

"The flin is doing a fine job of warming me up."

"It's opening up your capilaries so you may feel warmer but you're losing heat faster."

"So what, you want me to just burn down my nice new ship because I'm a little cold? Do you even hear yourself?" He hissed, sipping up some more flin.

"That's not what I was going to suggest."

He leaned back, licking his lips... there were several activities that he was stiffling thoughts of that he could think of that would warm him up very quickly. "I'm listening." His voice was little more than a wary rasp, and he took another sip.

"Take off your armor, we're sharing body warmth. I can't warm myself up in my sleep, and while you're the most pig-headed, stubborn ass I've ever met, I don't think your eternal flame of burning hatred or whatever is going to protect you from the cold all night." Your voice got less and less certain the longer you spoke, and your gaze shifted to the flickering lamp, "Or we could go look for firewood and set up camp outside."

His breath hitched in his throat, words jumbling for a moment before he replied, "I... understand the utilitarian purpose... but do we really have to take off all of our armor?"

"If you're worried about your helm, it's okay if you want to keep that on... I meant more... body stuff.... There's not a lot of furs here, and I didn't expect to be in... this sort of situation so I didn't really pack appropriately-" You let out an awkward huff, "And there's really only one bed. Xel and I usually-"

He was not about to be one upped by a lizard.

His guantlet clattered to the floor, and you jumped at the noise. "You'd better be warm."

"Don't worry, I run pretty hot."

He didn't comment, instead focusing on doffing down to his clothes. Thank the gods he'd bathed recently.

From the sounds of it, you were busy following his lead. He glanced over to where you were stacking your armor pieces. This didn't have to be weird. You did this with your other companions all the time. Definitely Xelzaz. Probably even Kaidan.

His blood boiled a little at that. Stupid, huge, attractive Akaviri... following you around like a lost mutt.... Nebarra wondered what you had said to him to convince him to stay on the mainland.

For a moment... just a moment he considered taking off his helm as well, but he'd already almost made a mistake earlier in the night, and somehow the idea of sharing a tiny bed all night didn't make him feel any safer on that front. So, he crawled under the furs, eyes trained on you as you finished, downing the last of his flin.

Perhaps his most grievous mistake of the night.

Back to him, you whispered something again before sitting down at the edge of the bed.

"Are you coming, or did I doff myself for nothing?" He asked after a moment, resting his head in his hand as he watched you.

"Yeah, sorry, just lost in thought for a moment." You flashed him a smile.

"Well, I'm getting colder by the minute, but sure whenever you want is fine." You flipped him off, worming your way under the covers next to him until your back was against his chest.

Gods you were like a little furnace.

Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer and hoping you couldn't feel the way his heart was trying to pound its way out of his ribcage. He let out a little content sigh as you placed your hands over his.

"Wow, you're freezing."

"Sorry." He mumbled, tone far more awkward and unsure than he was used to.

You let out a breathy chuckle. "Don't be." Your fingers tangled with his. "Gives me a chance to practice this."

"Do not set my ship on fire."

You placed his hands over your heart, fingers still laced with his. "Graan Yol Krein**."

It wasn't a shout he was familiar with, but it was impossible to ignore the quick beats of your heart or the way warmth suffused through his veins. Rich and full like a hot bowl of stew, and between the balm of your hands and the stiffness of his drink, a soft moan escaped his throat. A dawning mortification gripped him.

You froze, letting go of his hands.

Well, there went not making things awkward.

He cleared his throat, voice just a touch too high, "Is that a new shout?"

That seemed to relax you a bit, and you settled against him again, his arms wrapping around your waist. "Yeah, I'm thinking of calling it Hearthfire. It was inspired when I was studying fire salts with Xelzaz and how and if they could improve one of his mixtures-"

"What's... What's that whole situation?"

"Oh, it turned out that fire salts ran too hot, but if we mixed a pinch with some void sal-"

"No. No, I mean... what's the whole deal with you and Xelzaz? Are you two...?" Oh gods he needed to shut up....

How strong was that flin?

"What?"

"Y'know...."

As realization hit you, you buried your face in your palms. "No... it's not like that. No. He's um... he's not interested in me like that and-"

"Woah, woah, woah... I'm gonna need you to repeat that because I'm sure my hearing is acting up-"

"Nope, if you weren't listening, that's on you."

"How do you even know he's not-"

"Why do you care?" You turned to look at him, eyes wary. You were too close... too close.

"I just...." He let out an uncomfortable chuckle.

And then something passed over your eyes, the corners of your mouth turning upwards in an incredulous smile. "By Azura... you're in love with Xelzaz, aren't you?"

"What?"

"By the gods, how did I not figure this out sooner?" You put your hands over your mouth. "Oh, Honey, I'm so sorry.... I don't think-"

"I'm not in love with Xelzaz!"

"It's okay, I understand! He's my best friend, and you have my blessing, but I don't want to give you false hope for a future that probably will never happen."

He let out an exhasperated groan.

"Don't worry, I think everyone he meets wants to bone him a little bit-"

"Stop. Talking."

"I know your wedding would have been beautiful and practical. Obviously, I'd be the Attendee of Honor-"

"Xelzaz is very much Not My Type. Besides, I'm already supposed to be married to you remember?"

Your eyes widened.

"Xelzaz seems to think we're an old married couple, after all." He elaborated after a moment, very much appreciating his decision to keep his helmet on.

You snickered, settling down again, back pressed up against his chest. "Of course. How could I forget?"

At least that shut you up about your stupid Xelzaz theory.

Auri-El smite him the day that happens.

His fingers played idly with the fabric of your shirt, and he closed his eyes, debating whether or not to pull you in tighter.

"So... husband." You said after a while, and his eyes immediately opened. "What was our wedding like?"

He really shouldn't be playing along with your sick game.

But you were warm, and his blood was more alcohol than anything else at the moment, so he replied, "... Small. We eloped."

You nodded, "There would've been too many invitations to write otherwise. Xelzaz officiated obviously."

"Obviously." His arms tightened around you, pulling you in just a little bit further.

"How many kids did we have?"

He let out a low whistle, "Wow... a parent who doesn't even know how many kids we have. Why did I marry you?"

You snorted. "Two. We had two."

"Wrong! You are bad at this whole parenting thing." He grinned, basking in the warmth. "We had five."

You balked. "Five is way too many."

"I agree, we really should have stopped at one, but you insisted that we absolutely had to have a middle child with self-esteem issues."

Your laughter echoed off the walls of the cabin, belly rocking. "Okay, okay... we had three."

"Which of our children disappointed me the most?"

"Wow... what a cold father." He could still hear the laughter in your voice as you spoke, "Obviously it was our eldest."

"And what did he do that perturbed me so?"

"He wanted to be a bard."

Nebarra let out a snort of derision.

"I funded his way through the bard college, which is how we got divorced."

Affection tugged on his heart strings, "You know me too well."

"Our son was a phenomenal harpist, it's a shame you never stuck around for any of his recitals."

He scoffed, tucking his head to rest his chin on your shoulder. "Well at least he was talented. How about you? Why did you divorce me?"

For a moment, you were silent, and he could feel an uncomfortable twinge in his chest... waiting for your response.

"Because after five years of marriage, I still hadn't seen your face."

It was the flin. It was the flin, and the stupid warmth.

"It's really that important to you, huh?"

"I mean... hypothetically in that sort of situation. But don't ever feel that you have to do anything you don't want to do just because I'm curious."

It was the flin. It was the flin and this stupid, godsdamned game you two were playing.

He licked his lips, letting you go and sitting up a bit.

Your eyes were focused on him, expression curious, something in your eyes that he couldn't quite read. "Neb... you don't have to if you don't want to."

It was the flin.

His helm clattered to the ground with the rest of his armor.

* ahrk zu'u bahlok - and I hunger

**Graan Yol Krein - Warmth Fire Sun

#nebarra #nebarra skyrim #x reader #skyrim #custom voiced followers #thunderous applesauce #odt #I love him so much #I want to scream #Throw a dart at the map

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day0walker · 1 year

Text

i wrote my oc spitting in @fr0ntier ‘s oc’s mouth because there is no reason, i wrote it because me and fr0ntier are on wavelengths of disgusting and it was fun (xavier’s callsign is ‘baby’ in case anyone besides them reads this LMAO)

They’re all in the bar, round table sticky, a pack of cigarettes practically torn open and shared between the five men, one left and half out and twisted so tobacco is just spilling its guts. There’s too many empty beer pints for just five of them; it’d been too long of a night that none of them seem interested in ending.

“I’m gunning after Baby,” one of the men is saying, enraptured in the story, hands moving with exaggerated motion. “Across the airfield to try and get him.” Xavier is rolling his eyes upward, arms thrown out in that classic come the fuck on gesture. He’s too long bodied to be tossing himself everywhere, but he seems too drunk to care. They all seem a little too drunk.

Benji endures the sharp snap of Xavier’s hand against his shoulder and nurses the beer in front of him.

“Did you catch him in time?” Another soldier asks, fishing through his pockets, trying to find a lighter, eying the split cigarette like he might be able to salvage it. Benji wants to say, good fucking luck, man and is thankful for the secret remaining two in the inside pocket of his jacket.

“The magazine wasn’t upside down,” Xavier defends himself, hand curling over Benji’s shoulder where it had landed. It’s warm and large and heavy, like a catchers mitt. He seems to squeeze Benji unconsciously as he rambles his defense. “So he didn’t need to be chasing me. You can’t even shove a magazine in the wrong way, so he’s lying.”

“Whatever. You were so hungover you would have loaded a mortar wrong if you tried.”

“They don’t let Baby near explosives anymore.”

“You ordered shots?”

The waitress makes all five men turn their head her way. She stands there, serving platter of alcohol and it’s like dogs wagging their tails, like she accidentally stumbled into a kennel instead of the corner of the bar—and to her credit, she does a fantastic job of ignoring all of them and dropping the shots onto their table with no ceremony, pomp, flair or attention to the one all but slinking toward her.

Benji stands, feels the unsteadiness sweep into his knees and the world tilt a couple different ways; alcohol in his bloodstream thicker than the blood. It had been a good excuse to drink, coming with his fellow soldiers to the bar, but sometimes, they leaned a lean more on the annoying side than they did fun. The cigarettes in his pocket had his name written on them along with the standard “will cause cancer” warning.

“Hey,” Xavier’s paw of a hand catches his wrist. “We’re supposed to take these together?” He’s holding up his shot glass of murky amber liquid and his head is tilted up, smile splitting that pretty pale freckly face.

“I feel like you’ll survive, but you have my deepest sympathies that I won’t be here to enjoy the piss flavored shots.”

The other soldiers laugh, but Xavier doesn’t. His thumb presses a small dent into Benji’s wrist, his smile softer and a little curling.

“I’ll miss ya,” is how he replies before Benji manages to shake him off and stalk through the bar.

—

It’s such a shit dive bar that it doesn’t even have stalls. One of those single use, gender neutral bathroom’s with a cracked toilet bowl, no mirror over the sink and graffiti all over the walls. Benji’s staring at the call this number for the worst blow job you’ll ever get written in sprawling sharpie black when the knock comes at the door.

“Occupied,” he snaps out. Continues pissing.

The knock comes harder. Then again. Then a furious repetitive noise, to the point where it feels like it has to be someone’s IBS emergency to require this sort of attention.

“Are you fucking kidding me—”

Benji shakes, stuffs himself back into his boxers and rips the door open.

It’s like he’s forgotten for the second time that night, that he has a long, lanky body, because Xavier falls into the bathroom with absolutely no regard for the shorter man already occupying it.

“Xavier, what the fuck are you—”

It’s much too small a room (it can’t even be called a room, it’s a closet with plumbing, and shitty plumbing by the way the toilet’s holding on for dear life) so when Xavier joins him, they’re practically knocking chests. Benji’s hands are falling back on the ceramic sink behind him, it digs awfully into his spine and makes him bark like a kicked dog. Xavier has to raise his arm, keep his palm flat to the wall as he’s nearly hunched over the other soldier.

“You didn’t take your shot with us.”

It’s in his hand, not a drop miraculously spilled.

Xavier’s so tall he has to tilt his head down to look at Benji, and their faces are far too close for comfort. Washes of his warm breath keep spilling over Benji’s skin, the smell of nicotine and cheap beer pouring off him—but he’s also got that disgustingly classic boy smell to him that is like a shitty aphrodisiac, so Benji’s annoyed at the slight spool of heat warming up his belly.

“I’m not fucking taking a shot in the bathroom.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is where people piss and shit, Xavier.”

“I’ve heard they do way worse in here.”

The shot is pushed toward him and Benji, for a moment, thinks to slap it out of his hand. But he likes Xavier—everyone likes Xavier, which would make him hate Xavier on principle, but it’s an infectious disease to get along with this guy. His face is open, honest, grinning enough to show the little chip in his canine that he probably got from tripping during a mission.

“Just take the shot!”

“Make me.”

Xavier’s hand blindly reaches toward the door, pawing at it. Benji listens to the click of the shitty metal door lock and for some reason, it’s a sound that makes his spine shiver a little.

“You’re pretty cute, Benji,” is how he starts the sentence and that same hand that locked the door winds up. It’s momentarily making a path over Benji’s chest, leaving burning sensation with his palm, like he’s being branded through his shirt. “You just gotta—I dunno, relax a little.” And that fucking giant hand cups Benji’s jaw, fingers pushing his cheeks.

“I’m relaxed,” he says, but it comes out wrong because Xavier’s hand is practically molding his jaw open.

“Sure.”

Then Xavier takes the shot in his mouth and leans over. As he does, he crunches Benji backward over the sink, curling him, their hips tightly flushed from the lack of space (or maybe, because Xavier wanted to put his hips against him, maybe, in this gross little excuse for a shitty bar’s bathroom, Xavier wants to touch Benji, and be a little filthy about it; maybe Benji can feel the slight hard on through Xavier’s jeans, and maybe it matches his own). His hands stay clenched around the sink and he’s thinking, I could stop him from doing this, but—

And the thought dissipates as Xavier spits the whiskey into his open mouth.

Benji tastes the burn of it, feels it spilling over his chin sloppily. Watches Xavier’s dark green eyes as it fills his mouth. He’s being leaned back so hard it almost makes his spine hurt, the heaviness of Xavier’s body warm and blanketing, and it’s not just whiskey. He tastes the man’s spit, feels it slip over his chin messily.

He swallows, because what else can you do when your mouth is full of terrible cinnamon flavored whiskey and another soldier’s spit? And watching him swallow it causes a low throaty sound to pull from Xavier.

For a long moment, both men are staring at each other and both men are breathing heavily. Xavier’s arm is braced against the wall above the sink, above Benji’s shoulder. Their hips are still collided together. Their legs are four awkward limbs that are awkwardly tangled together. His hand still grips Benji’s face but it moves and he trails his thumb over Benji’s lip; he has rough fingertips, soldier’s calluses. He runs it down to trail the back of his fingers over the shorter man’s throat.

Then Benji coughs, because the whiskey tasted awful and burned his nose and Xavier laughs, far too loudly for the tiny space they’re shoved into.

Someone bangs hard on the bathroom door and both men yell out, “It’s fucking occupied.”

#xavier #original writing #my ocs #i will never not be able to randomly bang out a 1k+ writing for xavier hes a parasite in my brain

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