#& in a very short space of time. i like sag’s but they are intense | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

osmoticeel · 1 year

Text

rules: pick any ten of your fics, scroll to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. then tag ten people.

I wasn’t tagged and I don’t tag people but if anyone does this because of me please @ me in it! I wanna see what you have to share ✨

All of these are WIPs to varying degrees. Also very few of my WIPs have names 😅 I'm posting this in the hope that it encourages me to work on more than just the ultralong ones.

Twilight (the Enterprise episode) (Hoshi/T’pol)

T'pol's reflection in the mirror above the dresser is unfamiliar - her hair is long, and while she slept hairs have come loose and frizzy from the braid down her back. The defined edges of her face and body have softened ever so slightly, though she doesn't feel weak. Her eyes look wider, maybe a little unfocused - or a little crazed.

She's aged – not much, but a noticeable amount. Last night, she was sixty-four years old, first officer of the Enterprise. She was on her way to engineering, taking short, measured steps on unsteady feet, deep breaths, vertigo making the walls close in. The floor lurched – a spatial anomaly or her own perception? – she fell, and— and— nothing.

She steps closer to the mirror, trying to make sense of the gap between her image of herself and the woman in the mirror, and notices a note on the dresser. The paper is beginning to yellow with age, but the formal Vulcan handwriting is undeniably hers.

T'pol, daughter of T'les, know that I am you, though you have forgotten me.

Emergent Properties (Hoshi/T’pol, Vox Sola)

Hoshi knew her vices all too well, and she never considered pride to be one of them.

She took pride in her work, yes, because she was hardworking and focused and believed nothing was worth doing that wasn’t worth doing right. But she was also (consciously, willfully) friendly, and helpful, and humble. She didn’t like being wrong, but she was happy to accept it as something she could learn from. She knew what she didn’t know.

And yet none of that seemed to matter.

The Vulcan Word for Love (Hoshi/T’pol)

“How do you say I love you in Vulcan?”

T’pol’s mouth is dry, and she freezes, unable to do anything but stare, feeling like an ambushed gormagander. She is not prepared for that question. But it is not the Vulcan way to lie, and so she tells the truth as she knows it:

“We don’t.”

She feels Hoshi sag in her arms. There’s a part of her that wants to draw Hoshi in closely, to say T’pol can try to be human for her. There’s a part of her that can feel, intensely, how those words hurt, not for the explicit meaning itself, but for everything implied by it. And what those words imply is equally clear, echoed across the bond they share, etching itself into T’pol’s mind like acid.

Vulcans do not love to begin with.

It is extremely fortunate that Vulcans require little sleep, because even as she tries to meditate in Hoshi’s arms, she finds herself drawn back to that thought. It haunts her with the fiery intensity of all Vulcan emotions, until morning.

These Are the Voyages (gen, Voy/Ent crossover)

“It’s not educational, it’s an adventure that just happens to be based in historical fact.” Harry paused to smile knowingly. “And besides, I think you’ll find you like history a lot better when you’re a part of it.”

Tom raised his eyebrows and went back to eating.

B’elanna slid in between them and, without asking, picked up the padd and started reading it. “These Are The Voyages: A Holographic Window Into History.” Harry tried to grab the padd out of her hand, but she held it up in the air away from him and continued reading the description with a dramatic flourish. “Relive the thrill of battle, the intrigue of diplomacy, and the awe of exploration. Join the crew of the NX-01 Enterprise, Starfleet’s first warp 5 vessel,” she let out a small snort, “on humanity’s first steps into deep space.”

Time After Time (Paris/Kim)

It was a formulaic sort of conversation, a lecture Harry could have heard from his own father. Start with flattery – “You’re such a promising young officer,” – then veiled threats – “I’d hate to see you ruin your career,” – then actually get to the heart of the matter – “but that Tom Paris is bad news.”

Figures. Harry never had good taste in men. Luckily his common sense was usually stronger than his heart. His mother raised him right, he might say. It still smarts every time.

Harry was so distracted that he almost didn’t notice when the very object of his frankly juvenile brooding slid into the seat across from him, sloshing a bowl of slightly pink tomato soup as he set it down.

“There, you see? I told you it wouldn’t take long.”

Tom was bitter, even more bitter than the Starfleet replicators’ impression of tomato flavor. Apparently Tom never had a replicated tomato before, because, while Harry gripped the edge of the table at a loss for words, Tom took a sip and grimaced.

“Fourteen varieties, and they can’t even get plain tomato soup right.”

Harry might have told him there’s a reason for the fourteen varieties, that next time he should try the Bolian style, but Tom’s spoon clinked as he dropped it into the bowl, and Harry hated these conversations.

A Secondhand Truth (Paris/Kim)

“He misses you, you know.”

Harry was stunned, had been completely thrown off from his mental calculations of nebular dust decay. “Who?”

“Tom.”

“Oh. What do you mean?”

“He tells me you just canceled Captain Proton on him again, and now I see you here, hard at work on a problem that even I agreed is completely irrelevant. You didn’t have a fight, you’re just avoiding him.”

“He’s better off without me.”

“I beg to differ, he was much less insufferable when you still talked to him.”

Harry hadn’t seen that smile of Tom’s in a long time, the one he’d thought could burn out stars. He’d just imagined he saved it for B’elanna behind closed doors.

Fission (B’Elanna/Seven)

Janeway insisted, in her narrow scope, that human collectives and connections were no different. Humans were interdependent, she said; just look at the crew of Voyager.

Short-sightedness was an obvious result of living a single life, isolated from contradictory viewpoints.

Seven of Nine knew this much: the crew of Voyager was cacophonous. There was dissent. Members identified with two factions that warred with each other and only cooperated due to necessity. The captain had to command her crew and compel them to serve the needs of the whole, and punish those who didn’t, Seven of Nine included. It was intolerable. To be Borg was to know harmony.

Shuttlecraft 13 (Troi/Yar)

But she pitied Armus, as well. It was a heartless blob of hatred and anguish – negative emotions, but not pointless ones. They ought to be red flags the mind raises to alert itself to danger, that calm down when the situation passes. But there was no danger. Armus was trapped in a dark tunnel without an exit in sight. She wondered if anyone had ever tried to take it seriously. If she was going to die here, maybe she could talk it down.

“You want to play that game? That wasn’t meaningless at all. I know what you really want. Misery always wants to be shared. If you make someone else suffer, you think it’ll be worth something. It might at least mean you’re right. Well, that’s not how it works. It won’t ever make you feel any better. But if you let Will go, I’ll cry with you.”

Between Unforgiving Stars (Troi/Yar, someday)

“How deep does the rabbit hole go?”

T’ven frowned. “How is a small mammal relevant?”

“It’s an allusion to an old Earth story – Alice in Wonderland, in which a young girl falls into a rabbit’s burrow and discovers a world where everyone and everything is illogical. I was referring to its use in an old Earth movie, which asks ‘how deep the rabbit hole goes’ to refer to discovering concealed layers of confusing or incomprehensible truth.”

T’ven nodded, but she was obviously baffled.

“Perhaps a better way to say it would be, how many layers of deception are there?”

“Only the Tal Shiar can be said to know, though I doubt their left hand knows what the right hand is doing, to use one of your Earth expressions.”

Deanna smiled graciously. “You’ve studied human mythology.”

Waiting Game (Troi/Yar)

“Deanna,” Will said, and she could hear the unspoken, don’t. But he knew that if she’d visited his quarters, if she was so serious when she was so plainly uncomfortable, it must be important enough that she needed to say it for herself, no matter what.

“I don’t want you to think,” Deanna began, then swallowed, realized the way she was going to end that sentence – that I still have feelings for you – wasn’t fair, because her own feelings were out of her control, and the truth is she had no idea how she felt, not after the other day threw her off, but she wasn’t going to pressure herself to get her own feelings in order until she was well and ready. Instead she took a deep breath, steeled herself, and said the simplest truth she could manage: “I don’t want to pick up where we left off.”

Will sighed, crumpled slightly, but he almost seemed relieved. “I knew it was a matter of time before I had to hear it.” He took a deep breath. “I’m happy to have you as a friend, Deanna.”

#captain's blog #rubi writes

4 notes · View notes

kohakuarisaka · 3 years

Text

Untamed (chapter 2 of 5)

Takami Keigo x (fem!)Reader

[ SUMMARY ] Every year, without fail, Hawks went into a rut: when autumn began, and then again in early spring. He would honker down up north in a secluded cabin. For the first time, he brought you with him.

[ WARNINGS ] R18+ for graphic sexual content and language. Non-canon compliant: Hawks’ quirk does not work like this. Reader is a hero that works at Hawks agency. Pre-existing relationship. Reader is a female with female genitalia. Feral behavior. Rutting. Biting. Spanking. Slight BDSM. Consensual sex. Wing kink. Oral sex. Romantic relationship.

Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5

[ My BNHA Fanfic Masterlist ] ~ [ Also on my AO3 ]

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As it turned out, 'secluded cabin' was a pretty accurate statement.

Hawks had arranged for a very discreet hero taxi service to drive you the 5-hour trip from Musutafu to a quaint mountainous village that was so small and quiet, you almost doubted it was even on the map.

Past the snowy village, through the winding roads and towering trees, over a bridge, past a frozen lake, and then some miles off the main road, tucked away in a small clearing, was a beautiful cabin.

While the days were steadily growing warmer as spring rapidly approached, it still snowed at night. The snow had melted off the trees from the warmth of the midday sun; but, there was still a light blanket of white on the rooftop and across the surrounding grounds.

There were no poles lining the street, nothing that could bring electricity to the house; however, you could see what was likely a generator tucked away in the back. Someone had propped the cover off and cleaned out the snow.

At that sight, it became obvious that Hawks had beat you here. He already taken to clearing the snow out of the entry way as well, exposing a beautiful cobblestone pathway.

You exited the vehicle and retrieved your bags from the trunk. The very second you closed the hatch, the driver made a speedy exit, wheels skidding in the snow as they backed out before doing a sharp U-turn and barreling down the road.

Luckily, the entrance to the cabin opened before you could worry that you had just been abandoned in the middle of nowhere. Sure enough, Hawks stepped out, wild blonde locks brushed back, a little fluffier than usual due to the change in humidity.

Despite how cold it was, he was wearing a black tank top and loose, light grey sweat pants. He even stepped out onto the cold stone pathway with bare feet. Yet, with a light flush to his skin, he didn't look cold at all.

You had been making a face when he approached, and he offered an explanation, uttering, "I told 'em not to linger. It's suspicious."

Some large plumes departed his wingspan and grabbed at your luggage, one even pulling your shoulder bag off your back. They whipped away, bags in tow, and zipped past Hawks and through the doorway, disappearing into the cabin.

The winged hero didn't immediately usher you inside, as he usually did in these types of situations, but arched over you suddenly, arms bringing you into a tight embrace while his lips captured yours.

The sudden closeness forced your back to arch. Unconsciously, your hands fell onto his barely clothed shoulders, and you felt how warm he was. If you didn't know any better, you would have thought he was running a fever.

The kiss was brief, but uncharacteristically messy, not that you were complaining. It was a kiss of longing, like he had missed you dearly, as if it had been months and not a day and a half.

He pulled back, a distant, albeit blissful, look on his face. His eyelids sagged as if he was tired, but the gold of his iris was bright and his pupils were focused.

"I didn't get to clean yet, but - ugh - do you wanna see inside?" he asked, some slight nervousness to his tone.

"Yeah," you breathed.

Hawks stepped aside and you gently brushed past him and stepped inside. The wood floors creaked softly beneath your feet as you crossed the threshold. Immediately, you were hit with a wonderful scent, earthy, like tree bark, but sweet, like raw honey.

It was a decent sized cabin, spacious and not heavily furnished. The kitchen was on the small side, but seemingly to accommodate a larger living room.

As Hawks had warned, there was a thin layer of dust all across the wood floors. The furniture was covered by clear tarps, shielding them from the debris.

The dining area tucked away in the corner had a chabudai in place of a western style table. It was small and clearly only intended for two people. You had a feeling it was new, considering how spotless it looked compared to the rest of the cabin.

A huge, stone fireplace rested against the north wall, surrounded by large windows that gave a beautiful view of the outside. They were adorned with heavy curtains, pulled back to let the sunlight in.

Hawks was lingering, following close, staring down at you as you walked around and took in the sight of the place. When your eyes landed on him, and you caught his unblinking stare, you realized he was awaiting feedback.

It startled you a little, for Hawks wasn't the kind to fuss over these sorts of things; but, you had a decent enough understanding of what a rut was to know what was going through his head.

"Relax, birdbrain," you cooed, reaching up to tap gently at his cheek with a closed palm. That seemed to knock him out of his stupor, for he blinked and suddenly looked sheepish. He flickered his gold eyes away, as if to give you space.

"I love it," you praised, looking back into the living area. "Cozy, and smells nice."

You heard him exhale a relieved sigh through his nostrils.

"We should get to work. Where's the cleaning stuff?" you asked, peeling your jacket off.

"Oh. I'll-" he began.

"You'll let me help," you interrupted him gently.

When you turned back to face him, and saw the bewildered expression he was wearing, you wondered if maybe that wasn't the right thing to fit with his current state.

"Unless that's... bad?" you offered uncertainly, shoulders sagging.

Hawks laughed suddenly at the sunken expression on your face, as if the joyous sound came sputtering out against his will.

"No," he answered softly, leaning in suddenly for another kiss, as if he couldn't help it. You didn't get a chance to kiss back before he was retreating.

"Don't change," he sighed. "I want you as you, not as my..."

"-subservient housewife?" you offered, just a little teasing.

He chuckled softly, breathing out a harsh, "fuck, no."

Hawks maneuvered around you and headed for what you guessed was a supply closet. Inside, the cleaning gear was also neatly packaged in containers and safe from dust.

It made sense, how neatly arranged everything was. Hawks was a fairly neat person; but, it was also clear that he had this whole thing down, neatly tuned and properly sorted out. He had been coming here for years, after all.

This place was special to him. That much was clear.

The two of you started to dusting and sweeping, followed by a diligent mopping, with the two of you working in tandem.

Hawks was fairly quiet during the whole ordeal, seemingly focused sternly on the task at hand. It had been his nest for years. This was hardly anything new; but, it was now going to be yours, too.

He didn't tell you that he had been worried he would react negatively to your presence. He didn't always react rationally during this time. Seemingly average things would sometimes irritate him, and a part of the possessive onslaught included this abode.

Fortunately, that hadn't been the case. Cleaning the cabin with you was soothing. He wasn't unaware of the obvious implication: that you were preparing a nest together, your shared nest. He didn't say it aloud, but you had come to that realization, as well.

It had actually calmed him quite a bit. He had been on edge before you arrived, skin prickled with heat and sweating unreasonably considering the cold. Those weren't abnormal during his ruts; but, it felt intensified with that knowledge that you were going to be here.

Darkness swept across the forest as the hours dragged on. Luckily, you were just about finished by the time it got dark.

There was a neat stack of firewood arranged on a carrier near the fireplace, making you wonder if that was what he had worked on before your arrival. The logs looked freshly cut and heavy.

Crimson feathers delivered logs to the hearth. Hawks retrieved a set of matches from a cubby near the carrier and then kneeled before the hearth. He set one of the matches ablaze and carefully ignited the firewood arranged in the pit.

Warmth and light flooded the cabinet. Plumes gathered along the edges of the curtains and pulled them back, covering the windows. When they returned to his wingspan, he stepped back and monitored the fire briefly.

While cleaning, you had learned there was a cellar and partial second story, as well as an indoor bathroom. It seemed that the main use of the generator was to power the water heater and indoor plumbing.

The cellar was small, down a short flight of stairs, with concrete floors and walls, the perfect size for containing a month's worth of food and supplies, far more than was necessary for just a week.

The second story was a loft that oversaw the living room, giving a great view of the fireplace. There was no safety railing on the upstairs, likely for the very obvious fact that Hawks could fly. There was, at least, a staircase.

Upstairs, there was a large bed frame with a plush mattress, wrapped up tight to protect from dust, a large chest pressed up against the wall, and a desk without a chair.

After he removed the bed cover, you watched Hawks pull neatly folded blankets and pillow cases out the chest. It was fascinating to see someone, who normally slept wherever his body landed, so meticulously prepare the bedding: layers and layers of blankets, followed by dressing the pillows and laying them out.

It was especially perplexing because of the intense, concentrated look on his face. He had been so focused that he hadn't even realized that you had paused what you were doing to watch him.

Luckily, you caught yourself staring before he did, and shuffled back downstairs before he could notice.

A sudden howling had startled you, before a sharp wind rattled against the shutters. Something was thumping gently against the roof and when the wind picked up, you could almost hear the trees shuddering outside.

"It's snowing," Hawks observed, suddenly at your side.

You could see a glimpse of crimson in the corner of your eye, and realized he had a wing fanned out around you, not quite close enough to touch, but hovering. Maybe, he hadn't even realized he was doing that.

"Oh," you answered quietly.

Together, you prepared dinner, settling for a classic favorite of his: yakitori chicken and stir fry noodles.

Eating dinner together, and talking about nothing, made you realize, it had been the first time in a long time, if ever, that you hadn't discussed work: nothing about the agency, nothing about heroes or villains, nothing about police business or missions.

It was just senseless conversations that amounted to nothing.

The dining table was small and the floor was cold; but, your hands brushed constantly due to the lack of space. It made you realize that you had longed to have this type of moment with him, something so utterly domestic.

"I know it's not super late," Hawks began, on his way to the kitchen with the dirty plates. "But, I'm gonna wake you up early; so, let's get to bed, okay?"

His voice was soft, surprisingly drowsy, you realized, and he continued, "it's - well, there's something I wanna show you, and it looks best in the sunrise."

He had started the dishes before you could; so, you stepped in close, deciding to tease him a little.

"I bet you do look best in the sunrise," you uttered, leaning against the counter top near the sink, where he had busied his hands. He was looking away from you; but, you could see his lip twitch into a faint smile.

Hawks laughed, a low chuckle that rumbled through his chest. "Not me," he replied softly. Yet, he found himself feeling enamored with the knowledge that that was where your mind had wandered first.

"Do you want me to wait for you?" you offered, standing upright and shifting away from the counter.

"Nah," he replied simply. "I'll join ya' in a bit."

You changed into your pajamas, brushed your teeth and pulled your hair back, before heading upstairs. Blankets and pillows were stacked high on top of the mattress, making the bedframe disappear beneath it.

It not only looked incredibly warm, but incredibly soft, and an inspection with your hand, smoothing over the surface, confirmed that. There were several pillows pressed against the headboard and even more at the foot of the bed.

If you hadn't seen him arrange it, you would have doubted it was even Hawks' bed. From the glimpses you had seen into his life, he was a minimalist.

His office at the agency was fairly large, but looked almost comical with the lack of furniture in it. He wasn't one to buy much of anything outside of perishables.

"Take those off."

You had heard that commanding tone many times before; but, in the peace and serenity of this cabin, it startled you. Your shoulders twitched a little and you turned to face him, having not heard Hawks approach.

His gold eyes were glaring at your body, shifting up to meet your gaze when you turned to face him.

You gawked back at him, dumbfounded by his boldness, and a little intrigued, if you were being honest. He had warned you about this, and you were about to comply when his dark expression suddenly softened.

"Oh fuck," Hawks blurted, embarrassment washing over his face. The intensity of the moment dissipated and you found yourself unable to hold back a faint smile at the way his face so rapidly changed from anger to shame.

"Shit - I - sorry - ugh," he stammered, some redness tinting the tops of his ears. His dominant hand came up and ruffled his hair. "That was messed up. Ah - what I mean is, can we sleep naked?"

It was clear he wasn't embarrassed about the request, but the way that he had asked. You couldn't hold back a soft chuckle at his frazzled state.

"Of course," you uttered, and began shedding your clothes.

He was staring at your nudity as if it wasn't something he had seen many times before, as if his hands and mouth hadn't explored every inch of skin, hadn't touched and claimed parts of you your own hands couldn't reach.

It made you feel powerful, beautiful.

"Did you brush your teeth?" you asked, knocking him out of his stupor.

He didn't respond, but made a face that gave you your answer. He turned away then, and hopped over the edge of the loft, floating down into the lower floor, and scurried off to the bathroom.

Promptly, you disappeared beneath the blankets, shivering from the cold, skin prickled with goosebumps. You were about to scold yourself for complying with him so eagerly, without demanding a compromise, mainly that you expected him to warm you up.

Luckily, it didn't take him long to join you, and you suddenly felt a very warm, and very naked, body slot into the space behind you, wiggling beneath the blankets. It was almost concerning how warm he was, like he had just flung himself into the hearth before running back over here.

You rolled onto your back to greet him and Hawks wasted no time slotting over you, tangling legs, arms falling on either side of your head. Wispy bangs fell over his forehead, longer strands catching on his eyebrows.

Your eyes peered over his shoulders, where you could see his wings were fanned out above him, plumes stretched wide, looming possessively. When your gaze shifted to his face, your breath hitched.

His stare was hypnotizing, as if he couldn't believe you were here, gold eyes practically glowing in the dimly lit loft.

It made you sad to think just your presence alone had pleased him so much, whereas nothing else had yet to occur. It made you think of all the years he had to endure this alone, the loneliness far more straining than the lack of a pliant body.

"Hey," he began, voice hoarse, distant.

His dominant hand shifted from the bed to cup your cheek, thumb gently prodding at your cheek bone. Just like the rest of his body, his hand was so warm.

"I know I said I wouldn't let you leave," he explained, fingers sliding carefully across your temple. "But, if you want to, at any time, I'll call the taxi and-"

You leaned up, taking his lips in a gentle kiss to silence him. He moaned into the kiss, clearly surprised by your interruption. His hand departed your face, lowering to caress the side of your neck.

When you pulled back, he chased, not letting you depart from him quite so quickly. The kiss carried on for a short while, Hawks only leaning back when he was satisfied.

"No," you disagreed in a soft hum, hands rising to push strands of his hair out of his face. "I'm not leaving. We're going through this together. Okay?"

He let out a sigh that fluttered across your cheeks. "Okay," he agreed, as if he couldn't believe it.

Hawks shifted until he was lying beside you, one arm loose around your waist. You turned a little to lay on your side and lean into him, cheek falling comfortably into the pillow beneath your head, and felt him nuzzle into your back, bringing you as close as he could without ruining your comfort.

One of his wings folded carefully over you while the other sprawled out across the bed. The light from the fire just barely reached the loft, an amber glow that flickered with the dancing flames.

The sounds of the gentle snowfall outside was a little louder upstairs. One of the nearby windows rattled softly, trembling weakly from the breeze that shook the shutters. The rafters above creaked occasionally in melodic hums.

Behind you, Hawks' chest undulated with his breathing, moving against the skin of your back. His wings shifted ever so slightly in harmony with the expansion and shrinking of his lungs. The longer plumes on the ends twitched occasionally.

"Keigo?" you whispered.

He didn't answer. Judging by the way his arm had slackened where it rested over your waist, you figured he had fallen asleep already.

The bedding was soft, and you had no doubt that he had washed them diligently; yet, mingled with the earthy tones of the cabin, they smelt like him. The hearth crackled distantly, the sound a faint echo through the cabin.

It didn't take long to slip away.

• • •

Sometime in the middle of the night, you were woken by a strange sound. In your groggy state, it sounded like a distant animal cooing into the night.

Once you properly came to, you realized the warmth against your back had retreated. The blanket had been partially ripped away in the process, leaving the skin of your back exposed to the cold air of the cabin.

What had sounded far away you now realized was coming from right behind you, pained little noises and harsh wheezing. You rolled over to take in the sight of Hawks, blindly reaching for him in a moment of panic.

Worry struck you when your skin touched his. He had already been warm to the touch before; but now, his skin felt scorching, sticky with sweat. Your hand had landed on his chest, where you could feel his muscles rapidly rising and falling with each staggering breath.

The noise that had woken you became obvious then; he was panting, sharp and labored breaths that whooshed in and out of him, occasionally accompanied with a quiet, pained sound.

He had shoved the blankets away and was laying on his back, wings tucked in uncomfortably tight beneath him. Through the faint glow of warm light from the fireplace, you could see his chest raising and falling rapidly, head tossed back, face contorted in pain. Some strands of blonde locks were clinging to the sweat soaked skin on his face.

"Keigo - Keigo," you called to him, hands rising to his shoulders so you could shake him.

It wasn't until he jerked suddenly, eyes opening and head whipping towards you, that you realized he had been sleeping. His labored breathing intensified, but only for a second, before he started to calm down.

His gold eyes were glossy for a second, staring at you blindly, before he started to wake properly. His lips were parted, sharp breaths still escaping him in harsh wisps.

"Are you okay?" you whispered harshly. "Are you sick? You look-..."

You could see a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. Now, with him leaning up a little, you could see the flush of red tinting his skin, all down his chest and across his cheeks. His shoulder muscles were tight and his wings twitched helplessly beneath him.

"I'm f-fine," Hawks answered, voice low and hoarse. He swallowed roughly. "It's - it's a n-normal side effect."

"You're burning up," you hissed, hands touching his skin so carefully, like you would hurt him if you were too rough. "Are you sure you're okay?" you insisted.

"Just need-" he growled, cutting off as he tried to sit up.

His movement had repositioned your hands, causing them to drag from his shoulders to his chest, less you lose stability and collapse on top of him.

It was a familiar touch, a place you had touched him many times before; yet, he froze suddenly, gaze shifting down to your hands as if they were grounding him to this plane of existence.

Hawks' gold eyes fluttered shut and his pained expression softened. He flopped back on the bed, giving up his attempt to sit up as if he had suddenly lost all strength in his body.

Catching on, you uttered into the cold air, "is that what you need? Keigo, do you want me to-"

"Yes," he answered sharply, hissing through the cold, chilled air. He sounded relieved, thankful that you had offered before he had to ask.

"God, fuck - I - I need you, need to - to - be inside you-"

His babbling briefly ceased when you pushed the blankets off yourself and rolled on top of him, a gesture you had done many times before, now a nearly perfect art.

You watched, hypnotized as Hawks arched his back off the bed and flexed his wings until they were sprawled out on either side of him. The beautiful crimson plumes stretched out across the sheets, shuddering in faint waves that matched his heavy breathings.

In the shift, his cock became pinned against your inner thigh. If you didn't known any better, you would have thought he was prodding you with an iron rod pulled straight from the fires of a forge.

It was unbearably hot, hard as steel and painfully poking against your flesh. You could feel his heartbeat through his cock, throbbing against you as if pleading to be touched.

Arousal had never struck you this hard before, with enough force that it made your never regions throb and chest tighten. Blood rushed to your face so quickly, you briefly feared you would pass out.

Now, hovering, looking down at him, it was almost unbearable. It was clear that Hawks was in pain, and you felt a tinge of guilt at the realization that his state had aroused you.

But, the truth was, he looked stunning.

Maybe it was the red flush staining his skin, or the glisten of sweat, shiny with the reflection of the fire burning in the hearth. Maybe it was the way his gold eyes practically glowed through the darkness, staring up at you like a starving predator, glaring with dangerous intent.

Some sort of inhuman growl escaped him and Hawks grabbed at your meaty hips, roughly pulling you forward. It didn't take you long to figure out what he was doing; but, your attempts to aid were waisted, for he simply dragged you down to his liking, until the heat of your sex collided with his face ungracefully.

The first thing you registered was his mouth kissing sloppily at your sex. His tongue followed, lapping at your folds impatiently before breaching your heat. Hawks was always the kind to give sloppy oral; but, this was something else entirely.

He moaned shamelessly when his tongue registered your taste, hips rising off the bed as if attempting to chase a sensation that wasn't there.

Your hands fall onto the wall, and you tried to keep yourself up; but, he wasn't having it, growling and pulling you back down. It was difficult to not go dead weight when his tongue was lapping at your walls, mouth suctioned around your entrance like he was trying to suck juices from a ripe fruit.

One of your hands weaved through his hair, gently massaging his scalp in a praising gesture. It was difficult to get out sensible words. Instead, you moaned broken pieces of his name, thighs trembling on either side of his head.

You had no idea how much time had passed before he seemed satisfied and finally lifted you up enough to remove his mouth. The wet gasp that escaped him, suggesting he had been holding his breath, riddled you with shameful lust.

"You made a mess," Hawks observed deliriously.

He sounded immensely pleased with himself and even leaned in to take another taste, this time honing in on your pearl. You felt more than heard his pleased chuckle when you whined at the sudden touch.

This time, when he pulled away, he let you retreat. As you shimmied down his body, you caught him wiping your essence off his face with a careful finger before popping it in his mouth.

Hawks' skin was still flushed red, all the way up to his ears; but, now, he looked damn smug to top it all off. You couldn't see the look you were wearing, but you knew by the heat on your face that it was lewd.

The cold of the cabin had been lost to you, especially when you positioned your hips over his and felt the head of his cock nuzzle at your entrance, threatening to breach your core.

Hawks' head fell back into the sheets with a whine, eyes squeezing shut. Tantalized by the sight, you intended to tease him a little; however, he nudged his hips forward with a sudden jerk, effortlessly impaling you on his cock, and taking that opportunity away.

"Ohhh, fuck!" Hawks shouted before sucking his bottom lip beneath his teeth. He released it after letting out a low hiss.

You closed your own eyes for a moment, adjusting to the sudden intrusion of his impressive girth, and felt his hands slowly slide up your thighs into the dips of your hips, slotting over a spot he had practically engraved for himself ever since this began.

When your eyes opened, you looked down and took in the deliriously beautiful look on his face. His thumbs nudged your hip bones pleadingly and his eyes opened, peering up at you through dark lashes.

Forgoing any thoughts about teasing, you planted your hands on his chest and rolled your hips. The motion punched a whine out of him. The sound drawled out into a growl when you kept the rhythm, chasing your own pleasure.

"Yeah," he hummed encouragingly. "Come on. Use me. Fuck yourself on my cock. Just like - ahh - fuck..."

You hardly needed the encouragement; but, the dirty words spewing from his lips further ignited the heat in your belly, and you whined in response.

He could have easily pulled your hips down to intensify the moment. Instead, he lifted his hips off the bed to meet yours, effortlessly matching your movement and chasing the delicious warmth and wetness of your core, while letting his hands hold you gently.

"Baby, do you feel good?" Hawks uttered lowly, his pleading question gently breaking through the moment.

"Y-ye-s, Kei - go," you sobbed, stuttering out your response and groaning halfway through his name.

It was always good; but, something about this moment made it more intense than ever before. You could already feel the sensation rising, thighs trembling every time his cock slid back inside, hitting the perfect spot again and again.

"Yeah?" he hummed, sounding so breathless and fucked out, despite you having just barely begun. "You feel good, so fucking good," he praised between labored pants and low moans.

"You're so fucking good to me," Hawks babbled on, head falling back into the sheets, where he closed his eyes. You watched his adam's apple bob, noticed how tight his jaw was clenched.

A growl vibrated through his chest, followed by a breathless sympathy of curses, "oh fuck - oh fuck. Come on, fuck my cock - yeah - ahhh. Ya' hear that? Those sounds. God, you're so f-fucking perfect."

Your union was loud, skin slapping together and wet, fleshy sounds echoing between the two of you.

His dominant hand released your hip and slid around, thumb prodding between your folds and seeking out your pearl. You were already so sensitive, feeling him so deep, teetering on the edge. When his calloused skin touched that spot, you let out a cry.

"Come on this cock," Hawks groaned. "Sooo close - f-fuck. Come on. Come for me. Fucking come. Gonna fill you up. You want that? My seed. Yeah you fucking d-hnn-"

His babbling ceased when your orgasm took you, the sudden spasms and fluttering of your walls making all sensible thoughts drain from his mind.

His hand returned to your hip, fingers gripping your waist, and he started roughly dragging you up and down to meet his thrusts. You went limp, letting him bounce you on his cock to your liking. Your hands slipped off his chest and you fell onto him, forehead knocking gently against his cheek.

You could hear him huffing and grunting, the occasional growl seeping through, right into your ear as he fucked you through your orgasm, and continued on, chasing his end.

His cock throbbed, firmly enough that you felt it and the sensation startled you a little; but, that thought was lost when he let out an uncharacteristically loud shout, crying out in ecstasy.

Hawks had always been loud; but, this was something else entirely, and the moans and growls didn't stop, along with his undulating hips, for what felt like an eternity.

To top it all off, you could feel it, spurts of his seed, burning hot as it filled you. In the corner of your eye, you could make out his feathers, each and every one trembling beneath him.

Then, finally, he went still.

Hawks' panting filled the room, almost loud enough to drown out the crackling of the fireplace. Even after his panting died down, he let out quiet groans, his orgasm having not yet waned in full.

Eventually, he turned his head and pressed a wet kiss against your cheek. You turned your head to meet him, at first catching the corner of his mouth before he angled his head to kiss you properly.

You could practically feel the praises behind each kiss, thank you's and love pouring from his mouth to yours in a nonverbal gesture. His hands ran up and down your back, massaging your skin but also ensuring that you didn't move and he remained deep inside you.

When he finally released your lips, you busied your hands with his wild mane, gently pushing strands away from his face. He seemed to like the preening, letting his eyes flutter shut and head fall back.

You didn't have to ask if he was feeling better. His all-body, harsh red blush had mellowed out and he wasn't panting like a parched dog.

You hadn't realized you were still trembling until he uttered, "it's okay," in a soothing, worried voice.

His hands shifted to your thighs, where he carefully pushed them back and rolled you onto your side, keeping his cock nuzzled deep. His arms wound around your back, bringing you into an embrace while his wings stretched out behind him before sagging comfortably to the bed.

You realized, as he brought you in, that you were still shaking a little. The worry was evident in his eyes, like he had done something wrong.

"D-do you want me to pull out?" he offered in a weak voice.

"It's not that," you replied softly. "That was... intense."

When your eyes locked with his gold orbs, and he took in the sight of your expression, it seemed to steadily become clear to him, what you were feeling. His lips sought our your skin, senselessly kissing whatever he could reach, all over your cheeks, down your chin and along the expansion of your throat.

Hawks’ head fell onto the pillow and his wispy blonde hair tangled with yours. The unease began to fade away as he held you close, bringing the blanket back over your forms when his intense heat finally started to wane. So did the spell, and something concerning struck him.

"Please, tell me if it gets too intense," Hawks uttered, breath fluttering out against your temple. “I’ll-...”

He cut himself because he wasn’t quite what he would do, what he could do. Could he stop? In this moment of clear thoughts, he sure hoped so. But, part of him feared that wasn’t true, and the last thing he wanted was to lie to you about what he was capable of.

You had figured that he had yet to hit the apex of his rut. Yet, his warnings hadn't frightened you in the slightest, especially after what had just occurred. If anything, you were enticed by it. Maybe, in some strange way, it was affecting you to.

"I can handle you," you promised.

You felt more so than heard the uneasy breath that stuttered out his nostrils. Your words stirred something deep in his gut, overcoming the fear, burning arousal and adoration.

#takami keigo x reader #takami keigo smut #takami keigo x you #hawks x reader #hawks smut #takami keigo fanfiction

829 notes · View notes

cheelduh · 3 years

Text

How to Not Kill a Ginger (High School Au!)

Part 5 to the series hehehe

Parts: 1 2 3 4

Pairing: Childe x fem!reader

Synopsis: Childe’s stomach stirs when you take care of him, and he’s not sure if it’s because of his major crush on you or just plain old diarrhea.

Warnings: Swearing. Graphic descriptions involving the true idiocy of teenage boys.

Words: Abt 2.6k

Note: Sorry I sort of half assed this. I have big ideas for the next part tho ✨😮‍💨

If there's one thing you're sure of, it's that Teucer knows how to throw one hell of a tantrum.

Him and his brother, Anthon, under your watch, manage to get into a petty squabble that's been airing for the last fifteen minutes. You've done everything, from offering candy to promising an extra hour on the switch, but your efforts do not bear fruit.

What did you tell Childe again? Oh yeah, that babysitting kids was a breeze. Apparently it's not a breeze. Maybe something more like a shart. A chunky, messy one at that.

"Listen dude," You reason to Anthon, the oldest of the bunch gently. "Where did you hide his toy?"

Anthon sticks a tongue out at you, and you nearly cry at the intensity of the insult. "Not telling."

Your patience runs thin.

"C'mon Anthon," Tonia lectures from her chair on the table like the godsend she is. "Just give him his toy back. You're being so annoying." She's taking the words right out of your mouth.

"Not until he apologizes!" Anthon crosses his arms, huffing. "He ate my cheese string!"

"There are more cheese strings!" You exclaim, opening the fridge to prove your point. "I'm sure Teucer's sorry for taking yours. Just pick another one."

"But it's not the same! He took the last cheddar and mozzarella one, now there are only mozzarella ones left." He speaks in between Teucer's wails. You wonder if this is a daily occurrence.

Tonia sighs, gets up from her chair, and hands the eldest her cheese string. "Just take this and give him his toy back."

Almost immediately, Anthon reaches a hand behind the tv table and pulls out the miniature Mr. Cyclops, then throws it point blank at Teucer's feet.

Teucer wails louder.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, shoulders sagging under the stress of being a temporary teenage mother.

Then you take a deep breathe, voice booming over Teucer's cries, Anthon's grumbling, and the clicking of Tonia's tongue. "Let's make a cake!"

Everything in the room stills. Even Teucer's loud cries comes to a halt, and he inhales so sharply that the streak of snot over his lip goes right back into its origin.

You wince inadvertently.

"Poggers!" Anthon cheers, and his siblings join in, laughing and clapping in excitement.

Tonia's eyes widen in confusion when she briefly pauses from her rally. "Wait a minute. What are we celebrating? We can't bake a cake for no reason! It won't taste nearly as good."

Everyone stops to ponder.

Then you snap your fingers in realization, and the kids huddle around you. "How about a 'get well better' cake for your big brother?"

They erupt in cheers again, but you shush them gently, wink an eye for extra measure. "We have to be quiet! He won't get better if we wake him."

The three nod in understanding and begin shushing each other, failing to conceal their giggles.

As you watch them making their way into the kitchen, bounce in their steps, you can't stop the warm smile that reaches your eyes.

That smile soon becomes a frown of horror when Anthon cracks an egg over Tonia's head.

The cake is not half as bad as you thought it would be initially. Between mixing the ingredients and ceasing the kids minus Tonia from being menaces to society, you were able to find middle ground.

Eventually Anthon found interest in finding ways to lick the batter whenever you turned around, and Teucer found comfort in your left leg, latching onto it as if it were a life line.

Just like how Venti latches onto his stupid little bottle of wine disguised as a water bottle. Seriously, you’ve never talked to him sober, and at this point are afraid of what’s he’s like lucid.

Tonia had been the only one taking things seriously for the most part, except for the sprinkles-to-icing ratio. She drowned the entire cake in sprinkles, the mere sight adding on the ghost of an ache in your teeth.

It looks like twilight sparkles took a fat dump on it.

"Okay besties," You inwardly curse yourself for giving into Gen-Z vocabulary as you brush your hands on the apron. "I think we've done a pretty decent job."

"It looks so pretty!" Tonia grins widely, eyeing the edible pearls she strategically placed. She quickly strikes down a finger Anthon tried to poke into the icing, with the accuracy of a true warrior.

You shudder at the thought of Childe teaching her how to stab someone with safety scissors.

"Can we add candles?" Teucer asks, but Tonia clicks her tongue in distaste.

"It's not a birthday cake." She crosses her arms judgementally. The power in her glare reminds you of La Signora, strangely enough.

You ruffle his copper coloured locks anyways, and his grip on your thigh tightens. "We can add candles if you want Teucer."

He nods his head and snuggles deeper into the side of your leg. Your heart warms up considerably.

After the candles are poked in, you try to shrug him off. "C'mon dude, just for five minutes. You don't want me to drop the cake before your brother can get a bite do you?"

Reluctantly, he obliges, and runs off to help Tonia collect utensils to take up to Childe's room.

Anthon's on door duty, kicking away any toys that serve as obstacles in your way like a professional soccer player.

Once you four make it up the stairs in front of the designated room, Anthon doesn't bother knocking. He barges in like he owns the place, chin up high and a signature smirk on his face that he probably learnt from his older brother.

Childe fumbles awake, kicking the air whilst in shock by the chaotic sound of the door hitting the wall and Teucer screaming "Happy Birthday!" at the top of his miniature sized lungs as he runs in to plop right on top of his older brother.

His bewildered expression soon turns into something of a loving smile as he begins to process what is happening, eyes lighting up despite the deep bags that frame them.

Tonia places the plates on his side table, right next to the empty soup bowl you placed there earlier. She climbs up onto the bed as well to join in on the hug.

Anthon approaches at last, hands in his pockets as he coolly acknowledges his older brother. Instead of a bone-crushing hug like the other two are indulging in, his opts for a fist bump that Childe happily reciprocates.

Then finally, between the shield that are his siblings, his cerulean eyes land on your near the doorway, then trail down to the cake in your oven-mittened hands. He averts his gaze back to your own, and grins so wide his cheeks start to throb.

"Big brother! We made you cake." Teucer moves his head from his chest to face him. "So you can get better."

Childe's laughs ring in your ears, but you don't shy away from the sound. It's a pleasant, something that you wish to hear more of in the near future. Sure enough he laughs a lot at school, but the genuineness of it at home, surrounded by his siblings, stirs something deep within you.

"How thoughtful of you." He ruffles his hair, then his eyes widen as he ushers the two off of him. "You guys can't be near me! I don't want you to fall ill as well."

"But-but how will we feed you the cake without getting close to you?" Tonia frowns, and her two brothers nod in unison.

You chuckle lightly, approaching the bed with the cake in your hands. "I'm sure he has enough strength to feed himself. The hugs and kisses surely must've energized him."

To be honest, Childe's all green in the face and the last thing on his mind would be to indulge in the cake. You understand the feeling all to well. With his nose clogged up, throat all sore, there's no way he'll stomach it. It took a lot of nagging on your part to get him to finish the soup earlier as well.

He blows the candles anyways, clapping along his siblings and letting Tonia drop a fat chunk of the golden cake onto his plate. You find it endearing, regrettably so. His dedication to keeping their dreams is admirable in more ways than you can count.

This is the same guy that wears meme shirts to school, topped off with douchey sunglasses to give him a pristine vibe. The same guy that punches holes in walls like a Kyle. The very boy that flexes his toned biceps in-front of you during lunch time, successfully ruining your appetite.

"Wait a minute..." Childe inspects the cake closely, narrowing in on the candles. "Why is there an eleven?"

Teucer scratches his neck sheepishly. "Those were the only candles we had left."

After another short-lived laugh, Childe manages a bite as everyone stares in expectation, the sound of a tight crunch enveloping the room, making you grimace in secret. If Childe feels like puking out his guts right now, he's doing a hell of a job hiding it from his darling siblings.

You're glad nobody forces you to take a bite, or it would've been a double homicide right then and there.

Soon enough, one by one the children file out of the room, satisfied with their visit. The reality is that they don't want to miss an episode of backyardigans.

Once they leave, you approach him with a napkin. He gets the gist, spitting out the remnants of the cake you slaved over for about two hours.

"Colour me impressed." You snort, moving the cake aside so you can take a seat on the open space next to him. "How're you feeling?"

"Amazing." He exclaims, eyes red like a crackhead's, nose runny, with goosebumps kissing his pale skin. He sure does look...amazing.

"Cool." You say, abruptly getting up. "I'm gonna vibe with the kid—"

His hand shoots out from underneath the blanket, clammy palms wrapping around your wrist to keep you locked in place. You gulp in anticipation.

"You kissed me." Childe reminds you, eyes twinkling in mischief, a vicious grin plastered over his stupidly handsome face.

You try not to choke on your words. "You have circumstantial evidence at most." No attempts are utilized to pull away from him.

He raises a teasing brow, and you give in because the tension is thick. Thicker than the tension between Albedo and Kaeya when the latter shamelessly unzips his front to show more of his biddies. You have no idea why he hasn’t been dress coded yet.

"Fine." You snap out of your impure thoughts, and huff out, frustrated all over. "I kissed you on the cheek."

"Still a kiss though."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes. Also, cute nails." He points out, hand moving down to grasp your fingers. The act is intimate, his caress gentle and caring. Despite his brash, violent personality, he shows you a completely different side to him that hatches butterflies in your stomach.

"Thanks." You show off the bright jewels on your index. "You have a real nail technician in the house."

Tonia has some serious talent.

When he taps one of the jewels, you slap his hand away. "Careful there dude. These cost me a fortune."

His chuckles die down and he smiles again, but this time apologetically. "They didn't trouble you too much did they? I know they can be loud."

"I like loud." You answer him truthfully. "They're fun to be around. Not nearly as chaotic as you."

He blinks in mock offence, eyes narrowing shrewdly. "You come into my house, talk to my siblings, and have the nerve to insult me? Right after taking advantage of me?"

"If you don't shut up, I'll also have the nerve to rip you a new one." You reply dryly with the innocent curl of your lips.

"Bet."

You're about to lunge at him and scream a string of obscenities that no one has ever heard of before, but the Archons are listening and you don't want his siblings to grow up without someone to look up to. Wait a minute—scratch that. You'd be doing them a favour if you wiped his existence right here and now.

You have a fragile heart though. So you sigh, and grab a fistful of sheets in both hands instead.

Childe's grin turns into a petrified scowl.

"Oh no," He pleads, weakly fighting you back. "Have mercy! Please!"

You have loads of mercy. Just not enough for him.

When you have him wrapped in a successful bundle, Childe can’t help but beam, laying limp in his confines.

“What are you smiling about?” You inquire, pulling out the medicine from his box, pausing momentarily in shock. “Wait a minute, don’t tell me you’re into these things you freak.” Head snaps up so fast you nearly suffer from whiplash.

He’s about to answer you but his words turn into a fit of shallow coughs.

“I’m into whatever you’re into.” Childe’s shrug is nonchalant. “Even if that means I have to be tied up. Kinky by the way.” He winks, and you roll your eyes, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as you hold the spoon up. The dark reddish medicine swirls in deep hues.

“Shut up and open your mouth.”

“Girlie, I don’t think you understand how contradicting that statement is.”

You momentarily wonder if it’s too late to abort yourself.

—

Childe awakens at the crack ass of night, sweat slick, sticky all over, tousled hair sticking to his forehead. He’s a panting mess, eyes darting around the dark room, inhaling, exhaling, mind in a haze from the fever. Gaining somewhat of a grip on reality, he fumbles around to turn on his lamp, throat parched and in need of water.

When he manages to find the switch, he recoils at the brightness, adjusting to the sudden change in his vision. On his side table, there’s a bologna sandwich tucked safely in plastic wrap, a glass of room temperature water, and a bottle of painkillers.

His eyes disregard most of the things, finding interest in the bright pink sticky note next to the painkillers. Unable to ignore the dryness of his throat and the pounding of his head, he quickly gulps a pill down with most of the water, instantly feeling the relief of hydration.

Then, he pounces on the note, giddiness overtaking him despite the pang in his muscles, and the general feeling of absolute shit.

I had to leave. Don’t worry about your siblings, they’re all tucked in and fine. Except for Anthon maybe. Apparently he’s mildly lactose intolerant and thought it was a good idea to overdose on chocolate milk when I was busy with Teucer. Anyways, get better soon stupid.

— Y/N

He safely tucks the note under his pillow, edges of his lips turned upwards, warmth flooding his veins when he takes another look around his surroundings.

The room itself is cleaned, floor cleared from the initial clutter and the cool shiny collector’s knives he buys off of Amazon safely hung over the wall, not littered on his desk like they usually are.

The homework he was supposed do, but most likely wouldn’t, is already completed, stacked neatly atop each other.

Childe swears his heart bursts in his chest, exploding into tiny particles that overheat his entire body.

There’s no way in hell a few days worth of homework is gonna bring his failing mark up, but then again it’s the thought that counts.

While the sandwich is catered to his nausea, bland and plain for easy digestion, an easy fill, it’s the best meal he’s ever had in his life.

#genshin impact #genshin impact oneshot #childe #childe x reader #fanfic #genshin oneshot #genshin tartagalia #kaeya alberich #tartagila #venti genshin impact #albedo #teucer #genshin archon #tartagalia x reader #tartagalia genshin impact

169 notes · View notes

beauregardlionett · 3 years

Text

i think i might understand the concept of home

AO3 Link

Yasha’s car had broken down on the side of the road in some tiny town she only meant to pass through. She hadn’t even read the welcome sign half-a-mile back, so gods knew where she was. Thankfully, there was a shoulder and a sidewalk, so she wasn’t stuck in the middle of traffic. She had the hood popped and stared helplessly down at the tangle of mechanics she did not understand.

Nothing was smoking, so she figured that must be a good thing.

“Need a hand?”

Yasha glanced up, catching sight of a woman standing just outside the coffee shop Yasha broke down in front of. She stood defined in the sunlight, composed of sharp lines and lean muscle, contained by planes of smooth, coffee-colored skin. She had on a simple grey sports bra under denim overalls littered with stains and distressed patches torn in random places on the legs. Her hair was in a low bun sat over what looked like an undercut all tucked messily beneath a backward cap.

Damn...she was hot.

The woman cocked an expectant eyebrow, reminding Yasha she had yet to answer.

“Oh, um...yes?”

Hot Lady smirked and stepped off the curb to stand at Yasha’s shoulder, leaning over the open hood and inspecting the mess. Yasha was busy inspecting the tanned slope of neck to bare shoulder, all of her quite a sight in the midday sunlight.

Gods, was that a tattoo on her back?

With abrupt yet easy precision, Hot Lady hauled herself up onto the lip of Yasha’s truck and shoved her hand between various pieces of metal. Startled, Yasha looked down at the engine, hoping she wouldn’t have to call emergency services for a hand lost in her car engine.

“The alternator might be shot,” Hot Lady said, squinting as she moved her hand around a little.

“What does that mean?” Yasha managed, only a little strangled.

“Means you need to get your car into a shop because you aren’t going to have much luck getting far without it.” Hot Lady removed her hand and gave a little hop back down to the pavement. She wiped her hand carelessly on her overalls and shrugged a little.

“It’s not a super challenging thing to fix, but it will take a minute. I can point you to a good garage if you need.”

“That would be very helpful. Thank you...um...”

“Beauregard,” the woman said, sticking out her hand with a grin. “Call me Beau.”

After hesitating a moment, Yasha grasped Beau’s hand and gave it a tentative shake, cheeks warm. Her face flushed even warmer when Beau raised her eyebrow again, clearly waiting for Yasha’s name.

“Yasha,” she blurted, horrid awkwardness muddying her chest. “I’m Yasha.”

“Nice to meet you, Yasha,” Beau said as she slowly took her hand back. Yasha already like the way her name sounded rolling off of Beau’s tongue - perhaps far too much for someone she just met.

“You might need to shack up somewhere for the night,” Beau said, pulling her phone from her pocket and texting someone. “Depending on how long the garage takes with your car. I haven’t seen you ‘round here before. You got a place to stay?”

“Oh...no,” Yasha managed. “I’m just passing through.”

“Well, I texted my buddy over at the garage to come get your car. He’ll be here soon. There’s only one hotel in this town, and to be honest, it sucks. My buddy Caleb moved most of his stuff out of his apartment, but he hasn’t turned the lease over yet. He got a big wig job two hours from here and they had him start early, despite the fact he still had a month on the lease. You can crash there if you want. I’m pretty sure he left his mattress.”

Yasha blinked, dazed and flabbergasted at the turn this conversation had taken.

“I...what?”

Beau looked up from her phone, fingers pausing in their rapid texting. She seemed to take in Yasha’s stunned expression and grimaced slightly.

“Sorry, that was a lot all at once.” Beau tucked her phone away and crossed her arms over her chest. Yasha recognized the defensive tactic attempting to look casual with ease. She performed that move often enough herself.

“This ‘helping’ thing isn’t my forte - more Jess’ thing. But uh...yeah. If you need a place to stay, you’ve got one. Promise there're no strings attached or anything like that.”

“But...you don’t know me.”

“True,” Beau shrugged. “But it’s not like there’s anything to steal from Caleb’s place. It’s basically an empty apartment he’s not getting anything out of. Might as well put the place to good use.”

“Okay,” Yasha said after a moment of strange quiet. What else was she supposed to say?

Beau blinked up at Yasha, then grinned, wide and delighted. “Cool.”

A few minutes later, a tow truck pulled up. Beau greeted the driver enthusiastically as Yasha watched on, wondering what she had gotten herself into.

“This is it,” Beau said, shoving open the door with her hip as she wrestled the key out of the lock.

Yasha followed Beau in, fingers curled tightly around the strap of her meager duffle bag. The apartment was near barren, as Beau had said. It had a small living area that faded seamlessly into a kitchenette. Down a short hallway appeared to be a bedroom and bathroom, both doors open. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. The only sign someone had recently been occupying the space was the old mattress just visible through the bedroom door and the sagging sofa in the living room.

“Sorry there’s no food in the kitchen, but there’s a store about a block from here if you’re up for a walk. I’d hang around but I have to get to a class.”

Yasha twisted to look at Beau, something bubbling up in her chest that felt a lot like gratitude and a little like something indescribable. She watched as Beau fiddled with her key ring, only realizing what was happening when Beau pulled a key off and tossed it to Yasha. She just barely managed to catch it and not make a fool of herself.

“That’s the key to the door for ya. And,” Beau pulled a crumpled, folded piece of paper from her pocket, holding it out to Yasha. “My number, in case you have questions or you need anything. I’m a night owl and an early riser, so chances are I’ll answer whenever.”

“Thank you,” Yasha warbled after a long moment, clutching the key so hard the grooves of its identity imprinted into her palm. The notches stung like she would never forget their shape. “I mean it. This is...a lot.”

Beau rubbed the back of her neck, scuffing the toe of her sneaker against the worn floorboards. “It’s nothin’ really...”

“No,” Yasha insisted. “It’s a lot. Thank you.”

Beau’s gaze met Yasha’s intense stare, her bright blue eyes wide as they took in Yasha’s sincerity. A handful of seconds stretched into eternity before Beau ducked her head, rubbing at the back of her neck.

“Yeah...sure.”

Yasha was getting the impression she wasn’t the only one completely out of her depth in this situation.

“I’ll come around tomorrow with updates...bye.”

Yasha watched her duck out the door, disappearing down the hallway before she shut the door behind Beau and clicked the lock.

The garage had Yasha’s car fixed and ready to go after two days. Yasha was still in town three months later.

In all honesty, she’s not sure how it happened.

The night she planned to leave, Beau had swung by and insisted on seeing her off. They ended up at a diner, tucked into a booth, talking like they actually knew each other. Next thing Yasha realized, it was nearing midnight, and they were being asked to wrap up so the diner could close. The chef had called to them from the window, an older looking man with bright pink hair who gave Beau a knowing look and a wink.

Somehow, that unplanned extra night turned into months. Yasha had taken on the lease from the absent Caleb for his apartment. She found a job at the local florist, a job she quietly enjoyed. The gravity of her situation only set in after she bought sheets for the mattress.

She met Jess - real name Jester, or Genevieve, but Yasha couldn’t sure - a bubbly girl with deep blue hair and the sweetest attitude ever. Her fingertips were permanently paint stained, and she left hastily sketched dicks everywhere she went. Yasha also met the tow truck driver from the first day, a guy named Fjord. They were a weird mix of individuals, but somehow they got on just fine. They ate dinner together every Thursday night at the same bar owned by the guy who tended the bar - one of those small town things. His name was Mollymauk - Molly for short and sometimes they instead of he - with inordinately purple hair and makeup to match.

Yasha never really spent a lot of time in her apartment. She didn’t see the point, not when she had access to the florist shop, or the diner, or anywhere else with Jess, Fjord, Molly, or Beau. Especially not when Jess’ apartment she shared with Fjord was so much warmer, much more like a home.

It took three months before Beau stopped mid-sentence of a story and blinked at Yasha over their pancakes in the diner.

“This is probably a stupid question, but did you have somewhere to be?”

Yasha looked up, confused. “Right now? Uh...no? My shift at the shop doesn’t start for another three hours.”

“No, no, I meant like outside this town. You told me you were passing through, before.”

“Oh,” Yasha set down her fork and looked out the window. Her chest felt tight. That afternoon seemed like a lifetime ago - a whole other person ago. “Not really.”

“Do...uhm,” Yasha looked over at Beau to find her pushing her food around her plate awkwardly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

This was difficult for both of them. If Yasha had learned anything in her time here, it was that they both struggled to convey their emotions eloquently. But that Beau tried meant everything to Yasha. The least she could do was meet her halfway.

“I was running, and I didn’t know where or when I would stop. But I guess this place is where I’m meant to be.”

“Why were you running?” Beau stared at her, gaze intense in a way Yasha found endearing. She watched like nothing else in the world could distract her.

“I...I had a wife. And I lost her rather abruptly almost six months ago. I tried to stay for a while, to keep what we had built together, but I wasn’t strong enough. So I ran and hoped that I would find something worth staying for again before I fell off the world.”

Beau stared at Yasha openly over their half-eaten breakfast, eyes wide.

“You stayed here. Does that mean you found something here?”

Yasha looked at Beau, at her messy bun and her undercut that needed a fresh shave. She took in the puddle of syrup, slowly saturating Beau’s pancakes and the half gone pile of bacon. Beau’s cellphone sat face down on the table so her attention stayed on Yasha. She realized the baggy sweater Beau had on was one Yasha had misplaced almost a month ago. Yasha lost her breath at the butterflies that fluttered to life in her stomach.

“I think so,” Yasha breathed, tethered and unhinged all at once.

They didn’t talk about it, because of course they didn’t.

But two weeks after their pancake conversation, Beau invited Yasha out for a night on the town. There were only two bars with decent night life here, and Yasha had been to both of them exactly once during her time here. (The daytime trips to Molly’s bar didn’t count, of course. She had only been to their bar for the night life once.)

She met Beau in the middle, and they walked together the rest of the way.

Beau had gotten her undercut shaved tight again, but it was hidden with the way her hair spilled loose and long down her back. She had a cobalt lace crop top on - the one with the built-in bra. The way it showed off the definition of her muscles was doing things to Yasha. The black cigarette pants didn’t help either.

A few drinks and way too many EDM songs later - or maybe only a few? Yasha couldn’t tell them apart - Yasha remained upright from adrenaline alone. Somewhere between the drinks and the beat of the music, Beau pressed up against Yasha, wiry arms winding around Yasha’s neck as they danced. Yasha wasn’t much of a dancer in any regard, but she was just tipsy enough to not care.

Beau’s hips fit comfortably in the space between Yasha’s hands, and Yasha resolutely tried not to follow that train of thought. For no other reason than she didn’t want to ruin a good thing, and there was no way Beau felt the same.

Beau pushed onto her toes, shiny black boots creasing with the motion as her lace top rode up her enticing torso.

“I really want to kiss you,” Beau called over the heavy thrum of the base. Her voice nearly got lost in the din, but Yasha heard her. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t. The weight of her heart dropping into her stomach hit too heavy and real to ignore.

Fuck, she wanted to kiss Beau, too.

Yasha’s t-shirt stuck to random parts of her torso with sweat, a detail she was now hyper-aware of with how little space existed between her and Beau. The press of bodies around them was abruptly unnerving. So much so, Yasha wound an arm around Beau’s shoulders and steered them both free, ducking into the hallway that lead to the bathrooms as Yasha gasped for air.

Beau leaned her back against the wall for support, peering at Yasha with far too much clarity for someone who could barely stand upright.

“Are you okay, Yash?” Her voice was quieter now that they had moved out of the main bar, but the base still pounded like a heartbeat through the floorboards.

With more confidence than Yasha would ever possess in her life, she caged Beau in, a hand on either side of her head against the wall. As Beau stared up at her with unabashed awe, Yasha’s face warmed with flushed embarrassment.

“I want to kiss you so bad.”

“Then do it,” Beau said. It sounded like a dare, but she said it as if she were asking permission.

With a quick swoop into Beau’s space, Yasha pressed her lips to Beau’s with the barest amount of pressure. A feather-light, electric brush of a promise, a question, and an invitation. Yasha moved no closer.

Beau leaned in, and as far as kisses went, it was simple. Neither of them surged toward the other, or grappled for purchase to deepen the embrace. It was an easy press of lips, testing the waters despite the alluring tug of the tide.

Tipsy seconds later, Beau pulled back first with a soft gasp. Yasha’s eyes fluttered open, and she felt like a cheesy teenager when she realized they had closed without her knowledge.

“Do you want to do this?” Beau asked, voice soft and a little wrecked despite the chaste kiss.

Yasha, never one for many words, gave a quick nod and ducked back in. It wasn’t confidence, more like the beginning of a realization.

Beau held onto her, this time hands back around Yasha’s neck and fingers tangled deep in Yasha’s wild hair. Yasha took one hand from the wall to cup the back of Beau’s head, fingers sliding easily over the short hairs of Beau’s undercut.

It wasn’t a fireball kiss, but it tasted like the whiskey shots they had done half an hour ago. Beau’s lips were soft and a stark contrast to the way she kissed Yasha. It wasn’t falling stars and fire lit in her chest, nor was it a cosmic shift of puzzle pieces snapping into place. As before, it was a realization, a revelation of something that might have been there for a while.

Beau kissed Yasha back, and she thought about pancakes at the diner and memorizing the way Beau’s eyes scrunched when she laughed. Yasha rubbed her thumb over Beau’s jawline and Beau’s sharp grin burst to life behind her eyelids. A tug to Yasha’s hair reminded her of Beau offering to braid Yasha’s messy locks every time they all slept at Jess’ place. Beau licked into Yasha’s mouth and all at once, Yasha pictured her apartment. She saw the walls she had kept carefully bare, the sheets she had bought, but no other furniture. The echoing emptiness of a place abandoned for a better chance, and inhabited by the echo of who Yasha used to be.

And what did people say about echoes being louder in empty rooms?

Beau kissed Yasha, and Yasha realized she didn’t want to be an echo anymore.

Beau made her feel solid in a way that was undemanding. She merely held out her hand and asked for the pieces of Yasha that were real, the parts she was willing to share. She helped Yasha make them into a complete picture.

Yasha kissed Beau back with all the gentle strength she could muster through the weight of her epiphany and the whiskey.

This time, Yasha knew she found something worth staying for.

#cr #critical role #beauyasha #beauregard lionett #yasha #writing #my writing

38 notes · View notes

cno-inbminor · 4 years

Text

domus

a/n: here we have another short drabble dump! i wrote this up very quickly -- i’m still working on that long fic i’ve been talking about! i apologize for taking so long to put it together. pls take this short fic as an apology for now. stay hydrated, wear your masks, and be safe! love you all so dearly <3

plot: when kuroo tetsuro drops the hard-hitting truth that he’s fallen out of love with you, your first thought is to escape. but you find comfort in the least likely person: akaashi keiji, a boy you had grown up with out of forced family interactions, who always seemed so distant from you. yet you probably knew more about him than anyone else.

characters: fem!reader, ex-bf!kuroo, & family friend!akaashi

wc: ~3.7k, will probably have other parts in the future.

genre/warnings: angst with dashes of fluff; mentions of alcohol

pt. 2 | pt. 3

edit: now crossposted to AO3!

When you’re in love, you spend weeks and months wondering why time won’t stop. You sit and ponder over why you’ll have to die someday and leave behind the person you’ve dedicated your entire soul to, or what might happen if your death came early and you didn’t get to say goodbye. You wonder why the seasons seem to pass you by so quickly, that in the blink of an eye, you go from enjoying a cup of iced tea on the porch to holding a mug of hot chocolate inside watching snowflakes swirl in their journeys to the ground.

But when love ceases to exist, time seems to stop. The days drag for longer, the seasons crawl at a turtle’s pace, and the inevitable end feels less terrifying. You no longer fear the eventual sagging of your skin or the spider legs that grow at the corners of your eyes. You no longer cling onto a hope that there will be a lover’s hand holding yours at your bed of eternal sleep. You simply become, just you. Solitary, single, independent you.

It’s no longer you and someone else. The realization stings so badly that it physically hurts you, a whimper leaving your throat. You shakily reach over for the next blouse and fight back the tears, teeth gnawing at your bottom lip. The skin is chapped and broken to the point that you would need layers and layers of chapstick to save any semblance of it, a terrible habit that you wish you hadn’t possessed. It’s muscle memory, the way you fold the blouse in half, fold the sleeves in, bending it over your arm before it lands in a neat stack of other tops in your suitcase. Your eyes take a glance at the clock, and you gather you have about another hour before you needed to leave for the airport and make it on time for your flight.

You ignore the male figure hunched over on the edge of your bed, tuning out his pleas and broken promises. He begs you to give him time, to implore that it’s all his fault and he’ll make it work for the two of you. Tetsuro promises that he didn’t mean to and that it wasn’t anything you did, but you feel so empty inside that you can’t even find the energy to argue, to turn on him and say that he was pretending to take all the blame so it’d be a better explanation to all your friends. A relationship involves both parties, and while there were special exceptions, this wasn’t one of them. Something was clearly wrong with you, and you were okay with that. You were just tired of Testuro attempting to take everything onto himself.

“I thought it’d be best to come clean with you,” he says, throat hoarse from lack of hydration. “I know you would question it and I haven’t done anything, I swear, I know you’re amazing and don’t deserve to live a lie and—”

“Do you want me to say ‘thank you’?” You interjected quietly, morosely. Your hands slide open the underwear drawer and take out a week’s worth of underwear, bras, and bralettes. “Do you want me to express my gratitude in your honesty for telling me that you don’t love me anymore? You can easily buy a trophy online and make the inscription yourself. ‘Most honest man alive’? Is that what you want?” You ask, tone flat and not possessing the least bit of amusement and humor.

“Can’t you give me some time? I’ll try, I’ll try to figure out what went wrong, and I can love you again. We can still get married and everything, but please don’t leave.”

“I’m not leaving forever, Tetsu. I’m just gone for a week, maybe more.”

“Where are you even going?”

“That’s none of your business,” you quickly reply, defenses back up as you make a beeline for the bathroom. You pick up all the toiletries you can, the ones that would be allowed in your carry-on. Strangers won’t care about your missing skincare routine and your complexion not looking its best.

“What if you get lost? Or kidnapped? What if people ask—”

“Easy. Just tell them I had a last minute business trip, family emergency, whatever floats your boat.”

“Can’t you see that I’m trying? I—”

“This isn’t just about you!” You snap, whirling around to look at him for the first time in the last hour or so. Testuro notices with a pang in his heart that your cheeks have sunken in slightly since he broke his revelation to you just last week, the eye circles darker than ever. But your eyes are soulless, dead, no shine or spark that he’d wake up to every morning even muddled with sleep.

“You can’t just expect me to be okay and continue to bend over backwards for you without question. The least you could do is give me my time, give me some space to think about all of it. That’s the bare minimum.”

And with that, you zip your suitcase shut, grab your passport (even though you probably don’t need it), keys, wallet, and phone, and walk as quickly as you can to the front door. The scheduled Uber will arrive in just a few minutes, and as you slip into a pair of flats, you can hear the creak of the bed and Testuro’s padded steps nearing you.

“Just be careful, okay? Call me if you need anything, anything. You’re still one of the most important people to me, so just – text me at some point. Let me know you’re alive at least.”

“You need to rest. You’re on call tomorrow,” you digress while opening the door.

“(Y/n)—”

“I’ll text you. Promise.”

And the door shuts behind you.

Your relationship with Akaashi Keiji is…hard to explain. In fact, you’re not even sure what to refer him as in your life. Anytime you spoke of him or attempted to explain, you’d fumble over words and draw blanks. While it was irritating and aggravating at times, you learned to just accept it.

Akaashi Keiji was the neighbor down the street, two years older, and someone who had known you since you were 8. Your moms were attached at the hip not longer after you moved to Tokyo, and that meant holidays were spent together, impromptu get-togethers and dinners were a common occurrence, and you saw him frequently at school. He was a quiet soul, gentle, but reserved. In fact, most of the things you knew about him were secondhand conversations from your mother talking about the family, because honestly his mom was basically your second mom now, and your mother trusted you with everything. His past, his troubles, his personality all relayed through your mom from his own, and when you saw him in the hallways, he wasn’t much of an enigma to you. Many other girls had found the mysterious air around him to be attractive, that the pretty setter who only ever smiled around his volleyball team and kept a tight circle of friends had something significant beneath the layers.

Keiji grew up with you, playing Smash on the Wii to pass time as your parents gossiped away. Sometimes, you’d play an intense game of Monopoly with him, a game that typically tipped in his favor. He never said much about himself, always relayed more about others that overlapped in your lives. The most he ever spoke to you about was when it came to teachers at school, even giving you some of his old notes and pointers. But even you could tell that he kept his guards up, and you wondered if he even classified you as a friend.

Your go-to explanation of Keiji’s standing in your life was a family friend. But that insinuated you were close with him, which you weren’t at all. No matter how many times he walked home with you (mainly at the pushing from his mother), no matter how many times he was forced to entertain you at dinners and holidays, no matter how many times he gave you a small smile in school, there was such a large gap between the two of you. He always seemed so different around his team, like they had the privilege of knowing the real him, and at times, you felt…jealous.

And the weird thing is that you can rely on him somehow – whether it be because he’d get an earful from his parents if he didn’t help you when you asked it or out of the goodness of his heart, he was simply always there. Sometimes, you were bold enough to text him about a show he talked about in the past, and he would reply quickly as if your unexpected, rare text about something benign didn’t faze him at all.

Yet despite the distance, despite the lack of any semblance of an actual friendship with him, he was the first one you thought of when all this happened. He was the one you wanted to see – maybe it’s because he was the closest thing to home, and you didn’t want to go back to your parents explaining everything. It’s been a while since you’ve been back in Tokyo, ever since you moved to Sapporo for your job and Testuro got matched for a residency at a hospital there.

At 7PM on a Friday afternoon, past the baggage claim with the sunset beaming in through the sliding glass doors, you stare at Keiji’s contact on your phone, thumb hovering hesitantly over the call button. You could count the number of times you’ve called him on one hand, but this was an emergency, right? Is this why your heart is pounding against your chest, so anxious that you feel like you’ll break into a cold sweat any time soon?

You jump into the deep end.

Your hand nervously brings the phone to your ear, waiting with bated breath as the dial tone echoes in the chamber of your brain. Part of you wants him to miss the call so you can avoid this awkward conversation, but another part of you desperately wants him to pick up as if he’ll be able to save you.

Oh god oh god oh god, you panic as the tone stops, there’s a pause, a rustle, and then a hesitant, “—Hello?”

You didn’t plan this out. You’re not ready for this. Shit, what are you supposed to say?

“—hello? (Y/n)?”

“Have you had dinner yet?”

Wow, you’re a terrible conversationalist.

“…um, I haven’t actually. I was about to warm up some leftovers?”

Your eyes focus on the taxis driving by, picking up passengers as they get waved down. Maybe you should just find a cheap hotel nearby, continue this conversation tomorrow.

“Well…I’m in town, actually. I just landed about 30 minutes ago and realized I didn’t have anywhere to go and I don’t really want to call anyone else and I don’t exactly know who else to call so I just, um, thought about calling you and asking if you’ve had dinner? Which if you’re busy and stuff, that’s totally fine, I should’ve texted you beforehand instead of springing this on you and—”

“(Y/n), it’s okay, alright? It’s okay. I’m not busy, so you can stop by. Did my mom ever give you my address?”

Keiji’s brief attempt to calm you down works, surprisingly. You allow yourself to take a deep breath despite the stale airport air, but it was some much-needed oxygen. This is going to be okay, Keiji doesn’t hate you quite yet.

“N-no, she never did.”

“That’s fine, I’ll text it to you. My place is about 30 minutes from the airport, I’d recommend getting a taxi instead of an Uber. I’ll order some delivery—”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“You still like the miso ramen from that shop not far from your house, right? They opened up a second store not far from where I live.”

How did he remember that? You’re pretty sure your own mother had forgotten that fact by now.

“Y-yeah, I do,” you smile to yourself. “I still think about it sometimes.”

“Sounds good then. Get here safely then.”

“Okay. Thank you loads again. I’m sorry for all this—”

“Don’t worry about it. Keep me updated, see you later.”

“Yeah, bye.”

Not 30 seconds later, a text arrives to your phone with an address, a keycode for getting past the main door, and other relevant instructions.

Keiji’s apartment is exactly as you expect it to be – prim, proper, neat almost to a fault, with minimalist decorations. The apartment complex he lives in is rather high-end, if the security guards standing outside the main entrance indicated anything. You almost feel completely out of place or like a bug on the wall as you step in after him, a rather comfortable silence between the two of you. His kitchen is spotless and almost sparkles back at you, and the only thing that seems out of place are the containers of your ramen he so kindly ordered for you.

“Your place is really nice, it’s really…you,” you comment, setting your stuff down at the door. Keiji indulges you with a quiet laugh, making sure that there wasn’t anything that would be in your way. His glasses are perched on his head, an old monochrome t-shirt on his shoulders and sweatpants hung low on his hips, yet in this apartment that almost seems like it should be in an interior design magazine, he looks at home. His ethereal beauty, the softness in his eyes, the gentle up-turned strands of his hair – he belonged here.

“The ramen came not too long ago, so it’s still hot. I’ll go ahead and put it together, you can put your jacket on the couch.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Instead, you fold your jacket over your suitcase and quietly make your way into the apartment. Straight across from you are doors to a balcony – darkness had long taken over the city, so you see nothing but your reflection at first. But as you near the plexiglass, the reflection disappears into the view and you almost gasp from the beauty of it.

Blinking lights, flashing billboards, and the brightly lit Tokyo Skytree peer back at you. It only hits you now how much you’ve missed home, and that even though Sapporo was one of the largest cities in Japan, it still wasn’t Tokyo.

“I never get tired of it,” Keiji chimes in while carrying your bowl of ramen to the dining table.

“It’s an amazing view, I can see why you’d live here,” you reply while moving away from it. The table also has two empty wine glasses, and just as you’re about to ask him why they were there, he returns with a newly opened bottle of chardonnay.

“I haven’t had a lot of time to restock the wine fridge, but I knew I was going to kick myself for not having a bottle of that dessert wine we had before you went off to college,” he said with mirth and amusement. “You remember that one?”

“Yeah,” you nearly splutter, almost flushing that once again, Keiji was remembering details about you that you didn’t even know. “Your mom wanted to throw me a graduation dinner and you made it back in time after finals. And she had a bottle of it and between the two of us, we probably drank most of it. Our parents said it was too sweet.”

He nods and sits across from you, elbows on the table as you mutter, “Itadakimasu,” and start eating. You finish your meal silently for the most part, making small talk here and there. Keiji refills both of your glasses and the two of you sip the wine demurely, and while he seems okay with the lack of an explanation, you’re struggling to find the right words.

“So what’s with the impromptu trip to Tokyo? Are you going to see your parents?”

“Should I try to lie to you?”

“It’s up to you.”

Oh, okay then.

But he looks expectant, as if he knows you wouldn’t lie to him – in fact, you’ve never lied to him before. There was never any need to, but did that just mean neither of you ever cared enough?

“Something happened with me and Testuro. I don’t want to bore you with the details, but at the end of the day…I just needed to get away, as cliché as it sounds,” you laugh brokenly. Keiji continues to carefully observe you with a stare that you can’t escape. “I don’t want to tell my parents – you know them, they’ll ask a million questions. Without thinking, I booked a ticket to Tokyo and…now I’m here.”

That was a lie. How are you supposed to tell Keiji that he was the first person you thought of in an effort to run away? You and Keiji have never gotten personal before, he made sure of that. The last thing you want to do is weird him and scare him off.

“…did he cheat on you?” Keiji asked. His voice is darker in his inquiry, deeper than you’ve ever heard before. He has his hands folded in front of his lips and his eyes harden. Testuro may be an old friend to him, but you were in his life longer.

“Nonononono,” you quickly wave off. This isn’t the time to slander your…boyfriend? Could Tetsuro still even be your boyfriend if he no longer has any feelings for you? “Nothing like that.”

“That’s good to hear. If you want, you can tell me another time then. You’re welcome to stay here until you go back to Sapporo.”

You look up at him, eyes incredulous. Could Keiji really be this comfortable with you?

“I wouldn’t mind staying tonight, but I can stay in a hotel for the rest of the week that I’m here.”

“Nonsense,” Keiji refutes, standing from the table and taking your wine glasses to the sink. You follow with your bowl and he starts washing them before you can even offer. “Mom would kill me if she knew I let you pay for a hotel when I have a perfectly functioning bed you can stay in.”

“I mean, if it’s not a bother…”

“It’s not. The futon’s pretty comfortable, I’ve definitely fallen asleep on it plenty of times.”

“We can switch, I would never let you sleep on the futon for a whole week.”

“If you say so then. But for tonight, you can take my bed. Let me grab you an extra towel so you can shower. I’m sure you’ve had a long day,” he says while drying everything off, folding the kitchen towel neatly before heading off to his room. He returns with a large, soft grey towel and you shyly take it from him with a word of thanks, but he stays there in front of you, waiting for something.

“I’m really glad you picked up the phone,” you whisper softly, feeling the effects of the alcohol. You’re entering uncharted territory for the two of you, and this could either kill or strengthen this odd distant friendship. “I meant it when I said I didn’t know who else to call. You were the first person that came to mind and just…I don’t want to make this weird, like you can kick me out,” you begin to ramble. “Don’t feel like you’re obligated to take me in because your mom would be disappointed if you wouldn’t, you’ve already put up with me for over 15 years and it’s fine, I can be on my own and—”

Smooth, calloused hands delicately hold your face, large palms and nimble fingers cupping your cheeks. Your words die on your tongue as Keiji stares straight into your eyes, holding your gaze until your breathing calms down to a steady, languid pace. “You’re my friend, (y/n). So it’s good that you called me.”

“I’m your…friend?” You ask unsteadily, feeling a sense of disbelief.

“Yeah,” he confirms with the corners of his lips turning up slightly. “We’re friends.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Now go shower.”

“Okay.”

You’re fast asleep before Keiji finishes his own shower, his bedroom door left ajar as the hallway light beams through. He pauses in the midst of drying his hair with a towel, letting it bunch and hang off his neck as he cautiously pushes the door open. Keiji notices your even breathing and how much more relaxed you look in sleep. You’re curled up on your side with the blanket pulled up to your face and he can’t lie: it’s adorable and cute, and he shouldn’t really be thinking these things.

He sits on the edge of the bed in the little space that’s provided, lithe fingers reaching out to brush back a few stray wisps of your hair. Watching you sleep pulls him back into a fond memory he’s kept of the two of you, one that might’ve held very little significance to you but meant something so much more to him. He knows you know him well, he knows how much his mother babbles on about him, and adults were more prone to gossip than the rowdiest of teenagers – he’d be painfully oblivious if he didn’t think you knew that much about him, or more than the average friend.

But it’s comforting to him, sometimes. Knowing you, how kindly you think of others, he might not have to explain what he’s feeling in the moment. You would be able to know, and that soothes him to some degree.

Maybe he had a little bit too much wine as well, but ever so subtly, motions steady and unhurried, he deftly leans closer and closer until his lips brush the apple of your cheek. He lingers for no more than a few seconds and sits back up, gazing at you before standing. His hands adjust the blankets and make sure you’re properly tucked in. He pads away, shutting the door behind him as quietly as possible as to not wake you.

And when he’s found a comfortable position on the futon with his most comfortable throw blanket, he realizes, begrudgingly, that this week will fly by too fast for his liking.

996 notes · View notes

yellowocaballero · 2 years

Note

⭐⭐⭐ Redacted POV roleswap or something from the Reel to reel/less than zero-verse

Okay, I genuinely have such a big rant attached to this story that I went back and looked to make sure that I hadn't already given the rant. Because it would be pretty obnoxious to give it twice. But a lot of my fics are lowkey spite fics, and this fic was DIRECTLY written because someone told me a lot of Harrow the Ninth was in second person and I started foaming at the mouth with rage. I'm very sorry but this is going to get long because I found an opportunity to bitch and I fucking took it.

Spoilers for [Redacted] POV Roleswap!

You look down at your helmet, and you see that you’re gripping it tightly in both hands. It stares back up at you, like a vapid and grinning corpse.

“Thirty’s helmet,” you say. “Thirty’s helmet.”

The corpse of a helmet stares up at you, eyes black as pits.

“Nah. Fuck that.”

You step away from the window and drop the helmet on the ground, letting it sag and roll across the floor. It joins dozens of its brethren, coming to a soft stop when it clinks against another discarded Stormtrooper helmet. When you look across the hallway, it almost looks like a weird-ass graveyard. One with nothing buried, and nothing lost.

“This place is demented,” Thirty said. “I am so out of here.”

I fucking hate second person.

First person is fine. I can't WRITE it - I tried, I'm incapable - but literally nothing wrong with it. First person tells a specific sort of story. Third person limited is the most neutral, simple POV. It does not tell a specific sort of story, it just tells a story. First and second person are unobtrusive, easy to read, and natural for the reader.

Second person fucking sucks. It's so obtrusive. It's difficult to read. You are constantly forced to slow down, stop, and figure out the mental image. It feels weird and it takes a while for the reader to get used to it. The narration, like, takes up space. It's a rock in the story. The story's jumping up and down and pointing to it - look at me!

Second person is a stylization. It is a style. And whenever you stylize something, especially something that makes reading actively more difficult and a worse experience, you need to have a really, really, really good reason. It's difficult to read, so it needs to be short. You can't have a whole book in second person unless you're a good enough writer that you're too smart to write an entire book in second person.

People also primarily pair second person with present tense. Everything I said up there applies to present tense, although to a lesser degree - it's less annoying and present tense is more common in YA, where it's used fairly neutrally. If you're not writing YA then it definitely comes off as a specific choice, which is hopefully made for a reason.

If you're very purposeful about it, second person can be done extremely well. One of my favorite novels, Warchild by Karin Lowachee, uses second person in the first 40 pages to make the super bad shit that happens feel visceral and intense and depersonalize the MC. But you can't hold an entire book like that, and second person present tense is so obtrusive that I really couldn't see how you could use it in a way that was good enough to justify using it.

Anyway, got super pissed about this and then left to go write a second person present tense story that fucked extremely.

I couldn't believe it. I had no idea that you could use narration to tell a story. Use narration and tense to create a character arc! Have the form of the story be the growth of the story! Use the person and the tense to make the events feel visceral, fast-moving, confusing, scary, gory, overwhelming! There is almost no room for internal narration or rumination! I'm always struggling to write a pared down, simplistic viewpoint, and this was the first time I ever actually got it - because the narration and tense tells us everything our poor narrator is feeling and experiencing. You just feel buffeted and tossed about, just by virtue of it being present tense.

The narrator is you. Everything is happening fast to the narrator, too fast to process. You're nothing, static, and then suddenly you're part of a faceless mass of people. You're part of a group. You still don't know what's going on. The group is scary. You're scared.

And then you realize that you're different. You aren't me. I'm me! Look at me, I have a face and a body and a past and a soul. I'm Thirty. You aren't Thirty, I'm Thirty, and royally fuck you about it.

The big Thing about this part of the story is clones rediscovering their sense of self. And the big Thing about Thirty was that he found his sense of self like two weeks ago and he's still very confused about it. And to have that discovery of a self be shown through forcibly ejecting the reader from the eyes of the POV character is SO much fun.

It was a fantastic experience to write. I did not change my mind about second person and/or present tense at all. It's very stylized, it's very obtrusive, and when you use it then it has to be in a very purposeful way. But if you do manage to, like, hit that, then it can FUCK EXTREMELY?

Anyway I'm the only person allowed to write second person present tense now. Thanks!

#my writing #normally when I talk about writing I am always objectively correct #but I'm aware that this is VERY much a personal opinion no matter how authoritatively I said it #so take this with a saltshaker I guess but also I'm right and ht9 is in 2nd person bc the author's a homestuck #anyway almost couldn't answer this because i was too busy thinking about how insane obiwans pov of the boba thing #just endless kill bill sirens forever #internally drafting adoption papers #i also didn't go into the characterization bit of this but #this early event is why thirty's so aggressive about being different #and why he's always kinda skeevy about violence #he's a lover not a fighter #actually i dunno the guys sexuality.#none of my buisness.

17 notes · View notes

jostepherjoestar · 3 years

Text

🥂Drunk confessions to the bucci gang🥂

sfw // gn reader // scenarios

A new ally and business partner owns acres upon acres of vineyards, treating you and your colleagues to a nice couple crates of their finest wares. Don Giorno decided to have an intimate wine party with all of his members. The wine didn’t only encourage you to be looser, it gave you the courage to confess your feelings to the colleague you’ve had a terrible crush on.

cw: alcohol use, drunk people being stupid. Drink responsibly!!

Bruno

You’ve never perceived yourself to be the most caring or doting of your group of coworkers, now friends. But seeing your poor capo lean against the large entrance to the living room, clinging onto the wood for stability, you feel the intense need to help him out. In your own inebriated state you manage to make it across the room in one piece without bumping into tables or your teammates. When you reach Bruno you see beads of cold sweat cover his forehead dampening his bangs. The poor man is clinging onto himself and the entrance for dear life, his typically lovely olive toned skin now a paler shade. Piecing together all the warning signs you offer him your shoulder as you grab onto his waist and help him walk to the balcony. Some fresh air would do both of you some good. Even in this state your heart swells with joy to be so close to the man you’ve grown so fond of over the period you’ve become part of his and Don Giovanna’s team. You’ve endlessly fantasised about laying in his arms on another sleepless night, letting him pet your hair and cheeks, his blue eyes kindly telling you it’s all going to be alright with just a single look. You set Bruno down on the iron garden chair that decorated the balcony, he lets out a sigh of relief. Breathing in and out deeply as his shaky hands get a little calmer “Should not have indulged so much eh?” he chuckled at your state, knowing he was in a worse one. “Mh. Good thing I came to save you,” you teased. “it looked like you were about to spit all of that lovely wine back up in there.” A sympathetic smile being shot at him as you lean on the balustrade next to him. The cool night breeze offered a sobering effect. But you still felt like the world was turning and you were just there to hang onto it. “Heh, thanks for that. I have a feeling we’ll all come to regret this in the morning. If we remember tonight, at least. ”. He jokes as he stood back up to lean next to you, his closeness awakening a nervous fluttering in your stomach. Bruno isn’t known to invade your personal space unless you want him to, he’s rather princely in that manner. You felt the courage of the wine and perhaps the cool wind straighten your back. “If you won’t remember this I could just say anything huh?” you sighed, Bruno had closed his eyes in the meantime seeming to enjoy the breeze. “For instance that I like you... like a lot. Maybe too much.” you bit your lip as you hoped he understood what you meant. Soft hums came from your companion, a short silence followed. “I’ve noticed.” he paused, carefully choosing his next words. “I like you too. Maybe even more, we ought to discuss that later. Compare notes and such.” he chuckled while finishing, his cheeks turned a warm red, yours followed suit as you scooted over to wrap your hand around his on the balustrade, enjoying each others company. “I’ll do my very best to remember this moment my dearest.” he said as he squeezed your hand. “Good, because there’s no way I’m doing this again.”

Mista

It was late into the evening, Bruno having retired after taking a quick breather, Giorno already softly snoring on the couch next to a grumpy sleeping Abbacchio that was leaning against the blond one’s soft hair. Just don’t let him know he did that in the morning. Narancia had been taking care of the music for tonight’s festivities, playing a mixture of his own favourite songs and the ones from the team. He was softly humming along to the slow tunes that played, it was one of those slower 2pac songs he enjoyed. Just enough rhythm to move to, but so much soul to keep you going. Slowly and not even following the beat you swayed together, arms crossed behind Mista’s neck, head buried in the crook of his collar as you felt yourself drift away on the dance floor. It was quite a sight, standing where the coffee table usually resided, stuck to each other like glue, barely awake and still savouring the effects of the wine. Mista’s arms clung around your back, locking you in his embrace. When he asked you to dance it started out quite energised, bopping along to the faster beats, shaking your hips and letting Mista twirl you like a ballerina on stage. But now it seemed like sleeping beauty’s spell had struck the house, causing a peaceful drowsiness. You weren’t complaining at all, being so close to the one you had started to gain feelings for. He held you so close you felt all your troubles disappear, maybe you did have a chance. Body heat starting to rise with each sway but you didn’t want this moment to end, having to let go and feel the coldness take over, no more Mista to cling to for warmth. As the thought of leaving entered, soft and sinuous moans came from your companion, like he was stirring in his sleep. The mewls only making all the hairs on your body stand up and your heartbeat quicken. To make matters worse, or better, soft little kisses were getting placed on your neck, skin tingling under the touches. For a moment you weren’t sure if this was a dream or reality. “M-mista, are you sleeping...?” you whispered close to his ear, so imminent your lips almost returned the pecks. You felt him shudder against your breath, maybe he woke up now? Meanwhile the both of you had stopped swaying, the music was still playing but it felt like it was just you and Mista, alone on a deserted island of bliss. “Mhhh” was the only reply you got, not affirmative, not disagreeing. His sluggish kisses still continued on your neck, warm and close to you, an onlooker probably wouldn’t notice his ministrations. “Mista, I like you too much to stop you. So please continue if it means you want this too.” Your voice so low only he could hear, mind foggy and hazy but heart racing in response to your confession. “I won’t stop then.” he hummed against you, continuing his idle caresses as he breathed out a sigh of relief in sync with yours.

Abbacchio

“Hey Gio, wake up!” you whisper shout as you tap the sleepy blond one on the knee. He stirs a little in his seat, Abbacchio’s head still sleepily leaning on his hair. Mista had followed retirement after Bruno, complaining his feet were sore from dancing, leaving you with the last trio. “Giorno come on it’s time to go to bed.” this time you’re a little louder as you push on his knee harder. Still to no avail does your Don seem to want to rouse. His companion next to him still seemingly sound asleep, a grumpy scowl adorning his beautiful features. “Don Giorno please get up!” Perhaps addressing him like that would finally work. And it did. His blue eyes lazily opened as he moved away from the couch, Abbacchio’s head beginning to dip where the emptiness now resided. Even through Giorno’s weary gaze he saw the silver haired man’s position and figured out that he was the heavy figure leaning on his hair that had became all mussed up, his rolls no longer standing. “It seems like I was a pretty good pillow. He won’t admit that though.” Giorno teased drowsily in his regular volume, a mistake he should have avoided. “Fuck off Giorno. You weren’t even comfortable.” Abbacchio growled, eyes still closed as he straightened himself on the sofa. Giorno merely let out an amused breath, the wine making him a little more loose lipped. “Don’t be so grumpy, you can admit that your Don’s hair is soft, I don’t mind. Actually I encourage it.” you were shocked to hear the statement, Giorno being a little more reserved in his usual manners. Guessing that the wine had offered him an unbothered mind and unlatched lips. “Watch it blondy, I won’t hesitate to smack my Don.” Abbacchio retorted as he got up from his spot to face Giorno next to you. He wasn’t trying to initiate a fight but his anger did seem genuine. “Come on Abbacchio don’t be like that, we’ll all go to bed, take a nice rest a-” you tried to take the situation a few steps back calmly but were cut off by the silver haired man. “Hey, keep out of it. He can handle himself.” he shot at you, seeing an instant regret in his eyes as he said his charged piece. Auwch that hurt, especially since you’d developed a crush on the man, it felt like he just stabbed into your heart and twisted the knife, the alcohol only heightening the emotions. Giorno and Narancia both interrupted at the same time to not be so rude at you, glad that your younger friends stood up for you. “Don’t talk to me that way, just because I like you doesn’t mean you can just walk all over me.” you confessed in a hurry feeling your words carry along the message you still wanted to keep a secret. Giorno couldn’t help but look between you and Abbacchio in surprise, curious to see where this was going. Narancia kept his ears perked from the back of the room as well. “Pfft, is this your idea of a joke?” Abbacchio cracked back, but the weight behind his message revealed a nervousness. “No. I meant it.” your head sagged in defeat, your feet already starting to make their way to your bedroom, not wanting to be anywhere near anyone, this had been too humiliating. “Wait I’m sorry... I’m such an asshole, fuck. I- I like you too I just- it’s shit-” he held onto your hand as he stumbled over his words, squeezing it in the hope you’d stay. “We’ll talk about it later, you asshole.” you squeezed back at his hand, continuing on your path to bed.

Bonus Giorno & Narancia drunk hc’s:

Both are very loose lipped drunks, saying whatever’s on their mind. For Giorno this is bit more surprising behaviour than for Narancia. Although they’re both lightweights, Narancia carries it better thanks to his stamina. Giorno will still fall sound asleep after the fight with Abbacchio and you, he’ll worry about it in the morning when his head is cleared and he can give sound advice if you need it. Narancia still felt a little weird after the whole ordeal and and offered his company to fall asleep. Both still very sweet during their hazy party, Giorno even busting out a move together with Narancia who’s trying to teach him the choreography.

#please imagine this as a continuous scenario like the situation that you want is the one that happens #and the rest is just continuation like a choose your own adventure thing #no fugo am so sorry #jjba fic #jjba x reader #team bucciarati #jjba headcanons #bruno x reader #mista x reader #abbacchio x reader #giorno x reader #narancia x reader #jjba scenarios #gn reader #sfw

308 notes · View notes

fleetingpieces · 3 years

Text

My One in a Million CH 6

Here we go! Thanks for the patience and support everyone❤️

Thank you to my amazing betas @knittingdreams and @inloveoknutzy I love you both so much❤️

And thank you so much lovely @heyitssmiller for your amazing vet knowledge and kind help, I hope what I wrote makes sense!😅

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added! <3 )

@justdyingontheinside @donttouchmycarrots @heyoitslysso @whataboutmyfries @sunflowerfox87 @hereforwolfstarr @potterlocked24-7 @cheekeebabe

CW: dog getting sick

Here’s the Masterlist, and the story in Ao3 if you prefer to read there :)

Chapter 6 - Water tides

Remus let the water wrap around him lazily as he swam down the middle of Gryffindor Tower’s indoor pool at a serene pace. He was glad to have the place all to himself that late afternoon, as he was exhausted after a pretty intense workout.

His day had been fully booked; he’d been out since morning, only stopping home long enough to grab his gym bag and head to the building’s top floor. He was trying to clear his head and organize his thoughts, but just like in the past three days, his mind drifted to the gift that was still sitting face-down in his guestroom, waiting for him to figure out what the hell to do with it.

As he reached the other end of the pool, he stood there with his hands caressing the surface of the water, feeling the slight resistance it made against his palms.

Sirius had seemed so genuinely sorry and like he was really putting in the effort, and Remus didn’t know what to make of it. It was still hard to believe how fast things had changed; this was the man that had been driving him crazy for weeks... but he was also the one that was making Remus open up about his past, even if it was just a little bit. Even Cocoa liked him. It’d been really hard for Remus not to turn into a fucking pile of goo when he saw them together, and fuck if Sirius’ starstruck face didn’t do things to him. People were usually afraid of Cocoa, but Sirius had opened his arms to him straight away.

What an adorable bastard.

Remus groaned and dived underwater. He stayed in place, floating with his eyes closed. Doing this always gave him a sense of peace that very few other things could. With the exception of yoga, maybe.

It was terribly ironic how sometimes he felt like he couldn’t bring air into his lungs when he remembered that time, but being underwater felt so soothing, even if he was obviously not breathing. There was something about the stillness of it and how weightless it made him feel, as if nothing could bring him down; and having his eyes closed, he could imagine having infinite space all around him, like maybe he’d blink and he’d be floating with the stars.

A splash of bubbles that could only mean another person had jumped into the pool reached his ears.

Remus held on for a few seconds more before he stood up, breaking the surface as he passed a hand through his face and hair to get the water out of his eyes.

“Merde.”

The whispered word echoed in the big room, though Remus was probably not supposed to hear it. He froze with a hand still in his curls and turned towards the voice.

“Sorry, I thought it was empty,” Sirius said from a few feet away. He lifted a muscular arm to rub at the back of his head and frowned with a small smile. “Just how long can you hold your breath?”

Remus just stared at him. At the way the droplets of water dripped from his dark locks and ran down his chest and the planes of his stomach. He swallowed, lifting his gaze before it could travel down further and focused on the piercing grey eyes that were already staring back at him. It felt as though Sirius could see into his soul, and it shocked Remus to realise that the thought wasn’t as scary as it should be.

Remus wasn’t sure how long they stood there, it could have been a second or maybe hours, but the smile slowly faded from Sirius’ face.

“I can go?” he asked unsurely.

“No!” Remus said hastily, before clearing his throat. “No, it’s fine.”

“Ok...” Sirius seemed surprised. They stared at each other a few moments more, Remus wracking his brain for something to say but coming up short. Sirius shifted on his feet. “Well, I don’t want to get in your way, so…”

He started turning around to go to the other side of the pool. Remus took a deep breath.

“Wait.”

Stopping mid-movement, Sirius turned around, arching a perfect eyebrow.

“I…” Remus started, but closed his mouth. Sirius’ eyes softened, and Remus started again, more firmly. “I never thanked you.”

That made Sirius frown. “Why would you need to thank me?”

“For the painting,” Remus said simply, though he figured it should be obvious. He couldn’t help but add with a small crooked smile, “and for the cookies too. Even though they were awful.”

Sirius barked a laugh, covering his face with a hand, and Remus found himself wishing he didn’t. He wanted to see the way his eyes crinkled. “Yeah, well. I should have asked first before I did anything, sorry I assumed-”

“No,” Remus interrupted, shaking his head. “No, you had no way of knowing.” He stopped to take another deep breath. “I'm sorry, I overreacted.”

Sirius raised both eyebrows at that, he clearly hadn't expected an apology. He regarded Remus steadily before he shrugged. “It's important to you. I think it's perfectly reasonable to react the way you did.”

Such a simple phrase, and yet something tugged fiercely in Remus’ chest. He tried to ignore it and sank until the water covered up to his shoulders. There was something about this man that made raw emotions come to the surface, and he tried his best to control them.

“Still, you were only trying to do something nice. So thank you.”

Sirius nodded as he stared at him, a small smile on his face again.

“Maybe we can start over?” He swam closer and Remus resisted the urge to sink lower. Instead, he got up when the other man extended a hand towards him. "Hi. I'm Sirius Black, and I live in apartment 12. Nice to meet you," he grinned.

The resolution on Sirius' face made Remus smile too, before he glanced down at the outstretched hand and reached to shake it. Despite the coldness of the water, Sirius’ palm was so warm that Remus felt it in his core, and he looked back up quickly to find Sirius giving him an odd look.

“Remus Lupin. I’m in apartment 10, right next to yours. Funny that we didn’t bump into each other sooner,” he said playfully, earning himself another wholehearted laugh from the other man, his chest rising and falling with it.

“Ouais, funny that,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. He let go of Remus’ hand and promptly plunged underwater, emerging only one second later while shaking his hair like a dog and sending a wall of droplets in Remus’ face.

“You mutt,” said Remus as he raised an arm to cover himself, making Sirius smile widely.

God, does he ever stop grinning?

“So, what brought you to Gryffindor?”

The casual way he asked it made Remus relax some more. He sagged back down and moved from the shallow part of the pool, treading water as he thought of everything that had led him here.

“It’s kind of a long story, but the main reason is that I wanted to expand my brand, and I thought living in a bigger city would be better for that purpose.”

Sirius nodded as though he knew exactly what Remus was talking about. “Yeah, that makes sense. Where did you live before?”

A wistful smile tugged at Remus’ mouth, and he noticed Sirius tilting his head in curiosity. “In the countryside, just outside of Gryffindor. I was born there and lived in that town my whole life until I decided to move here.”

“Do you miss it?” Sirius asked softly.

The water lapping around them was the only sound in the air as Remus looked down at his hands, weaving them just beneath the surface.

“Yeah...I miss my mum and Leo mostly. I know it’s not too far, but it’s not easy to see them either. I guess it’s hard for me not seeing them everyday.” Remus didn’t add that it made him feel lonely, or like he was back in room 308, but Sirius seemed to sense that it was making him feel sad, cause he didn’t ask more about that and moved to another question.

“What’s your hometown like?”

Remus smiled thankfully at him. “It’s really small, nothing compared to this,” he made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “But it’s beautiful. There’s this beach that Leo and I used to go to all the time when we were kids, and later on we would always find the time to go there on small camping trips, just the two of us in bedrolls, sleeping under the stars. It became a tradition. And then, there’s a forest on the other side, with these huge trees that go on for miles, and there’s a-” Remus stopped himself when he realised he’d been going on and on without a pause, blushing a bit. He looked at Sirius sheepishly. “Sorry, I got a bit carried away.”

But Sirius was just looking at him with a dopey smile. “That’s ok. I like listening to you speak.”

Remus didn’t know what to do with that, so he cleared his throat. “What about you?”

“Hm?” Sirius asked distractedly.

“Did you always live here?”

That seemed to snap him out of whatever he’d been lost in. He ran a hand through his hair, which stayed pushed back, sleeked by the water. Remus liked it. He could see more of his face like this.

“Uh, no. I grew up in Slytherin, actually. But I went to boarding school when I got older, so I spent a lot of my teenage years there. It’s where I met James and most of the guys.”

There it was again, that fond smile, and Remus found himself asking, wanting to know more, “what was it like, going to a boarding school?”

Sirius laughed at that, and walked to lean his back against the side of the pool, his forearms resting over the edge. He tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling with a faraway look. “Oh, it was great. Not so much at the beginning though. I lived a pretty sheltered life up to that point, so you can imagine I was a bit of a snobbish dick.”

“A bit?” Remus raised a teasing eyebrow, making Sirius laugh again and focus his gaze on him.

“Trust me, whatever you think of me now, I was ten times worse.”

“I don’t really think you’re like that,” Remus replied, and was surprised to realise he meant it. Sirius’ smile faltered, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Remus beat him to it quickly, “so what made you change?”

There were a few seconds in which Sirius just stared at him with an unreadable expression. “James,” he said plainly in the end.

“James?”

“James,” Sirius agreed. “Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if we hadn’t met. He made me see I was behaving like an idiot, and everything I was missing out on.” He turned his head and gave Remus a sad smile before he continued, “I didn’t have any real friends before James.”

There was a deep pain rooted there that Remus couldn’t completely grasp, but he felt that it wasn’t his place to ask. “So you guys were friends from the start?”

“Pretty much,” he said, and then a laugh escaped him. “I tried to shove him aside at first, but he clung to me like a koala. I don’t even know why he wanted to be friends with me then.”

Remus thought about the way Sirius’ face lit up when he was close to James or when he talked about him. It was obvious to anyone that they were close, and how much it meant to Sirius.

“Well, I’m glad you found him.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said softly, “me too.”

“So how did you end up in Gryffindor?”

Sirius chuckled, “that would be James’ fault again. He grew up here, and I used to spend months at his house during the summer hols. It’s where I went when I finally ran from home; his parents took me in.”

He’d spoken casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world, but still Remus felt his heart stutter. “You...you ran away?”

Sirius’ eyes widened a bit, clearly he hadn’t realised how much he’d said. He glanced at Remus a bit wearily, who hastened to add, “I’m sorry, you don’t have to talk about it.”

Some of the tightness seemed to leave Sirius’ shoulders as he exhaled sharply. “No, it’s ok. I...fuck. My family and I had different views about...things. They own this big company and run in some upper circles of society that I never had any interest in.”

It was Remus’ turn to have his eyes widen like ping pong balls as the realisation hit him like a bag of wet sand. “Wait...you’re that Black? From Black Enterprises?”

The tension in Sirius’ jaw was so sudden and intense, Remus regretted his words instantly.

“No. I mean, yes. I should be. But I left that behind years ago.”

There was a crease between his brows, and Remus’ hand started stretching towards it to smooth it, but he caught himself in time and pretended to scratch at his cheek instead.

“Ah, sorry, my bad. I thought for a second that you were. But you must be the Sirius Black from Gryffindor, huh? I’ve heard great things about him,” Remus said in a light tone. At first, Sirius frowned at him as if he’d gone crazy and Remus shifted awkwardly. But slowly, it started melting away until he started laughing at Remus’ antics, one hand clutching his stomach.

“God, you’re so weird.” There was that sweet smile again, directed fully at him, and Remus’ heart stuttered for an entirely different reason.

After that, Remus lost track of time as they talked and splashed about. He felt surprisingly light. Laughter was not in short amounts, an easy banter settling between them, and sometimes he’d catch Black staring at him with an indecipherable smile on his face. It felt like they’d been friends for years and not just a few hours, which was something Remus’ brain couldn’t completely wrap around.

Their topics went from the most trivial things to some that bordered in way-too-intimate for how long they’d known each other, but it didn’t feel weird or forced.

Remus mentioned how much he enjoyed a cup of tea in the afternoon. Sirius told him that he’d started smoking at 16, and had quit three times so far but started again when he felt overwhelmed. Remus talked a bit about his mum and how hard she worked to bring money in, and how Remus had to practically beg her to let him help once his business had taken off. Sirius confessed to being afraid of spiders to which Remus couldn’t keep in a laugh.

“Really? Spiders?”

“Oh, shut up, you,” Sirius had said with no real venom as he splashed him with water, making Remus laugh harder. Remus didn’t miss how Sirius' eyes hadn’t left his face when he’d looked back up at him.

They had started drifting closer to each other, and right then Sirius was swimming backwards around Remus as he told a story about a school prank. Remus was turning around slowly on his feet to keep him in sight, entirely too conscious of the way that the movement with each backstroke made Sirius’ back look even bigger. And how the waves Sirius was making kept lapping at Remus’ lower belly.

What the fuck am I thinking?

He shook his head just in time to catch Sirius’ next question.

“Did you always know you wanted to teach yoga?”

“Oh. Well, not really. I always thought I wanted to be a writer,” Remus chuckled. “But then after...Um, a couple years ago I decided to start a healthier lifestyle, and discovered I really liked it.” He gave a small shrug. “I decided to focus on that, and I don’t regret my decision.”

Sirius hummed as he kept swimming with his eyes closed. Feeling a bit weird just staring at him, Remus pushed his legs up and started floating on his back, focusing on the ceiling instead.

“So, what do you do for a living?” he asked.

He heard more than saw Sirius stop and stand up at once.

“I um...I work as a freelancer from home.”

“That’s nice. What kind of jobs do you do?”

“Oh, all sorts of things. Y’know, I never learned to float like that,” he said in a rush, which struck Remus as a bit weird. He let his feet angle down and touch the floor, and he pulled himself upright to eye Sirius curiously. He was fidgeting, but smiled at Remus hopefully, so Remus smiled too.

“Would you like me to teach you?”

Sirius’ face lit up. “Would you?”

“If you want,” Remus shrugged.

Sirius nodded enthusiastically and took a couple steps closer.

“Ok, try to align yourself with the water, and I’ll help by holding you until you can adjust your body on your own. It’s easier to float if you take a deep breath and hold it, so let’s start with that.”

“Ok, I can do that.”

“You need to be perfectly relaxed, ok? Save that puppy energy for something else.”

“D’accord, d’accord,” Sirius rolled his eyes. Remus tried to ignore how nicely the words rolled out of his tongue.

He watched as Sirius breathed in and pulled himself into a horizontal position. He held it for barely one second before he started sinking, so Remus took a deep breath too and moved over to place one hand in the middle of his back, and the other under his head.

Soft.

It was all Remus could think as the dark strands of hair fell between his fingers.

“Tip your head back and lift your chin. There should be no tension on your neck.” Remus’ voice was mellow, automatically slipping into the tone he used for his classes. “Put your arms just like this.” He removed his hand from Sirius’ head and used it to bring the arm closest to him slightly up, Sirius’ fingers brushing against Remus’ thigh, and then placed it back in the inky hair.

“My hips keep going down,” Sirius chuckled, making the water ripple in small waves. His eyes were closed, his chin tilted up just like Remus had told him to, exposing the long lines of his neck. Remus looked away, trying to keep a blush at bay.

“Ok, I’m going to move my hand to support you better, is that ok?”

A breathy “oui” was all he got for an answer.

Remus’ hand trailed down, his fingers brushing against Sirius’ spine until he could place it more firmly against the small of his back. He could’ve sworn he felt Sirius shiver, but that could be because of the water.

Looking down at Sirius’ toes, he told him to try and relax more. His eyes went up his legs as he gave small advices on how he should place his body, passing by the blue swim trunks that clung to his thighs, then kept going up his hip bones, toned stomach and chest, telling him to try and push up. He glanced up at that long, elegant neck, until he finally stopped when he found silver eyes staring intently at him.

In that moment, with those eyes locked with his and feeling overly conscious of the skin he was touching, Remus felt a bolt go through his fingers and removed his hands instantly as if he’d been burned, and Sirius flailed his arms and sank.

He stood up spluttering, water dripping everywhere.

“Remus what the fuck-” he started complaining, but stopped short when he realised just how close they were standing.

Remus felt his breath hitch in his throat as he was engulfed in the grey once more. Wet hair fell over his eyes, and this close, he could make out all the shades, every spot in those irises. He felt like he was staring at a tempest sea, the calmness around them making him feel like he was in the eye of the hurricane, and he was about to be swept up in the storm.

Sirius’ breath fanned against Remus’ face, slipping between his parted lips. His eyes darted down to stare at Sirius’ mouth, those pink lips that looked so incredibly soft that Remus wanted to reach up and touch them with his fingers. The tip of his tongue moved to wet his lips, and when he glanced up again he caught Sirius following the movement. The other man inched his face closer, torturously slow, until Remus tilted his head up slightly.

Everything around them seemed to be suspended in time, waiting, waiting… And then that same memory was flashing through his mind and Remus pulled away.

“Remus?” Sirius asked, confused, and Remus’ heart gave another painful tug.

“I...I...” Remus backed against the wall so much he wished he could just become one with it. Sirius took a step back and watched him with worried eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...Are you ok?”

“I just- I...I gotta go.”

Not waiting for any answer, Remus turned around and lifted himself out of the water, and basically bolted back to the changing rooms.

He didn’t even stop to take a shower, just changed his clothes as fast as he could, grateful that Sirius didn’t come looking for him.

Once inside his flat, he unceremoniously dropped his bag and keys on the floor, and let his head fall back against the door.

What the fuck was that?

It was so not like him to do something like this. He knew better than to get tangled in... in whatever happened at the pool was. Focus on your career, that was the goal. No time to meet anyone just to get into a relationship, get attached, and then be left broken.

But Sirius just...it felt so natural to be around him. Remus was still surprised at how comfortable he felt around the other man, given the way they’d started things off. If the image he’d had of Sirius was so far off the mark, then maybe Sirius was not like-

No.

He was done with relationships and that was that.

“Ugh, fuck,” Remus groaned, then finally glanced around his flat. “Cocoa?” he called, surprised that he hadn’t been tackled in a bear hug yet. “Cocoa, c’mon boy. Let’s go for a walk. Fuck knows I certainly need some fresh air.”

It was dark outside already, but Remus’ heart was still beating wildly, and he didn’t think he could stand to just stay inside. He needed to calm down and get his mind off dark hair, stormy eyes and wet lips.

When he still got no response, Remus frowned. It was very unlike Cocoa not to rush to greet him or come to him when called. Even if he’d been sleeping, he’d always wake up to the sound of Remus coming back home.

Remus stepped into the living room, walking around the couch to where Cocoa usually laid in his dog bed. And there he was, with his head between his paws, looking up at Remus with big, yellow eyes. He whined when Remus got close.

“Hey boy, there you ar-” Remus stopped himself with the immediate knowledge that something was wrong. Cocoa was trying to get up, but his legs were trembling and he fell over. Remus rushed forward and knelt at his side, noting how fast Cocoa’s heart was beating, and the spasms still going through his body. “What’s going on? Cocoa, what’s wrong?”

Remus was frantically trying to figure out what was happening when his eyes landed on a crumpled piece of paper. He snatched it up and his heart stopped. It was the wrapper for one of his favourite dark chocolates, and there were only a couple of bitten pieces left in it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, how did you get this? When did you-? Oh my God, when did you eat it?” Remus wracked his brain, trying to remember if the wrapper was there when he’d stop by his flat a few hours earlier, but he had no idea. He remembered thinking Cocoa seemed a bit more energetic than usual, but he hadn’t thought too much of it.

Shaking out of the whirlpool that were his thoughts, Remus carefully picked Cocoa up and rushed to the door.

“Please hang on, boy. Please, please, please hang on.”

#wolfstar fic #wolfstar #my writing #My One in a Million #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #remus x sirius #sirius x remus #youtuber #youtuber!au #yoga!au #muggle AU

144 notes · View notes

justmaybee · 3 years

Text

The Phantom’s New Clothes

(Alternatively: ‘I Like Ya Fit, G!’)

A/N: Yes, the spam is gonna end in a dumb fic. No, I’m not confident in posting it. But honestly? I don’t think I’ll ever be when it comes to Fling Posse. So I’m doing it anyways! Because Gen looks like a whole prince, and if I don’t start somewhere I’ll never be able to write them!

Summary: Fling Posse photo shoot time! ~ ☆ and Dice has taken a special interest in Gentaro’s outfit for the day….

Of the many things required by divisions during battle season, one ‘checkpoint’—so to speak—is the creation of promotional materials. A Chuohku-designated event, ‘asked’ of the representative teams from each district.

This is Fling Posse’s second time representing Shibuya, so Gentaro is more or less acquainted with the roadmap ahead of them. And as a group member—and friend—of one Ramuda Amemura, he’s quite used to the mild discomfort of modeling clothes far outside his comfort zone.

Though it had at first been a point of contention in the group—due to some very polarized creative decisions—Gentaro has grown into his role, just a bit. He may never go so far as to call himself a ‘model,’ but he’s done much stranger tasks for the sake of his posse.

Thankfully, this shoot leans decidedly into Gentaro’s style of choice. Unlike Ramuda’s last artistic venture, which had involved a bright yellow top in an aquarium of all settings, this outfit could be described as almost tame in comparison.

The blouse is a loose and flowing white number, tucked into a similar style of black pants. A little tighter to his waist than he’d prefer, but the fabric is soft and stretches down to his ankle—for the most part—so it’ll do. The addition of some colored cords to secure an ash grey cape around his shoulders finishes the look, and Gentaro hums an appreciative note when Ramuda shows him the full look in a mirror.

Ramuda seemed pleased, smoothing out Gentaro’s cape and tucking stubborn hairs back into place before flashing him a grin and bouncing off to help Dice finish dressing.

It’s comfortable, fashionable, and well-suited to his tastes. Gentaro must say, it’s one of his favorite designs from Ramuda so far.

That being said—there’s…one small thing he could recommend be changed.

It doesn’t occur to him until the picture taking is about to begin.

———

“Ya think Ramuda will let me keep it?” Dice asks, impish grin flashing his canine. He pops the collar, striking small poses as the dressing room around them clears out. Gentaro humors him.

He takes his time, stepping forward from behind Dice, peering over his shoulder at their shared reflection. His hand comes to rest on his chin, scrutinizing the tropical pattern with a deliberate trail of the eyes. He continues until Dice’s gaze lowers, until his hands start fidgeting in front of him.

Gentaro finally breaks with a smile, resting his chin on Dice’s shoulder. He can feel the way Dice sags with relief.

“It’s very likely that he will,” Gentaro muses. “This outfit was made specifically for you, and I’m not sure anyone else would wear it willingly.”

Dice nods in a small repetitive motion, absentmindedly checking his reflection in the mirror. The moment he comes to recognize Gentaro’s backhanded confirmation is both visible and audible. His body jolting upright with a pitchy ‘hey!’ tossed back over his shoulder. Gentaro hides a smile behind his hand.

“Oh, Dice. There’s no need to be insecure,” He coos. “From what I’ve heard, sustainable fashion is on the rise! This set may have been a curtain at some point, but your confidence in it is very admirable.”

Dice has that tight-lipped smile on, the one that pushes his cheeks up and makes his squinty faux-glare even more endearing. It says, ‘I know I’m being made fun of,’ but he continues to endure it anyways. Because it makes Gentaro smile.

Still, he’s come a long way since the early days of Fling Posse, and he won’t take things lying down if he can help it. So he sneaks his hand behind him, aiming a light pinch to Gentaro’s side; his comeback of choice since learning of Gentaro’s…sensitivity.

Unlike those recent times, Gentaro quickly back steps, pulling his head off Dice’s shoulder to smother a gasp behind a well-timed fist. Dice blinks, hand still hovering behind him in the empty air where Gentaro once stood.

Then he spins around; the biggest, toothy grin on his face.

Gentaro can feel the butterflies slowly flutter to life in his stomach. His free arm moves subconsciously, to wrap around his front and hide his torso. The longer they hold eye contact, the more his face begins to burn.

And then the photographer can be heard, calling Dice for photos.

They stay in place, gazes locked for a moment longer; then Dice shoots him a wink and jogs off.

Gentaro breathes a shaky sigh, rubbing away the phantom touch.

———

So yes, while it was obvious the outfit had less layers than Gentaro was accustomed to, he hadn’t realized just how much thinner the layers he wore were.

Photo shoots don’t have a lot of downtime, in his experience. There’s always group shots, touch ups, individual shots. While it’s undoubtedly ‘Posse Time’—as Ramuda would put it—he doesn’t get more than a passing word to either of his group mates at any one time.

Which make the times he runs into Dice all the more memorable.

Slipping past one another in the hallway when it’s Gentaro’s turn for solo shots. Gentaro feels a distinct skittering of nails over his flank. It has him stumbling, tripping on his own feet. He can hear Dice laugh as he straightens up and continues walking.

Getting his hair touched up, making sure his pesky bangs stay out of his face. Dice comes to watch for a while, leaving Gentaro with a quick pinch either side of his waist. He jolts so hard, the hair on his left side falls out of place. He mumbles an apology to the poor stylist, eyeing Dice’s retreating smile in the mirror.

In a moment to himself, Gentaro tries to retuck his blouse, smooth out the uneven bunching of ruffles. He doesn’t notice when Dice slips behind him, when he grips onto Gentaro’s hips—too easily accessible through these pants—and squeezes. Gentaro yelps, drops to a crouch to dislodge the ticklish pulses. When he turns with narrowed-eyes, he finds himself alone.

Although Dice has been able to startle a reaction out of him several times today, calling these occurrences ‘uncommon’ would be nothing short of a lie. In his extended stay at Gentaro’s apartment, Dice has been very — thorough in his exploits of Gentaro’s unending sensitivity. One could say that once he got a reaction, he couldn’t will himself to stop.

Also a lie. Well, a half-truth to be more precise.

While it had been Dice’s curiosity and willingness to take a chance that led to the discovery, he didn’t act on his newfound information much at all. While a very physically affectionate lover, he would never go so far as to touch Gentaro in a way that caused discomfort or distress.

No, absolutely not. And so despite many implicit hints and invitations, Gentaro found himself having to get very explicit.

He didn’t dislike Dice’s teasing touch.

No, quite the opposite actually.

It was flustering to a degree Gentaro couldn’t imagine, but…Dice got the message.

He got it loud and clear, and now here they are.

In a game of cat and mouse; Gentaro’s eyes darting toward every movement, hands enveloping his torso at the slightest noise. The fabric on his skin is light, breathable, and silky to the touch; impossible to ignore. His stomach swoops nervously, broiling with anticipation—borderline excitement.

Oh, the monster he’s created.

———

After two hours of lights, cameras, make up, hair, and such; things are finally starting to wrap up.

Gentaro can see the end’s approach easily due to experience. It always comes in the form of Ramuda’s name. Called out by a weary photographer and followed in turn by their leader’s sing-song reply, skipping happily out of the dressing room and into the limelight.

Ramuda’s solo shots are always saved for the end. One must save the best for last, of course.

That being so, it would be a good idea to begin making preparations to leave.

Gentaro can feel the pinpricks in his legs as he slides them off the dressing room couch, uncurling from his seated position. He kicks out, pointing his toes in a stretch, arching his back and spine. The relief pushes a quiet sigh from his lips, leaves him sagging back into the cushions for a moment, suddenly drained.

Time spent in the presence of others can already be tiring, but the looming eyes of Chuohku make things far more intense. Gentaro can find peace in having his posse with him, but the sooner he can get these clothes folded, the sooner he gets his regular attire back—the sooner he’ll be home and out from under the Party’s prying gaze.

It takes Gentaro a few attempts to rise to his feet. His center of balance equals out as Dice makes his way into the room. The timing is very lucky, Gentaro gets barely a greeting out before his arm is in Dice’s hold. Before he’s swung around, in a blur of cobalt blue and floral print.

His back hits the wall with a dull thud. Not hard enough to hurt—Dice would never—but enough to have his breath catch in his throat. The way Dice leans into Gentaro’s personal space—hand still firmly gripped around his wrist, pinning it to the wall beside his head—makes getting air back a bit difficult.

“Hey Gen,” Dice breathes, a soft smile on his lips that completely contradicts the situation, and makes Gentaro melt all the more for it.

“Hello, Dice.” Gentaro’s hesitation is hardly noticeable.

“Whatcha up to?”

It’s so casual — the way Dice speaks, despite their position which has Gentaro’s brain buzzing like radio static. Strangely, it’s somewhat placating, in a way.

“Well — I’d intended on tidying up while Ramuda’s away…” Gentaro musters up a teasing smile, a lighthearted jab. “If you’re attempting to have me fold your clothes for you, I’m afraid I’ll have to stop you right there—”

Dice laughs. The sound does strange things to Gentaro’s heartbeat. Difficult to miss while it thrums so vividly in his ears.

“No, not that.” Dice smiles. Gentaro can’t help but return it.

“But could I—uh—do one thing? Before you go?”

Gentaro can take a fairly good guess at what Dice is referring to.

He shuffles, wrist rotating the smallest bit in Dice’s hold. His grip is strong, warm, and noticeably firm. Dice hasn’t moved, not an inch from his close lean over Gentaro, but he’s suddenly all that Gentaro can see, smell, feel.

He’s trapped.

It’s invigorating.

Gentaro is somewhat proud of the light, careless hum he gets out. A flippant roll of the eyes before his gaze meets Dice’s.

“Oh fine, if you must.”

Dice laughs again. Gentaro feels that familiar swooping sensation.

“I’ve been dyin’ to do this all day.”

Despite the unaffected air Gentaro puts off, his body is already tensed up in wait. Free hand poised to the side, ready to fend off Dice’s experienced fingers. His waist, hips, stomach; they’re all compromised in this outfit, leaving him more vulnerable than even his home loungewear would allow. It’s anyone’s guess as to where Dice may strike.

Which makes it extra shocking when Dice suddenly drops Gentaro’s wrist. When he slips both hands, with a pre-planned speed, into the gaps of Gentaro’s billowing sleeves and under his outstretched arms.

Gentaro is able to clamp his lips together before Dice’s fingers make contact. It makes muffling his surprised shout marginally easier. The same can’t be said for his limbs.

Before he can even think about it, Dice has found his rhythm, spidering feather-light strokes beneath his arms. His fingertips are gentle, calloused, and so very effective in their unpredictable movements.

Gentaro’s shoulders lock up. He chokes back the bubbling wave of laughter, then clamps his arms down in attempted self-defense.

Immediately after, his spine snaps off the wall. Thrusting his torso flush against Dice, leaning in to cover him. He tosses his head back, a squeaky cry pathetically stifled as the feelings grow exponentially.

It takes all of Gentaro’s remaining brainpower to lessen the pressure of his arms against his sides, to bring his elbows a centimeter out from his waist. Because when he tries blocking Dice’s fingers—

Gentaro bites his lip against a particularly loud squeal; Dice using one finger on each hand to vibrate into the center of each hollow. Oh, please.

—when he tries to guard himself, he just pushes Dice’s fingers deeper.

“Mph! D-Dice!”

It’s debilitating. Dice rarely has access to his bare skin in most situations, but this may very well be a first for both of them. The skittering touch under his arms has Gentaro squirming, shaking. Every time his arms twitch down to stop it, he’s stuck muffling louder laughter at the added pressure he’s made for himself.

It’s all Gentaro can do to hold as still as possible; minimize the jerky, impulsive movements. But it’s so hard, and he’s quickly losing the battle with his volume as well.

What were once small, nondescript sounds are now squeaking—almost whining—noises. As Dice continues his careful track, sweeping soft fingers around and around and around each twitching hollow.

It takes Dice vocalizing aloud to get Gentaro to lift his head from the wall, blink one teary eye open and get a look at him.

Dice is smiling sweetly—no doubt a much nicer look than the hot flush and wobbly smile Gentaro’s trying to control—with his head tilted to the side. It leaves his neck and shoulder open, right at Gentaro’s head level.

He takes the invitation for what it is.

Gentaro quickly buries his face into the side of Dice’s neck. If he had the mind to think and the hindsight to see, he might have considered if this was well-meant aid or a well-sprung trap. It really depends how much credit Gentaro decides to give Dice. His scheming side is somewhat lacking.

Either way, it makes things much more manageable, and far less embarrassing when Dice’s fingertips turn to nails and Gentaro finally breaks, spilling surprised giggles into the other’s skin.

“Dihihice! What—whahat are you—ahahahaha! Wait! Th-that isn’t fahahahahahair!”

Dice had never kept his nails long before, not for so long as Gentaro has known him. He had no use for them, and it was much easier to keep clean with nails as short as can be. But he’s taken to growing them out, just a tad, for…special situations.

Situations where Gentaro is foolish, careless. Usually in the comfort of his own home, in clothes that make it too easy for Dice. To touch, caress. Warm hands over soft skin that finds another’s touch one part foreign to ten parts addictive.

Situations where the small scratch of a nail can amp the feeling of a tingle to a spark.

“Dihice, pl-plehease. I—aha! Oh no, oh pleheheHEHEHEASE!”

It’s so much easier to hide; in the warm, familiar grip of Dice’s embrace. Where he can smother his keening laughter and sudden gasps. No care in the world for his pink cheeks and ruffled hair, so embarrassingly genuine after the painstaking process of making him ‘modelesque.’

Where all he has to focus on is the rippling movement, scratching up and down the dips beneath his arms. A constant, offset graze on hypersensitive skin; gentle as can be but more than enough to drive Gentaro past the point of composure.

All too quickly, Gentaro feels his knees go weak. His back slips down the wall a fraction, hands gripping onto Dice reflexively.

Dice responds in kind, keeping him stable, then going the extra step forward. Literally.

He steps until there’s no space between them. Until Gentaro can be held up with no need for his own legs; just the cool, sturdy wall behind him and Dice’s chest against his own. He’s surrounded by Dice’s warmth, by his scent. It’s been only minutes, but Gentaro is panting for breath.

“Hey,” Dice mutters, softly, once Gentaro can focus on him. He tugs his hand free, chuckling along to the author’s stray giggle, before reaching up to cup his cheek. His thumb strokes habitually, eyes staring deep into Gentaro’s — searching. Always searching. Making sure he’s okay.

And he is. Better than okay. That’s not a lie, it can’t be, and the way Gentaro narrows his eyes, sends a challenging smirk Dice’s way — makes that abundantly clear. Dice drops his gaze, laughing to himself. Then he straightens up, thumbs the moisture from the side of Gentaro’s face.

“As I was saying…” Dice trails, locking eyes with Gentaro as he speaks. Watching the way they widen, lips pressing together, when his remaining hand flexes.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

#bee stuffs #side note I’ve never played arb #I just love their aquarium fits ✨#tickling #tickle fic #dhfhhfhdjd I don’t wanna tAG THIS #Hypmic #Dice #Gentaro #Gendice #Daigen #ticklish!Gentaro #this may be the first FP tickle fic and that’s the only thing I can be proud about #✌🏼

31 notes · View notes

vinciwolf · 3 years

Text

Bruised but Not Broken

Pairing: Cody x fem!medic!Reader

Warnings: 18+, light smut, angst, violence, blood, gore, death, alcohol, depression

Tags: @sunburstcody I wrote this for you.

You’re on the battlefield of war again. Covering your mouth with a gloved hand, your lungs forcibly expel the thick smoke. Blaster bolts whizz past your head as you crouch behind a fallen AT-RT walker. The clone trooper slumped against the machine groans in agony, head flopping to the side, as you try to ease his pain with a numbing injection.

With a steady, confident voice, you say, “You’ll be alright.”

But deep down, you tremble. Please, not another one, not another one.

You didn’t want another trooper to die. He was just a goddamn shiny! You wave down a passing clone trooper for help. Both of you take the wrists of the fallen clone and drag him behind the thick vegetation where the rest of the wounded were placed.

You take off the trooper’s helmet to assess his wounds. The damage is severe, like most wounds you have already become desensitized to. His neck looks like an unraveled mess of shredded muscle and tissue, jagged and pointing in unnatural directions. The blaster bolt that clipped him left his neck looking life a half-spere, bleeding profusely. While tossing backwards the flap to your medical bag, the absence of supplies cruelly laughs at your surprised face and sends a cold wave of dread over your skin. The entire bag is empty.

Trying not to make it obvious to the soldier, you advert your gaze and swallow the hard clump in the back of your throat. This clone trooper is doomed and there is nothing your can do about it. Rationally, you decide to return to the battlefield to save other potential survivors. No time to waste on the already dead. Before you can run back into the fray, the clone trooper clasps your wrist. You pause for a second, then kneel back down and grip the clone trooper’s hand tightly. Tears burn the back of your eyes.

“I—I don’t want to die,” he gurgles. “I don’t want to be forgotten.”

His face is a carbon copy of Jango Fett, but he has an intricate rose tattoo that stretches from his brow, over the side of his head, and down behind his ear. You also note his eyes to be a very rich earthy color, like when the soil is dark and saturated with water after a hard rain. But his beauty is short lived when ground-shaking explosions and echoing shouts from the other clone troopers sucks you back into reality. The clone’s eyes turn red and begin to wiggle with heavy tears.

Deep down, the terrible pit in your stomach wants to lurch forward and trade your life with this clone. So, at least, he could experience life without fear, or missions, or being taught that he’s disposable in the grand scheme of this war he never asked for.

“I won’t let you be forgotten—” your thumb brushes the tears falling form his eyes.

Despite his pain, he weakly smiles at the thought that someone – somehow in his pathetically short lifespan – actually cares for him, then he shut his eyes forever.

A single tear, heavy with thousands of memories like this one, burns the side on your cheek until in finally drops off your chin and absorbs into the blood soaked ground.

You didn’t even get his CT number… not even his nickname.

Blinking once, you bury these feelings into a deep place for another time. For now, you need to focus.

You remembered the look Cody gave you when your battalion returned to the shuttle. The standard white attire you wore is stained with blood and soot. He is truly a sight for sore eyes. Halfheartedly grinning, shoulders slumping in relief, you are happy he survived. The thought of another innocent becoming a casualty of war turns your stomach. Luckily, the few clone troopers who managed to survive are either put into medical capsules or hobble into the arms of their fellow brothers. You shuffle towards the commander and plop your head on his shoulder. He squeezes you in his arms then helps you into the LAAT. This planet was devastating, but it was won. You should feel good, but all you feel is painful exhaustion in your shaky legs and feeble lungs. Not to mention the invisible weight creeping onto your shoulders.

It is like this every time, all over again… and again… and again.

Guilt fills your aching heart like an overstuffed balloon. It is like clockwork. This stabbing pang in your chest rises intensely and fades after every mission. You rub the unseen soreness with your palm as the refresher gushes hot water over your squatted, naked body, the steam cleansing your lungs. It is not enough to cure the pain however, but you need to rid your physical self of all the grime – all the evidence – of the soldiers you could not save today. The dense mist shields your vulnerable form and the heavy pattering of the water drowns out your whimpers as you cry away the horrible events that plague your mind.

This… this small, private space in the refresher… had to be enough.

It is your only fortunate curtesy in these dark times.

Your first mission was on Kashyyyk and you were absolutely mesmerized by how densely forested one planet could be. Given that the temperature here was nothing like what you experienced at home, by the time your squad rendezvoused at the main base, your cloths had already become drenched with sweat. Taking a swipe to your forehead with the back of your hand, you began to understand why none of the other medic graduates willingly chose this planet. The only graduate on the list was you.

The commander glances at you.

“So, now the Republic is sending anybody these days. Pathetic,” he scoffs, probably eyeing you up and down under his helmet.

“I wanted clone medics, not greenhorns who’ll shit their pants the moment they land on the battlefield.”

Taking a step forward, Shots, the head medic, points at the commander.

“Oi! Watch it. She finished at the top her class at the academy and is one of my best trainees I’ve had on the field. She might not be a clone, but I’d entrust her with my life. Plus, the Republic needs all the help it can get.”

The commander dismissively waves at the both of you while turning on his heel and mumbling an agitated ‘whatever’ under his breath. Letting out a deep sigh and closing your eyes, you unclench your fists that you didn’t realize had formed during this rude confrontation. Shots turns towards you and pats his hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t be intimidated by these guys—” he points over his shoulder at the clone troopers with his thumb “—war does this to us clones sometimes. Makes us hard inside—” his fist thumps twice over his heart.

“Okay, when all hell breaks loose, just stay hot on my tail,” Shots whispers into your ear while your squad slowly proceeds through the thick vegetation. This was it. You first time on a real battlefront against the Separatists.

Keeping your eyes ahead, your mind did not process the sudden explosion of brain matter that splattered on your face. You look to the side, towards its origin. Shots, the clone medic who had been your mentor since day one, the clone medic who never doubted your medical training, is flat on his back on the ground. The brain matter came from him. Shots’ face, a face you had conversed with just seconds ago, is now perfectly hollowed out by a blaster bolt. You crouch down and stare at the dead clone medic, hands shaking profoundly.

He is not dead. This is not real. No way!

No amount of medical training could prepare your for losing a loved one.

Screaming grounds your focus. The blasters firing, the yelling, the smoke entering your lungs, the whole world rapidly woke up in your ears and everything is very loud again.

“Where the kriffin’ hell are these blasts coming from?” a clone trooper hollers while shooting into the forest, his brothers scrambling to find shelter behind the trees.

“It’s an ambush!”

“We need a medic!”

You run towards the clone troopers ducked behind a fallen log. Immediately, your adrenaline kicks in and you remember where you are, what you need to do. Pulling out supplies, you patch up their fallen comrade, but when everything seems to be smoothing out, a trooper bellows, “GET DOWN!”

You look up and spot the missile flying right towards your face.

You jolt awake with a startled gasp. Gulping down air, you realize that you are in your barracks. Safe…safe…for now. Looking down, you sigh at the state of your shirt. A dark stain in the fabric trails down your chest, sticking to your damp skin. You stand up and change into a clean shirt before heading over to the sink.

After splashing your face with some cold water, you peer at yourself in the mirror. Exhaustion looks back at you. The purple bags under your eyes only seem to become worse as this war drags on. Nothing can make this night worse. As if on cue, the rapping at your door frightens you out of your thoughts.

Stepping over to your room door, you click a button and it hisses open. You wipe your face with your hand, massaging the soreness out of your puffy eyes, and sigh a soft ‘what’ at the commander standing in front of you.

“You’re needed in the med bay,” Cody states.

Grunting in response, you turn around and begin to put on your uniform in silence. The commander steps into your room, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’m worried about you. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

You face Cody while aggressively putting your hair into a quick, messy bun.

“Did Kenobi put you up to this? Now he’s sending his commander to spy on a poor ‘lil, sleep deprived medic, huh?” you spit while adjusting your boots too tightly.

Cody does not respond and a twinge of guilt shoots through your stomach. Looking over to the commander, he is gripping his helmet a little too firmly and his eyes are adverted… deeply hurt.

“Oh, Cody… I didn’t mean that…” you confess, shoulders sagging.

Standing up, you cup Cody’s cheek and lift his chin to look at you— “It’s just… I don’t know actually…” I’m actually tired of burying myself beneath all this death.

“You haven’t been yourself.” He overlaps your hand with his large one, eyes softening.

“None of us have—” you let go of his cheek and wrap your arms around his armored torso, nudging your head close to his heart with a long exhale “—I’m sorry that I snapped.”

Cody’s free hand rubs slowly down your back as he pecks your forehead. Releasing each other, you gaze up at the commander and force a tiny grin.

Cody’s eyes sag downwards. “I… don’t know what to say.” I don’t know how to make things better for us.

“There’s nothing you can say.” I want to tell you that everything hurts.

As you veer around his presence, you pat his armored shoulder before disappearing into the corridor of the attack cruiser. Your heart screams for Cody to stop you from walking away. It feels like magnets pulling you back into that room, tugging your body to turn around and go back to explain everything. Inside your mind, however, you are blank of thought and ignore your instincts. The only thing filling the void is the agonizing screams and last words from the clone troopers you couldn’t save.

THE WAR IS OVER!

GRIEVOUS DEAD!

CHANCELLOR ARRESTED FOR TREASON!

Coruscant is in the midst of wild and loud celebration. At 79’s, the clone troopers drink and sing until they fall over, but Cody merely sits and stares at his untouched shot of alcohol in a private corner. Somewhere in the background commotion, Rex dances on a tabletop with two twi’lek, which makes the crowd of clones howl even louder. The floor screeches when the commander abruptly pushes his chair back to leave the bar. Nobody seems to notice his absence in all the partying.

Outside, confetti falls from the sky while rockets pop and squeal into the air, lighting up the night. Cody walks alone and passes the multitude of citizens embracing each other. None are the wiser about the commander walking by them – a soldier who helped end the war – as he navigates through the streets of Coruscant. He doesn’t mind though because there is only one person on Cody’s mind that he wants to see.

Standing in front of your apartment door, Cody hesitates for a moment before finally unlocking it and treading inside. He places his helmet on the kitchen counter and looks around. So many memories reside in this small place. Your couch still remains were it was the last time he visited your home. That couch where he kissed you for the first time and decided that this is the only person he wants for the rest of his life. Shaking his head with a fond smile, he continues his investigation.

Sliding open the door to your bedroom, the commander expects the worst when his eyes glance towards an empty bottle of wine abandoned on the floor. He scans the room and finds shattered pieces of glass littering the carpet, a red dot staining the nearby wall. The commander assumes that you must have obliterated the wine glass in your fit of drunken rage. Holding his breath, Cody’s eyes widen at the dried-up specks of blood accompanying the mess. He finally takes a step past the bedroom threshold and notices the outline of your body beneath the mattress covers.

Your body becomes larger as Cody slowly advances closer to the bed, boots dodging the sharp pieces of glass. He notices your arm, hand wrapped in gauze, poking out of the mountain of blankets. His fingers gently brush your wrist. Sighing with relief, the commander relaxes from the light thump of your pulse against his fingers. You groan in sleepy annoyance from his cold touch and retreat your arm into the safety under your huddled-up covers. Cody grins slightly in amusement. Pulling up a chair next to your bed, he tenderly shakes your shoulder to waken you.

Slowly but surely, you peel your heavy eyelids open with a throaty groan then glance up at the commander sitting close beside your bed. You say nothing and just await the reason why he is in your room on this particular night. Cody closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before finally breaking the stillness.

“The war’s over. I thought I’d find you with the rest of the boys celebrating, but you never showed.”

Looking at your damaged hand, you remark, “I was… busy.”

“If there’s anything on your chest, you can tell me about it.”

“It’s all over now. The war’s over. There’s nothing to talk about anymore.”

“No!” Cody snaps. “Somethin’s eating you alive inside. I’ve noticed! And—and—” his voice softens “— I want to help… Please… I love you.”

That I love you stung.

You give up hiding it. He already knows and there is no point keeping secrets from the man you adore… the man you trust.

“This day isn’t fair! We won, so what? I’ve never felt less accomplished in my entire life—” your fingers dig into the bedsheets “—I couldn’t save them—” you blink away the squirming tears obscuring your vision “—they all died and never got to see the end.”

Cody understands immediately who you are talking about. The clones. His brothers.

“We were bred for this—”

“Y’all are more than just stupid numbers, Cody! He had a name! They all did!”

You scream in agony into your mattress as your walls come tumbling down. After a moment of letting go of the pain, small hiccups pipe from your aching chest as you slowly calm yourself down.

“It’s hard being the one who survives. That’s a burden I – all my brothers – will have to carry. But not you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Not knowing how else to help you, he lifts his hand and slips his fingers beneath yours, helping you ease your grip on the poor mattress. His thumb rubs gentle circles into your skin while the atmosphere goes still again. Unspoken understanding passes between the two of you. No words had to be exchanged as you share this silent moment with the commander.

Then, in the dead quiet, tears filter down your cheeks. You did not know where they came from, but you didn’t feel sick anymore.

Cody is there. He takes off his boots and armor and slips into the bed, wrapping you with the most protective hug. This warm space inside his arms calm you, but the tears still fall. Peering up into the commander’s face, you giggle uncontrollably when he kisses your red, puffy eyes. He keeps kissing you until all the tears are dry and you stop crying, then he slows down and takes his time. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you embrace the commander and the hands running up your sides.

Cody's body rocks together with yours in slow, sensual movements. Your arms firmly grip around the commander’s torso as he takes care of you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear while warmly caging you beneath his weight.

His strong arms bend backwards to hold your thighs with his calloused hands. The affection in his thrusts is unrushed. His hips roll in big, smooth circles to memorize your walls, to memorize the way you softly whimper and pant from the endearing pleasure he gives you.

You are his world. He wants nothing more than to keep you here in this moment forever to show how much he loves you. Luckily, he'll have so much more time to do so now since the war is over.

Your head lulls back into the soft pillow, mouth agape, as you allow yourself this moment to unwind. As Cody's cock delves rhythmically into your folds, you moan with each stroke. The tip of your ears heat up from the way this man above you tickles your neck with feather light kisses. He strokes your thighs with his thumbs, making sure not to buck too harshly into your hips. Tears begin to burn your eyes again.

This man is making love to you.

Cody – after everything he has been through in this war – still somehow retained his gentleness. But now he is sharing some of it with you in order for you to heal.

The commander continues to whisper into your ear as you silence your whimpers in his chest, hands coming to rest on his pecs to feel more sheltered and secure under him.

"Everything will be okay," is all that he repeats. "Everything will be okay."

Smiling, you believe him while he gently wipes away your tears with his thumb.

#commander cody x reader #commander cody fanfiction #commander cody #commander cody x you #the clone wars fanfiction #star wars fanfiction

161 notes · View notes

pyroclaststan · 3 years

Text

CW: This is the softest shit I’ve ever written

You’d asked Kingsley to come over and do your hair as a joke [mostly]. You knew they were hesitant to be in your space on the best of days, and almost always avoidant of any kind of touch or personal interactions on any given day. It was made very clear very early on in your friendship how high Chrysanta’s walls are but it’s always made you try harder, tease more, push often—never too much.

Not out of disrespect for their boundaries, but because it was also made very clear early on in your friendship that they had no friends, and if there was one thing you could say Kingsley needed in this world it’s friends. Maybe also someone to pry the stick up their ass loose, too, but even your hero self can’t work miracles.

And here they are: ringing your doorbell, hood up over that ratty cap you’re dying to throw away, feet shuffling, and a bag over their shoulder. Maybe the look on your face as you opened the door shouldn’t have been such a cross between excited and shocked, because they flinch immediately upon seeing you stand in the doorway, arms held wide.

“Do you want me to w-wait until you get dressed to come back?” they ask, looking pointedly away towards the bottom of the stairs for someone tailing them.

A mental note to figure out what’s up with the ‘who’ of that situation one day, but for now you take a look down at yourself. Gym shorts and a tank top: who knew they were such a prude? You that’s who, but only when they are outside of their uniform and around you it seems. That’s why you chose to ditch the sweatshirt you’d had on before answering the door… and it’s also the height of summer in this godforsaken city.

“What do you mean?” you cross your arms and tilt your head, playing innocent, making sure your braid falls over your shoulder. “I’m in my own home, firstly, and secondly: I am clothed. Not all of us need to be covered head-to-toe with eighty layers in this heat.”

They shuffle again, and you know the hand that isn’t holding the strap of their duffle bag is in their jacket’s pocket doing their tell: the clenching and unclenching of long, strong hands; vascular and calloused, often bloodied or bruised at the knuckles but still beautiful in their rough way. You squeeze your eyes to cut that random thought right there, disguising it as a reaction to the intense orange-toned daylight bleeding into your cool apartment.

“Chrysantamum, get the hell inside: looking at you is making me overheat,” you chide playfully, pulling them in by the strap of their bag and catching them off-guard, so much so they half-stumble through your front door, ducking lower than even they need to.

Jodidamente gigante…

Pink cheeks are quickly hidden as they reach up to pull their hat down lower, head bent in attempted irritation. Closing the door and setting the lock as they walk past, you watch as their back hunches so much that it makes you worry about their spinal health, and not for the first time.

“Jules, you can, uh, you can just say ‘come in’ like a normal person,” they huff, removing their bag from their shoulder but keeping it in hand.

“I could, but when have you ever accepted an invitation of mine?” The gaze you direct at them is cutting: visual representation of all the times you’ve extended your courtesy and company only for them to shut you down, cold and completely.

And speaking of cold, is that a bead of sweat on King’s face? You figured they were immune to the heat: they’ve never been about anything but dark colours and multiple layers.

Maldito lagarto gigante. You know, you didn’t curse nearly as much before you two became friends. Not as creatively either.

“That’s… fair,” their shoulders sag, defeated by their own admission and unaware of their agreement to your internal insult. You win two in one. “I should’ve expected you to get h-handsy anyway. You’re tactile.”

“I’m tactile? How many times are you gonna squeeze that hand of yours?”

They freeze at your smug face, hand immediately retreating from their pocket and down to their side like they’ve been caught red-handed. Anathema used to keep a tally of how often they did that but the whiteboard turned black.

A small sigh escapes your lips as you step past them to head towards the couch: neutral territory that keeps you from crowding King until they relax. You know the drill by now. “Oh! And you know the rules: no hats on indoors.”

“W-what?” it’s almost a whine. “I always wear a hat when I’m with you guys.”

“That’s at HQ—this is a home, Sidestep, it’s basic etiquette. Were you raised in a barn?”

“On a farm,” they murmur, giving in to your request. They’re a little bit of a shit from time to time, but they’ve always been respectful of basic manners in private—raised right by someone at some point, you suppose. You’ve always noticed how well they set a table, pull out a chair, take a coat. Classic manners instilled young, that much you can tell.

There’s a coat hook that you put up on the wall recently—for them—and after setting their bag by their feet, their top two jackets adorn it. A bomber and an all-weather? They had to be boiling walking out there. That ratty cap is pulled off and placed over them, too, so you watch as they take down their thick curly-coily hair, swiftly collecting strays back into the bun to no avail. Fidgeting begins once they’re done and realise there’s nothing to thread their hair through, unused to being uncovered.

“How do you not melt out there?” you ask in disbelief, fanning yourself dramatically. “Can you seriously not just put on a single t-shirt, like a regular person?”

“I like the weight.” It’s a short tone that tells you that string of questioning is closed, and instead their focus goes to taking off their shoes and setting them down neatly below their jackets, heels against the wall as a sign they’re staying.

Deliberate motions, unsure emotions.

“Sure, okay.” Leaning far to your left you pat the seat of the couch three times, signalling them to sit their ass down which they do slowly, taking their bag back into their hands.

It settles into their lap as you sit back and watch them: eyes running all over—casing for exits—and hands fidgeting nervously. Inviting them over always feels like entering a kennel pen with the way you have to sit back and wait for them to settle into your space with you, but you’re used to it. It’s kind of endearing, really… in some kind of vigilant way you can’t quite explain. Or at least, it’s become endearing. Traitorous eyes once again find themselves settled on Kingsley’s hands.

“What do you want?”

You startle, face flushing at the thought that they caught you staring and got annoyed, but when you look up they’re still staring straight ahead. This is an opportunity to take in their profile, always having been drawn to their sharp jaw and the pronounced line of their cheekbone since they’ve been unmasked—tracking the cloud of freckles on their skin and some faint scars here and there. Counting the numerous ball hoop earrings that cover the entire edge of their ear, you’re reminded of your old therapy tricks, the calm helping as you quickly gather your composure. Keeps you cool and sane while they become a ball of unrest.

Five things you can see, four you can touch, three you can hear, two you can smell, one you can taste—or whatever combination works best for your surroundings. It’s been a long time since you’ve needed that trick.

Realisation hits that they’re still expecting a response.

“What are my options?” you tease in a soft flirty tone you can’t fight; teasing them is just so second nature nowadays.

King sits a little straighter as they pick up your double meaning, then cover their face by leaning forward into their propped-up palm as if bored—fooling no one in the room. You know they’re anything but bored by how their fingers tap, and soon the leg starts bouncing just as you knew it would.

“That’s up to you th-this time. Just don’t pick anything that’ll have your PR team suing me or breathing down my neck. Remember when, uh, when you dyed it blue?”

“It was temporary!”

“And they still freaked.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you concede with a pout. Not as much freedom as you’d like has came of your stint in the Rangers so far. Sure, you can walk, you can fight, you can muck around to your heart’s content, but you’re still on a leash. One that you’ll be expected to pay off. “I don’t know—I didn’t really plan on you actually showing up.”

A quick frown in your direction. “Gracias por el voto de confianza, polla.”

Okay, geez, so you both rubbed off on each other.

“No offence!” you put your hands up as a gesture of peace. “You just don’t like coming around.”

“I’m not used to coming around,” Kingsley corrects, looking at you, “I like coming around...”

As they trail off your heart leaps at that; your stomach flips, you’re about to respond when—

“…you’ve got A/C” they finish, turning their head, smiling that dammed crooked smile at their own joke.

There’s a quiet huff from you that mimics theirs as your ego deflates a little. That was a jab in true Sidestep fashion, sure, but you can’t help but feel a little… disappointed.

Sidestep—Kingsley, King, Chrysantamum—is looking at you expectantly now. “Well?”

“Dealer’s choice,” you get up, looking anywhere else as you pace. Can’t stand sitting this still this long much less with their gaze on you.

The sound of them lifting off the couch quickly stops you in your tracks.

“What? Y-you’re just gonna let someone do whatever they want to your hair?”

“Not ‘someone,’ you—I’m letting you do whatever you want to it. It’s just hair.”

“It’s not just hair!” they exclaim walking fiercely up the edge of your personal space, surprising both of you. They take a long step back, a pause of quiet as they collect themself and stand straight, making them taller. “Hair is… it’s personal. It’s…” a look of discomfort as they trial off, “intimate.”

You didn’t expect this: for them to get some up-in-arms about hair of all things. Looking at theirs, for the first time you start to think about all the work that goes into those long curls. The care, the maintenance, the time. Cultural and personal significance as well, you assume.

You smile with a softness that melts through you, “That’s why I asked you to do it.”

The look that passes over their face is the closest thing to affection you’ve ever seen. There is sorrow in their brow, but the tiny smile on their lips and the way they hold eye contact with you says… everything. Then it’s gone as quick as it came, eyes averted, hands pulling at the sleeves of their hoodie, their feet shuffling. Those tiny little things that they consist of, live by, exist with. It is always about the little things with them: it occurs to you that this may be a big thing. Maybe they need more time to—

“Alright,” a cracking voice cuts you off before you can ask the question that was still building, “grab a dining room chair, a tall one, and meet me in the kitchen.”

Kingsley’s already moving, mechanically yet fluid in the way they walk over, picking their bag, and navigate around and past you as you’re walking in their path. Nervous muscle and hyper focus—so like them it makes you smile. You diverge by the dining room, heading over to pick up a chair as directed, confused as to why you’re taking it to the kitchen.

“Shouldn’t we be in the living room or bathroom?”

“Living room has nothing we need, bathroom’s too small—I uh, take up most of the space as is.”

You avoid imagining the two of you crammed into that private space.

Looking at them again as you approach, you watch the way they deftly unpack: eyes locked on the contents, right hand grabbing items and tossing them to the left without a single shift in their line of sight. Thinking. These little pieces of themself that Kingsley leaves around your apartment always make it hard to resist inviting them.

It’s too much, too fast for them, sure. But there is something about Chrysanta’s presence in your home compared to anywhere else. It is quiet—it always is despite their size—but it is rooted, in a way they never are to any thing or place or moment. Their steps are slower, their movements more eased, the calm they feel reflected in how little they stutter or panic because they can’t feel you in their confusing telepathic way.

“Where should I set the chair?” you ask softly.

“At the sink.” Not bothering to look at you to respond.

As soon as you set it down, facing the sink, Kingsley’s hand reaches out and turns it around.

“One more, please,” absently said as they set up all of whatever it is they’ve brought, set to boiling water, and wash their hands at the sink.

You muse on how they’ve always reminded you of a surgeon, the way they wash up or are exacting in their ministrations. Absentmindedly, you ponder if they’d have made a good med student, leading you to wonder if they’d ever had plans of what they wanted to grow up to be when they were young—outside of a vigilante. You nearly bump into them with the chair during your daydream before their hand quickly snakes out to catch you by the shoulder.

“This one is for me later, we can leave it over here.”

As swift as they stopped you, the chair is out of your hands, and you realise you’ve never seen Kingsley so… in charge. The way they move through this small space like it’s their own world in yours.

In charge of Charge, you chuckle to yourself at such a dumb joke. Sounds like a tag line to one of those adult movies they make about the two of you. They spare a glance your way.

“Alright, I’m just gonna g-grab some towels. Go ahead and sit.”

“Yes, sir, Marshal, sir,” you call out cheekily as they walk out, following orders with a small laugh.

There is a small well of feelings that has been bubbling in your stomach and you’re not quite sure what to call them. ‘Sir’ sent a small ping of questioning to the back of your mind. The two of you never quite discussed what kind of words Kingsley likes being directed at them. Masculine or feminine, in the way words are gendered. They’ve told you they’re not a woman, but they’ve also expressed that they’re not a man either, or maybe they’re both—it’s new to you, in the sense that you’re not sure where you stand without pre-conceived societal notions as a guideline between the two of you.

Would they like to be called handsome? Or beautiful? Is there something else that fits? Would attractive be a safe word to use? Does anyone compliment them? Should you do it more?

You shake your head, focusing on undoing your braid instead, settling your face back to a small smile as soon as they walk back in. They move the saucepan of hot water off the burner, setting a jar of oil in the centre, then busy themself with a small box they pulled from their bag.

“Shall we?” they ask, looking at you as they put on a pair of tight black nitrile gloves.

“Is this an examination?” you joke nervously, pointing at their hands.

There’s a cringe when you think of your last mod check-up, invasive and impersonal. Your brain can’t help but carry on, thinking of hospitals and your various stays in them. You don’t like them as is, but Kingsley’s proximity to you has made you even more wary of them; the panic they show when you bring up medical attention sometimes is sobering.

“No? I mean… uh, I’m not calling you dirty, but I don’t know how clean your hair is, and you d-don’t know how clean my hands are.”

The look on your face must have been either offence or murder because they take a step back, hands up.

“It’s a health precaution! I’m just being careful,” they croak.

“I wash my hair!” Your tone is indignant.

“I know! I’m just being safe!”

“I feel like I’m going in for a pap sm—“

“Alright alright!” they yell to cut you off, face red up to the ears at your unfinished sentence. “I’ll take them off as soon as I’m done washing your hair.”

“Thank you,” you give their hands one last nervous glance, only eased by the thought of how attractive the gloves makes them look. You sincerely hope the sudden mortification at that is not showing on your face, but they’re already turning their back to you.

“Wait, Kings,” you interrupt, “take off your hoodie.”

“W-what?” You do not miss the look of absolute panic on their face.

“It’s gonna get soaked handling all my hair,” you clarify.

“And my sh-shirt is gonna get wet if it isn’t on.”

“But your shirt will dry faster.”

“You have a dryer—my sweater can be dried.”

“Well… about that...” your exasperated laugh and a wiggle of fingers from your raised hand tells them all they need to know.

“Julia. How the hell did you break your dryer again? I just fixed it!”

“It wasn’t on purpose this time—there was a static build up!” Your hands slap you in the mouth as soon as the sentence finishes. Your eyes widen as Kingsley’s narrow.

“This time?” their voice is low, their eyes sharp.

“I uh, may have broken it to get you over here for dinner that time…” The half-hearted chuckle you let out is fake even to you.

“Julia.” A stern glare.

“…Kingsley?” Utter avoidance of eye-contact.

“That’s incredibly dangerous, first off. And I’m not a maintenance worker. You don’t pay me for that.”

“I can absorb any electricity that comes my way and I pay you in food,” a quick retort, regaining composure. “And I got you to stop avoiding the simple notion of a meal together as if I were threatening you with a gun.”

There is a specific face they make at that, and for the umpteenth time in your life you wish you knew what it was they were thinking.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever—just sit down and shut up.”

From anyone else that would sound rude, but that’s simply Sidestep’s tone. The impact is also lessened by the movement of them removing their hoodie, leaving behind a loose long-sleeve that briefly reveals a long-sleeved compression shirt tucked in beneath. The upper layer had lifted while they were pulling the hoodie over their leaving the outline of Kingsley’s back muscles and bra lines on show before they fixed it.

Just a friendly look at your friend’s back. Friendly-ly.

Mouth not at all dry.

“So what’s on the menu? What are we doing?” you cough as they position themself in front of you, looming even more than usual now that you’re sitting.

They reach behind your head and your heart skips; they gather all of your hair carefully and lift it with the gentlest touch, moving a hand to guide you to sit all the back by the shoulder.

“Luckily your sink is low enough that I can lean you back for this to work,” they hum, setting your hair into the sink and tilting your head back, “I’m uh, only used to doing my hair texture… I’ve never done someone else’s hair.” They swallow hard, suddenly nervous. “First: shampoo, maybe a deep cleanse. An oil or deep treatment mask, heat treatment to that for thirty minutes. Rinse it out, then moisturise, comb, and braid.”

“You’re gonna give me braids?” you smile up at them, the orange light of outside slipping through your blinds against their skin and yours. They look bronzed in the lighting. “Like yours?”

“Not quite,” they laugh. “Something more l-like French braids or not-quite-cornrows. I don’t think your hair could support the protective styles I do. I don’t… think so at least? My curls are much tighter than yours.”

“You don’t know?” Teasing.

“I’m not a, not a fucking aesthetician or cosmetologist or beautician, Ghoulia. I’m a vigilante—I don’t get paid the big bucks to make people pretty, I’m usually the one fucking ‘em up. For free!” They sigh heavily, pulling at their gloves to make a loud slap noise as they let go to shut you up.

You giggle quietly, only for it to grow louder and your shoulders to start to shake as Kingsley pulls you forward to set a towel around your shoulders, then let’s you fall back into place before they lean over to turn on the water and pull out the sink hose, adjusting your hair once more.

“What are you laughing about?” they ask, looking down at you, smiling softly and holding you by the back of the head with one hand.

“Did you just… did you just call me fucking Ghoulia?” you burst out laughing uncontrollably.

“You literally call me Chrysantamum—that’s not a worse pun?” they ask, spraying the top of your head with water playfully before setting to work rinsing the rest thoroughly.

“I mean… yeah! That’s so much worse!”

The laughter carries on for two more minutes, much to Kingsley’s displeasure—and your abs’.

“Sidestep Spa… you could make good money with this.”

“No,” they cut you off. “Hair is… like I said, I’ve never done someone else’s. Hair is personal. It’s trust.”

You stare silently at them, considering their words. Is this you showing trust? Or them? For you, this had been a joke but… not anymore. You understand now, as their fingers carefully and dextrously work through your hair: you feel the mutual connection, respect and trust. It feels like a ritual; some kind of magic never really touched on by most.

A thoughtful look at Kingsley. You think of the things they share with you, and that seem to mean something to them. Food, space, and hair. Those must be their love languages: how swiftly they make sure you’ve eaten and how careful they are right now. How often they sit with you on rooftops for a sunset and a beer. The light pulls and parts; the way their fingers massaging into your scalp threatens to make you melt into your chair, and the rinsing calms you.

You think, suddenly, to your mother. The days of your youth spent sitting between her knees as she pulled your curls and waves into a neat braid before you ran off to cause a ruckus. Of her styling your hair the ways her mother styled hers. Hair that connected to your culture, your roots, your family. It dawns on you that this is what that must be for King, too—especially having grown up viewed as a woman.

Time flies by while you’re lost to the memories and motions.

Even now, as you sit in the chair with a warm towel wrapped around your head and with the hot oil they prepared working it’s magic, they don’t sit still. Instead their hands are busy with small bowls, a brush, and a fork, mixing things together into a larger bowl.

“Making your hair mask,” they comment absently, feeling your gaze on them. “Fresh ingredients are better. It’ll help repair what your stylist’s constant flat-ironing damaged.”

Pelo malo, you remember unkind neighbours saying to you. You remember your mother yelling at them in turn, before pulling you close on your walk home, petting your hair.

You think of your mother’s hands as they mix with a fork. It takes you back to a different kitchen, to the sounds and smells of pancakes sizzling on the cast iron griddle. The ingredients they mix reminding you more of a meal than a hair product: honey, avocado, yogurt, brown sugar, banana, apple cider vinegar. You don’t even bother to ask how they came across some of those ingredients here in the west, you know they have more tricks than they let on.

Chrysanta’s movement back into place directly in front of you drags you back into the present fully, tracing details of their face in the rarest moment of absolute openness. No shields, no walls, no topics. Just their hands as they carefully unwrap the towel, taking great care not to pull your hair or have anything drip onto you instead of the towel.

As they rinse your hair, once again focused on threading fingers gracefully and massaging your scalp and hair, your eyes close.

You wonder what Kingsley’s life is like, outside of you and the Rangers. What their childhood was like. What their youth was like. What their teen years were like. You’re not even sure how old they are now. You wonder about questions you know you can’t have answers to, because you know they won’t tell you. Questions you think might hurt them if you asked.

More so, you wonder what their family was like. Your eyes open and you wonder if Chrysantamum ever sat in a chair like this, with their mother lovingly washing her daughter’s hair at the kitchen sink like a right of passage. If kind hands cared enough to catch every curl, with kind eyes at her child like they were the sun—the light of her life. If she’d smooth down King’s baby hairs with the same long, swift fingers and small smiles, or brush them down just-so. You think she would have been beautiful: both young Kingsley and her mother. You look at them again, while they’re focused, and wonder if their grandmother is in their features like your’s is in yours.

You think about how Kingsley can’t cook: was she not there to teach them? Was their mother not there either? With their hunger now, you bet they needed to eat so much as a child, and it hurts to ponder if they ever went hungry from the way you see them ration their leftovers.

You close your eyes as they part sections of your hair, cool bare skin on your scalp now, and the occasional rat tail of a comb catching stray hairs. Part, a dab of oil, a clip to hold the section: you can practically hear the steps light up in their head. As careful and precise with hair as they are with machines.

You think maybe they like machines because they don’t muddy the waters with feelings. Feelings—accepting or giving—do not come easy to them. And you have learned by now that what they feel is best determined by their actions, not the words they use as sword and shield against others. You wonder how they feel. Looking up at them does not make it any clearer, but…

They rub the mask between their palms to warm it, and you know somewhere in you this is love. This is as close to love as they know, and that is enough for you.

There may be lingering confusion in your feelings: you have always been attracted to men, and they are not a man—but they are also not a woman. There may be some hesitation to take a step from friendship with someone who means so much to you. But whatever you both have to give, when you’re both ready, will be enough for you.

You can imagine that little girl: too tall and lanky and active for their own good. Bruised knees and scratched arms and torn dresses every time they came back into the house in the evening, like you when you were young. Maybe the two of you would have been good friends back then, too. Maybe the world wouldn’t have gotten to Kingsley so much if you’d been there with them. It’s nothing you can change now: you know better than anyone that the past stays behind where it can only hurt you if you try to go back to it.

They look down at you now, the mask application finished, and survey the soft look in your eyes, the light smile on your face with a mirrored one of their own. You too, see the small traces of confusion flash by, but it melts away. The eye contact held as their bare hand comes up, brushing against your forehead softly as if to move stray strands away you know they’ve collected, then down the side of your cheek as if to catch some oil left behind they never dropped. Excuses for intimacy that does not come naturally to them. And right now that is enough.

“Do you think I should cut my hair?” you ask softly, hoping they see in your eyes how much their opinion truly matters to you. More than anyone’s ever has.

The question brings a sharpness to their brow, eyes still soft and searching.

“Do you want to? If you want to, do it—I’ll help. However I can.” Their face hardens. “Don’t ever let those stylists tell you what you can and can’t do for yourself. Don’t ever let them make you their doll.”

The last sentence is spat like venom; there’s a deep bitterness in those words, in that choice of words, but you know that’s a question you cannot ask.

You reach up and gently pull a curl that freed itself from Kingsley’s bun. You watch it stretch, far longer than it looks, and let it rest again, pushing it from their brow. You wonder what Kingsley looked liked with hair as long as yours, or what they’d look like with it even shorter. You wonder what colour they’ll braid in next, what length of braids, and if anyone ever gets to help them.

Their soft gaze breaks, reaching for the hose one last time to rinse the mask from your head. There is a new kind of quiet blossoming between the two of you as they rinse: a maybe, an almost, a sort of. An electricity even your mods can’t match, a feeling in the pit of your stomach even hunger couldn’t touch.

And when they begin to carefully dry your hair you ponder what it will mean in the future—what it means now. There is a soft tap on your forehead, twice, and you know that means to lift the mask but you’re not the one who wears it, so you turn your gaze upwards instead. Chrysantamum is leaned down, far enough to be close to your face, and their face is soft and their ears are red. That bright green gaze looks to your lips and back to your eyes, the tilt of the head a question, one you know well: may I kiss you? Your question. Just as you know the answer as you smile softly like they do, and lean in for them to catch your lips, always soft and questioning—never wanting to lock you in, never asking for more than you’re willing to give, never staying long. You part slowly, smiling softer than you have all night.

They suddenly knock the towel off your head and flee to the living room cackling, knowing you’ll give chase. Always one step ahead. You don’t disappoint, throwing the towel after them and bolting over to catch them in a kiss as they turn around. Charging in. For just a few minutes more you stay entangled, hands at the back of each other’s necks—another small intimacy with grand connotations.

When the two of you settle back into the living room— King on the couch and you between their knees—you wonder if this will one day become a memory you can fondly look back on. If you will remember the sepia tone streaming in through the window, the feeling of their fingers as they separate your hair—moisturising and combing, and of the soft pulls as they carefully weave braids along your scalp.

“Think PR would be pissed if I p-put a teal ribbon in your braid?” they ask with a surprising cheekiness.

“I’m a hero, not a cheerleader,” you complain with no actual objections. “Put a piece of jewellery or something instead.”

You hear their hands ruffling in their pocket, so you turn to look, curiosity piqued. They remove a few small charms, the kind you’ve seen in their own braids, twists, and locs. Pumping their brows at you cheesily, they put the hair tie in their hand between their teeth, moving to get a better grip on the braid they’re working on.

A few pulls you don’t quite feel later and you hear a little “Ta-da!” as your braid falls over your shoulder. You lift it up to get a better look and you see a charm woven in seamlessly: a small piece of turquoise more teal than blue.

You lean forward a little, drawing your knees to your chin with an arm around them, fiddling with it as the two of you fall into silence. The sensations of their hands on you, and the comfort of your home around them.

Right now, this is more than enough for you.

#I owed y’all something Sweet #the mischief scribbles #Fallen Hero: Rebirth #Pre-Rebirth #MC: Kingsley Chrysanta #Julia Ortega #Chargestep

24 notes · View notes

ronalddear · 3 years

Text

Bathroom.

hi again! This is another drabble/missing moment set during dh after the wedding. Again this is only my second time writing any fic so it's very amateur.

This was requested by @nuttybeardetective , and was inspired by this post of mine. Ron is vaguely prudish in this but seeing as this is only my second time writing, I don't think I'm ready to write full-on smut yet. hope you enjoy <3

WARNING: none except for language, because it's Ron ;)

WORDS: 1515

The dim cold ambience of Grimmauld Place did nothing to soothe the uneasiness of the wedding attack and Ron was utterly fed up. One week after their untimely arrival at the grim house enticed them to try and settle into their temporary 'home'. At least physically anyway, Harry was now occupying Sirius' room in reserved isolation and after another night of sleeping adjacent in the drawing-room, he and Hermione had wordlessly agreed upon sleeping in their respective rooms that they'd occupied during the summer before 5th year, with some unannounced hesitation on his part.

The minuscule amount of clothes he carried was unpacked, his worn toothbrush now stood in the cup designated on the 2nd story bathroom, opposite his bedroom. The kitchen table was now draped in Hermione's lists and notes of all sorts, a map of the Ministry adorning the centre. Yet Ron felt as if mentally he was still at the Burrow, packing the extra healing supplies from the bathroom cupboard or stood in the stuffy kitchen, duplicating his mother's kitchenware to stuff into his rucksack.

The immediate thought of the burrow made his stomach drop and his head spin. The forced confinement made him feel ill. It felt as if he was in deep quarantine and had no knowledge of the world outside. This scared him so intensely that his paranoia was at an all-time high after a week without family communication. Surely the whole Horcrux-hunting fiasco would last longer than a week? A couple months maybe? Could he go that long without his serene home, the sunny hillside near the refreshing pond, and his family, who were at risk of being imprisoned or killed because of their non-prejudiced beliefs?

His stomach dropped again and his shoulders sagged under the scorching heat of the water flowing across his frame. He discovered that hot water was helpful for him to relax, only temporarily of course but it was much better than the frigid water in the small shower the burrow housed or the short-lived heating charm that made him feel as if he was showering in lukewarm tea rather than a proper hot shower.

His only downside was that his creamy skin was almost brick red, yet somehow his freckles showed through like a common childhood disease that Hermione had mentioned getting in her early years. He could not remember the name. His hair laid flat on his head, a darker red when wet but now longer than a quiff, he ran his gangly fingers through it, sweeping it back but failing to contain a few stray pieces, which dangled near the curve of his cheek and tickled his ears.

Goosebumps spread across flesh the instant his heels touched the cool tile. The sudden temperature change brought about a shock and he scrambled for his towel to aid his chill. After hastily wrapping it around his waist, he clumsily aimed for his vest to wear until he got to the room so at least he wouldn't freeze to death. Vest in hand, the metal toothbrush cup clanged off the side of the counter, making a ruckus in its wake.

Vest now over his head and arms, bunched just under his chest. the cup was replaced to its original spot and a good few swears had escaped his breath. He bent across the counter to clear the mirror of the steam that emanated from the shower when he felt the slightest brush against his bareback.

"Shit!"

"Sorry!'

His hand frantically searched for his wand to provide defence but unless towels came with pockets then he was out of luck. Hermione's alarmed voice stabbed through the bathroom and the echo lingered for a bit, just enough until he processed that she was in front of him. Her eyebrows were raised and her mahogany eyes were wide after she jumped away from him suddenly.

"Um..Hi.” she started with a great inhale.

Ron's heart rate hadn't returned to normal and his mouth was agape at the sight of her so suddenly appearing in the bathroom. Where he was. Alone. Until she came in of course. So now it was just him and her. Alone. He suddenly became very aware that he had just come out of the shower and was revealing a particular amount of torso, which was probably solid red now with a litter of freckles that he didn't fancy too much himself.

"Uh hey?" he started, completely at a loss of how to conduct the situation, while he sheepishly smoothed down the vest along his stomach. She couldn't have come in here to discuss Horcruxes right? Actually, he wouldn't put it past her to do just that, to be honest.

"I uh.. well I came to shower and I realised that you were still in here, still are in here so.. but yeah your vest was rolled up a bit sorry, just wanted to.. uh fix it, yeah, sorry." she stumbled over her words a lot, something he'd never heard from Hermione but she seemed to speak extremely fast yet agonisingly slow and deliberate at the same time.

She was breathing in deeply again and his eyes fell to the stray tight curls that graced the nape of her neck which her haphazard-looking ponytail exposed. The bathroom was quite dim and the yellow glow from the dingy lights fell just barely on her dark skin. Skin. His eyes travelled a little further to see she was wearing a vest herself, no a camisole, he didn't know what it was but his gaze was hooked on the space between her shoulder and collarbone. He had the urge to touch it with his lips.

He quickly averted his eyes as to not embarrass himself but they glanced over her bare legs in moderately short cotton shorts and he sucked his breath in so hard he was now bent at a slight curve, stomach clenched and breath hitched. He was quickly overwhelmed at the intimacy the situation opposed. Hell, he couldn't believe he was describing an interaction with Hermione as intimate. His ears were on fire surely, he'd need an Aquamenti to put them out if he survived.

"Oh", his voice heightened toward the end and he internally cringed so hard he thought he was going to combust.

"Yeah", she whispered, her eyes were on his arms, his brain scars were fully displayed and swirled across his recently filled out arms.

"I thought you were using the bathroom near your room?" he spoke softly and slowly, drinking in the sight of her lips, which she was toying with impatiently, now flushed.

There was an urge to cover his arms but he resisted and tried to focus on a chipped tile near the door. He failed as soon as she spoke once more, her voice clearer this time and with, almost, determination?

"I think I like this one more." she spoke, referring to the bathroom seemingly but her eyes were nowhere but him.

She intentionally made eye contact and his heart dropped to his lower stomach, his chest unnaturally warm. Wasn't this room cold as shit before? He was smart enough to know that bathroom was the last bloody thing she was talking about but words failed and he was more than happy to let her steer the conversation.

"Can I ask why?', he managed, his mouth was dry and he was sure he's never wanted anything more than for her to touch him, anywhere, she could slap him if she wanted and he would relish her skin on his.

Their breaths were erratic now, you'd swear they'd run a marathon twice over. Her chest was rising and falling agonisingly slow. He was still bent a bit so he was leaning towards her and she seemed to have gotten closer since she jumped back earlier. When did that happen?

"It's a bit more spacious I think, prettier interior as well", she whispered, swallowing halfway in between and added in the last bit staring so far into his eyes that he swore she was probably seeing through his head.

Pretty. Did she just say pretty? He was pretty sure she said pretty. No one had called him that before and if she had just called him fucking pretty he was going to die on the spot. Her words kept repeating in his head, soft and intentional. His entire body was frozen and he knew that the ground wasn't cold enough to make his legs tremble the way they were now. She gazed up at him and he swore he saw a glint of satisfaction after his reaction.

"Right, well, I'll let you have it then..Enjoy.", he applauded himself in restaining his voice from wavering at the end.

She gave a small thanks and he started to walk towards the door, her to the shower. Her bare shoulder touched his elbow at the exact moment her eucalyptus shampoo wafted towards his nose and he swore he almost whimpered. Their eye contact was only broken by the door closing and Ron almost collapsing on the other side.

PLEASE REVIEW! <3

#my fic #fic rec #harry potter headcanon #hermone granger #ron weasley #ron weasley fanfiction #ron weasley defence squad #ron weasley appreciation #romione #romione fanfiction #romione fanfic #ron x hermione #hermione granger headcanon #the golden trio #this is really long again sorry I just love details #hope you enjoy

49 notes · View notes

siennahrobek · 3 years

Text

He hadn’t realized it, but Alpha-17 had been waiting for this moment. This time. Whatever.

His loyalty had always been to the Republic, rather strictly, thanks to his training and upbringing, even though it never seemed like the government had cared about him or anyone else. It was something he was used to. The trainers didn’t care about anything but what they were being paid. The Kaminoans didn’t care about anything aside from progress in their work and perfection from the clones. Before, it hadn’t mattered. He did his job; that was his purpose, his whole reason for being. There was nothing else.

And then the war started. The Jedi came.

And then, despite the death and fighting and everything else, the jedi cared.

General Shaak Ti and General Kenobi had been adamant to save the clones still in tubes during the first invasion of Kamino, despite the fact that it would have been more efficient and easier just to destroy them.

They had been steadfast in saving lives.

Time had gone on and the jedi fought alongside them. Died alongside them. They encouraged speech and individuality and names.

Alpha-17 didn’t exactly know when his outlook had shifted but it had and now, he had committed mutiny against his planet, against everyone, to save his brothers from being brainwashed completely, to have the one thing they had freedom of taken away. He had committed mutiny to help them, to help the jedi. The Jedi that the clones had been made for, the jedi that had accepted them so readily and the jedi whose fates were intertwined with their own.

It would be about three days until they would arrive and virtually every single clone was working nonstop. The city was near completely torn apart by the time the ships under Kenobi’s command came into their space and kept off to the side of the planet, far enough away that they could make an escape if a ship began to fire upon them.

Alpha-17 and Commander Colt messaged the ships, indicating their safe orbit around the planet. Several gunships come down to the planet side with an entire slew of jedi and clones. Commander Colt had found General Shaak Ti and sagged in relief but Alpha-17’s attention was behind her, where General Kenobi strode off the gunship with Commander Cody and Captain Rex by his side.

Storming up to them, Alpha-17 stopped in front of the trio, staring at General Kenobi up and down with such intensity, he nearly thought the Jedi would combust into flames.

“Uh…sir?” Captain Rex questioned.

“At least you’re wearing some armor again,” Alpha-17 told the general instead, rather gruffly. General Kenobi’s smile was a bit weak but no less genuine. “Where is that scamp of an apprentice of yours, he’s usually right behind you.”

“It is good to see you, as well, captain,” General Kenobi greeted. “Your blunt honesty has been sorely missed. I am sorry to say that…that Anakin’s allegiance lies with the Empire now.”

“The Empire that tried brainwashed my brothers and tried to kill all the jedi,” Alpha-17 replied, flatly. Wordlessly, General Kenobi nodded. Alpha decided not to say any more on the matter. “We have a war room set up. Your bridge said you need to try and contact any of the jedi out in the field.”

“Yes, we have warned many, but now we have to plan on what we are going to do as well as thoughts on where to rendezvous,” General Kenobi explained. “It is also a bit of a roll call, as we don’t…know who survived.

“Master Kenobi,” a new voice called out as a human man walked towards them. Alpha-17 looked over and watched him warily.

“Alpha-17, this is Battle Master Cin Drallig,” General Kenobi introduced to a long-haired Jedi. “I think you two will get along fairly well. Master Drallig, Captain Alpha-17.”

“Well met, Captain,” the battle master greeted. Alpha-17 imagined with a title like battle master, General Kenobi was probably, irritatingly, correct. He did sound like someone he would perhaps get along with. “I have a feeling we may be working together often.”

Alpha-17 took his hand with the shake. “Why would you say that sir?”

Battle master Drallig just smirked. “Just a feeling.”

The captain led them towards the inner workings of what was left of the city and towards the large room with a nearly just as big holo table. There were already several jedi and nearly just as many clone officers standing around the edges.

He watched as General Kenobi, flanked by General Ti and battle master Drallig, straightened himself, taking a deep breath before the giant holo table flickered to life, the visage of several jedi and sometimes their respective commanders with them popping up in blue form.

There was many of them.

He imagined it was a relief to the other jedi. Alpha-17 tried to take stock of all those who were standing around. There were a few that Alpha-17 recognized, including Wolffe’s general, General Koon and Bly’s as well, General Secura but for the most part, he knew very few of them. The former looked as calm and put together as always, even though his arm was bandaged up to his side. General Secura was leaning forward, her own holo call trembling as her eyes nearly blazed which looked still intimidating even with the slew of wrappings around one of her lekku.

“As many of you are aware,” General Kenobi started, coolly. “The Republic has fallen, an Empire has rose in its place with the dark lord of the Sith at its head. We have been deceived and in it, the Temple has been lost. Former chancellor – now emperor – Palpatine is the Sith Lord we have been searching for.”

There were gasps all around, horrified stares and even a bit of pained denials.

“Right under our nose,” General Secura snarled.

“It is…very good to know that many have you survived,” General Kenobi interrupted. “We have a lot more pressing matters to attend, however. One of my communications officers, Menace, will take down everyone’s names of here and I will want you to tell him your situation so we can keep track. If you are not with your soldiers and/or do not have access to a holo table and are listening via long distance commlink, Menace will be your voice and ears if necessary. Whatever you need,” he continued, gesturing to the clone that was sitting in the corner, surrounded by equipment. He looked up and waved, indicating his presence.

There were nods around the table.

“We are currently on the planet Kamino, picking up any supplies and the clones that wish to come with us,” General Kenobi started up again in explanation, keeping his back straight and his posture perfect that even Alpha could appreciate it. “We do not know how much time we have so we are quickly working to evacuate all the young ones, the clones and then any resources they want to take.”

“I know…. I know they were chipped and that is not their fault,” a general Alpha-17 didn’t recognize said warily, swallowing heavily. “And they have the right to choose… but can we trust them?”

There were very few bristles but mostly shifts in posture with glances away from the Jedi.

“I have worked much with Alpha-17 during the beginnings of the war,” General Kenobi replied, firmly. He could see General Shaak Ti and a few others straightening with a near looming presence. “I trust him. Although first loyalties were to the Republic and the Jedi second, since the Republic has been replaced with an Empire…”

General Secura snickered with a gleaming grin. “Loophole.”

“And with him is my Commander, Colt, who I do trust,” General Shaak Ti cut in, seriously. Although her expression was as collected as he had ever seen it, her tone was underlaid with something that would not be argued. Commander Colt smiled faintly, just slightly shy at the praise.

“It appears that you are doing well in facilitating our survival, General Kenobi,” General Tapal commended with a nod. The Lasat General shifted while his padawan, a young human child, glanced up at him and grinned, keeping himself so close to his master that he was nearly hanging onto him. General Kenobi acknowledge him and then glanced towards Healer Che to take over.

The twi’lek healer had been one that Alpha-17 knew, he had spent some time in the healers, ward and he had come to respect the master healer. She was no argument and never took any crap from anyone.

“The chips within the clones are not difficult to remove,” Healer Che started to explain, pulling up diagrams and scans, clicking and swiping through some of the holo table as she sent the visuals to the others across the galaxy. “If one has the right droid or scanner, it is a very simple surgery. The only problem is you need a level five minimum atomic scan to find it which I don’t think many ships have. If you have the requisite medical droid, I would just allow them to do it. It does not take long, and the recovery time is short,” she added, calmly. “If you have a scanner capable of the level of scan and excellent medics with steady hands, they can remove it fairly easily if you would like.”

“However,” Commander Colt cut in. “If you find yourself in a pinch and being surrounded by activated brothers, we do have a pulse that will nullify the effects of the chips for several hours,” he added, pulling up his own research to replace that of the healer. It showed schematics on a small generator. “Only use it once and only if necessary because we don’t know the effect of several pulses. It should give you enough time to escape. I will have General Kenobi’s officer send you the specs of its creation. All ships should be able to scramble up the parts fairly easy.”

“That is a start,” General Koon rumbled through his mask and vocoder, shifting his wounded arm. Alpha-17 could see Commander Wolffe barely concealing a snarl right next to him. “Is there any other way to avoid the chips being activated? Do we know how they are activated?”

“Currently, at least the Empire’s voice does that with specific orders,” Alpha-17 found himself stepping up to speak. “It started with Commander Cody after he got a call from the emperor. We suspect he probably contacted, or tried to contact, the Marshal Commanders and from there, the Commander’s orders would relay the activation.”

“Proximity also appears to be a large way of the activation being spread,” Commander Colt added.

“So, we limit communications as much as possible, especially with the clones until they can be de-chipped,” General Secura shrugged. “That seems mostly doable.”

“But where do we go from here?” an older jedi rumbled.

“Right now, we move away from the Empire. Start moving towards the outer rim, towards wild space,” Battle master Drallig started, his voice rather booming in the room they were in. “The Empire will start to scramble what forces and resources they have to come after us and our men. They know current locations so move, group together if you can. If you are near another jedi or fleet that has not been activated, join together.”

“I am working on which planet would be the best to retreat to,” an older woman with tightly bound white hair, stepped forward. Her voice was no nonsense and serious with no room for argument. “I have a team as well helping to figure out the best place to go. Because we need a planet that is inhabitable to accommodate as many as we can, outside of the Empire’s view and not within their memory.”

“You have not gotten there yet,” one of the field generals noted.

She shook her head. “Not quite. I am working as quickly as I can. We cannot be running around trying to find a planet. It will be some time for all of us to come together, but we will keep in touch.”

“Ration your food, take care of each other,” General Shaak Ti added. “And fuel, get it where and when you can. I imagine very soon the Empire will make getting resources very difficult, if not impossible, to gather. Gather what you can.”

“I imagine we will have quite the fleet,” General Billaba hummed. The padawan next to her barely suppressed a snicker.

“That leads me to my next point,” General Kenobi added, glancing between Commander Cody and Alpha-17.

Alpha narrowed his eyes, suspiciously as he waited for the general to continue.

“Like I told the jedi here, I have offered the clones a place with us,” he started slowly. “And like I said, I know I didn’t particularly have the authority to do so but…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Master Koon assured with a bit of a chuckle. “I do believe it would have been unanimous.”

“And well, Alpha-17 and Commander Colt had already committed mutiny with the intent of following us,” he added, glancing at Alpha-17 with a dry, vaguely amused look. There was something else there in his look that Alpha-17 wasn’t entirely sure on. “However, I have noted that if any freed clones do not wish to make this journey with us, we will let them go to wherever they would want, with our blessings.”

Alpha-17 was a little surprised by the nods around the room, although even he could tell there was some vague disappointed even through the calls.

“I will relay it to the others,” Commander Cody said, although Alpha-17 knew him. His tone had a tint of dryness. “Don’t expect any other answers, however.”

“Same here on Kamino,” Alpha-17 grunted.

He doubted anyone else could see it but something in General Kenobi’s shoulders shifted.

“Besides,” Commander Colt interjected. “We don’t really have any experience with cadets, we could use some help with the tubies,” he admitted.

“Tubies?” a general echoed.

“Babies,” General Shaak Ti amended with a smile.

“We are not abandoning the galaxy,” General Kenobi announced with a breath. “But we need a plan. We must rebuild, regain strength before we can do anything about the Empire. We will not abandon people, nor the rest of the clones.”

“But we do need a plan,” General Koon agreed, nodding.

“Which we will do,” battle master Drallig assured.

“We will find somewhere very ancient, old and obscure. Far from minds and memory,” the white-haired woman added. “A place of refuge where we can plan our next moves.”

“Does anyone have any questions?”

“I’m sure I can speak for everyone when I say numerous,” General Billaba noted with a curiously raised brow. “But I do imagine you will not have much time to gather from Kamino and get away before the Empire catches up.”

“Menace will gather a list of everyone,” General Kenobi started again. “Please keep in touch with him and his team with updates on your positions as you move so we can keep together. Everything we add will be coded. He has a few things to send to you as well.”

“We have survived thus far,” General Koon rumbled, the vocoder easy and low, nearly crackling through the call. “And if we work together, we will continue to survive this.”

***

“That seemed rather successful, Master Kenobi,” battle master Drallig noted with a sly smile as they walked out of the war room. The large holo call had lasted a little longer, with more questions, answers and suggestions. Commander Cody, Captain Rex and Alpha-17 walked behind, following the jedi easily. The others had filed out, the six of them were some of the last few, leaving only Menace and his team to gather a list and give out necessary information. “Many are alive,” he added, glancing over at the other generals.

“There is hope,” General Shaak Ti agreed, calmly. “And we must also keep in mind, there are very possibly still others who have lived but were unable to make contact. We should have Menace’s team to search for other commcodes to send messages, just in case.”

General Kenobi nodded. “That is a good idea, Master.”

“I will return to the ship and set it up,” she hummed.

“I have something you need to see,” Alpha-17 announced, shooting a glance at General Kenobi. His mouth had been moving before his brain caught up but at this point, he figured it would be a good moment to do it. He was met with a rather fond but confused look. “It won’t take long.”

“Alright,” General Kenobi replied with a small shrug. “Commander Cody, Captain Rex, would you mind going with Master Drallig and Master Shaak Ti back up to our ship for a final count on what field Jedi have responded and survived?”

Commander Cody gave the both of them a rather suspicious look but the few of them walked off towards the landing platform where their gunship would be waiting. Alpha-17 barely waited before he gestured for the general to follow, unwilling to impart answers as he walked through what was left of the city. They got towards his destination and opened the door.

Good, they were still waiting for their transportation to one of the cruisers.

“Hey guys,” Alpha-17 greeted a group of younglings, gruffly, his voice mumbling through, trying not to sound too fond of the inhabitants of the room. “I brought you someone you’ll want to see.”

The room was full of a small group of cadets, nearly a dozen of them. They were all the same, as the clones were, and the expressions on their faces were nearly exactly the same as well but their voices shifted into different types of gasps and light screeches.

One of them stepped forward towards General Kenobi, eyes shining as he stared up at him. General Kenobi just glanced down and then looked back up at Alpha-17, quite thoroughly confused. It was almost comical.

“Is that…” one of the children asked.

“Yes,” Alpha-17 affirmed.

“General Kenobi!” they cried in shock, nearly tripping over one another to get a closer look. General Kenobi just smiled warmly down at him, taking it in stride as he walked forth into the gaggle of children although he was completely bewildered and puzzled, and it showed.

“Hello there,” he greeted softly as he let the kids climb over him.

“Seven!” one of them shrieked, making the captain crinkle his nose in some irritation. General Kenobi just shot him a small laugh, shaking his head. He had no idea what was going on but if there was one thing the alpha clone knew, he loved children. The young clone glared at the captain with a firm pout, shaking his head vehemently. “You did not tell us we were going to meet our finder.”

“My apologies,” General Kenobi said, already holding a child in his arms and several others clinging to his legs as he turned towards the captain. “I’m your what now?”

Alpha-17 groaned lightly and shook his head, nearly bringing his hands up to cover his face, the cadet staring at him, intently. He let out a sigh of resignation and then a breath as he began to clarify. “General Shaak Ti, when she visits the cadets, she tells them about the Jedi. She tells them a lot of things,” he explained. “I don’t know how it happened or where it came from, but she told a class once about Jedi finders, their role in bringing children to the Temple and into the Order. She explained their importance and how many children had relationships with their finders growing up. When she was asked…she rather insinuated that our… the clone “finder” was, well, you,” he explained, a bit uncertainly. “It kind of snowballed from there and now nearly every young cadet class knows and well, thinks that way.”

General Kenobi stopped and stared at him for a long moment. Even Alpha-17 could determine his reaction.

And he kept staring.

Would this man just have a reaction already?

And then, abruptly, he burst out into such laughter to the point that Alpha-17 nearly thought he was crying. The general hugged the child in his arm closer and laughed some more, his shoulder and whole body shaking from the movement. Apparently, he found this hilarious, Alpha-17 mused.

“I would love to be considered your finder, dear ones.”

He was glad he had brought General Kenobi here, for this small moment.

***

He had originally intended on going to General Kenobi’s flagship, but he was redirected towards a modified cruiser that had appeared not long ago by the battle master Drallig. The trip was quiet and although Alpha-17 was fairly certain he wasn’t anywhere near force sensitive, even he thought he could feel the gratitude and happiness echoing off of the General.

He had made the right choice, starting his mutiny without approval.

As they walked off the gunship and onto the docking bay of the venator, General Kenobi let a small, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome, general.”

General Kenobi opened his mouth to say something else, but his eyes caught sight of another, and his gaze dragged over the area. He stepped back, nearly tripping over a box as his eyes widened.

“Sir?”

The general practically flew across the docking bay. Alpha-17 caught sight of the battle master, Drallig, at the other end, alongside another jedi. Dark skin, even darker hair, weird yellow stripe over his face and nose. Alpha-17 felt like he had seen him before. Nonetheless, Alpha-17 jogged after him, quickly on his heels.

The general nearly threw himself at the other jedi, tightening his grip around him in a fierce hug. Such public display Alpha-17 hadn’t seen from his general was rather rare so this must have been an importance person to him. Kenobi tucked himself into space, squeezing the man tightly. The other jedi looked utterly surprised but before he could even think of hugging – or not – back, General Kenobi hastily pulled away a few steps and didn’t even meet the other Jedi’s gaze.

“My apologies, Quinlan,” he murmured, shaking his head. “That was uncalled for, I do sincerely apologize for touching without permission. I will take my leave.”

The other Jedi – Quinlan – looked just confused and befuddled in a way that almost, just almost, would have made Alpha-17 laugh. He didn’t even think a jedi couldhave that expression. General Kenobi hurriedly shuffled away down the hall, presumably towards the bridge.

“What was that about?” Quinlan asked, glancing at the battle master for answers but his eyes ended up trailing general Kenobi as he walked away. Alpha-17 was ready to follow him but for the moment, somehow his feet wouldn’t move.

The battle master sighed and frowned. “Anakin Skywalker has fallen to the dark side, and he is now the new Sith apprentice. He is the one who led the attack on the Temple.”

Some kind of understanding fell upon the Jedi’s face as it twisted into something horrified of some type.

Alpha-17 didn’t know what that meant.

“Force,” he whispered under his breath.

And then he took off after the general. Alpha-17 rolled his eyes and sighed, barely catching a glimpse of the battle master before jogging off after him. “Again,” he muttered, keeping just behind the unfamiliar jedi.

“Obi-Wan!” the jedi shouted out.

General Kenobi stiffened and hesitated before finally stopping. He let out a soft sigh and turned around, forcing himself to look up at the man. “Quinlan,” he greeted, fairly evenly despite the shaking in his voice.

“Hey, hey buddy,” Quinlan murmured, carefully putting his hand on General Kenobi’s pauldron. “Master Drallig told me about Anakin. I’m so sorry, Obi-Wan.”

General Kenobi took a shaky breath. “I don’t…I don’t think I can really talk about it right now,” he admitted quietly, just barely leaning into the other jedi’s touch.

“Alright,” he agreed, and he didn’t seem to bothered by the notion. He quite quickly changed the subject which ended up being a good call. “Dex says you have a friend for life, ya know.”

Glancing at him, General Kenobi ended up with a small smile. “You were one of the jedi that Dex said he had.”

“Yeah. I found Master Windu. He’s in pretty rough shape but I think he might make it through, probably because I got him into a bacta tank quicker. Wanna hear how I took over the entire medical venator star cruiser,” Quinlan said with a grin.

An eyebrow raised on General Kenobi’s face but there was a relief in that, probably due to the fact that a jedi he knew was alive. “You…took over a ship? Full of clones around Coruscant.”

The long-haired jedi laughed. “Oh, let me tell you. It was kind of awesome. Not as hard as I thought, considering. But since I am a shadow, so you know, it is part of my skill set,” he winked and it made the general smile back at him, although lightly.

Alpha-17 just walked and listened as the jedi went to a full, long tirade about how he had taken over the ship and escaped with the clones. He couldn’t help be grateful, the jedi had rescued hundreds of his brothers, some of which may have been killed outright due to the fact they were sick or wounded. Still, he already had the feeling that this Quinlan character was kind of annoying.

“Dex is amazing, let me tell you,” Quinlan had said with the biggest grin. Something must have been going on with General Kenobi in the force or whatever because practically every time the man twitched, the other jedi would get happier and speak brighter. “I made a plan and needed some guys to help me out. Within the hour, the hour, Obi-Wan, he had gotten me a lineup of dozens of beings to pick from for my heist. He has got some serious connections!”

General Kenobi smiled and it was warm. Alpha-17 could almost feel it. “Dex is good like that,” he agreed. “I found Kamino because of him.”

Quinlan continued to explain the rest of the couple of days. His plan had been mildly impressive and well thought out, even Alpha-17 could begrudgingly admit. The jedi did not go in halfcocked and impulsively. And the fact that he checked to make sure there wasn’t a jedi on board, so the chips probably hadn’t been activated was probably smart. At least he didn’t jump aboard the first ship he came across and took over the bridge, just hoping nothing would go wrong.

There were a couple medical stations across the galaxy and several more pelta-class medical frigates that traveled with wounded soldiers aboard. There wasn’t a medical station orbiting Coruscant, as they were around the rest of the galaxy. Clones weren’t allowed to be treated on planet mingled with the regular citizens, although the Jedi often treated clones in their own Healing Halls frequently. They didn’t just go around turning people away who needed care.

One of the large venator cruisers had been converted into somewhat of a medical station, or at least, used as one. It was the main place where clones were treated for illness or injuries, when they could make it there. It was a good one to take over, he imagined, if one had a good plan. Which apparently the master jedi had.

There must not have been any jedi stationed at the medical facility during the time because Quinlan explained how he made sure that none of the chips had been activated. He had shut down communications with jammers around the ship and eventually took it over, locking up most of the natborns that weren’t cooperative and confiscating long range commlinks. Men were locked in certain portions of the ship to where they were stationed, at least those just handling the ship. Medics themselves were dechipped so they could continue to help those who needed it. Everything was neat and tidy and even Alpha-17 had to be impressed.

It was not only a well-thought-out mission and operation but a successful one as well. Quinlan had brought back an entire venator crew of clones with as well as many other, although wounded, brothers as well.

By the time he was done, General Kenobi’s smile was rather wide, and he offered his congratulations to the other jedi. He was thankful, Alpha-17 quickly realized. Not only had he saved people that General Kenobi valued, but he had kept his mind off of Skywalker. He hadn’t even pushed; he didn’t even ask. Nothing circled back to it.

The jedi explained about the Commander he came across, Hound, and how he had helped him. The guy was a mad man and apparently, Quinlan appreciated that sort of thing. They had rather hit it off, along with his mastiff, Grizzler, who went everywhere Hound did.

Alpha-17 wasn’t sure whether he should be worried.

“Do we know who all survived?” Quinlan asked, nudging General Kenobi gently.

“One of the officers, Menace, is compiling a list of those who have responded or were present at the meeting,” General Kenobi replied with a nod. “As far as I could tell during the meeting, it seemed quite a fair few had blocked communications or escaped in time. Aalya was one of them,” he assured. “She looked just a little banged up but okay. Her troops weren’t activated.”

Tension fell from Quinlan’s shoulders. “Thank, Obes.”

“Of course,” he added. And then, his commlink beeped urgently. General Kenobi opened it up and a gruff voice burst though. “This is Kenobi.”

“Master Kenobi,” battle master Drallig replied. “You should get back down to the loading bay. Something has happened.”

Several medical officers rushed down the halls around them. Alpha-17 caught one of them by the arm, stopping him abruptly. “Officer, what is going on?”

“A ship came out of hyperspace a few minutes ago!” the soldier reported, worriedly. “It open fired on one of our ships and then stopped. We think it is full of activated clones and there are injured jedi,” he said before pulling away and running off again.

General Kenobi swallowed heavily and the three of them chased after the group back down the hall. The loading back was a mad house of yelling officers and wounded soldiers. Out in space, it could be seen one of the ships was partially on fire with several fighters surrounding it, ready to destroy if necessary.

“Whose ship is that?”

A rolling cot ran down from a ship towards the hall. Alpha-17 watched as General Kenobi stared wide eyed. The man on the gurney was a male, a jedi from the robes, he imagined with short blonde hair that was practically soaked in blood. There was a lot of blood.

A lot.

General Kenobi’s breath got caught in this throat, his eyes wide and his hand gripping Quinlan’s vambrace so tight he thought it would crack. “Master Feemor,” he whispered.

“Feemor?” Quinlan muttered under his breath. “Where…”

Alpha-17’s old general backed up a few steps as a realization came across him. “Oh God, Ahsoka,” his head whipped around, frantically. “Where is Ahsoka? Has anyone seen Ahsoka Tano?!” he shouted out, turning and turning and turning.

“I…I’m here, Master,” a new, feminine voice announced, although rather quiet. The three of them turned around. There was a clone next to her although he had quite a few mechanical parts, more so than Alpha-17 had seen on any others. A Togruta jedi was standing there, her arms hugging herself and her eyes downcast.

General Kenobi sighed in relief. “Ahsoka, what in the galaxy happened?”

#we are burning stars #we are burning stars au #they live!#order 66 #order 66 au #many survive #pro jedi fic #pro jedi #pro clone #jedi positive #look this got a little long for this story #honestly i can't believe how long this story is #yikes #im a bit jittery so im just gonna leave this here #the fate of luminara and yoda is unknown #otherwise i know who survives #currently #i think haha

21 notes · View notes

starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “My Beautiful Sun.”

And end to another arc. And yes I know I am better at writing angst than fluff, so if you guys want some fluff, I am going to need some recommendations or ideas . I hope you like it and I hope you have a great Thursday!

The space above fiery A136 was quiet, a marble of glass hung in a vacuum of darkness. Fire licked silently across the planet’s surface as rain clouds gathered along the border of light and dark.

The star sone with increased intensity, white hot through the darkness. A myriad of satellites, space stations and the occasional abandoned mining ship orbited the planet systems of light blinking in the darkness.

One of these ships, a luxury civilian transport was on the bright side of its orbit, silhouetted against the fiery star=, the lines of white where the sun hit and pools of black where it did not, making a sharp contrast upon the face of the ship between light and dark.

It seemed a peaceful thing, hanging there in the darkness unsuspecting of thwart was to come.

ON the far edge of the planet’s orbit, there was a sudden whirling and a sharp flash of light as another ship appeared from the darkness.

It was hulking, massive, and painted black against the stars, only its blue highlight strips gave any indication there was a ship there at al. She crawled from the darkness stealthily slithering through the starry expanse until her shadow bore down on the unsuspecting ship.

***

Fiery starlight spilled in through the front window, tinted just enough that they were not completely blinded by its awful magnitude. A figure stood against the burning light, unmoving, arms crossed over his chest.

On his shoulder there sat a smaller figure all colorful fluff and impossibly large eyes.

“Lord Avex….”

“Yes, Admiral.”

Deploy the grapples… and don’t bother to be gentle about it.

***

Sunny sagged against her chains, her legs dumbed from the increased drugs. The dosage they had given her far outweigh any of the other doses that had come before, insuring that she would not move during the procedure. As limp as she was, she worried about her joints dislocating, as her shoulders were the only thing holding her up.

“Hold it steady.” The man ordered, and she could feel the cool, clammy tough of the man’s hand on her lower left arm as the last bit of her forearm carapace was stripped away. The cold was immediate and unpleasant, and the feel of the air against her bare skin made her want to scratch it off. It was a horrible sensation that she detested immediately.

Looking down at her arm, the only thing left there was the grey, gore stained skin cut with abrasions and pale from never having seen the light . The sight made her sick, as hideous as it was, and she used the last of her strength to turn her head away.

The man held up what was left of the carapace, “Ah, that should be enough for three vials, don’t you think? He walked across the room, and Sunny watched in hopeless anger as he fed her shining armor into the machine, grinding it into powder right there before her eyes. From there it dripped down into three bottles, and held them up to the light, “A little less than I thought we would get, But it should be enough.”

He walked back over the the fancy woman and handed her the vials, which she looked down at with distaste.”

“Is something wrong ma’am.”

She turned to look up at him as if that had been a stupid question, “Not as much as you were expecting? That sounds like you are short changing me. When I came here for three vials.I wanted three vials of the promised size, not a little less than what we were hoping for.”

The man held up his hands in a defensive way, “Ok ok, my apologies. We will get you some more.”

He turned to look at Sunny, and she knew what was coming next.

The circular saw blade began to spin slowly as his partner held it at the ready, lowering his goggles down over his face.

And then the ship jolted violentl.

The man pitched forward, nearly imbedding the circular saw tool in his own face, but catching himself at the last minute. The fancy woman keeled over backwards and hit the floor hard as her shoes unbalanced her, and the third man slammed sideways into the chains, releasing the mechanism that held her up, and causing her to fall to the floor. She didn’t really feel much when she hit, she hadn’t been all that high up anyway.

Out of all of them, her descent to the floor had been the least violent.

One of the men stood, “What the hell was that!”

The massive clatter of metal, was accompanied by the groaning of the ships hull which deflected and popped against the weight of something. Sirens began to go off overhead as the two men leaped to their feet, while the fancy woman struggled just to make it to her knees.

One of them raced over to the coms and slammed their fist against it, “What’s going on up there.”

There was no answer for a long moment before, “We are being boarded, sir!” The voice was frantic, and on the other end of the line Sunny could hear more metallic screeching.

The ship continued to vibrate and scream as the group of men staggered their way across the floor.

Sunny tried to lift her head, but didn’t have the strength.

Her mind moved slowly.

Being boarded.

Could it be?

But no…. That was too much to hope for…. Wasn’t it?

Next to her the other Drev shifted and lifted their heads.

The man pressed the comm again, “Someone do SOMETHING.”

“We can’t, sir they have shielding.”

“Than get rid of their shielding!”

The man on the other end of the line went quiet, “We aren’t going to win this one boss.

“Get the escape pods ready then.” She snarled.

“I can’t sir, its a magnetic grapple field, so nothing is getting out of this.

THe man howled in frustration.

There was a sharp thud on the outside.

“How could they even get in?” one of the men wondered, “There is no outside access to the airlock.”

Just then another voice came over the line, “Sir, sir something has taken over out internal computer systems…. I I don’t know what it is but I….”

There was a loud THUD from somewhere below them.

“The airlock!” someone yelled

And that was when Sunny began to laugh. It was so startling, that the entire room went quiet as they turned to look at her. She wasn’t really amused, but there was a part of her, one that was very smug about what she was sure was soon to happen.

“What are you laughing about, scarab.”

She continued to laugh for a long moment, “You’re fucked.”

“What is she talking about.” The woman demanded.

Sunny laughed again, “I know whose ship that is.”

More laughter

The men looked concerned. One of them pointed the circular saw blade at her, “Tell us!”

She giggled manically, “That’s the Omen.”

“What do you mean the Omen.” The man said nervously, shuffling his feet, “I mean you dim bastard THE omen. The pride of the UNSC fleet…. Captained b Admiral vir and a crew of a thousand men and aliens. Celzex weapons, Vrul shields…. And GRAVITY enabled grappling fields.” She began to laugh again.

“He’s coming…. Hes coming.”

Her manic laughter had clearly unsettled then, and her warning made it all the worse.

“Someone…..I, give me the damn blowtorch.”

Once given his prize, he thrust it at one of the other men and pointed towards the door. Outside Sunny was just beginning to hear the sounds of distant carnage, “Weld it shut!”

WHen the man didn’t move at first he nearly went ballistic, “DO IT NOW.”

Sunny began to laugh again.

The man still holding the saw blade turned to look at her, viciously kicking her in the side, “Shut up scarab.”

The man at the door was having a tough time getting the idea to work, and with everyone screaming at him and his hands shaking, it was doing no real good.

That was probably why the door didn’t last more than a few microseconds. With a loud screech and thunderous bang the door was ripped off its tracks. The six inch thick metal door, not just dented open or blown inward, but kicked out of its brackets and completely detached from the wall all together, with such a powerful force, it slammed into the first man and sent him back gnarly three feet, slamming into the floor, unmoving.

When the sparks settled, and the room quiet, Sunny heard the hydraulic whirr and hiss as two feet clattered against the floor.

Smoke from out in the hallway filtered in through the floor as the figure stood at the door.

The first human, the one at the intercom, raced forward, a steel pipe having appeared in his hands some minutes ago. He swung it at the newcomers head, but it was useless, he cot the steel pipe with the queal of metal against metal, forearm to pipe, and then ripped it backwards out of the man’s hands , sending him flailing to the floor.

The second man came at him with the only weapon left available: the whirring circular saw.

He caught that too on the metal of the exo skeleton and then droe it hard downward, sending the circular saw blade cutting right into the man’s foot and sticking him to the floor. The man screamed long and loud, but his attacker did not heed him, spinning once with a backhanded swing that sent the pipe careening into the other man’s head, with a violent THWACK.

The second man wrenched the saw blade from his foot with a roar of pain, but it was knocked aside and went clattering across the floor as he was punched in the sternum.

There was a sharp crunch as he went staggering backwards and hit the floor very still.

Behind him, a group of other figures poured into the room.

One figure, big and red, grabbed two humans by the backs of their coats and threw them into the nearby wall with a sharp clatter.

The original figure knelt on the floor fist drawn back, ready to send his fist through the man’s head.

“ADAM! HELP HER!”

His fist stopped and grew still. For a moment the man below him looked relieved, but with a sharp blow to the face he was knocked unconscious.

Adam stood, blurry in her vision as he raced over to her side.

She heard the soft hissing of the Iron eye suit as he knelt next to her.

Strong hands and warm arms grasped around her chest and middle, hauling her partially upright where her head leaned against his chest. He held her tight, tight enough that it should have hurt but she didn’t care.

“Sunny…. Sunny can you hear me?”

It echoed around and around inside her head.

Carnage nearly drowned him out.

A hand pressed against her cheek, “Sunny, Sunny please say something.”

Her head lolled against his chest as the light overhead faded in and out…

Her body, tense from a month of perpetual fear and anger slowly relaxed and she felt her body sliding downward before he caught her, holding her upright to sag against him.

For the first time in over a month, she was safe.

Her mind knew it.

And her body knew it.

So, it shut her off, allowed her some peace, in the arms of a person who wasn’t about to let anything more happen to her.

***

She didn’t feel the movement, wasn’t aware of the strong arms that carried her from the ship all on his own, wasn’t aware of the hushed voices and the quiet whispering. Wasn’t aware of the days that went by with her stillness and the waiting concern of those around her.

When she finally opened her eyes and awoke it was to soft beeping, and dim blue light. White curtains hung about her, over her head, and for a moment she wasn’t really sure where she was.

It wasn’t the sound at first but the sensations.

Something warm gripping her hand, and gripping it tight, and a soft caress over the skin of her exposed stomach, repeating circles, up the side down to the side and back.

She turned her head very slowly and groggily to the side.

At first she didn’t recognize the face of the man who sat next to her but as her slow brain caught up with her eyes she hummed in confusion and worry.

“Adam?”

The man lifted his head, turning to look at her. Scruffy, gaunt, and supporting about two weeks of growth on his chin and face, but when he smiled at her she knew for sure it was him, brighter than any light in this place. He rested a hand against the side of her face, “I…. i was worried…. You scared me.”

“Sorry” She muttered softly.

He brought his other hand up to the other side of her face leaning down to gently touch foreheads with her for a quiet moment, “I’m sorry I didn’t make it sooner.”

The pain in his eyes made her hurt just to watch and she shook her head, “An entire universe, and you still found me, considering you did it in a month is pretty impressive.”

He gave a weak smile. “If… If i had just been safer during the storm.”

She raised a hand, “Shh…. none of that.”

He trailed off and nodded sheepishly. He leaned forward, “I’m sorry, this… this isn’t about me…. How are you feeling?”

She shifted, and despite lethargy, she was at least able to move, “A bit…. Drugged.”

“Yeah, there were massive amount of paralysis in your system when we found you. Krill has been pulling the drugs out, but he says it may take a few weeks to get back to normal.”

Below her on the bed She flex and unflexed her lower left hand. She wasn’t sure if she was brave enough to look, but she knew she had to. WHen she turned her head down she grew sick to her stomach. The hideous grey expanse of scarred up tissue and disgusting pale skin. She turned her head away, but he caught her, hands to the side of her face again.

She let out a shaky breath

“Hey, hey, none of that…. Don’t even start.” One hand still on her cheek, he lowered the other and took her lower left hand in his, “This doesn’t change anything you hear me, nothing at all. Not about the way I feel, and certainly not about the way you should feel about yourself ok….”

She struggled internally for a moment.

He squeezed her hand tighter, “No matter what, ok.:

She felt as he slid his hand down the inside of her wrist, resting his hand along the strange exposed skin of her forearm. It felt strange, unusual, tingly. It made her cringe thinking about touching it, but he didn’t flinch once, “Don’t you think for one minute that this makes you any less.” She stared into his face and he stared back with a conviction so strong she felt herself starting to believe.

His serious face was broken by a sudden smile, “Besides…. I…. I have something for you.”

The bright smile and excitement filtered over to her and she sat up against her pillows.

“I made it myself!” he announced with pleasure, pausing as he turned around with a box between his two hands.

“I….” He looked down a bit sheepishly, “Don’t laugh alright….. It was my first go but I… I wanted to make something….”

Sunny didn’t even have to see it to know she would love it anyway.

Slowly he handed to box over to her, and she lifted the lid.

Inside, was a polished metal vambrace made of shimmering blue metal flecked with little golden bits on the inside.

She stared.

“Do you like it…. I…. well I made it while you were sleeping,... i mean i would have stayed here if krill had let me, but he sort of forced me to leave and get some rest, of course I couldn’t sleep so I ended up down in your workshop instead, and I wasn’t really sure what to do, but I made this and I thought maybe it would help, and since I remembered that there was a little bit of your dad’s carapace in my leg, I removed a little piece and used that inside the metal, and I’m sorry if that’s a bad thing or….” She gripped his hand to stop him from rambling.

“Can you, help me put it on.”

The relief on his face was so visible it was almost a sound, and he gently took the metal bracer from the box. He looked nervous as it snapped open and he situated her arm inside.

She had trouble looking at it, but his expression didn’t change once as his fingers brushed over the exposed skin.

The metal was cold against her arm.

He took a deep breath, and snapped the brase close with a sharp snap.

The strange feeling of the room was now gone, and she was left only with the slowly warming underside of the metal, and the beautiful glittering of the Crude metalwork inlaid with pieces of her father’s carapace.

“Does it fit?”

She lifted her arm and turned it this way and that, admiring the shine of the metal.

She looked up at him, “Not bad…. Not bad at all.”

He grinned, the relief still evident there. He pressed his forehead against hers for another quick moment before sitting back, “Now rest, or I’ll knock you out myself, you hear.”

She snorted but yawned, “I’d like to see you try.”

“If i can find one Drev in an entire universe, I’m pretty sure I could knock that same Drev unconscious, but whatever makes you feel better, Zhak, hijan chal.”

She closed her eyes.

And fell

Fast

Asleep

289 notes · View notes

my-writings-and-musings · 3 years

Text

I have another lovely commission to share with you all! An awesome person wanted a super cute bit of interaction between Springload and Quillfire, so here it is!

Quillfire tried to keep the frown on his face from appearing too off putting as he left the base behind, keeping pace with Springload but ensuring the two of them had considerable personal space at the same time. To the benefit of their mission Earth's forests offered ample cover all around, ensuring neither had anything to fear in regards to detection. Though, to the anarchist, potential discovery was the least of his concerns. His last parting with the other mech had been under less than amicable terms, so he was fully anticipating a very unpleasant mission. In fact, he wouldn't have been surprised to learn Springload was planning to ditch him at the nearest opportunity. Such a prediction seemed more likely than not considering how the amphibicon had a tendency towards the dramatic. Was he going to be accused of defying invisible spirits, or sullying important signals from some great deity before he was exposed to corrosive attacks? It all seemed equally probable...

Frowning a little harder, he watched Springload hop ahead of him and wondered if this mission would end in failure like the last. They'd been up against considerable odds, and things weren looking much better. Steeljaw had been very insistent on them teaming up, so he had a bit of hope this would go well, but-

Crossing his arms, he huffed quietly to himself as he abandoned the train of thought, plodding along behind his chosen partner all the while. Why should he be the one to mend things? More importantly, why did he want to? There were a million other activities he could be doing at the moment, all of them more conducive to speeding up a revolution than this! Just imagining all the injustice on this backwards planet made his quills twitch with unease. Oh, how he longed to tear down the tyranny that was evident around every corner-

"Can you move more swiftly?" Springload barked back at him unexpectedly, hopping along through the forest at a pace few could match with a mere walk. Admittedly though, Quillfire was lagging behind as he mused over his unhappy thoughts. The amphibicon fixed him with an impatient glare. "The sooner this mission is completed, the sooner I may return to my quest!"

Quillfire obeyed with a gulp, a reaction so out of character for himself he didn't know what to make of it. For some unfathomable reason, he wanted to make peace with this bot, and he was stuck with that. Perhaps he just didn't want to endure an entire mission tainted by awkward silences and angry glares, but what could possibly make things amicable between them? This bot wanted nothing but the treasure of a fabled city that didn't exist, how was he supposed to provide anything like that? Perhaps… just some conversation might do the trick? If only to lighten the mood...

As they came to a road that marked the next leg of their mission, he made an effort to think of something to say as the amphibicon pondered their map, as well as the instructions they'd been given.

"Steeljaw instructed us to wait here and construct an ambush site. When the human transport arrives, we are to steal their cargo…" he said, finishing the statement with a most distasteful croak. Clearly, his fellow bot was not especially interested in the mission either, and likely was imagining countless other ways his time could be better spent. Such was a common feeling at their rank, and he did truly share most of the frustration. With that as a starting point, Quillfire imagined they may have some common ground after all.

"I will keep watch on the road, so that you might strike at the most opportune time!" he declared boldly, emphasizing his faith in the others skills. It wasn't even a stretch, as he firmly believed the other was more than capable of getting this done. Looking up and down the simple paved path to ensure he had a good vantage point, he found one in the form of a sheltered outcrop. Looking to Springload for a reaction the entire time, he smirked confidently and clamored up to the flat bit of earth above the road, gesturing to the wide field of observable forest as he did so. "We will claim our quarry with a single attack, and return victorious!"

Springload merely observed him with a blink of apathetic consideration. "Yes, indeed." he said simply, hopping into position and making sure to face away from his teammate when he did so. Pulling out the holo of his supposed map, he began to study it as he always did, scanning the runes for what had to be the millionth time. A terse tone made his feelings on any future reconciliation clear. "Then I may continue my quest for Doradas, alone."

The anarchist's quills sagged at the turn of events. While he hadn't been expecting immediate friendship, he also hadn't anticipated that the other mech would be so openly hostile to any kind of amicable teamwork, and found himself quite disappointed by the lack of success. For whatever reason, he just wanted Springload to like him, and failing at that was bothering him. I'm fact, it was bad enough that some part of him just refused to accept the defeat. There had to be a way he could earn the other's camaraderie. Considering how much time they still had left before their mission began, he had a good window in which to ponder a solution.

Sitting back on the soft grass, he put a hand to his chin in intense thought. Springload himself only openly cared about one thing, and he didn't know him well enough to be aware of any other likes or interests… Casting a glance at the amphibicon, he felt his processor buzzing at the strain of thinking so hard to produce no results. He simply didn't know anything about geography, archeology, linguistics or any other topic which might help the other mech in his quest. The thought that he might not be able to do anything ate at him much more than it should have. It was enough to make him sigh sadly to himself at the hopelessness of it all.

"Do you see something?" Springload asked, mistaking his small sound for a potential signal. Embarrassed and surprised, Quillfire coughed and babbled out an excuse as fast as he could come up with one.

"Ah… no! I simply mistook a… an organic being for the target!" he explained lamely, not even believing himself. Springload arched an optic ridge, looking as incredulous as he did frustrated at the false alarm. Quillfire laughed awkwardly to clear the air, shrinking down beneath the edge of the outcrop to disappear from view. A dissatisfied croak let him know the outburst was thoroughly not appreciated.

Frowning miserably to himself, the anarchist occupied his lonesome by doodling in the dirt at his pedes, practicing his signature mark as he often did while thinking. What was he supposed to do? Apologies were not in his nature, least of all because he didn't want to give them. As a loner he just didn't have much practice saying he was sorry to anyone. Ordinarily he was busy disrupting systems of power, overthrowing tyrannical systems, or freeing trapped souls with no one else to save them… Thoughts and feelings like these were too new for him to know what to do with them.

Thinking hard, he tried to come up with something he could do to earn the favor of the other mech, but still came up short. It was frustrating enough to make him draw more aggressively, because deep down he was certain there had to be a way to succeed. Springload wasn't too different from himself, after all. A lone mech, seeking his goals, using his natural gifts and weapons to take down those who opposed him…

Just as he was about to growl to himself at his failure to be inspired, his digit bumped against something in the soft earth. Without anything better to do, he slowly went about digging the object free. A flash of a white, shiny exterior motivated him to continue. Briefly forgetting about his troubles, he dug until a dirty but visibly solid object began to reveal its shape. Round and about the size of his palm, a glossy white stone came from the dirt without too much fuss, and he smiled at the small accomplishment. It was a rather lovely treasure for such a simple planet.

Just as he began to dust some of the remaining dirt from the granite or quartz exterior, he was struck by an idea, one so foolish he had to wonder how it could work.

Still, he was a champion of crazy ideas, so he dared to consider it.

Springload was a mech who one could describe as… extravagant, both in mission and mind. He required one to go all out, as he never held back in regards to the quest that he'd dedicated his entire life to completing. Overall, he was just an unusual bot. Perhaps, if Quillfire was thinking this through properly, that meant he could be reasoned with through some unusual means?

Tilting the rounded stone in his servo, he dared to believe a simple yet unusual gift would be enough to at least get the two of them started on a path to mending their teamwork. If nothing else, he'd at least get to tell himself he tried. The hardest part would be working up the courage to begin, but hopefully after that things would be easier. He just needed to take that first step…

Peeking over the edge of the outcrop, he saw that the amphibicon was in the same place he'd last been, reading over his map and murmuring to himself. Despite having read it every day for eons, the dedicated bot didn't look the least bit uninterested in his work. If anything, he looked downright eager, as if on the verge of a breakthrough at any given time. Quillfire hoped interrupting him wouldn't cause an even greater rift to form.

Clearing his vents, he found his pump pounding with unnatural anxiety as he forced his voice box to speak up, his servos almost trembling about the stone as he took a considerable leap of faith.

"S-Springload?" he finally croaked out, nearly losing his nerve when the other mech looked up to him with painfully obvious annoyance. Gulping, he overcame his anxiety to speak up and stand tall to appear more confident than he felt. "Can you… come up here? There is something you must see!"

Brightly colored optics widened, then fixed him with a look equal parts incredulous and irritated. "Is it important?"

"Very!" he insisted, sounding honest because he truly meant it with all of his spark. What could be more important than mending his fued with a fellow teammate?

In a single hop, Springload tucked away his map and cleared the entire road, landing just before Quillfire with a graceful thud.

"I, er…" he stammered as the silliness of what he was about to do hit him in full. Unable to remember the last time he had given or received anything, he was without a clue as to what to say, so he simply held out the stone in his cupped palms with an attempt at a smile. There was a perceptible tremble in his arms as he did so, but he remained strong. "I believe I'm supposed to give this to you!"

Springload didn't immediately react beyond a raised brow, so he stammered forth more of an explanation, spark sinking in his chest. "As a s-sign of… teamwork."

"A white stone?" the amphibicon said at last, as if awakening from a light trance. Taking the rock carefully into his large servo, all while ensuring his acidic coat didn't touch the other mech, he held the item aloft into the light. Just seeing him interested made the anarchist dare to hope things might work out, but in his wildest of dreams he'd never have anticipated what happened next. Springload lit up like a mech beholding a Prime out of the blue, his optics turning away from the stone for just a moment.

"Just the same as those that line the gates of Doradas!" he exclaimed in awe.

Quillfire didn't have any response for that, good or bad as it may have been.

"What?"

"The sacred text makes it clear!" he shouted in explanation, bringing forth his scroll of indecipherable runes as if it made everything make sense. Gesturing to the lines of what Springload saw as gibberish, he began to proclaim their meaning with enthusiasm, optics wide and wild. "You see, here?! The gates of the Holy City will be lined with pure stones to mark the way!"

"I'm…" was all he could reply with, still a million miles behind the other mech in regards to understanding. While he'd hoped at most for appreciation or a mere thanks, Springload looked about ready to burst with excitement, and for reasons he couldn't even begin to comprehend. At the very least he figured he should be happy for the turn of events when he was surprised yet again.

"But how could you know?" Springload pressed, catching him more than a little off guard. Holding up his servos in surrender, Quillfire tried to figure out what exactly he was supposed to have known, and how he might have gone about figuring it out. He'd just thought it was pretty and would make a decent gesture of peace! Fumbling for a response so as not to lose his progress, he was saved by another burst of revelation he had no part in.

"Of course, the spirits!" he exclaimed, almost dropping the rock in his excitement. Clasping his servos over the apparently precious gift, he explained his excitement more or less by simply talking aloud to himself. "They must have guided you, enabling you to find such a sacred object, so that you could gift it to me!"

Accepting he would never truly understand, Quillfire only smiled and nodded at the other's exuberance. More than happy things had turned out so well, he was content to let the other mech believe whatever he wanted, even if he didn't follow it. "Of course!"

"As to why they would do this… they must know you are key to my quest!" Springload continued, using an avid free servo to clasp the other mech's arm in a sign of commitment. More surprised than confused, the anarchist tilted his helm in shock at how fast things had changed between them. Just like that, everything that had happened was forgiven? More than forgiven, in fact, he was seen as a friend and ally? It didn't seem inaccurate to say he was also being looked at as a divine being at the moment. By the Primes, this bot was like no other!

"I was a fool! To think, I tried to push you away!" the amphibicon cried, deactivating his acid so he could better cling to the taller mech. Seeing the emotion in his eyes, Quillfire wondered if he might start weeping, and hoped it wouldn't come to such a show. Not only was he not the best at providing comfort, he didn't have any tissues… Mercifully, the big optics looking into his seemed to sparkle with jubilation rather than tears.

"Ah, it's really nothing…" Quillfire reassured, beginning to blush from the high praise. A spare servo massaged the back of his neck in an open show of bashful deflection. Such a small thing hardly felt worthy of this kind of praise, even for a mech as glory seeking as himself. Not that he was disliking this turn of events.

"It's everything!" Springload corrected, emphatic and no longer impatient. "You must have been sent into my life by the spirits themselves!"

Actively blushing at that, the anarchist looked away, rubbing harder at the back of his neck. He hadn't a clue what to do with this newfound respect and admiration. Perhaps the other bot was just having a momentary burst of affection, which would give way as soon as the next symbol or sign grabbed his attention, but at present such a turn seemed beyond doubtful. Quillfire was being regarded in a way typically saved for the most ancient and holy of altars to the Primes. In the depths of his spark, he wanted it to last.

A distant but heavy sound caught his sharp audials, just as the tremor sensitive Springload perked up in synchronized recognition. Something was rumbling its way down the primitive earth road. Recalling their mission so fast his quills flared in alarm, the anarchist stood up to his full height, catching a glimpse of a truck through the densely packed pines. Their target was approaching fast. Worse, they were in no position to intercept it as planned.

Thinking fast, Quillfire pulled one of his namesake weapons from his back, preparing to strike as the unknowing human drove their way.

"I shall block the path." he announced, redirecting their strategy from before to include himself. Business came first for them both, so each was ready in an instant. Springload crouched low on his powerful legs in anticipation of his orders, which came just as the truck began barreling down the final stretch in their direction, multiple tons on a solid course they needed to stop. "You, render it motionless once it is stopped."

An agreeable ribbit communicated hearty understanding in the final moments before their strike.

While massive by earth standards, the truck was small enough for Quillfire to plan his moves without much of a risk. Still, he was careful in his timing, as the cargo was as valuable as it was delicate. Any great crash would render it useless. Their success hinged on him being precise more than cautious, so he waited for the perfect amount of distance to be between himself and his target before he leapt down into the asphalt below.

Well practiced using his own weapons, he tossed his quill just ahead of the already braking truck, funneling their path to the point of nonexistence. With nowhere to go, the driver was forced to slam on the brakes and skid to a stop, not having the option to go around or turn back. Quillfire smirked in pride at the human's textbook reaction, and could have sworn he heard Springload give a cheer at his victory. Near victory, that was, there was still one crucial step for them to see through.

"Now!" he ordered as the multiple tire sets came to a stop just shy of him. With the speed of someone working on the same page, the amphibicon dove from his perch, shooting his tongue out like a whip. Acid and force popped the tires in rapid succession, filling the air with a series of bangs and creaks until the heavy machine collapsed onto nothing but it's hubcaps. Rubber flew in every direction and nothing even resembling tires remained to spin, leaving multiple tons collapsed on the asphalt. The truck would not be going anywhere.

"A clean victory!" Springload declared happily, still clutching his gift as he hopped back beside Quillfire. "Truly, the spirits are on our side in full. You are their greatest emissary."

Beaming at the praise, Quillfire turned when he heard the door of the vehicle opening up. Both mech's turned just as the human driver jumped from the vehicle, landing in a heap on the ground as he did so. Catching their mutual gaze, the tiny being threw up his hands in surrender, wide eyed and terrified as could be. A gigantic, metallic frog and an even bigger metal porcupine had not been mentioned when he'd taken the job.

"Look, I'm n-not paid enough for this!" he stammered, gesturing wildly to the trailer as he slowly stepped backwards on shaking legs. Giving up the goods completely for his own sake, he unknowingly earned the approval of a certain anarchist. Abandoning one's shackles for self preservation was a key tactic, and he smiled as the human gave them both full clearance, dropping his keys on the spot. "Just take the truck! A-all of it!"

"We shall, your cooperation is appreciated." Springload replied, sounding a bit haughty. In truth the human's cooperation meant little; either mech was fully capable of taking what they wanted without much effort. Happy just to see someone making the right choices, Quillfire praised and comforted the terrified earthling in what he considered to be the best way.

"Fear not, brother. You have been liberated from the bonds of oppressive labor!" he encouraged, presenting the human with a smile of reassurance. Reacting with what he presumed to be unfathomable joy, the tiny being turned about and began to sprint, disappearing into the trees with a considerable ruckus of breaking branches and fussing animals. Screams of jubilation began echoing out after he was long gone from sight.

Waving the lucky one off, Quillfire smiled at the impossible fortune this day had brought him, happy to share it with others. If humans could figure out the true way to live, perhaps there was yet hope for them. He dared to believe as much while shouting after the former truck driver. "Go forth, tiny earthling! Enjoy the freedom we have given you!"

Turning back to the work yet to be completed, he found Springload using his selectively acidic touch to melt through the lock of the truck's trailer, his gift still peeking out through his other servo's protective grip. Marveling at how the other mech seemed intent on believing his truth, Quillfire still decided to let it be. Though happy just to be friends, it was quite likely this was just how things worked for such a dramatic bot. He was surprised how he was beyond accepting of such a concept, and in fact, quite looking forward to it.

As the doors opened, the two of them found a rather manageable cluster of boxes secured tightly to avoid damaging movement. Comfortable as the load would have been for two bots, it doubtlessly was too much for one, yet Springload began freeing it from its bonds with a smile.

"Allow me to carry this burden, great one! It is the least I can offer!" he said eagerly, tucking his stone away into a subspace beside his spark. Cutting their payload free, he began to move the boxes happily outside, no doubt planning to pile them all into his altmode. While usually happy to get some time off, Quillfire didn't feel right about leaving the other mech to handle it all. Their new partnership deserved to get off to a much better start than that.

"I can help." he reassured simply, taking his fair share of the boxes to carry in his hands. Though the smaller mech needed his altmode to handle his share, he didn't allow transforming to stop his eager chatting, and continued to extoll the virtues of his new ally as a happy pickup truck.

"Such generosity!" he praised, putting along to leave the abandoned truck behind them. Though a little overwhelmed by the idea of someone seeing him as a bona fide gift from ancient deities, he allowed the other mech's chatter to fill the walk home, finding it to be far better than the awkward silence that had followed them here. Who ever would have been able to guess a mere stone could change so much?

"I shall have to insist we are partnered together for future endeavors! As two individuals chosen by the spirits, our camaraderie can bring only success!" Springload gushed, turning about happily on his bouncing tires. "Would that please you, great one? I am certain riches will come to us both!"

Though he still had his own dreams, Quillfire didn't indeed find the idea of more missions like this very agreeable, so much so that he had no problem smiling in affirment.

"Riches indeed, my new friend!"

#transformers #maccadam #transformers rid2015 #rid2015 #rid2k15 #rid #robots in disguise 2015 #quillfire #springload #my writing #my commissions #aligned

29 notes · View notes