#I feel leave knowing I won’t settle for less or bend over backwards for someone who doesn’t love me to do so | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yee-fxcking-haw · 3 years

Text

•Cross The Line•

Summary: “And they were roommates” predictable self induldent Denki roommate content lmao. Friends to lovers, pretty fluffy

Pairing: Denki Kaminari x FemReader (both 18+)

Warnings: Itty bitty angst, Lots o’ tension, Unprotected sex, Oral sex (female receiving), Quirk use during sex, Cumplay.

Word count: 6,984

A/N: Y'all I did it I wrote mostly plot are y'all proud of me for not being useless and horni for one fic. I mean it gets horni at the end but there is plot so yeehaw.

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“Son of a bitch!” You yell as you hurl the eyeliner across the bathroom, at your wits end after messing up for the third time. It hits the door with a sharp crack before it falls to the floor.

You kick the cabinet, successfully stubbing your toe in the process.

“Shit, shit shit shit.” You tumble backwards as you hop on one foot, planting your ass right on the toilet lid with a loud groan.

“You remodeling in here?” A chirpy voice says from the other side of the door.

“Fuck off, Denki.” You bark as you hold your busted toe.

He just chuckles as he opens the door and strides in, he leans back against the counter and crosses his arms while you scowl up at him.

His signature smirk is painted across his face, yellow hair sticking up in every direction. As usual, he’s going without a shirt, leaving him in just a pair of loose basketball shorts.

They hang just a little too low, exposing the waistband of his briefs, framing his defined adonis belt…

“You’re gonna need a bucket for all that drool.” He says, raising his eyebrows as his smirk grows into a smile.

“Oh please, I was noticing how scrawny you look.” You retort, letting your foot drop to the floor so you can stand.

“You got a date?” He nods at your dress, eyes lingering at the slit that exposes just a little too much thigh.

You and Denki are just roommates, that’s it. You’re also both incredibly horny, bisexual disasters. Naturally, there’s attraction, lingering stares, and moments of tension, but it never goes past that.

Just roommates. You can’t cross that line. Kirishima had introduced you two after meeting in class one day, convinced you would hit it off. You sure as hell did. You cliqued pretty much instantly, both full of chaotic dumbass energy.

Eventually, Kirishima moved in with his boyfriend, Katsuki Bakugo. This left Denki with no roommate, which meant you got an invitation.

You were hesitant at first, moving in with somebody after a few months of friendship was a big step, but you and Denki just worked. Neither of you kept a schedule, you shared one brain cell, and you always made each other laugh.

So, of course you moved in. Two years later, it’s still you and Denki against the world. You take care of each other, he’ll bring you candy and a heating pad when you’re on your period, you’ll make him soup and play with his hair when he’s sick.

You’ve seen each other naked, heard each other have sex, and helped each other score hookups. You pick each other up when you’re sloppy drunk, and nurse each other through the hangover the next day.

You have not, and will not, cross the line of a sexual relationship with each other. You can’t afford to, neither of you can lose the movie nights, the screaming bad music in the car together, or the two in the morning waffle house runs.

“I did, but I’m not going.” You huff as you stomp over to the sink so you can wash off the makeup.

“I can’t get this stupid eyeliner right, I’ve tried like a million times and I can’t fucking do it.” You scrub your face a little too hard, turning your skin a bit red in the process.

“Want me to do it?” He asks, he says it like it’s obvious. It kind of is, the kid is wicked good at eyeliner, he does it nearly every day.

“If you pinky promise you won’t make me look stupid and sabotage my date.” You glare at him, hinting at a time when he did in fact sabotage a date.

“That was one time, which you thanked me for in the end, because the dude was a total fuckboy.” He holds up his hands in a defensive posture.

“You’re a total fuckboy, and you did not have to tell him I had fucking herpes.” You throw your wet rag at him, which he catches skillfully.

“I’m a whore, not a fuckboy. Big difference.” He says as he tosses the rag onto the side of the sink.

“What would that be?” You ask as you bend down to retrieve the eyeliner before handing it to him begrudgingly.

He accepts it with a grin, golden eyes lighting up as he pulls the cap off of the felt pen before giving it a good shake.

“Fuckboys are so selfish, they always leave someone wanting.” He shifts so he’s standing in front of you as you lean back against the counter.

He places one hand under your chin so you’ll tilt your face up for him.

“A whore keeps someone satisfied.” His voice drops slightly as he looks down at you.

You don’t look down at his lips, or his collar bones, or his abs…

“You’re such a flirt.” You say, crossing your arms, trying to put something between the two of you.

“Hell yeah I am, now close those eyes for me.” He winks and you roll your eyes before closing them.

His hand slides up from your chin so you can hold the side of your face, his thumb lifts your eyelid slightly.

The feeling of his hand touching your face so gently shouldn’t make your heart rate increase, the feeling of his breath on your face shouldn’t make your knees a little unsteady. Most of all, Denki being this close shouldn’t be making you this dizzy.

You’ve walked in on him jerking it, you’ve even walked in on him balls deep in somebody else. You and Denki are close, you’ve stood this close before, with less clothing, why does it all of a sudden feel so different? No, it doesn’t. It can’t.

You feel the felt tip of the eyeliner press into your eyelid, he moves so fluently. He flicks his wrist at the end of the line, he shifts and does the other eye with the same precision.

“Open.” You do as he says, blinking up at him, raising your eyebrows in question as he looks you over.

A pleased smile creeps onto his face.

“You’re real pretty, ya know?” He says softly, grabbing your chin gently so he can turn your face from one side to the other.

The compliment makes your cheeks grow warmer. Your eyes dart down as you shift on your feet a little bit.

“You’re a sap.” You grumble before turning to check his work in the mirror.

It’s perfect, just a delicate little wing that enhances your eye shape. Perfect for a first date, Denki has always been better at makeup, and it’s always driven you just a little insane.

“What else are you gonna do?” He asks, making eye contact with you through the mirror.

“What do you mean?” You say as you grab your mascara and start applying it.

“Well are you gonna do anything with this?” He ruffles the top of your hair, you drop the mascara so you can bat his hand away.

“Dude, knock it off.” You say, you try to sound pissed, but start laughing when he wraps his arm around your neck so he can put you in a headlock.

“Only if you let me fix the rat’s nest on your head.” He laughs as you struggle to pull his arm off.

“I can do my own hair you sparky bastard.” You reach over and pinch his side.

He yelps and releases you from the hold, he raises his hands up and gives you a mischievous look.

“Oh, you want sparky?” Small snaps of electricity start to emit from his palms.

“Denki Kaminari, if you zap me I will suplex you.” You warn him, looking around for something you can grab to defend yourself with.

He’s much quicker than you though, and his arms around your waist in an instant. He hoists you up into the air and sits your ass on the counter. You feel the little shocks popping at your sides as he pushes you so your back is pressed against the mirror. Your senses are invaded by his warmth and the smell of Axe body spray, a smell you’ve grown to love.

“Denki, no! This shit always makes my hair all frizzy!” You protest as involuntary giggles leave your chest.

“Aw, sweetheart, are you sayin’ you can feel electricity between us?” He wiggles his eyebrows as his fingers stall.

“I will puke on you if you say any more cheesy shit.” You warn him, trying to keep your face straight, but you crack up at the melodramatic expression that crosses his face.

Then he delivers a particularly strong zap to the meat of your hip.

You don’t have time to control the way your body reacts. There’s no chance for you to keep your back arches, or the way you let out a fuck. The way you shiver is a little too intimate, your voice a little too broken. All of which Denki pays a little too much attention to.

You both settle and freeze, his sharp eyes meet yours. You’ve seen Denki Kaminari look serious a grand total of twice in the time you’ve known him. The first time was when you were ridiculously sick last winter, fever and chill with the works. The second time is now.

He watches you carefully, one eyebrow shooting up.

“Did that tickle?” He questions, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“It- yeah- it also fucking hurt, asshole.” You grumble, pushing at his chest so you can hop off the counter.

You try to shove past him with your head down, desperate to get out from under the weighty tension in the bathroom. Denki grabs you around the wrist though, stopping you in your tracks.

Your eyes meet as another wave of nerves washes over your body.

“Are we gonna talk about it?” His voice is steady, but tentative.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Your voice is just above a whisper.

Though, there certainly was.

You both stand there for a brief beat of thick silence, watching, waiting. You must imagine the way his lip twitches, the way his body shifts forward slightly…

No fucking way.

You turn on your heels and make your way out of the bathroom quickly.

You’re in your room with the door closed in no time. You lean against the back of it, catching the breath you didn’t realize you had lost.

What the hell was that? And why did it feel so… good?

No. Fuck no. Not with Denki.

You get ready in a huff, positively full of angst and confusion.

You shove it all down. It’s normal, right? To have a bit of tension with somebody you know so well, live so closely with, care for so deeply. You and Denki know each other. That’s all.

Your outfit isn’t much, but it’s enough for a first day. The colors are flattering against your complexion, the fabric clings in the right places. It’s nice, just nice.

You walk quietly from your room to the living room where Denki is sitting on the couch, legs spread wide with an arm across the back. Looking absolutely delicious- fuck- no not delicious. He just looks like Denki.

“That’s cute.” He says, he motions up and down with his phone, directing his comment at your outfit.

“Thanks.” You say a little too shortly, feeling the guilt immediately.

“I’ll be home later.” You say as you grab your keys from the dish.

“Be safe.” He calls after you.

Fuck.

***

Your date is an absolute disaster, nothing short of a trainwreck. It’s one of those dates that drains you. You politely nod as they ramble on about themselves, laugh at the bad and very insensitive jokes, and indulge in the small talk. Most of all, you miss Denki. You contribute very little, enjoy nothing, and wait for the end of the dreadful two hours you set aside for this.

You pay for dinner quickly, declining their offer for drinks, giving some bullshit excuse about having to work in the morning and being tired. You’re off tomorrow, and you’re wide awake.

You’re itching to get back to your apartment, dying to tell Denki all about your date’s wet cardboard personality. Hopefully, the bizarre moment you shared in the bathroom will be ignored and buried.

Never to be seen again.

You bust into the apartment, shuck off your bag and kick off your shoes. Denki is no longer on the couch, but at the kitchen table huddled over a cup of tea. The lights are all low or off, leaving him in mostly darkness. His posture is odd, slouched, defeated almost.

“Who died?” You try to joke, usually able to earn a chuckle with that line.

Denki doesn’t chuckle though, he sniffles.

“Sparky? What’s wrong?” You’re on him instantly, feet moving on their own.

Your hands are on the sides of his face, pulling up so he has to look at you. Your heart clenches and your chest burns as soon as the small amount of light catches his face.

His left cheek is painted with a deep red and purple bruise. His bright eyes search your face as you take the sight in, and you’re suddenly filled with fiery rage when you see how heartbroken he looks.

“Who the fuck-”

“It was my fault.” He cuts you off, grabbing your wrists so he can pull your hands off his face.

“Denki, what-”

“I told him we would hook up, so he thought we would. When I got there he had a bad vibe so I tried to leave… but he didn’t like that and he-”

You hush him when his breathing picks up, when you see tears well and his lip quiver.

“Hey, it’s ok, you’re ok.” You pull him against your chest, making a mental note to find and throttle the bastard that did this.

But that can wait. You and Denki had both returned from dates fairly busted up. The bruises were always one that were wanted though, never like this. A bad date was always laughed over, never cried over. The very thought of somebody laying their hands on Denki like this… it makes your skin crawl, it makes you want to kill.

His arms are around your waist immediately, hands grabbing as your clothes, pulling you closer. You hold each other for a long while until you feel his leg start bouncing and his fingers start to twitch.

You pull back and look down at him. He looks so displaced, so frantic and caught off guard. He needs something to do. Something to focus on. You can tell he’s not ready to talk, but he’s ready to be distracted, talking will come later.

“Will you help me get this shit off my face?” You ask gently, sliding your hand through his hair.

He blinks hard before wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Yeah- shit- I’m sorry, how was your date?” He asks, doing a shit job as pulling himself together.

“Don’t be sorry. It was awful. All they talked about was their college glory days.” You sigh, thumb running over his forehead.

“That didn’t win you? What’s wrong with you?” He asks, voice dripping with sarcasm.

There he is, or at least he’s trying.

“I missed you the whole time.” It slips out, runs away from you. You mean it though, god do you mean it.

He looks up at you with that same uneasy, distraught look. It almost makes you buckle. You feel pulled to fall into his lap, wrap yourself around him and press sweet kisses into his neck. You can’t, you know you can’t. He would probably be pissed if you crossed that line.

He doesn’t answer, he just nods silently, eyes falling to the ground as he stands up.

“Let’s get that shit off your face.”

You end up perched on the counter again as he wipes your makeup off with a warm cloth. It may seem backwards, him taking care of you, to most people it is. During your time together, you’ve learned that Denki feels useless if he isn’t helping.

When something is hurting him, he’s healed by pouring into someone else, so you let him. You’ll ice his bruise later, bring him water and medicine once you help him scratch this itch.

He takes his time with you, wiping away the makeup he did for you. The dull ache returns to your chest as he works. The soft glow of the bathroom nightlight is your only illumination, giving the room a painfully intimate environment.

He slowly wipes the cloth across your forehead one last time, laying it on the sink before bringing his hand up to hold your chin like he had earlier. You can’t help but glance at his bruise and simply hurt deep inside. You hate that you weren’t there, that you couldn’t stop it.

He breathes for a moment, looking at the planes of your face, eyes lingering in your lips for a bit too long.

“Pretty…” It’s a soft confession, something far too tender for the nature of your relationship.

His admittance settles somewhere deep within you, it wraps itself around your heart and warms it. It’s almost overwhelming and definitely terrifying.

“Do you need to eat?” You kill the building flames immediately, stamp them out with a stubborn foot.

He doesn’t mean it, he’s just vulnerable, he’s just emotional. You’d be an asshole to give into it.

“I could eat.” He sighs.

***

“This is so fucking stupid.” Denki laughs, irritated by the default plot line of the chick flick on tv.

You had ordered your favorite takeout, too much of it, to share as you watch. Slowly, you had pulled him out of his shaken state. With plenty of talk about your awful date, several good laughs, and the occasional soft spoken “you’re okay”. Denki is now settled with his head in your lap as he criticizes the lazy drama of the film.

“Why won’t they just stop being stupid and just… like each other?” He whines, gesturing at the tv with an inpatient hand.

“Dude they can’t. It would ruin the tension for them to like each other right now.” You explain.

He sits up and huffs before grabbing a handful of popcorn.

“But they could work. They could really work.” He says as he stuffs his face.

He seems so genuinely thoughtful, despite his grievances with the quality of the movie, he’s involved.

“Maybe they could.” You say, watching him instead of the movie.

He feels it when he looks at you, squeezing his ribs, trickling down his spine. The overwhelming, almost blind urge to lean in and kiss you. But he can’t, so he doesn’t.

“Could they?” He whispers.

You’re both frozen, trapped in the beam that’s suddenly shining down on you. It exposes every crack and corner of your relationship, leaving you both ripped open and afraid.

He’s leaning in again like he did in the bathroom, closer and closer and closer… until he grabs his damn drink.

Fuck.

A blush spreads across your cheeks, stomach aching with embarrassment. You pull back, shoving yourself under a blanket. You weren’t too obvious, right? You didn’t lean in too much… right?

He takes a long sip then sets the drink down harshly, not enough to make you jump, but enough to make you pay attention.

“Can we stop, please?” He says as he stands up, he runs his hands through his hair and huffs before he starts to pace.

“What?” You ask, trying to sound as oblivious as possible.

“Dude.” He turns on you, looking exhausted, eyes begging you for something.

“Denki- I, you need sleep…” You stand up and start to tidy, not really doing anything though. Just picking up cups and setting them down to look busy.

“I don’t need sleep.” He snaps before grabbing you by the shoulders. His eyes are wild, frantic, searching.

“What do you need?” You ask, hands shaking at your sides. His body sags, hands releasing you so he can hug himself.

“I don’t know.” It’s short and rushed, and he leaves you no time to respond before he storms off to his bedroom. His feet stomp, the door slams, and you fall to the couch in a heap.

This cannot be happening, not to you and Denki. You both just need sleep, you just need to brush it off and start again tomorrow. He’s emotional. He’s just emotional.

You turn the TV off, sneering at the couple kissing on it. You clean up slowly, setting dishes in the sink to be done tomorrow.

It’s ok. You’re ok. Emotions run high after bad dates, after traumatic events. It’s human nature. That’s all, you and Denki will be ok, you always are.

Your shoulders draw up when you hear his door open again, staying busy at the sink as you heard him walk into the kitchen.

“Can we talk about it?” His voice is unsteady, it tugs on your heart as you spin to face him.

“Talk about wha-”

“Please. Don’t.” He sighs as he steps towards you.

He’s too damn pretty when he’s tired. His cheeks get all pink, with glassy eyes and a shiny nose. Even with his busted cheek bone, he’s so… pretty.

Denki’s feelings have always run hot, he loves fast and hurts deeply. You can’t even begin to imagine the tsunami of emotion he must have pounding against his chest. You see it in his eyes though, something is breaking him.

“We could work.” He closes the distance between you even more, giving you no room to hide once your backside hits the counter.

“Denki…” You put your hands on his chest, trying to put something between you two, trying to cling to the line that’s been drawn.

“We could. Just- you don’t have to answer. Just think about it.” And then he’s gone again, away to hide in his room. Leaving you shocked and overwhelmed.

We could work.

You could, and you know it, you’re just not ready to accept it.

***

Sleep doesn’t come well, or even at all. You do think about it, all night. It’s the only thing on your mind as you toss and turn and huff. The sun is already peaking up into the sky, bathing your room in a hazy glow.

We could work.

Just because you could, doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be foolish of you to try. This is a friendship neither of you can afford to lose. You have some confidence that it could indeed withstand an awkward attempt at a relationship… but what if the attempt wasn’t awkward? Denki had told you, drunkenly, how much he loved you. He slept next to you when you cried, held you and talked you down. He knew how many sugars to put in your coffee and how you never bothered to match your socks.

Over time, Denki had memorized you as a person, and you had done the same for him. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to have in a partner? Someone who knows you, someone who makes it safe to be known.

Knock knock

It’s a courtesy knock, something he does to let you know he’s coming in. You never keep your door locked, and he’s always allowed in.

“Mornin’.” He says with a scratchy voice as he peaks into your room.

Fucking hell. Why does he have to be so pretty all the time?

“Mornin’.” You reply

You pull the blankets up around your chest, you realize now you’re in one of his t-shirts, not uncommon, but entirely too intimate given recent events.

He sits on the edge of your bed, all messy hair and puffy eyes. He offers you one of the coffee cups he’s holding, and it smells divine. You accept it as you sit up right, crossing your legs and clinging to your blankets.

His bruise is darker, yellow around the edges with deep red and purple splotches. It gives your chest the same tight feeling, something helpless and angry.

“I’m sorry, I was out of line.” He says quietly.

“You were right, I was emotional and I needed sleep and I definitely shouldn’t have dumped it on you.”

He fidgets while he talks, leg bouncing as his fingers dance around his mug. You reach out to rub his back, but he flinches. He fucking flinches.

Neither of you speak, but you meet each other’s eyes. He looks sorry, so sorry. He looks embarrassed and scared and guilty.

Slowly, you grab both cups and set them on your nightstand. You open your arms to him, still not speaking, not opening the door for him to apologise for something that isn’t his fault.

He falls into you easily, arms around your waist with his face against your neck. He crumbles there, unable to articulate, only able to cry. You hold him close, rub circles in his back and play with his hair. You let him go as long as he needs to, sitting with him, hurting with him.

“Denki?” You tread carefully, using your softest voice.

He looks up then, with a rosey face and searching eyes.

“You’re safe here. You’re safe with me.”

Something you’ve never seen before flashes in his eyes, something soft and warm, something that makes you want to fall forward into him like he just did with you.

You don’t, though, you stay still.

“Thank you.” He whispers.

Then, with all the caution and care in the world, he places a kiss on your forehead. It’s so simple, it’s been done a million times between the two of you, but it sits differently in your chest this time. It stays there, taking up space, spreading through you. That feeling of wanting to cross a line.

“Do you want to make breakfast?” He asks as he wipes at his face with his sleeves.

“Of course. You want those big ass waffles I make?” You ask, trying to lighten the mood.

His grin is slow to appear, but it does appear, and it’s as dazzling as always.

“I always want some big ass waffles.”

***

The rest of the day is spent in close proximity with each other, not unusual, but like everything else the past twenty four hours, it feels different.

You share you sit with knees touching while you eat your waffles, pee with the door open, he puts the toothpaste on your toothbrush for you. It’s all so normal for you two, but god it feels so different. It feels more important, it feels more… wholesome? Maybe? Not quite, that word isn’t entirely applicable. Neither you to Denki are wholesome in any capacity. Then a horrible thought scrambles into your mind.

It feels romantic. It feels domestic. It feels like a relationship.

It hits you while you’re helping him clean up the mess you’ve made cooking dinner. It’s in the way his hand ghosts over your waist when he slides behind you, the way he gets you more to eat without asking him to, the way makes you laugh so naturally.

Fuck.

You love him, you know this as a fact. You love him more than anyone, he knows you inside and out and you know him. You’re just now realizing in exactly what way you love him. He holds your hair when you puke, he rubs your back when you cramp, he pretends to be your boyfriend to scare off bad dates. He loves you too.

“Denki.” Your voice is quiet, your hands shake.

“Can we talk about it?”

His whole body tenses as he sets down the plate he was rinsing. He turns slowly, as if to avoid frightening you.

“Can we?” He asks gently, hopefully.

You step towards him, twisting your fingers around each other anxiously.

“This… works, doesn’t it?” You ask, awkwardly gesturing between the two of you.

He closes more of the distance, standing only inches from you.

“It does, and it could.” He says gently.

“What If it doesn’t?” You wonder out loud, fear creeping up your spine.

“Then it doesn’t.” He says simply.

“And we’ll be ok?”

“We’ll be ok.”

You stand in silence, keeping an eye on each other as you both process the information. He does that leaning thing again, like he wants to be closer. Then you panic.

“But it would be stupid.” You say as you turn away, wringing your hands around each other while you pace. He lets out a sigh and throws his hands up, exhausted with the back and forth.

“Right, because you and I would never do anything stupid.” His voice is rough, impatient, unfamiliar.

“We can’t afford to be stupid with this, dude. Can’t you see that?” You argue.

“Then we can be careful with it, we can start slow, we can ease into it.” He’s nearly begging, stepping towards you again.

“Ease into what!?” You turn on him, stopping him in his tracks.

“Don’t play dumb.” He crosses his arms, you mirror him, both skittish, both afraid.

“Tell me you don’t want this, and we won’t talk about it ever again. You have my word.” He offers, but he doesn’t want to.

You stand there, weighing your options, chest seizing as you watch his vibrant eyes search your face.

You can’t tell him you don’t want it. You can’t lie to him.

“I- Denki… I can’t lose you. We can’t fuck this up.” You feel tears prick at your eyes and a tightness in your throat, the very idea of being without your best friend makes you panic.

“You won’t fucking lose me. You have me, all of me. We won’t fuck this up if we just keep doing what we do.” He tries to keep his voice calm, but he breaks a little.

Another moment of heavy silence is spent between you, chests rising and falling rapidly, hands twitching as minds race.

Denying this any longer would be a crime, a horrible waste of time. Something snaps then, something gives in, and the line is crossed.

His hands are at the side of your face and his forehead falls against yours. Breath is hot, hands are needy, hearts are aching.

“Please, god, please.” You grab at his wrists, not to push him off, to pull him in, keep him close.

“I want you, need you, please.” You confess.

And then your soul is in flames. He shudders and his lips are on yours as soon as he can get them there. All at once, and not soon enough, the line you had both been clinging to is crossed. His hands hold your face so tightly as he works his lips against yours, kissing you with all he has left, letting loose all the times he’s wanted to before. It’s all consuming, it’s mind numbing, it’s (no pun intended) fucking electric.

He walks you back as he kisses you urgently until your ass hits the counter, his hands are on the backs of your thighs instantly. He whispers a quick jump against your lips. You do exactly that.

Now seated on the counter, you spread your legs so he can settle between them. He slides in perfectly, lips still hot and greedy against your own. His hands cling to your hips while yours claw at his back.

He breaks from you, panting with his pupils blown wide.

“Can we do something stupid?” He asks between puffs of air.

“Please, Denki, please.” You sigh, grabbing at his shirt. He grabs it by the collar and rips it off, revealing the body you’ve seen so often, but now you get to know it.

“I wanna taste your pussy.” He whispers before pressing his open mouth against your neck.

The words send a shock all the way down your body. The sparks fly and then settle between your legs where you feel his hard length pressing against your heat.

“Haven’t shaved.” You say, slightly embarrassed.

“Like I fucking care.” And then his hands are at your clothes, pulling them off and throwing them away until you’re left completely bare for him.

His skin feels like heaven against yours, warm and dewy and right.

“Gonna make you feel so good, fuck.” The last word is said with a tone of disbelief.

His hands slide up your sides, gathering your breasts so he can tease your nipples with his thumbs.

He smirks against your neck when you gasp and arch against him, pushing your bodies even closer together.

“Sensitive little thing, aren’t you?” He taunts.

“You’re talking too much.” You let out a breathy laugh at his teasing before planting your hand on top of his head and pushing him down.

He gladly falls to his knees, he throws one of your legs over his shoulder like it’s life or death before finally looking at your soaked center.

“Oh my fucking god.” He sighs.

“I wanna tease you but holy hell, I gotta-” He’s on you before you can brace at all, his tongue licks along your slit slowly, almost reverently.

And then he moans. It’s something whiney, something achey, escaping from the back of his throat.

He doesn’t stop, he doesn’t pull away, he finds the spot that makes you jump and sets up camp. He kitten licks your clit until your hands are pulling at his hair as you gasp above him.

It’s all so much, it’s all so good. Especially when he finally presses two fingers into you. He steps a gentle pace, a soothing push and pull that feels incredible. He works and works and works until your thighs are trembling and you’re babbling praises.

“Denki- fuck- there, right there, fuck fuck fuck.” He eats you so sweetly, with so much precision.

You almost anticipated him being more reckless, more sloppy. He isn’t though, he takes his time, learning your sweet spots, finding the angle that makes you crumble.

And he does.

You reach your end when he flattens his tongue and curls his fingers, massaging every part of you. His name falls from your lips in a broken cry, hands tug at his hair as your thighs squeeze his head.

He helps you through it, licking and fingering slowly to ease you back down, letting you feel every last nerve erupt in pleasure.

“Fuck that was perfect, you’re so fucking sweet.” He sighs against you.

You don’t answer, you can’t, you just grab at him until he gets the hint to stand up.

“Need you inside me, please, Denki please.”

“That’s funny.” He says thoughtfully, pulling down his sweats and briefs to reveal his very hard, very pretty dick.

“What?” You ask, breathless as he steps between your legs. He grabs at his length and gives it a few lazy strokes before pressing his head up against your cunt. The action makes you shiver and dig your nails into his shoulder.

“Didn’t think you were one to beg.” He says with a trembling voice, body buzzing with anticipation.

Then he presses in, replacing any smart remark you may have had with a gasp. It’s definitely a stretch, but god it’s incredible. He fills you so well, presses all of the right spots as he slides in.

“Denki- shit.” Your head falls back against the cabinet, your brain turns to mush as you try to fully comprehend how you ended up here, most of all how you went so long without this.

“So fucking tight.” He pants as he bottoms out, his praise makes you clench, which in turn makes his head fall back with a sweet little gasp.

He pulls in a sharp breath through his teeth, his top lip pulls up almost like he’s in pain. You know he isn’t though, he’s just savoring it.

With a frantic hand, you reach up and grab at the hair at the nape of his neck. You pull him back down against you, both moaning into the kiss when he moves his hips back slowly.

Your lips are messy against each other, bodies working together, finally colliding the way they’re meant to. He keeps his hips moving, setting a perfect, smooth pace. His hands settle on your hips as your stay in his hair.

You’re more vocal than usual, moaning out little praises, needing more and begging for it.

“You feel so good, don’t stop, baby- feels so fucking good.” Your lips quiver as you speak, making you sound so weak and needy. That mixed with the affectionate name does something to Denki, something that names him break a little more.

He buries his face into your neck, whispering a harsh fuck that sounds strangled and desperate. His thrusts get a little faster, his hands grab you a little tighter, and all you feel is Denki.

Your whole body buzzes, in your fingertips, the backs of your thighs, you feel him everywhere.

You don’t even consider the mess that you’ll make on the counter, don’t mind the bruises he’ll leave on your hips, it’s all worth it. So fucking worth it.

“Look at me, look at me when I make you cum.” One of his hands comes up to hold your face as he speaks frantically.

His words set off a cloud of butterflies in your stomach, every sensation building, becoming more intense. You nod pitifully as you lean into his hand, chasing your high with each of his deep, filling thrusts.

The feeling of his hand on your hip reminds you of the last time he had you sitting on a counter like this. You remember how he shocked you, how it went straight to your cunt, how much you loved the feeling.

Body jolting with each thrust, your hand falls over his on your hip. You give him one look, and his eyebrows shoot sky high.

“Yeah? You want me to shock you?” His voice climbs as he speaks, so high and pretty and needy.

“Yes, fuck yes, please, Denki.” You plead, you’re so damn close, you just need that final push.

He doesn’t waste any time. As soon as you ask so sweetly, his palm starts to spark, biting at your skin. You cry out and throw your head forward, the electricity drives you up a wall, absolutely hooked on the sensation.

“That’s it, cum nice and hard for me sweetheart.” His other hand moves down to thumb at your clit and that’s all it takes.

“I’m gonna- ohmyfuckinggod- Denki! Shit!” You sob against his skin as he zaps you just a little more. It makes you delirious, you shiver and jolt as your hands claw down his back.

He fucks you through it, moans and praises fall from his lips as you crest. Your walls quiver around him, almost finishing him off too. Somehow, he keeps it together, he holds his pace until he’s sure you’re on your way back down.

“That’s it baby, that’s it.” He coos as his thrust become more shallow, “Oh fuck.”

He pulls out and jacks himself off only a few times before he’s spilling onto your thigh, painting the skin hot white ropes.

Your hand darts down to gather his release on your fingers before bringing it to your lips. You make a show of licking it up, popping your fingers from your mouth as your eyes flutter shut.

“Oh you dirty fuckin’ girl.” He muses, he gathers the rest up with his thumb so he can press it into your mouth.

You swirl your tongue around his thumb, looking up at him with a doe eyed expression.

You never dreamed you two would ever end up here, feeling and tasting each other in the filthiest of ways, but god it feels so right.

You stay there for just a moment, clinging to the high and each other, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

As your breathing steadies, his hands are placed gently around your waist, thumbs playing at the bottom of your ribs.

You share a moment of silence, waiting for the other to make the first move.

“Wanna talk about it?” Denki asks, a smile playing at his lips. You let out a breathy laugh, head falling forward so you can lean your forehead against his collar bone.

You start to press soft kisses across his chest, he hand slides to play with the hair at the back of your head.

“I don’t think we have to.” You kiss up his chest until you’re looking up at him.

“This works, doesn’t it?” He asks fondly, looking as stunning as ever, bruise and all.

“This works.” You confirm.

With that, he ducks down suddenly, arms sliding around you so he can throw you over his shoulder.

“Denki! What the hell?” You laugh, pounding at his back playfully.

“If we aren’t talkin’ we’re fuckin’. This isn’t a one and done deal baby.” He says as you round the corner to your bedroom, he throws you on the bed so you land with a bounce and a giggle.

“I hope you don’t have plans for the next six hours.” He falls into you, kissing all over your neck and collarbones.

“Hey.” You say quietly.

“Hmm.” He responds between kisses.

“I love you, sparky.”

He pauses, looking up at you with his luminant eyes.

“I know.” His face splits into a teasing grin.

You punch his shoulder, pouting dramatically.

He inches up the bed, caging you with his arms so he can cradle your head with his hands. He looks at you thoughtfully for just a moment before leaning down to kiss you.

It’s gentle and careful this time, slow and thought out. It makes you absolutely melt.

“I love you too.” He whispers against your lips.

It does work, it works beautifully. It was a slow and not so steady road, but you two knuckleheads did it. You crossed that damn line.

#denki smut #denki kaminari #chargebolt #my hero academia #my hero smut #my hero fluff #denki fluff

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allegedlyanandroid · 3 years

Note

Hello! For the fic prompts! Can I got a 900Gavin A/B/O fic about alpha!RK900 who try to bite Omega!Gavin scent glands when they first meet because RK900 didn't have a social program but have only a primal instinct program? Could pls keep it fluff and light,plssss? 🥺 I read too many dark fics but if it couldn't then it ok too.

I took some artistic liberties with this one and made Gavin a bounty hunter for the sole purpose that I couldn’t figure out a good reason as to why Fowler would assign them as partners if Nines tried to take a bite out of him on first meeting. I mean... who can blame him though? Gavin is a snacc. Did I think to much into it? Yes, definitely. Either way, I hope you like it @therainnight, fingers crossed that it has an okay ratio of fluff in it <3

There’s nothing to suggest he’s being followed, no out-of-the-ordinary sounds, no footsteps, no nothing. Doesn’t matter. Gavin has always had good instincts and right now they’re telling him that something, or someone, is stalking him. Glancing as far behind himself as he can through his peripheral vision means he catches the glimpse of movement before it’s too late. Gavin whirls around just as he’s pushed backwards against a tree and the impact is enough to knock the breath from his lungs.

A forearm keeps him pressed against it while he stares uncomprehending at razor-sharp teeth set in a half-finished face.

‘Oh, hell no,’ is what comes to mind and it’s through pure instinctive reaction that he manages to get a hand up between them and shove it as far into the android’s mouth as he can ‒ quick enough to keep it from sinking its teeth into the glands in his neck. He’d rather lose a few fingers than be bond-mated on first meeting like some omega bride in the twentieth century. His other hand is still free so he ignores the glowing eyes peering into his soul, and the curious gnawing over the digits he unceremoniously shoved in the android’s mouth, in order to find the glowing circle in the middle of its chest. Digging his fingers into the minute crack the thirium pump regulator slides into his hand with a muted hiss, strangely warm and disgustingly slick with thirium.

The android yelps, scrambling backwards, and releases Gavin’s saliva-slick hand as it falls down in a crouch. It stares desperately at the cylinder held aloft in the air. It jolts forward when Gavin squeezes it between claw-tipped fingers until it threatens to bend under the strain and render it useless, eyes are wide and sorrowful, the glow in them sapping away with every passing second. Gavin nearly feels bad for it.

“Why are you following me?!” he demands to know, pushing the thought aside.

It doesn’t answer, shifting in place as it continues to stare at him.

“You can have this back if you tell me.” Half-truths. The android merely curls in on itself, pressing the palm of its hand against its own throat. It mouths something but the dark plating making up the lower part of his face makes it impossible to see what. Then it clicks. “You can’t talk?”

It nods.

Maybe it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when the droid looks anything but finished. Gavin can see parts of its biocomponents pulsing a subdued red behind clear panelling mixed in with sleek metal in a colour so dark it’s nearly void. The upper part of its face has synthskin, including his upper lip, but everything below is made of the same black material. Its ears nearly blend into the raven hair on its head and Gavin can’t find it in himself to be angry at it. Clearly, it’s a lost ‒ and potentially broken ‒ thing. Not unlike himself.

Gavin tosses the regulator in the android’s direction and marches on. He has a job to do after all and tracking only gets harder the longer he dawdles. Almost immediately the feeling returns and he groans out loud. The time-limit forces him to keep moving regardless of his silent companion. His target already has a two-day head start and the moment Weiss crosses the border into Canada Gavin can’t do jack-shit to him. He jerks the rifle higher on his back and continues to follow the scent of old blood laid into the earth. Evidently the bastard isn’t worried about being followed so much as setting a fast pace despite his injuries.

When night begins to fall, the shadows lengthening around him, Gavin reluctantly sets up camp. There’s maybe another two days before he catches up and seeing as they’re about a three day’s march from the border he’ll be cutting it close.

The area he finds is partly protected from the elements and close to a stream of trickling water. “I know you’re there,” he calls while rummaging around his supplies to find kindling. There’s a rustle of the underbrush to his left and the hulking mess of an android appears at the edge of camp. It looks hesitant, almost skittish, where it stands. It makes little sense given how bulky the ‘droid is and how aggressive it behaved earlier. Clearly it should be able to hold its own going off design alone. Gavin returns to ignoring it after a last wary glance and swears beneath his breath when the wood won’t catch flame.

The android shifts into his line of sight and approaches slowly, like one would a vicious or scared animal. It stops again and gestures to the attempted fire, tilting its head in question. Gavin sighs. “Sure, why not,” he shrugs. “‘s not like you can do a worse job.”

Despite the less-than-friendly tone, the android visibly perks up. Gavin watches as it rearranges the collected wood with meticulous focus before stripping one of its fingers of plating and snapping off a few wires. The resulting electric sparks is what it uses to light the kindling. The fire slowly spreads over bark and wood until they’re engulfed by flames, cracking and popping in the still evening. Satisfied, it prods at the still-sparking wires with a finger, completely transfixed by the reds, oranges and yellows found in the flickering fire.

Gavin offers a crooked grin in thanks. “Wonders of technology. You need any help with that?”

The android shakes its head no, poking the wires back in place, before clicking the plating back where it belongs. It looks to be smiling slightly as it reluctantly gathers itself up to leave.

Gavin stops it with a hand on its wrist.

“You can stay.”

It’s basic human decency Gavin tells himself when he watches the android shuffle closer to the flames, hands outstretched as if to absorb its warmth. With the light’s help he can just about make out the serial-number etched into its chassis right over its thirium pump. “RK900, “ Gavin reads, “-that’s not one I’ve heard of before.” The droid turns to him and holds up one finger, turning it afterwards to point at himself. Gavin hums. “One of a kind then. I can relate to that.”

The android slides closer, looking up with a soft “go-on” like gesture that Gavin is helpless to resist.

He wakes up the next morning feeling as if everything has tilted slightly to the left and groggily gets himself ready for the day, rolling up his sleeping bag and kicking dirt over the fire’s embers, while RK stares at him with intrigue. They begin the trek not long after with Gavin wolfing down a protein bar in lieu of breakfast. RK frowns at him then, his brows furrowed severely, but it quickly turns to confusion when Gavin sticks his tongue out at him and picks up the pace. While they walk, he contemplates when in the previous evening he began referring to RK as “he” instead of “it”. There’s no doubt that the android is alive, for lack of a better term, animated and interested and latching onto every word of Gavin’s tales the way he used to do himself when he was younger and less jaded.

Gavin, lost in thought, doesn’t notice RK disappearing for a moment. His return is difficult to miss though since he presents him with a perfectly symmetrical trientalis europaea, its yellow core surrounded by seven white petals. A stark contrast to the black hands cupping it; delicate fragility resting in palms simply not made for such sweet blossoms. There’s excitement radiating off him, nestled in his glowing eyes, which doubles when Gavin asks: “Is that for me?”

The nod is quick as RK moves his hands an inch closer. Gavin takes it with a soft “thank you.” He looks at it for a moment longer and then takes his notebook from his inner pocket to place the flower there, snapping it shut and tying it with twine to really press flat. RK preens, turning his gaze bashfully to the forest floor, while Gavin pretends his cheeks aren’t flushed red.

When at last it comes time to make camp Gavin is pleased with their progress. “The scent of blood is more prominent. Even if he’s on scent blockers I can pick up smoke from the campfire. We’re getting close.”

His statement prompts an explanation about the reason he’s in the woods to begin with. The concern he shows upon hearing of Gavin’s chosen field of work is quickly dismissed with a: “I managed to bring you down, didn’t I?” which RK’s lips twitch at. He settles even closer to Gavin today, surreptitiously scenting the air between them, until Gavin asks him about it point-blank.

‘You smell nice,’ RK writes out on a torn-out page in Gavin’s book. ‘It’s what drew me in.’

“I smell like fuck-all while on blockers.”

‘Leather, coffee, something sweet like honey.’ It takes a moment before RK writes the next part: ‘You’re an omega.’

Gavin is still reeling when the last part of the sentence hits him like a punch to the gut. He takes his blockers near religiously, there’s no way RK should be able to‒

...but then the air around him floods with hints of metal and ozone. He’d smelled it before, when RK first came at him, but it had been absent since.

An alpha.

As soon as the scent envelops him it lessens again. ‘It’s hard to concentrate, to control myself, unless I turn that part of my programming off. Although, it means I have to get in close to smell anything.’

Gavin doesn’t know what to say to that, to any of it, so he remains quiet even if he doesn’t move away to allow RK to take in his scent as he pleases.

The weather dips dangerously in the late night and Gavin wakes up shivering. “Fuck, dammit,” he curses. Maybe he should keep moving. Catch the fucker earlier and finally get away from here. ‘Terrible plan,’ Gavin reminds himself as another shiver wracks through his body. Weiss is an alpha and as much as Gavin loathes to admit it, they are stronger than him. His strength is his speed and precision, dancing out of people’s range until they tire, or using his omega status as a lure. The last one wouldn’t help him here and the former only works if he’s well-rested and alert.

RK is just now stoking the fire. It helps, a bit, but Gavin is still feeling numb; fingers and toes hurting when he attempts to stretch them out.

“Hey, RK. C’mere a second.”

The android obeys without question, crouching down next to where Gavin has struggled into a sitting position. He places his hands against RK’s bare chassis to test his theory. There’s a low thrumming vibration beneath his fingertips and the metal is surprisingly warm to the touch. RK moves to clasp Gavin’s hands between his own and slowly rubs over them, keeping them covered while his chassis suddenly generates more heat.

Once they’re an appropriate temperature again RK moves to sit behind him. Gavin watches him, a question etched clearly into his eyes, but RK merely lays down, waiting and watching. Glacially slowly Gavin joins him on the ground and the android smiles shyly before turning his back on him. Gavin mirrors him once more, shuffling until they lie back to back, and both the warmth from the fire and RK enveloping him is a comfort he didn’t know he needed.

The morning after is filled with glances out of the corner of his eye, with the urge to hold RK’s stupid hand, and he wonders when he became so starved of touch, of someone showing the slightest bit of kindness to him, that two days are enough to want to pull RK down by his hair and kiss him senseless.

They catch up to Weiss a short few hours later and Gavin presses the rifle into RK’s hands as a safety precaution before throwing himself into the fight. It’s quick and dirty with Gavin using every trick in the book to gain the upper hand while dancing around the wildly thrown punches. Grinning through the rush of adrenaline Gavin eventually stops toying with the man and brings him down with a few precise kicks and punches. He locks handcuffs around Weiss’ wrists, arms behind his back, while Weiss shouts abuse and obscenities at him. Gavin pays it no mind, explaining with a sick sense of satisfaction that the cuffs aren’t coming off without a DNA signature from his friend and that running would mean a slow death for him left out in the elements. “Truth be told, I don’t care whether or not you’re still breathing when I bring in proof of your capture. I can afford to lose the difference in compensation.”

Weiss falls limp at that while Gavin slowly rises to his feet. When he looks up, remembering they’re not alone, RK is standing still as a statue. He stalks over, bearing a striking resemblance to a predator approaching prey, and presses right up into Gavin’s personal space to shove his nose into his neck and inhale. A rumbling noise is caught in his throat, a growl that has Gavin’s knees weakening slightly, as sharp teeth graze over his throat. Ozone and metal. Wicked claws not present before gripping his jaw tightly.

He reaches up to stick his thumb in RK’s mouth, pressing it down on his tongue with narrowed eyes. RK pricks it with his fangs and laps at the drop of blood with his tongue, all the while keeping eye contact. It makes Gavin squirm, just a little bit, and he’s thankful the heat suppressors keep him from getting wet or the walk back would be uncomfortable to say the least. With a graze of his teeth, RK loosens his hold and puts distance between them again, eyes dark and wanting.

Weiss tries to run about two thirds of the way back and Gavin sighs as he readies his reclaimed rifle. Turns out he never has to use it. RK’s head snaps up and he tracks the man’s erratic patterns for a second before giving chase. He’s practically a blur of movement and Gavin watches, transfixed, as he takes Weiss down in one graceful leap. The lack of being able to catch himself smacks Weiss’ head hard against the ground. RK doesn’t seem to care about the man’s dazed state as he drags him back to Gavin, his claws buried deep into the sides of his neck, hand cupping the back of it. He tosses him at Gavin’s feet and offers a razor-sharp grin, nudging the guy with the tip of his foot.

Gavin gives him a light kiss on the cheek for his help and can almost imagine the tail wagging behind him with excitement at the gesture of affection.

What doesn’t fit the crumbling infrastructure in the slums or the dingy office he rents for cheap is the well-kept lady in smart business attire standing next to him behind the desk.

Maurice Gacy, the guy they usually make business with, is a weasel of a man. His thin greasy hair and slimy smile fits his role of lowlife criminal perfectly. His side hustle of collecting bounties for the Guild is the only reason Gavin interacts with him, puts up with his leering and comments. Trust only extends so far between them but... all in all he gives the money owed and he keeps his mouth shut when talking to the cops which is all that really matters in the end.

RK tenses behind him, something Gavin senses in the clicking of his machinery, and Gavin frowns at the broad smile beginning to stretch over her face. “You found it,” she says lightly, walking in a measured pace while Gacy warily trails behind, heels clicking across the linoleum.

Gavin takes a step forward to meet her and bares his teeth in a snarl. “Back off.”

She nods sagely, uncaring for his hostility and lengthening canines. “Yes, of course. Money first. Always the same with you lot, isn’t it?” The node she produces from her fitted jacket flares to life and he stares, heart stuttering in his chest, at the very familiar face displayed.

WANTED

RK900, MODEL NUMBER #313 248 317 - 87

REWARD: 1.000.000 $

HIGHLY VOLATILE AND EXTREMELY DANGEROUS

PREFERABLE IF IT REMAINS OPERABLE UPON COLLECTION

Metal and ozone laced with a bitter tinge resembling fear.

A flower stuck between yellowing pages.

Viscous saliva and thirium dripping from his hands.

Whatever RK’s crime can Gavin truly bear to have more of his blood on them when it’s sure to stain them always? The thought is on the forefront of his mind when RK walks up to stand by his side, resignation already home in eyes and slowly sapping them of light, and in that moment, Gavin has his answer.

His arm shoots out to block RK from moving further and slowly raises his chin in defiance. “No.”

“Excuse me?”

They’re all staring at him, RK with a mix of wonder and trepidation, so Gavin sets his jaw and forces calm into his voice. “You can fuck right off with that shit, he’s not the reason we’re here.” With a nod to Tina, she steps forward and shoves Weiss at Gacy. Thankfully he’s too much of a coward to pick a fight and transfers the agreed upon money to her before whisking Weiss away towards the back. Tina raises an eyebrow at him, bumping their shoulder together lightly as she walks out the door, and Gavin has never been as thankful to have her as he is right now when the unmistakable sound of an engine rumbling to life filters in from outside. “Come on, we’re done here.”

It’ll start a shitstorm, that’s for damn sure, but with RK leaning forward to peer out the front window as they tear through the streets, Gavin can’t find it in himself to care.

#allegedly answering asks #dbh gavin #gavin reed #dbh rk900 #rk900 #reed900 #dbh #detroit: become human #detroit become human #mini fic #my writing #is nines courting gavin in this to the best of his abilities?#yes absolutely #does gavin know?#debatable #he's both thick and thicc if you know what i mean

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zigtheeortega · 3 years

Text

come back to me

pairing | colt x mc

word count | 5.3k

warnings | blood, guns, bullets, wounds, and a mention of death. there’s a section of the fic where mc gets shot when a job goes awry – it’s used in a hurt/comfort scenario, but be warned that it’s in there! lmk if i need to use any other tags!

tags | @raleighcarrera, @pixeljazzy, @senatorraines, @jaxmatsuo, @rodappreciationweek

author’s note | i’ve never written a colt fic before, so i wanted to take a crack at a slowburn colt au – this fic takes place over the span of about ten-ish years (fifteen-ish total since the events of book one). i’m not the biggest colt expert so i hope i did him justice!

•─────────────────•

“If you ever ask me to do this much ass kissing again, I’m divorcing you.”

Colt flung himself onto the bed, still fully clothed, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Oh, stop being dramatic,” Raquel laughed, reaching back to unzip herself, the soft fabric of her sundress sliding down her body and onto the floor.

He hummed from his place on the bed, neck craning to watch her as she changed into her pajamas.

“Stop distracting me from being annoyed,” he grumbled, letting his head fall back, his gaze trained on the ceiling.

“Are you actually mad at me or are you just complaining to hear yourself talk?” She asked, but before he could respond she’d climbed on top of him, wrapping him in a koala hug, nestling her head under his chin.

Naturally, he hugged her back, his arms snaking around her waist.

He shrugged. “I’m not mad at you.”

She giggled into his chest, sending tremors up his body, the warmest kind. “You’re the most stubborn man I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah, I don’t know why you married me,” he kissed the top of her head. “You’re too good for me.”

Raquel pushed herself up till they were nose to nose, giving him a pointed look. “I haven’t been too good for anyone since we were kids.” She pressed a quick kiss on his lips, intending to pull away, but he gripped her chin before she could, kissing her deeply.

He’d never get tired of that… and he’d never get tired of her.

For the longest time, he thought it was too far-fetched to expect he’d find someone willing to stick around through all of his bullshit, much less someone who’d legally binded herself to him.

He was still in awe with how it played out.

He’d returned to Los Angeles dangerously too soon after their run in with The Brotherhood. Incidentally enough, he was laying low on high alert for so long… but nothing came of it.

Maybe they’d been arrested, maybe they’d gotten justice, or maybe they just moved on to terrorize another city. He’d always assumed it was the latter.

Rebuilding his father’s autoshop was painful, no matter how deep he tried to shove those feelings down.

Colt’s vision for his father’s crumbling empire wasn’t one that came into focus for him for years.

Five years after The Brotherhood incident, all he had to show for it was a struggling auto shop with a few criminal employees who barely knew how to hotwire a car.

It seemed like there were no hills in sight, only cavernous valleys.

Five years after The Brotherhood incident, the death of his father, and the end of the Mercy Park Crew, she came into focus.

Raquel stepped into the garage, heels clacking against the dirty concrete, her gait determined.

He watched her from his tiny office, peering through the blinds as she glided confidently across the auto shop and up to his door.

She rapped her knuckles against it a few times, a little too heavy handedly.

There’s no way she’s really here, he thought, shaking his head. No fucking way.

He debated whether or not to let her in – the last time a Kaneko opened their doors to her, they nearly ruined her life.

He twisted the knob and yanked it open anyways, an insult bubbling up his throat. After all these years, he figured he’d be relieved to see her, but the tiny sliver of relief was easily overshadowed by his knee jerk reaction of annoyance and shock.

There was a small part of him that was excited, but not enough to warrant being nice to her.

When he came face to face with her for the first time, she spoke first. “Hi, Mr. Kaneko. I’d like to apply for a bookkeeping job.”

He blinked when she shoved a thick manila folder in his hands. “I think my qualifications speak for themselves.”

He thumbs the edges of the papers, flipping through her resume and the thick Master’s thesis. She’s too fucking smart to be back here.

Before anyone in the shop could see, he tugged her arm till she was inside, all but slamming the door behind her.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

She ripped her arm from his grasp, brows furrowed. “I’m here to work.”

“Don’t you get how dangerous it is for you to be here or are you just stupid?” He all but spat, slapping the folder onto his desk.

“If I’m stupid that makes you just as much of an idiot as me,” she countered, crossing her arms firmly. “I know the risks.”

“You can’t be dumb enough to think I’d take that risk, though,” he rolled his eyes, plopping into the chair at his desk.

She laughed – actually laughed – at him, covering her mouth. “Forgive me for that.”

He cocked a brow at her, waiting for her to continue.

“I went to school with pretentious male academics for five years, Colt. Whatever you’re gonna say to me has already been said, and it won’t hurt my feelings.”

He leans forward, flipping to her resume, tearing it off the top. “Let’s see, here. Langston college, yeah, I remember that. Graduated with honors? Predictable to do that three times in a row, don’t you think?”

She laughed again. “That’s a new one. I’ll have to log that under my favorite insults.”

“Well, I have loads. You’re giving me lots of material, Miss Olvera,” he mocked her, going back to skimming her resume.

Truthfully, he was trying to scare her away by being mean, and it wasn’t working. He didn’t want to dig too deep, though, because he wasn’t that evil.

He liked the girl – hell, if he didn’t like her, would he be bending over backwards to make her hate him purely for her safety?

“I can’t pay you well. I’m still rebuilding, and we’re barely breaking even. We’ve been sticking to straight work till I can manage to rebuild our reputation and relationships with buyers.”

She nodded. “I completely understand, and I don’t mind.”

“What, are you gonna ask me for a place to stay next?” He grumbled, rolling his eyes.

He was lying if he didn’t feel a little something stir in his stomach at the possibility of her staying in his apartment above the shop.

“No, I’m alright.”

“You came back to L.A. and you immediately have a place to stay? You’re lying.”

Her lips pressed into a firm line, she shook her head. “I’m back at my dad’s house.”

“What? There’s no fucking way I’m letting you work here if you’re living with a cop –”

“He passed away last year,” she chewed her lip, trying to keep her face neutral. “He had a heart attack in the middle of the night. Couldn’t get to the phone in time.

“Thankfully, he had a will set in place soon after mom died,” she shrugged. “I got the house, so I’m good.”

His fists clenched at his side. He’d already taken it too far without even meaning to.

“Sorry to hear that.”

She scoffed, a single forced laugh bursting from her lips. “You don’t have to respect him in front of me to save face or whatever. Your feelings about my dad don’t affect me.”

He nodded once, and the room descended into silence. He took the time to actually read her resume that time around, finding himself genuinely impressed with what she’d accomplished.

What he wanted to ask was “Why the fuck did you come back here?” but instead, what came out was, “You’re sure you can handle this?”

“I’m sure.”

She said those words with such conviction that he never had to ask again.

Raquel cuddled up to him, her breathing evening out. He hadn’t realized they’d gone that long without speaking.

He didn’t mind it though. He didn’t care as long as she was with him.

She stirred in her sleep, nearly rolling off of him, so he took that as his cue to tuck her in.

When she was settled under the covers, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and stepped out onto the deck.

The beach house they’d rented was a hundred feet from the shore, the waves grating against the sand creating the perfect white noise.

Perfect for sleeping, he mused, thinking about how quickly Raquel fell asleep in his arms, watching the water crash and retreat, push and pull over and over.

That same back and forth was what eventually brought him and Raquel together. They butted heads constantly, but had the same view on lots of decisions. They’d finish each other’s sentences and the crew would give each other knowing looks that he ignored.

A year in, she finally broke down. Not purposefully, and certainly not with the intent of him finding her curled into a sobbing mess outside of the garage.

“Hey what the hell, Raquel? It’s dangerous out here,” he called as he jogged up to her crumpled form.

He didn’t notice she was crying until he’d crouched down to check the injuries he thought she’d have.

She shielded her face with one hand and used the other to wave him away. “Just go.”

“I’m not leaving until you’re safe.”

It wasn’t even meant to be romantic. He’d do it for the rest of his crew since they’d grown so close.

There wasn’t a possibility of anything happening between them, or so he thought at the time. And what she admitted to him that night sealed their fate for years.

He’d managed to help her inside to his office, pulling back his worn office chair for her to collapse into.

A short “You okay?” Was all he could manage. He was new to this wellness check stuff and it didn’t come naturally to him.

But he knew as a leader, he had to do a lot more than just telling people what to do. Even if they split without a word in a week’s time, they were still a working machine that needed a little elbow grease every once in a while.

Even in the dim lamp light he could tell her eyes were red rimmed.

“I don’t think you want to hear my explanation as to why I’m not,” she laughed humorlessly, using the sleeve of her shirt to scrub the streak of makeup under her eye.

“I’m not good at this comforting shit, but I’ve got ears and I’ve gotten pretty good at using them,” he joked, sliding into the rickety folding chair in front of the desk.

She shrugged, flinging her hands up. “You’re gonna make fun of me –”

“– I won’t –”

“– You will, Colt. I know you and you’re gonna scoff the minute I take a breath.”

He couldn’t hold back the small smile at that.

“Well, yeah, but you don’t have to take it to heart.”

She sniffled, laughing. “You’re hard to ignore.”

“So are you, hard ass. Tell me what’s wrong.”

The sigh that came from her was labored, struggled, like she was about to drop heavy weights onto the floor of the office.

“Today’s the one year anniversary since I started working for you.”

He cocked a brow. “That’s it?”

“If you’d just let me explain then you’d know,” she rolled her eyes. “You’re already sucking at being a good listener.”

He held his hands up in surrender, leaning back into his chair. “Sorry.”

“My whole game plan was to figure out how to make myself useful. It’s why I got my Masters in accounting in the first place. I wanted to have my solid place in the crew, you know? Like I earned my spot.”

He nodded, waiting for her to continue.

“I just had this stupid fairytale idea in my head about coming back to L.A. and none of that’s come true.”

“Well, what was it? Anything I can do?” He asked.

Raquel sank her teeth into her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. She shook her head in response, taking a few deep breaths till she could finish.

“I wanted our old crew back. I… thought Logan would be back here by now, or looking for me at the very least,” she rubbed her temples, closing her eyes. “I waited five years to come back here and I’ve barely lasted one year in L.A. without him.”

He couldn’t help but flex his hand in and out of a fist a couple times as she spoke.

Yeah, it was true he didn’t care for Logan that much, but she liked him. Loved him, even.

If she was this dedicated to him six years later and he still hadn’t tried finding her, he didn’t deserve her.

“So it’s about Logan?” He asked with zero judgement, and she could tell.

She nodded, sniffling again. “Maybe I’ve just deluded myself into thinking we meant more to each other, but I’m still in love with him and I don’t know when that’s going to end for me.”

He didn’t know what to say, so he did what he thought was best.

He stood up, taking a couple steps till he was close enough to lay his palm on her shoulder, rubbing his thumb gently across the fabric.

She laid her hand on his thumb, holding it in place, as the sobs shook her body.

After that, he tried his hardest to keep her from crying. Which entailed leaving Logan’s name out of things.

Colt abandoned his shirt and shoes at the back door and hopped off the deck, landing softly on the sand. He took his time walking towards the water, gaze transfixed on the moon, which was at its peak in the sky.

He always thought the fact that the sea and moon were interlinked was kind of peculiar. The moon, thousands and thousands and thousands of miles away, had just enough power to pull the waves in the right direction.

He thought of Raquel like his moon far too often. The minute he was in her gravitational pull, he found himself wanting to follow her – to let her take the reins – and that was rare.

The first time he knew it was the beginning of the end with her was when a job went south.

Three years after she broke down about wanting the old crew back, they got a taste of the old violence.

One of their crew members, Isaac, had said for weeks that he had a weird gut feeling about that job in particular. Colt waved him off, reminding him that he’d value proof over superstition anyday.

In short, they were ambushed – nothing out of the ordinary in terms of their day to day risk.

What Colt wasn’t expecting, however, was for Raquel to be the one who got hurt.

They were cornered by the masked group, and before their crewmember Aly could grab her gun and shoot, one of them fired, the cracking sound of the gunshot echoing off the concrete flooring of the rundown parking garage.

Raquel’s pained groan followed immediately after.

Colt’s heart stopped when he saw the fabric of her jeans turning a deep deep maroon, the blood spreading faster than he could process what’d happened.

Her eyes fluttered and she stumbled to her knees, crying out as she knelt, bending her legs, one of which had been freshly torn through with a bullet.

“Don’t let them get away –” he shouted, flinging his arm in the direction of the fleeing criminals. He knelt down to scoop Raquel’s crumpled form into his arms. “Isaac, stay here.”

Isaac froze, nodding. “Anything you need, boss.”

“Drop me off at the shop so I can patch her up. I have to stop the bleeding.”

Colt’s voice was calm and even, but inside he was at his breaking point. He sat in the backseat of the car with Raquel strewn across his lap, the color draining from her face with each passing minute.

His palm was firmly pressed against her calf to halt the bleeding. He was thankful that the adrenaline was numbing the pain till they could make it to the shop.

She’d wince every time he adjusted his slippery grip, instinctively turning her head into the crook of his neck. That didn’t cross his mind till much later.

When she attempted talking once or twice, he furiously shushed her each time. “Save your energy. You’ll need it.”

When Isaac skidded to a stop in the garage, Colt tossed his keys Isaac’s way. “Take my car and get out of the city for a few days. Lay low. I’ll clean this one up and it’ll be good as new when you come back.”

Isaac nodded, brows furrowed. “I should’ve… I knew it was gonna go south but I should’ve tried to convince you again –”

Colt held up a hand. “You were right, and I should’ve trusted your gut instinct, and I will from now on. This is solely on me. Don’t blame yourself.”

He nodded, hopping out of the car, sliding into Colt’s convertible, and disappearing into the night.

He’d managed to get Raquel into the apartment and onto the worn leather couch in the office – she was pale and clammy, flitting in and out of being fully aware of what was going on.

“Colt… I can clean up my leg, just… just give me a second to catch my breath,” she said, her eyes drooping closed.

“Absolutely not. Give me a second. I’m trying to find the goddamn gauze but I don’t see it anywhere –”

He was glad his back was turned, because he was shaking in terror and rage in a way he hadn’t in a long time.

The first aid kit clattered out of his hands and onto the desk, and he cursed, gripping the side of the desk till his knuckles were bright white and screaming at him to let go.

“Colt…” she whispered. “I’ll be fine. I’m just hurting.”

He dragged a chair to her side, propping her ankle up against his knee before getting to work cutting a thin line up the outer seam of her jeans. The blood trickled onto his own leg, saturating the denim of his pant leg immediately.

“Are you gonna ignore me the whole time you work on my leg?” She joked, wincing. “Fuck –”

The scissors were close to the wound, and he tried his best to stretch it away from it before cutting further.

“Sorry,” he murmured, grabbing two rags and dousing it in hydrogen peroxide. He rolled up the second one, handing it to Raquel.

She sighed shakily before stuffing it into her mouth, digging her fingers into the cracked leather of the couch.

She nodded once, giving him the sign to get it over with.

The second the damp rag touched her bloodied skin, she panted through her nose, eyes screwed shut.

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts.” He grunted, grimacing as her thigh bucked against his hand, despite him trying to hold her in place.

When he touched the wound, she screamed, devolving into choked, muffled sobs.

He’d made a vow to make sure she never cried over Logan again, and instead he’d broken his promise by putting her in direct danger over and over and over again.

There was no reason for her to accompany them on jobs – she knew the risk, and didn’t care, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t stop her from coming.

No matter how hard he tried, he was always the reason she was getting hurt.

“This is all my fault,” he said, when he’d finished cleaning her wound. “I should’ve never let you come along to our trades.”

She scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, a couple stray tears still glistening across her temples. “I wanted to be a part of this. Like you said to Isaac, you can’t blame yourself for this.”

“I don’t care what you say, alright? It was my fucking fault and you should’ve never been a part of this life.”

“Colt.”

He glanced up, barely able to meet her gaze.

“Whether you want to admit it or not, I’ve been a part of this life for nearly ten years now. I’m almost thirty. You’re closer to thirty than me. I know what I’ve gotten myself into, and I’m sticking by you regardless of the risk on my life.”

She slipped a clammy hand over his, which still held her thigh firmly in place. “If I lose my life on a job, I don’t regret it at all. I’d never regret meeting you.”

She took a labored breath, laying back against the armrest. “That took a lot out of me.”

Colt shook his head. “Stop talking. You need your energy.”

Raquel rolled her eyes. “I try being nice to you and you ignore it every time.”

“I just don’t know what the fuck to say to that. What the fuck am I supposed to say to that, huh?” He asked incredulously.

She blinked, her eyes narrowing. “I just got fucking shot, and you’re cursing at me while asking me to be your therapist? Am I hearing that right?”

He picked up his bloodied hands from her leg and threw them up in the air. “I have a lot going on in my head right now, and I’m not trying to fight you or get you to be my fuckin’ therapist, alright? I’m just confused.” He was barely below a shout, his chest heaving when he was done.

“I can’t read your mind, Colt. I’m kind of delirious with blood loss right now, so the least you can do is not yell at me and ask me politely to slate this conversation for later,” she said firmly, wincing while she shifted on the couch.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” he panted, shrugging his stained black thermal off. He tossed it to the side, revealing his equally as bloodied white tee.

He slipped that shirt off, too, tearing the shirt into long strips.

Raquel watched him, her brown eyed gaze one of both confusion and something more he couldn’t place and didn’t care to think about.

Wordlessly, he plopped back down, tying the shredded strips above the wound on her calf, fingertips grazing her skin as delicately as he could manage.

He let his hands linger for a bit too long, staring at the open wound on her leg.

Daring a look her way, Colt caught her watching him with a soft gaze, one that he hadn’t earned.

“You’re not mad at me for being there tonight… you’re mad at yourself for not protecting me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded once.

“You’re hoping that this makes me want to leave, because you won’t ask me yourself. You don’t want me to leave.”

He nodded again, glancing away from her.

After a long silence and avoidance of turning her way, she spoke first.

“You’re worried I don’t feel the same.”

He froze, dropping his hands from her leg. She was right, but if he admitted to it and she still didn’t feel the same, then what was he risking all this shit for?

Why was he still clinging onto the hope that she’d feel the same if nine years of pining was seconds away from being thrown out the window?

Mustering up his remaining courage, he nodded one last time.

And when he looked at her that time, she was beaming. Through the excruciating pain, she was smiling.

He broke first, scooting to the edge of his chair to get as close as he could. “What?”

“It’s funny that you were worried we weren’t on the same page. I think we might’ve been for a long time,” she laughed, hoarse and weak, but it was still her laugh that he loved so much.

“What do you mean?”

And then she said the words that he’d desperately needed to hear for nearly a decade.

“I came for Logan but I stayed for you.”

Once Raquel admitted that to him, he was all in. Completely committed, never faltering.

Their first kiss was anything but, the sensation one of nine years of pent up feelings from Colt’s end, and years of her own. Their first kiss was more of a sealant of their future (and their fate).

Their first kiss was everything Colt had dreamed of.

He kissed her like she was air and he was drowning and she was filling his lungs to the brim, her warmth spreading from his insides out.

She didn’t pull away after the first one, and neither did he.

For who knew how long, he was on his knees next to the bloodied couch, cupping her face with his palms, and kissing her like he had a decade of missed opportunities to make up for.

After that, they were inseparable.

And he never doubted her devotion to him again.

They fell into a routine of working at the shop together during the day and into the late hours of the night after everyone had left, before stumbling upstairs into Colt’s apartment, lips locked, hands roaming.

And she drove him to every job from then on, easily evading cops and maneuvering the underbelly of L.A. like it was second nature.

Colt waded into the warm water, barely feeling it as it lapped at his ankles, calves, thighs.

When he was waist deep, he opted to float on his back, using the opportunity to revel in the star littered sky. One he didn’t get to see too often in the heavily light polluted sky of Los Angeles. Was this really the same sky he’d lived under all these years?

He didn’t really plan on marrying Raquel.

It was never in the sleazy way where he was going to leave her the second he got what he wanted – he was content being with her. Living with her. Kissing her. Loving her.

But he didn’t think he needed to go through the motions because that’s supposedly what people in love did. He figured it was enough to spend his life with her without doing all the extra shit.

She brought it up first, nearly four years later.

At that point, he moved into her father’s house with her – they’d crash in Colt’s old apartment above the shop if they were too tired to drive home.

They were curled up on the old futon in his room, huddling under the blankets, and she was curled against his side, drawing circles through his short tuft of chest hair.

“We should get married.”

“Hmm?” He asked, in a haze, nearly drifting off to sleep before she’d spoken.

“You heard me.”

“You really wanna?”

“Well, yeah. I’ve always wanted to get married, even when I was a little girl.”

He kissed the top of her head, squeezing her closer.

“You’ve always been a daydreamer then,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, I used to dig up my old Easter dresses and strut into the living room asking my Dad to walk me down the aisle.”

“And did he?”

She laughed, lifting her head to get a good look at him. “Yep. Walked me right down the hallway and back to my room to change me out of my clothes.”

Her face fell a bit despite the fond memory. “I think I care more about it now because I know my parents won’t be there. It feels like if I don’t get married, I’m breaking a promise, as dumb as that sounds.”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t sound dumb at all, sweetheart. I don’t care what we do as long as it makes you happy.”

She smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss on his lips. “I love you.”

Wrapping her up in a hug, he kisses her back with fervor, echoing her sentiment in the form of mumbling against her lips. I love you.

Roughly a year later, they opted for a quick courthouse wedding and a honeymoon that consisted of staying in bed all day and ordering food to build back the calories they’d burned.

Around that time, Raquel reconnected with some of her only living relatives on her Dad’s side. She’d gotten close to a few of her distant cousins, and they convinced her to have a small ceremony for their family in Belize.

And fifteen years after he’d met Raquel, on the cusp of spring and summer, he married her again in front of an intimate crowd and kissed her like it was their first time.

He’d complained about having to ass kiss her judgemental old relatives, but he didn’t really mind. Seeing her in a white dress, beaming like it was the best day of her life, was enough to make any issue nothing but a minor annoyance.

“Hey!”

Colt swirled his arms in the water till he was upright again, grinning when he noticed the bright red lines on her face – she’d clearly just woken up.

“Hey, sweetheart. You sleep okay?”

“Come back to bed,” she asked, pointing at the back door of their beach house.

He tipped his chin at her. “You come out here.”

She rolled her eyes, before tearing off her nightgown, running towards the water at full speed, no hesitation.

He caught her in his arms, letting her wrap her legs comfortably around his waist while he waded out to deeper waters.

“Ugh. I was having a good dream, too, until I realized the bed was empty,” she grumbled, looping her arms tighter around his neck.

“Sorry about that. I promise next time I’ll wake you up before I head out.”

She nodded, content with his answer.

They were both chest deep in the water, faces close, the soft rays from the moon the only light they had.

“Why’d you bring me out here, Colt?” She murmured, eyes flitting to his lips, which were upturned in a soft smile.

“I was just thinking. This spring makes fifteen years since I met you.”

She hugged him, pressing a kiss on his cheek. “And only, like, six years since we came to our senses.”

He laughed heartily, squeezing her tighter around the waist. “You’re right.”

“Remember when we jumped off the cliff together?” He asked.

“Yeah, of course. It was the first time I ever felt a spark with you,” she grinned. “Took a long time for it to turn into a flame, though.”

“That was the first time I knew I loved you,” he admitted. “I wanted to kiss you so badly and I kicked myself in the ass for years for not trying –”

She cut him off with a passionate kiss, her tongue slipping into his mouth almost as soon as his mouth moved in tandem with hers. It was the sloppy, unplanned kiss he’d envisioned for that day.

“I think everything worked out for the better. I’m not sure we were ready for each other back then,” she said honestly, her forehead pressed against his.

“We needed to grow a little bit before falling in love, huh? You’re so smart,” he said, voice low, pressing another kiss to her lips.

“Yeah, and now we’ve got the rest of our lives.”

She was right (like she always was), and he couldn’t help but feel a twinge in his chest like he’d felt many times before.

He’d waited that damn long for her, so he was going to savor the rest of their life together as much as he could.

#playchoices #choices rod #rodaw #rodtimecapsule #colt kaneko #colt kaneko x mc #jade writes choices fics #cw: injury #cw: guns #cw: blood #tw wounds #tw injury

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 4 years

Text

Good as Gold pt. 1

[part 2] [prostitute!Jaskier masterpost]

It hasn't been long since Geralt left Kaer Morhen for the spring, but he's been travelling non-stop since. He usually does after having been cooped up for months, but this year he's been unusually restless, even for this time of year. But he's beginning to feel the effects of taking contracts for weeks straight without stopping. Truthfully, he should have made his way to town days ago - maybe longer - because the itch under his skin remains despite the exhaustion creeping up into its place. So town is where he heads and Hagge is the closest town to where he is.

It's not his favourite city, but there are many that are worse and most people here don't bat an eye at a Witcher in town anymore. Which is a good thing for him, especially tonight. All he wants is a warm bed and something decent to eat, maybe a bath. And he's intrigued to find a brothel on his way to the bathhouse. It hadn’t been part of his plan for the evening, but once he passes by, the thought of good company sticks in his mind.

He hasn't had any sort of relief since before he headed up to the keep last autumn and thinking about it, it would do him well to feel the touch of someone other than himself. Either way, no one will take him for any amount of coin looking and smelling the way he does now; bathing in rivers and lakes may be enough for a lone traveller on the road, but not for cities and not for civilized company.

Geralt pays extra for oils at the bathhouse so he can be somewhat presentable and he lingers in the hot water longer than he usually would. His aches and pains are soothed by the heat, but the itch under his skin remains, sharpened by the heat of the water and the calming scents of the oils. But bathing is one of the few things Geralt allows himself to enjoy and he takes his time despite his body's insistence that he needs to move on.

Once he's sufficiently clean and relaxed, if not settled, Geralt makes his way from the bathhouse to the brothel. He tethers Roach to a fence at the side of the building and pushes the door open, ignoring the insistent buzz under his skin. He's used to not getting his hopes up; many places won't let a Witcher through their doors, never mind let them spend time alone with their women, but tonight he's trying not to think about it. He wants this; his body needs this and if he’s turned away, it will just be another night getting off alone in his room at the inn. If the inn will take him.

As soon as he walks in, he spots a man at one side of the room; he's tall and fit in a pair of pale blue trousers and boots all the way up to his thighs. Geralt's eyes roam over him before he pulls himself away. He's talking to someone else anyway, and on the rare occasions when men will service other men, none of them are interested in him. So Geralt doesn't even try anymore. Even if he did, the man looks expensive and Geralt isn't exactly drowning in wealth. He makes his way over to the madam but as soon as she spots him, her expression turns sour.

"There's no one here for you," she says before he can so much as open his mouth.

Geralt can feel eyes on him and he isn’t sure if the bouncers are watching for any sign of a confrontation or if the others in attendance are interested purely because he’s a Witcher. It doesn’t matter either way and Geralt doesn’t press the matter. It’s not like it’s the first time and he would never entertain the idea of being with someone who doesn't want him - whether it's their job or not.

He thanks her anyway and he’s about to turn away when the click of bootheels catches his attention, approaching from behind. A gentle hand curls around his bicep and Geralt forces back the urge to spin around and defend himself. He’s safe here, even the bouncers won’t try to harm him unless he resists. And bouncers don’t touch so softly.

Geralt turns slowly, coming face-to-face with the bright-eyed man with bows on his trousers. Up close, he’s even more beautiful, eyes shining even in the dim light and his own scent of citrus and cloves is overwhelming, masking the scent of liquor and sex. Geralt’s cock takes that particular moment to remind him that he hasn’t had sex in months and Geralt does his best to ignore it.

“Oh, come on Lorelei,” the man says, keeping his eyes on Geralt’s, “you’re not going to turn him away.” It’s a statement, not a question and he says it with a seductive smirk, his gaze drifting slowly down Geralt’s body. The hand around his arm squeezes and the man looks up to him again.

“I saw you looking,” he says, “and I’d be more than happy to spend the evening between those thighs.” He slides both hands down, running up the front of Geralt’s thighs to punctuate the claim and grins up at him. Geralt’s mind shuts down and his cock takes over, twitching against the front of his trousers.

It's a ploy he knows. All the women he's been with are the same, but there's a look in this man's eyes that's more than just forced enthusiasm and Geralt wants to see how far he'll take it. At any rate, the man isn't disgusted by him and that's hard to find sometimes.

"You're responsible for yourself then, Julian," the madam huffs and turns in the opposite direction and Geralt casts a look in her direction as she goes. Interesting dynamic, for him to be able to be so commanding, he must be highly sought-after. And Geralt can understand why with those eyes and that voice, talking his way into anyone’s bed.

"Jaskier, if you please," he says before turning back to Geralt. "Don't worry about her, darling, she'll forgive me. Now, why don't we head upstairs and see what I can do for you, hm?" Geralt is weak when it comes to beautiful young men, weaker still when they show interest in him the way Jaskier does. Geralt agrees despite his better sense and allows Jaskier to take him by the hand and lead him through the room and upstairs.

When the door is closed, Jaskier turns to look at him and Geralt isn't sure what to do with the attention. In the past, the prostitutes Geralt has seen are quick to get him into bed and get to it, Jaskier seems less enthusiastic about the sex and more about Geralt himself. Which is unusual, but not unwelcome.

"They usually let you talk to them like that?" he asks, curiosity winning out over good sense. He's never seen a whore quite like Jaskier and a part of him wants to know more.

"I pretty much have free reign," he says simply, and Geralt lifts an eyebrow in response. "I'm very good at what I do. Now, you know my name, what can I call you, gorgeous?"

"Geralt."

"Hmm," Jaskier hums, "I like that." His hands press against his chest and Geralt immediately wants to press into the touch. It's been a long time since anyone has touched him without anger or fear and the boldness of it sends a shiver up his spine.

"You're not afraid of me?" he asks and Jaskier huffs a little laugh.

"Should I be?"

"You don't get many Witchers through here, do you?"

"You're my first," Jaskier confirms, "but enough of that, let's get you out of these clothes." He gets his hands on Geralt's belt, keeping his eyes on Geralt's as he gets it undone.

There's no fear there, and Geralt doesn't realize how much he's relaxed because of it until Jaskier's hands find his bare skin, tugging his shirt up and grazing his stomach as he goes. He's intrigued by Jaskier's boldness, his utter lack of hesitation in his presence because he doesn't remember the last time someone was this forward and confident with him. And when he shuts his eyes and tips forward, inhaling his scent, there's no hesitancy, only excitement and an underlying spice of arousal that has a wave of heat rolling up the back of his neck. He hadn't realized how badly he wanted to be wanted by someone.

It's such a basic desire that he's never considered achieving, something he's repressed for so long that when Jaskier's body presses against his own, Geralt can't help the rumbling groan that bubbles up from his chest. His shirt is pulled up over his head and Jaskier's hands find his chest again, running over his bare skin with an enthusiastic hum.

"Gods, look at you," he breathes. His fingers press into every dip, running reverently over his chest and down his stomach. "Stunning."

Geralt shudders as Jaskier's hands move down over his hips, but they settle on his waist, gently pushing to get Geralt to walk backwards. He lets himself be guided back toward the bed and sits when he's directed to, keeping his eyes on Jaskier as he kneels between his feet. He tugs Geralt's boots off gently, setting them to the side before running his hands all the way up his legs.

Jaskier reaches up with one hand, turning Geralt's medallion between his fingers. He considers it for a moment then lets it drop back into place, happy apparently, to let him keep it on. He looks up at Geralt and Geralt meets his eyes, looking for any sign of hesitation but there's nothing.

Jaskier rises to his feet, lifting Geralt's chin with two fingers, looking down on him and Geralt takes one look at the soft arousal in his eyes and finds himself eager to please, even if he's the one paying here. Soft fingers brush up the column of his throat and as Jaskier pulls away, Geralt's mouth goes dry.

He makes a show of getting undressed, bending low to remove his boots before pushing his trousers to the ground sauntering away toward the cabinet on the other side of the room. He continually casts looks over his shoulder, watching the way Geralt watches him as though he enjoys being on display. When he returns, he's got a delicate glass bottle in one hand and when Geralt catches sight of it, Jaskier smiles.

He presses in between Geralt's thighs, looping his arms casually around his neck and Geralt feels the last of the tension leave his body. It should be worrying for him to be so comfortable with a man who is really only here because Geralt is paying him for it. But he can feel Jaskier's cock press against his stomach and that, at least, is hard to fake. Though his experience with male prostitutes is scant, Geralt has had partners who couldn't perform due to fear or disgust or whatever else - Jaskier is a pleasant change of pace.

"What do you want me to do?" he asks, leaning forward to breathe against Geralt's ear.

"Mm. Anything you don’t do?" Geralt asks and he's surprised to find his voice rougher, scratchy in his throat.

"Not a lot if you pay enough, but if you want to get kinky, it’s gonna cost you. And I won’t do anything without discussing it first.”Jaskier leans back and looks at him, "and no kissing on the mouth. Other than that, I'm all yours. What do you want?"

"Fuck," Geralt mutters, hands clenching in the sheets at his sides. "I want your mouth, your hands, your ass- anything. I don't care." Jaskier's eyes light up and he pushes Geralt back against the bed before sliding off his lap and settling back between his knees.

“Easy to please,” he hums, “I like that.”

He gets Geralt's trousers open with quick precision, pushing them out of the way of his cock. The scent of lust spikes as Jaskier takes hold of him and Geralt groans despite himself, clenching his fists around the sheet. It's been far too long since anyone has touched him and as Jaskier's fingers slip up to play with the head, Geralt nearly growls his impatience.

"It's true then, what they say about Witchers," Jaskier smirks, crouching down so his mouth hovers just above Geralt's cock, hot breath maddening as it rolls over him.

"And what do they say?" he grits out.

"That you've all got massive cocks."

"Never fucked a Witcher," Geralt mumbles, "wouldn't know." Jaskier hums thoughtfully and wraps his mouth around Geralt's cock and that's the end of that.

Jaskier's mouth is hot and slick around him and Geralt's eyes drop shut at the rush of pleasure. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, so he keeps them fisted in the sheet, hoping it doesn't tear under the strain. And Jaskier pushes further between his thighs and takes Geralt's cock deeper than anyone has managed in the past and Geralt's not sure his hand alone will ever be good enough again.

When he draws back, he looks up with wide, dark eyes and Geralt's breath catches. He's still surprised that Jaskier is so enthusiastic about being with him and he looks so incredibly beautiful, which is an odd thing to think about someone with a cock in their mouth.

"You can touch me," Jaskier breathes, smiling softly at him, "I want you to."

Geralt reaches out, tentatively sliding his fingers into Jaskier's hair and he finds he likes the feeling of his hair between his fingers. Jaskier presses into the touch and sighs softly as he ducks back down and takes Geralt's cock back into his mouth. He sucks him down hard and Geralt's fingers tighten in his hair, gripping tight to keep from thrusting into Jaskier’s mouth. He shuts his eyes and leans back on one arm, letting his fingers trail across Jaskier's skull.

He'd be happy to come just like this; his cock presses against the back of Jaskier's throat and there isn't so much as a note of hesitation in him. If anything, Jaskier pushes harder, flicking his tongue against the head of Geralt's cock when he slides up and taking him down again in one quick motion that has Geralt breathless.

And he curses himself for not coming to town sooner, regrets his stubborn decision not to bring himself off on the way here because now he's too sensitive and this won’t last as long as he wants it to. If it hadn't been so long since the last time he'd come, he would have been happy to have Jaskier's mouth around him for as long as he'd allow, but already he can feel himself tensing up. Evidently, Jaskier notices too, because he runs his tongue along the underside of his cock and pulls off, wrapping one hand around the base of him.

"You're sensitive," he hums and the delight in his voice is unmistakable. "When was the last time?"

"Don't know," Geralt mumbles. His mind is foggy, eyes nearly shut as he looks down at Jaskier. He could probably figure it out, but it doesn't seem important enough right now.

"Well," Jaskier rises up, resting his elbows on Geralt's knees. From this angle, Geralt has a clear view of all of him and he can't tear his eyes from Jaskier's cock, already slick and fully hard. He wants so badly to touch him, but he doesn't know if that's part of the deal. Jaskier had said anything, but Geralt has had too many bad experiences to risk it.

"As much as I'd love to make you come with my mouth, I had some other ideas." Jaskier looks up at him and Geralt finds himself agreeing to whatever it is Jaskier wants to do to him. Whatever it is, it can't be bad.

Jaskier asks him to lie in the center of the bed and Geralt complies, letting himself be stripped of the rest of his clothes before Jaskier grabs the little glass bottle and returns to him. He climbs up over him, straddling his hips with both hands planted on Geralt's hips. He opens the bottle and slicks Geralt's cock, taking care to touch every inch of him, both hands wrapped around his girth. It feels amazing but the sensation only lasts a minute before Jaskier is shuffling forward again and leaning over him.

He takes one of Geralt's hands, reaching around behind himself and pressing Geralt's fingers between his cheeks. Instead of skin, Geralt touches something hard and solid. Frowning, he ducks his head, but Jaskier is preoccupied, running his fingers through Geralt's chest hair and kissing along his shoulders.

"Pull it out," he breathes and Geralt nods before doing just that. There’s some resistance and Jaskier moans into his chest, but once he moves past that, the toy slips out easily.

It looks like glass, black and solid and tapered at one end. He doesn't have much time to inspect it though before Jaskier is taking it back from him and setting it on the table next to the bed. He takes the oil again, slicking his own fingers up and Geralt inhales sharply as Jaskier pushes three fingers into himself.

"What is it?" he asks and Jaskier doesn't even acknowledge his lack of knowledge, just presses his nose under Geralt's jaw and groans.

"Keeps me ready," he breathes, "so you don't have to wait." And with that, he withdraws his fingers, readjusts his position and pushes back onto Geralt's cock.

Geralt's hands fly to his hips as Jaskier sinks down on him, fingertips digging into Jaskier's skin. Most women aren't so enthusiastic about taking him like this and Jaskier is tight around him. Geralt isn't an idiot, nor is he oblivious; he knows he's big and he knows that's a deterrent for a lot of people, but Jaskier seems determined to take as much of him as he can. And he does it with grace and without much trouble which sends a weird little thrill through Geralt's core.

Jaskier shifts, rolling his hips forward experimentally and Geralt's head drops back against the pillow. Jaskier is tight around him, pushing Geralt deeper into him and pressing his hands into his skin. He reaches out, slipping his hands around Geralt's and for a second it's too much and Geralt's eyes flash open. But Jaskier takes his hands and places them on his own hips, holding them against him until Geralt's fingers grip his skin.

"I love your hands," he breathes, "fuck, Geralt, touch me."

He knows it's a ploy, that Jaskier is a whore and his tools are his words; the more you pull a client in, the more likely they are to come back. But Geralt can't help falling for it if only just a little. He likes to think that he could do anything to make this good for Jaskier, too.

He rolls his hips and Jaskier groans above him, pushing his hands up and brushing his thumbs over Geralt's nipples. It sends a spark of lust straight down to his cock and he groans as he pulls Jaskier down against him. He gets a startled moan in surprise but Jaskier is nothing if not enthusiastic and when he clenches around him, Geralt goes all but limp beneath him. He won't last long like this, but even spending five minutes with Jaskier is long enough to make the absurd amount of coin he's spending on him worth it.

But Geralt isn't uncaring as some might suggest; he'd never leave a partner unsatisfied and he'll make Jaskier come even if he can’t make him come first. He slides his hands tentatively down Jaskier's thighs; he's still a little unsure about touching and he's been told off for it in the past, but Jaskier seems to welcome it, and when he doesn't get told no, Geralt continues. He wraps a hand around Jaskier's cock, slipping up slowly to the head and squeezing gently.

He keeps his eyes on Jaskier's face, watching the flutter of his eyelids and the way his mouth drops open in a little 'o' when Geralt's thumb sweeps over the head.

"Fuck," Jaskier grunts and he thrusts into Geralt's fist. The sight of his face pinched in pleasure and his lip trapped between his teeth is all the encouragement Geralt needs.

He needs this and Jaskier is here for him to take his own pleasure, but Geralt has always been better at giving than taking, even when he's aching for it. It's nothing for him to gather Jaskier into his arms and flip him onto his back and the surprised smile he gets when he looks down at him is enough to know he hasn't overstepped. If anything, Jaskier's breath comes a little quicker, the scent of his arousal stronger. And that's what really gets to him. Jaskier isn't just good at what he does, but he's genuinely enjoying this; so many whores see Geralt and get things over with as quickly as possible - Jaskier is the opposite.

Geralt drapes himself over him, resting his head on the cushion above Jaskier's head. He thrusts hard, keeping a steady rhythm and he's so lost in his own pleasure that he barely understands the words spilling from Jaskier's lips. He shoves a hand between them, propping himself up on his other arm, and wraps around Jaskier's cock.

"Yes," Jaskier grunts, "fuck me- fuck, those hands. And your cock, I know they say Witchers are big, but this is ridiculous," he huffs a strained laugh. "You’re fucking incredible- how does it feel darling, filling me up like that? Do you want to come like this?" he asks and Geralt squeezes his eyes shut and groans against Jaskier's shoulder.

He gives a quick sharp thrust of his hips, measuring his own restraint and as Jaskier lets out a tiny gasp, fingers Geralt didn't realize were in his hair tug on it. Heat sears through his body and Geralt's cock jerks inside him.

"You like that?" he asks, knowing full well Jaskier won't tell him anything but yes. The little mmhm that slips from his lips isn't as enthusiastic a response as Geralt was expecting, but he seems genuine about it and Geralt does it again, angling his hips and thrusting hard again. But he doesn't stop this time, taking Jaskier's cock in his hand again and stroking him in time with his motions.

And Jaskier babbles under him like he's never been fucked before. Which is an achievement considering the way he takes Geralt's cock like he was born for it.

"Geralt," he groans and for the first time, he sounds like he's not in control. "I'm gonna come-" Good, Geralt thinks, because Jaskier is hot and tight around him and he's so close he just wants to let go.

Jaskier whines as Geralt squeezes around his cock, rocks himself back onto Geralt's cock and then he's coming. His hands tangle in Geralt's hair, tugging with every thrust and when he looks up at him, his eyes are dark and glossy, his bottom lip swollen between his teeth. He whines again as Geralt's hand slips from his cock and Geralt leans over him, pulling one of Jaskier's thighs up over his hip as he pushes into him again.

"Gonna come in me?" Jaskier huffs and he's breathless, voice rough and Geralt just grunts before letting go. He buries himself deep, hips jerking unevenly as he comes and Jaskier's hands slip down to his ass, encouraging him.

Once the rush is over, he pulls out and rolls off of Jaskier, draping his arm over his eyes. He should want to leave immediately; he didn't come here to chat, after all, but he has nowhere better to be and Jaskier hums thoughtfully as he settles into the bed.

"You're welcome to the room," he says, "I'll stay with Astrid for the night."

"Stay," Geralt mumbles, "not about to kick you out of your own room."

"Wouldn't mind."

Geralt hums softly and as long as he lives, he'll never be able to figure out why he looks up at Jaskier and says, "I'd like the company. Been a long time since I shared a bed with anyone." It's true but that doesn't make it any less odd. As a rule, he doesn't share his feelings, least of all those about his personal life and here he is asking a whore to sleep with him because he's lonely.

But if Jaskier finds the request odd, he doesn't show it. He offers Geralt a soft smile and goes about cleaning up before sliding into bed next to him. And it's nothing, Geralt tells himself, that Jaskier presses up close and shuts his eyes. This is his job; Geralt is his client and that means doing anything he can to make him happy so he comes back. But Jaskier is soft and warm and it has been a long time since Geralt has had a bedmate, so he doesn't think too much of it. But then he speaks.

"What's it like?" Jaskier asks and Geralt cracks an eye at him.

"What's what like?"

"Being a witcher."

"Don't have anything to compare it to."

"Is it always lonely?"

"Mostly."

"Why do you do it?"

"Didn't really have a choice."

"Sounds awful," Jaskier frowns.

"It's not all bad." That's not entirely true, but Geralt is feeling particularly good right now and he's willing to be positive about it.

"Tell me some of the good things? I'd hate to think I'm sending you back into the world only to suffer."

Geralt huffs a laugh, turning to look at Jaskier. His eyes are still shut and he looks perhaps more beautiful like this than before. Geralt has no reason to keep these things from him and no one better for conversation, so he entertains him. And when he gets a reply, Jaskier asks for more. He keeps asking until Geralt's replies become slower, more drawn out. His eyes are heavy and his mind slows with the desire to sleep. Next to him, Jaskier hums and curls closer.

"Sleep," he whispers, "you've indulged me long enough."

Geralt hums and settles into the bed. When he slips a tentative arm around Jaskier's waist, the man just hums and shifts to make space for him. His breath is steady against Geralt's neck and Geralt focuses on that, the soft rise and fall, and shuts lets all other worries slip away. He finds, disappointingly, that he very much likes falling asleep with a warm body next to him.

#this got so much longer than intended #oops #BUT #part one is done!#prostitute!jaskier #geraskier #the witcher #rex writes #I will eventually have this on ao3 also #but I need a title #and surprise!#i don't have one yet #good as gold

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fandom-puff · 4 years

Note

hi i have a request! imagine for tommy he picked you up at the bar so he doesn’t know you very well but you guys ~do the nasty~ and later he overhears from your one friend telling lizzie that you faked your orgasm and he hunts you down determined to make you cum for real

HI! thanks so much for this request- I adored writing it!

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: SMUTSMUTSMUTSMUT also swearing bc... peaky blinders?

It was the grand opening of the Shelbys’ new bar, and naturally, almost all of Small Heath was crammed into the main room. The whiskey and gin (from Shelby Company Limited, of course) was flowing, and the Swing Band was playing loudly, much to the joy of the inebriated men and women dancing. You hummed to yourself, touching up your lipstick before calling for another round for you and your girlfriends, Ada and Lizzie. “You want another drink, Linda? Maybe just stout?” you asked, getting your coin purse out.

“Don’t bother yourself. I won’t succumb to that temptation. Just tonic water for me,” you rolled your eyes and soon received your drinks. “So you won’t touch gin, but you’ll happily play in the snow, eh?” Ada smirked, winking at you as she sipped her drink. You spluttered into your own.

“Come on, ladies,” you said, sensing the tension growing between sisters-in-law. “Let’s dance before the band starts playing that American rubbish,”

Together, you joined in with the dancing, giggling and cheering each other on. “C’mon Lizzie! Spin me around! I wanna be twirled,” you squealed, and the taller woman happily complied. You were new to the company, and she wanted to make you feel welcome before the boys scared you off. Soon you left the dancefloor, leaving the girls, to get another drink. You arrived at the bar, giggling and breathless, and ordered your favourite drink.

“Miss YLN,” a low voice rumbled next to you as the bartender poured your drink. “I don’t believe we’ve properly met. Been keeping the books, eh? My brother John says you’ve very neat handwriting, and hardly cross any number out,” You nodded as your eyes met Thomas Shelby’s.

“Oh… yes, Mr Shelby,” you murmured. “I try to make them neat so you lot don’t get muddled up,” you said. He nodded. The bartender put your drink in front of you and you reached for your purse. Tommy stopped you and gestured to the bartender that your drink ought to be on the house.

He soon took you into the side room, kicking Finn and Isiah out. “My secretary, Lizzie, recommended you to me,” he said as you perched opposite him. He lit a cigarette, rubbing it along his lip before taking a drag. “And I’ve been trying to figure you out. Couldn’t find anything,”

“I didn’t grow up ‘round here. When my mum died I took her maiden name. Most of her lot were killed. The Somme, I think,”

“And your dad?” he asked, watching you as you drank.

“The bastard died in France too, as far as I know. But I left home after Mum died. That was before the war,”

An hour later, you were still talking, although the pair of you had drained a bottle of whiskey. You were giggly and warm when drunk, but Tommy only closed in more. This didn’t bother you in the slightest. You leaned forward and smirked. “So, Mr Shelby, do I meet your approval, eh?”You were so close to him, and your pupils were dilated with what could only be described as a mixture of inebriation and desire.

“Yes. Yes, you do. C’mere,” he grunted, dragging you into his lap. He pressed his lips to yours in a bruising kiss, his hand already running up your thigh. You groaned and wriggled, sucking his lip into your mouth, grinding your heat onto his tenting trousers. He growled, unbuckling his belt and shoving his trousers down, and tearing your knickers down. He stood up, bending you over the table, before rutting into you animalistically. You whimpered, crying out, pushing back into him. His thrusts soon became sloppy, and you reached to stroke your pulsing clit- but he grabbed your hand as soon as he saw you moving, pinning you down and shouting out his release. It was a good job the band had started playing a popular song, otherwise, the whole of Birmingham would have heard you.

You panted, expecting him to carry on thrusting to bring you over the edge. Instead, you heard the sound of a belt buckle and the door slamming shut.

The experience sobered you up slightly and you straightened your dress, fixing your lipstick and hair before slipping out of the side room. You bumped into Lizzie and told her you were going home, as you were working in the morning. She nodded and took in your dishevelled (despite your best efforts) appearance. “Get some rest,” she said knowingly, giving you a wink.

The next day, you arrived at work despite your headache. You lit a lamp, as it was still a little dark out, and started on the books, flicking through the notes scribbled by various members of the Shelby clan. You worked in peace for ten minutes before Lizzie and Pol came into the room, chatting.

“There she is. How’s your head?” Lizzie grinned, sliding you some aspirin. You smiled gratefully and took the tablets.

“Holy shit,” Pol commented, staring at the bruise on your throat. You blushed deeply and tugged your collar closed. You hated wearing this blouse buttoned all the way up, but needs must.

“Wild night, eh?” Lizzie asked, getting her own paperwork sorted as Pol went to fix tea.

“Not really,” You sighed, looking down. You wanted to ground to swallow you whole.

“Oh, piss off. You came out of that side room five minutes after Tommy, looking like you’d been dragged through a hedge backwards, and you show up to work with a dirty great love bite on your throat,” she grinned. “I’m not judging you, by the way. If anything I’m impressed. He’s been a right prick lately,”

“And he was a right prick last night,” you hissed. “Moody bastard, and a lousy fuck as well. Didn’t even finish me off, I had to fake it in the end,” you glared down at your paperwork. Lizzie chuckled and rubbed your shoulder gently. Polly came back into the room with the cups and teapot, pouring for you all.

“So who’s the man? Boyfriend we haven’t heard of?” She asked, smirking.

“It was Tommy, Pol,” Lizzie explained. You kept your eyes down. “Apparently he’s a lousy fuck. Our poor YN was treated worse than the back alley whores by the sounds of it,”

Prolly frowned and set your tea in front of you. “Wouldn’t think a lousy fuck would leave that mark,” she said slyly. “Use a cold spoon and some powder when you get home,” she advised.

“And then tonight, go dancing and get a man who’ll treat you right, eh?” Said Lizzie. “You deserve better than someone rutting against you like a dog,”

The two women had cheered you up significantly and you smiled weakly until Arthur’s loud voice cut across your conversation.

“Rutting like a dog? Was that what you and Tommy were up to last night?” He grinned, having overheard, and you flushed angrily.

“Hey, no need to be embarrassed, YN, you are a pretty little thing-” he said, his smile dropping when he saw that his banter wasn’t making you laugh like normal.

“No. I’m not embarrassed. If anything, I’d be embarrassed for your brother. Who would’ve thought Thomas Shelby didn’t know his way around a woman, let alone how to properly please her!” You turned around. “Pol, I’m going home. My head is banging and I need to concentrate on these books. Arthur’s done all the adding up wrong. Dock my pay if need be,” You took the heavy leather-bound book and tucked it under your arm, before storming out of the betting shop, right past Tommy without even noticing.

The peace of your home was what you needed. You brewed yourself a pot of tea with the nice teabags you had picked up from the market, and settled yourself at your rickety old desk, going through the books and copying them up neatly, and more importantly, precisely. You even hummed to yourself, soon letting the stress of the previous night slowly fade away.

That was until there was a sharp knock on your door. You sighed, getting up. There was another knock. “Alright! I’m coming. Rent’s not due for another week, though!” You called, going to take the door off the latch.

There in the doorway, in all his glory, was your boss. His cap was drawn over his face and he blew out a breath of smoke. “YN. Can I come in?”

You wanted nothing more than to slam the door in his face and lock it, put the chain on and drown him out with your rusty gramophone. But-

“Fine. But put that cigarette out before you step over my threshold. The last tenant was a bad smoker and I’ve only just got the smell out of the cushions,” when the door shut, you turned around, crossing your arms. “What do you want, Mr Shelby?”

“Mr Shelby, is it now?” He asked, smirking. “That’s no way to greet a guest, is it. Are you going to offer me a drink?”

“No, I’m not. You don’t take me as one for cold tea with no milk,” you quipped. “What do you want?”

He arched his brow, looking you up and down as if you were a fresh cut from the butcher. You stood a little straighter, determined not to look small. “What I want, YN, is to know what your little fuss was about earlier on,” he said lowly.

You scoffed. “Oh please. You know exactly what it was about, and even if you didn’t, I’m sure the boys would’ve informed you,” you said coldly. “If you must know, I was pissed. Still am. Because I let you… have me. And I’m pissed because you treated me like a common whore, and I’m pissed because everyone knows and will think less of me,” you said, flushing, brow furrowed.

“And what’s all this about being a lousy fuck, eh?” He asked, face like stone.

“Oh you heard that part well enough, didn’t you?” You suppressed an annoyed laugh. “It’s true. You are a lousy fuck. D’you bend all your women over and hump them like a dog in heat or am I just special?”

“YN…,” he said, voice low, standing up and walking to you.

“You know, I’ve had better shags when I was a teenager. At least the lads I used to go out with had the decency to finish me off once their balls were empty!” You ranted, unaware of him stalking closer and closer, like a panther on the prowl.

He pushed you against the wall, arms braced either side of your head. You gulped. Had you pushed him too far? You looked up at him through your lashes, and couldn’t help but lick your lips, your breath already becoming shallow. “Finish you off, eh? Is that what you want?” He asked lowly, leaning to growl in your ear, sending a shiver that crawled all over your skin and made your eyelashes flutter.

You bit your lip and nodded. “Y-yes…” you whispered.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes please, Mr Shelby,”

That was all he needed. He gripped your hips and pulled them tight against his, kissing you ferociously, his hands gripping, squeezing, stroking every inch of you he could reach. You moaned against his mouth and scrabbled at his heavy coat and jacket, pushing them to the floor. You began fumbling with his belt when he grabbed your wrists, holding the, above your head.

“Ah Ah Ah,” he said roughly. “I intend to make up for last night. And believe me, YN, I’m feeling particularly generous tonight,” He hoisted you up by the thighs and held you against him, carrying you to your bedroom and kicking the door shut. He deposited you onto the bed, before looking down at you. “Dress. Off.” He demanded, and you all too eagerly complied, much to his satisfaction, casting it aside, quickly followed by your slip, leaving you in your knickers and bra. He chuckled darkly at your eagerness, and when you went to undo your garter and stockings, he halted your hands, shaking his head. You nodded obediently and watched as he kneeled down in front of you. You pressed your knees together, but he tutted and caressed your legs, from ankle to thigh.

“Don’t be shy, YN,” he murmured.

“No one’s ever…” you whispered, shifting your thighs together. He cocked his brow up and smirked.

“No one’s ever what, pet?” He asked, pushing your thighs apart and making quick work of your stockings. “Tasted you? Not even all those boys who knew how to please you, eh?”

You nodded and bit your lip, gasping at the new sensation of his hot breath skittering across your core as he pressed filthy, open-mouthed kisses against your heat. He nipped the inside of your thighs to get you to spread them further and inhale your musk, shuddering at the scent of your arousal.

“You won’t even remember your own fucking name once I’m through with you, love,” he promised, stroking his finger lazily up the seam of your underwear, pressing it against your clit. You clenched your fists into the sheets, thighs already trembling. This did not go unnoticed, and Tommy chuckled darkly at your desperation. “So responsive,” he murmured, dragging your underwear down torturously slowly, before burying his face between your legs. You whimpered as you felt his tongue running up your slit, gathering your arousal before he swallowed with a groan, gripping your thighs tightly and holding them apart. He traced your sopping folds with the very point of his tongue, his nose occasionally bumping your swollen clit, but giving it nowhere near enough attention for your liking.

“Tommy please!” You whimpered after at least ten minutes of him scrubbing the flat of his tongue against your heat, nipping at your thighs, and even pushing his tongue into you. He pulled away and looked up at you with raised eyebrows, your slick glistening obscenely on his chin.

“Please, what, YN? Use your words,” he demanded.

“Please, touch me!” You cried, shifting your hips, trying to get some friction to your needy clit.

“Touch you where YN? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me,” he said smirking cockily, pinning your hips down to still you.

“On my… my… here!” You whimpered, reaching a hand down to flick at your throbbing nub. “Please, Tommy, please!”

He growled and knocked your hand away, instantly attaching his lips to it, sucking like a man starved and flicking his tongue under the hood. You cried out and tipped your head back, gripping whatever handful of hair you could, swearing like a sailor. “Oi. Watch. Eyes on me.” He commanded, although slightly muffled by your writhing hips. You whined softly but nodded, focusing on watching the gorgeous man devouring you. Your eyes fluttered when you felt a familiar tension building up in the pit of your belly, your clit beginning to throb against his tongue. Your breath came in sharp gasps, and you bucked your hips up, desperate to tip over the edge, so close already-

Then… nothing.

You groaned, glaring down at the man before you, who still held all the power despite being on his knees. You whined trying to grab him back. “What the fuck? Please, I was so close!” You said, intending to sound angry, but actually sounding needy and desperate. He grinned.

“I know,” Bastard. He repeated this routine several times, bringing you right up to the edge, but dragging you away at the last moment, until you were practically sobbing with need. When he had taken his fill of your nectar, he worshipped your breasts, sucking and nipping and kissing and lathing his tongue over your nipples until you were writhing, arching your back, convinced you would cum from this stimulation alone.

“Please, Tommy!” You whined, fingers tangled in his cropped hair as he sucked a dark mark on your breast. “Please, Tommy, you’ve proved your point, please!” You sounded pathetic, begging like a whore, but to be quite frank, you could give a bigger fuck if you tried. “Just… please, Tommy, I need you. Need to feel you,” you whispered, stroking his jaw as he resurfaced, his piercing eyes trained on yours. “Need you to fill me up, claim me… I’m yours, Tom. Don’t you want to feel me cumming all over your cock?”

Your words were meant to rile Tommy up, but they made you shift and whimper and buck despite yourself. “Good girl,” he whispered. “I’m very impressed with you. I’m going to fuck you, YN, and I’m going to do it properly,” You nodded eagerly and watched with glazed eyes as he discarded his waistcoat, shirt and trousers. You licked your lips as he dropped his underwear, groaning at the sight of his long, thick cock bouncing free, already leaking.

All for you.

You whimpered as Tommy crawled up the mattress towards you, already spreading your legs for him. “Please,” you whispered, reaching for him. He nodded, slowly pushing himself into you, bracing his elbows either side of your head. You cried out at the stretch of him, arching your back to press into his warm chest. Already, you were digging your nails into his back, and he grunted at the feeling of your walls clenching onto him for dear life.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned into your neck, drawing back almost completely, before driving back into you with slow, measured movements, his forehead pressed to yours as he fucked you slowly, yet each thrust was ended with a sharp snap of his hips. You whined out, throbbing around him, trying to meet his thrusts with faster, needier ones of your own.

“More, Tommy, more!” you cried out, scrabbling your nails down his back, clinging to his shoulder blades. You raised your legs to wrap them around his waist, angling your hips up more, eyes rolling at the deeper penetration gained by the new angle. “Please, faster,” you begged, writhing eagerly beneath him. “Please?” you whimpered, practically sobbing with need.

Tommy grunted and nodded, holding you tight to him as he fucked you harder, faster, more relentlessly, growling into your ear, before suckling dark marks down your throat and to your collarbone. Moaning, he pistoned his hips into you, each thrust bumping delicious pressure onto your aching clit. It was too much.

You moaned wantonly, arching your back and biting his shoulder. “Fuck Tommy, I’m gonna cum,” you whined, clinging to him, not wanting him to pull away before your release again.

“Good girl,” he groaned. “Cum around my cock, love, that’s what you want. That’s what I want,” he grunted, his thrusts sloppy and harsh. With his permission, you yelped out, crying his name as you came, seeing white spots, even when you clenched your eyes shut. Feeling you clench around him like a vice, he shouted his release, spurting into you, filling you with his hot cum.

Panting, he pulled out, and for a moment you worried he would buckle up his belt and leave you like a whore again, but the mattress dipped beside you as he lay down. He drew you into his side, holding you close.

“You alright?” he murmured, kissing the top of your head. “You okay, love?” you nodded, resting your head on his chest, breathing deeply.

“I-I… more than alright,” you murmured, causing him to chuckle. He lit a cigarette and grinned, rubbing your side as you drew the covers around you both.

“So, still think I’m a lousy fuck, eh?” he smirked. You grinned and looked up, reaching to kiss him.

“Not sure,” you said cheekily. “That might have been a fluke. You’ll have to repeat that display a few more times so I know you didn’t just get lucky,”

“Oh, I got lucky all right,” he smirked. “Sleep. We’ll take the day off work tomorrow, and I’ll show you that wasn’t a fluke, eh?”

#tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #smut #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x you #prompt #request #sorry jesus

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terra-sprout-imagines · 3 years

Text

How Daichi and Suga would make up a missed date to their S/O because of Volleyball Part 1

Written By: Terra

Request: How would Suga, Daichi, Tanaka and Noya make it up to their S/O after having to miss a date for volleyball related thing???

Author’s Note: These headcanons, along with the last ones, make me look like more of a Daichi simp than I actually am lol. Originally this was all going to be one post, but since Daichi’s are so long I decided to make it two and two so you’re not scrolling for thirty years to get to the end. Enjoy!

Warnings: None but Daichi’s takes place in part 1 of season 4 and Suga’s takes place in season 2 c:

Part 2: Tanaka and Nishinoya (coming soon!)

Sawamura Daichi

Like I said in the headcanons where their S/O surprises them at a game, I genuinely think Daichi is one of the most mature boyfriends out of the Karasuno team

And as a result, you would have to be pretty mature as well because I just don’t really see him as the type of guy to get into a relationship with someone that he kind of has to “parent” for lack of a better term

Anyway, that’s not to say that he wouldn’t feel bad about having to miss a date because of volleyball, but he definitely wouldn’t throw himself into a panic about it and go super over the top trying to make it up to you.

So the date in question for this scenario, was just a simple dinner date at one of your favorite restaurants

Daichi had been super busy as of late after Karasuno had won the Inter-High Preliminaries with preparation for Spring Nationals

Of course you didn’t complain once about it

You knew how badly Daichi had always wanted to go to Nationals, and now that they finally realized that dream you had been nothing but completely supportive

Though Daichi made sure to try and support you and your hobbies as much as his schedule would allow, so things never felt one-sided for you and you appreciated the effort he put in

Didn’t have time to go out on as many dates as you used to? No problem, you’d just come to their practice and assist Kiyoko and Yachi where you could so you could still see your boyfriend

Tonight was supposed to be a day where practice would end early enough that you and Daichi could justify getting a late dinner in town

A night where the two of you could finally have some time together away from volleyball and the team

Not that you had anything against them, but you both just wanted to be able to do mushy couple things without Suga and the second years making kissy faces and wiggling their eyebrows.

But as the minutes passed and you still sat alone at the table, your dreams of spending a night together with Daichi seemed to slip further and further away.

You jumped as you felt your phone vibrate against the table, your heart rate speeding up a little as you read Daichi’s contact appear across the screen

Though you were quick to feel the slightest twinge of disappointment as you read the message

‘I’m sorry love, but I don’t think I’m going to make it to dinner in time. Coach Ukai had us try a new technique for Nationals and it took the team longer than anticipated to get it down. We only just finished and we still have to clean the gym and get changed.’

You typed out a quick reply and set your phone down with a small sigh.

The restaurant was starting to wind down for the night, and you knew it wouldn’t be too much longer before you would have to leave since they would need to close up for the night.

Even though Daichi couldn’t be there for dinner, that didn’t mean the night had to go completely out the window.

You flagged your waiter down and placed an order to go, knowing Daichi well enough by now that you were comfortable with ordering in his place.

You paid for the bill as you waited for your food to arrive, and then made your way home, pulling out your phone to send another message to your boyfriend

‘After you get home and get showered, come to my place. Just because we couldn’t do dinner doesn’t mean we can’t still at least see each other. I know my mom won’t mind if you spend the night.’

Just as you reached your front door, your phone vibrated again with a reply

‘I actually had a similar idea. If you’re okay with it, would you mind coming to my place instead in about half an hour? I have to get a few things ready.’

You replied with a quick ‘of course ♥️’ and got to work packing an overnight bag, letting your mom know about your change of plans.

Your parents adored Daichi, and trusted the two of you, so getting permission to spend the night was hardly ever an issue.

Before you left, you grabbed the takeout from the fridge and started the five-minute walk to your boyfriend’s place.

When he opened the door, he was quick to pull you into a hug, placing a tender kiss first on your forehead and then your lips.

“I’m sorry about tonight.” You could feel his lips move against yours as he spoke

“Don’t be. You can’t help it if practice runs longer than anticipated. Besides,” You held up the bag of takeout with a smile, “I still brought dinner for us.”

You saw his eyes widen a fraction before he burst out into laughter.

At your confused expression, he pulled you inside.

He had completely transformed the living room of his house. Strings of lights were hung up around the walls, a nest of pillows and blankets on the floor in front of the television where the menu of your favorite movie played across the screen. On the table in front of all of that, Daichi had set up a meal for the two of you, and your lips cracked into a smile when you saw that the dishes were exactly the same as what you carried in your bag

“I called my mom and asked her to pick it up for me on my way back from practice.” His hand was rubbing the back of his neck and his cheeks were adorned with a red flush. “I guess we had the same thought.”

You broke out into a smile and turned to face your boyfriend, your eyes sparkling with unshed tears of joy.

You really loved this man. You pressed a kiss to his lips, murmuring an “I love you” as you went to place the takeout you brought into the fridge.

“It’ll be lunch for tomorrow” You told him as he looked back at you.

He simply nodded and the two of you settled in the nest of blankets in the living room as Daichi hit the play button for the movie.

You were curled up into his side as the two of you ate.

Of course, that made it harder for Daichi, but he wasn’t about to complain.

Even less so when you started feeding him bites of his food as compensation for hogging one of his arms to yourself.

Later that night when the two of you settled into bed, he pressed a kiss to your temple as he pulled you in close.

“I’m sorry we had to change our date plans because of practice again.”

You brought one of your hands up to cup his face. “Daichi, it’s okay. I knew things like this would happen sometimes when we got together. You still go out of your way to make time for me, so a few missed dates are just water under the bridge.”

You let out a small yawn and placed your head on his chest. “Besides, dinner and a movie with you at home was a way better date than just eating out somewhere. I wouldn’t care if you missed a hundred more dates if it meant we got to do something like that instead.”

You felt his chest shake beneath your head as he chuckled. “I’d never intentionally skip out on spending time with you, but I’ll make sure to keep this date in mind for next time.”

Sugawara Koushi

He would feel pretty horrible about it.

Like he wouldn’t be over the top dramatic about it, but I do think he would have a lot of guilt over it and definitely be extra clingy for at least a week afterwards.

Like Daichi, I feel like Suga would understand that missing dates would probably be a thing because of him playing volleyball

And he would make sure that whoever he got into a relationship with understood that as well and would be able to be mature about it.

Despite that though, I still think Suga would bend over backwards to try and prevent volleyball from making him miss dates with you as much as possible

But when inevitably it happens, he would still feel bad about it, even though you say you’re not upset

Be prepared for a very soft and apologetic Suga as a result

Even though I said Suga wouldn’t be super dramatic about missing a date, he probably kind of was the first time he had to miss one

But after you were able to reaffirm that things were okay, he’d feel a lot more secure in your relationship and so he wouldn’t be as bad the next time it happens

The date in question for this instance, was supposed to be a surprise.

All Suga had told you, was that he would pick you up after he got home and showered after practice, and that you should expect to be out late so to dress comfortably

So, as the usual time for practice to end rolled around, you had gotten yourself ready

You didn’t know if Suga had planned for you to go out anywhere special, so you made sure that you looked nice enough if that was the case, but were still comfortable enough that your outfit wouldn’t be bugging you as the hours passed by

You ended up seated near your front door, scrolling through your phone as you waited for a call or text from your boyfriend.

Twenty minutes passed, then forty, an hour, two hours…

By the first hour with no message, you already had a pretty good idea that practice had gone on longer than usual, no big deal.

So by the second hour mark you had already changed into pajamas and set yourself up on your bed to scroll through social media, also no big deal.

You knew that the team all had to leave their phones and other belongings in the club room while they practiced, so Suga had no way of contacting you while the coach still had them busy in the gym.

He would call as soon as he had access to his phone, of that you had absolutely no doubt.

You still felt a slight twinge of disappointment that your date had been effectively cancelled, because who wouldn’t want to spend time with their significant other?

But you knew that volleyball was important to him, and you knew the effort Suga put in to making sure that you didn’t feel neglected as a result of his sport

So you just made yourself comfortable in your bed, and waited for Suga to get out of practice.

You had also sent a text to your parents, preemptively asking if he could spend the night, you knew he would want to spend as much time at your side as he could for the next few days.

Of course, your parents had no issues with him doing so. Suga had quickly managed to win both of your parents over when you first brought him over for dinner, and often the two of you would spend nights together at each other’s houses.

Your parents practically considered him their son in law already.

Several hours after the normal time for practice to end, you looked up from your laptop as you heard the repeated buzzing sound of your phone on your nightstand

You felt a small smile cross your features as you saw Suga’s contact light up across your display.

You hit the answer button and brought the phone to your ear. Before you could even say a word, Suga was already speaking.

“I’m so sorry about tonight, honey. The coach wanted to try out some new formations for the preliminaries, so he had us playing practice matches against each other.” He sounded out of breath, and you think you could hear his feet hitting the pavement in the background like he was running.

“It’s okay Koushi, you can’t help it if practice runs late. The preliminaries are just a few weeks away, right? I don’t blame your coach for wanting to make sure you guys have everything you need to make it to Nationals.”

There was a slight pause before he replied. “I really don’t deserve you, you know. I love you so much.”

“Of course you deserve me, don’t be silly. I love you too.” You took a moment to make sure you shut your laptop off before you put it off to the side. “I assume you’ll be on your way here soon?”

Suga let out a breathless laugh, “Actually, I’m already outside your door.”

“What?” You quickly sat up and made your way to your front door, you eyes widening when you saw Suga on the other side.

He was holding a small bouquet of roses and a bag of what looked to be your favorite snacks. His chest rose and fell with panted breath and his eyes were apologetic as he held out the bouquet for you to take. “Surprise?”

You let him pull you into a hug and a kiss, but you wrinkled your nose after a moment, pulling away from him. “Koushi, did you run all the way here from practice?”

“Mhm. I only stopped to pick these up for you.” He gestured to the flowers and snacks that he had brought with him.

“Koushi, you know I love you, and you really didn’t have to get me these things, but I appreciate them nonetheless. And I’m saying this next part because I love you so much, but please go take a shower before you kiss me again.”

He gave you an exaggerated pout “But I want to show you my love.”

You shook your head, a smirk on your lips, “I’m sorry but when I kiss you, I don’t want to also be kissing your ten layers of sweat. I’ll still be here when you’re done and then you can kiss and cuddle me all you want.”

He chuckled, “Mm, I’ll hold you to that then.” He placed a quick kiss to your forehead before heading into the hallway towards your bathroom.

The rest of the night was spent watching movies in your room on your bed, Suga lying behind you as the big spoon.

His right arm was wrapped around your waist, fingers tracing light patterns against your stomach while his left arm was underneath your head.

His head rested against your own, occasionally pressing light kisses to your head, neck, or shoulder.

A content smile made itself at home on your face as you brought your arm down to interlace your fingers with his.

The two of you fell asleep that way, and Suga spent all of the following day doting on you.

The next night, he drove you out to an outlook spot in the mountains for a picnic and some stargazing after the sun had set.

His cheeks were tinged red as he brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck.

“I wanted to do take you here last night but…”

You pressed a kiss to his lips, cupping the side of his face. You gave him a playful wink, “This was more than worth the wait.”

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crashingmeteorz · 4 years

Text

you’d better look out below

an au where tarrlok leaves the north pole with noatak.

title from arcade fire’s “wake up”. word count: 8k. read on ao3.

trigger warnings for: self-harm, child abuse (implied), violence

Tarrlok has asked about their mom four times already, and Noatak can tell by the way he stares off into the northern sky, he’s working up to a fifth.

“She’ll be fine,” snaps Noatak. Tarrlok’s eyes go wide as saucers, and Noatak pretends he can’t see the tears forming there.

“I didn’t say anything-“

“You were thinking it,” Noatak grunts, and the conversation stops abruptly. Tarrlok goes back to gazing out their boat.

It’s slow going, getting out of the north. They’ve been sailing for three days straight, and they can survive on the fish they catch and the salt water they purify, but that doesn’t stop them from going stir-crazy. Noatak would just bend them across the sea, but the noise attaracts the attention of tiger-sharks, and Tarrlok begged him to just rely on the waves and their oars. Noatak wonders darkly if this would have been easier on his own.

Tarrlok is company, at least, but he spends most of the journey worrying over their mother, or asking if they’re close to land. He’s hopeless at bending, compared to Noatak, and he eats a lot for such a scrawny kid. Lately, Noatak’s been fantasizing about pushing him overboard. It wouldn’t be fatal or anything, he’s a waterbender after all, it just might shut him up for longer than 10 minutes.

But Noatak lets the fantasy in, sits with it for a while, and then lets it out. He won’t be like their father anymore.

“She wouldn’t want us to be miserable, Tarrlok,” Noatak says as gently as he can. He doesn’t understand his brother’s concern for her - she never questioned their father’s influence, never wondered why her sons were always so miserable to train with him. But Tarrlok was always the softer one, he wouldn’t hurt a dragonfly even if it bit him on the nose.

“I just don’t want him to take it out on her,” Tarrlok says sadly. It’s certainly a possibility, without his sons to bully anymore. But Noatak’s doubtful.

“He won’t,” says Noatak confidently. “He has nothing to fight for anymore. He’ll just turn into the bitter old man he was always meant to be.”

For the first time all day, Tarrlok seems to relax. He takes off his glove and trails his fingers in the water absently, watching his wobbly reflection stare back at him from the sea. Noatak hunches over, shifting further down into his seat. Tarrlok still enjoys the little things, the feel of the water on his skin, the way the breeze ruffles his coat, the vision of white surrounding them. By the time he was Tarrlok’s age, most of that had been tainted.

It’s confusing, to feel both affection and envy for this quality his brother has. He wants to protect Tarrlok, he wants to be like Tarrlok, he wants Tarrlok out of his life. Noatak doesn’t know how much of his anger is his father, and how much is just him.

“Can we go to Kyoshi Island? I want to see the elephant koi,” says Tarrlok, oblivious as always.

“We’re going to the first port we see and moving inland,” is Noatak’s terse reply. Tarrlok nods sagely, seemingly satisfied. Then-

“So is the first port Kyoshi Island or...?”

“No, Tarrlok,” Noatak says through gritted teeth, “we are not going to Kyoshi Island.”

“Oh, okay,” says Tarrlok, disappointment written all over his face. Noatak can’t find the energy to care. “It’s just-“

“Enough,” says Noatak tersely. Tarrlok clamps his mouth shut. Noatak hates how ugly he sounds, how Tarrlok recoils. It’s a familiar sight, and it’s not one Noatak enjoys.

“I’m sorry,” Noatak says, trying not to sound as irritated as he feels. “I’m just sick of this boat. Things will be better when we reach dry land.”

“How are we gonna pay for stuff?” Noatak asks, immediately forgiving.

“We’ll sell the boat and go from there. If we need to live off the land for a while we can.”

Tarrlok looks backwards, in the direction of what used to be their home.

“I’m glad we left,” Tarrlok says honestly, and Noatak feels a sudden burst of joy. It’s the first time he’s expressed any relief about leaving. “But I think I’ll miss home.”

“One day, you’ll forget all about that place. Besides,” Noatak says, reaching over to clap his brother on the shoulder, “we’re together, Tarrlok. We’ll make a new home.”

It’s mid-afternoon on the fourth day when they spot land. Tarrlok had finally grown irritable as well, and they were liable to strangle each other when he excitedly pointed out the rocky shore.

They sail for another hour before finding a small fishing village where they can dock. Tarrlok had begged for them to just stop near the rocks and bend the water to bring them in safely, but Noatak had refused. They couldn’t risk damaging the boat, it was their only source of income at the moment.

The local fishermen eye the boat curiously. Being of watertribe origin, it’s sturdy and narrow, perfect for avoiding boulders among the rapids. Noatak informs them he won’t settle for less than 30 gold pieces. They laugh in his face.

“Gold pieces?” asks an elderly fisherman. “Boy, we use yuans here, or didn’t you know?”

“I’ll give you 30 yuans for it, how about that?” calls another to uproarious laughter. Noatak’s smart enough to figure out that’d be a robbery, so he grabs Tarrlok by the shoulder and stomps away.

“Where are we going?” asks Tarrlok, ducking his head to avoid the teasing sailors.

“Into the market. Well listen to the sales and try to figure out the going-rate of yuans,” Noatak explains, steering Tarrlok along the winding path.

“Couldn’t we just ask someone?” Tarrlok says in confusion.

“So they can scam us? I don’t think so.”

They spend almost an hour in the market. It takes them 20 minutes just to find items moderately close in value to their boat, and even that is a crapshoot. They end up listening to jewelers and one exotic pet salesman. Tarrlok beams at a sleeping jackalope.

“Isn’t he cold all the way up here?” Tarrlok asks the merchant.

“Oh, very,” says the man in a very sad, and very fake, voice. “Are you going somewhere warmer? Perhaps you could take him with you?”

“Noatak, can we?” Tarrlok asks excitedly. “You said we’re going somewhere warmer -“

“No,” Noatak says, eyeing the price on the jackalope’s cage - 50 yuans, almost a quarter of what he’s thinking of asking for their boat. “And he’s fine, Tarrlok. The desert freezes at night. I’m sure he’s used to it.”

The merchant gives Noatak a nasty look as he nods for Tarrlok to follow him back to the docks. Noatak doesn’t miss the way his brother hangs his head.

“Maybe we can find you a less expensive pet,” Noatak suggests.

“Sure,” Tarrlok says dejectedly. Okay. They might be able to splurge on the jackalope. Besides, it might keep Tarrlok’s attention off of him for a while.

When they get to where they tied the boat, there’s nothing there. Tarrlok isn’t really paying attention, and Noatak knows panicking won’t help, so he circles the docks. And then he does it again.

“You,” he says, shoving a finger at the old man from earlier. “What’d you do with our boat?”

“Tell you what,” says the old man as the sailors snicker, “give me 30 gold pieces, I’ll take you to it!” The fishermen’s laughter roars in his ears. Noatak grabs the front of the old man’s coat with both fists. The dock goes quiet.

“Tell me where my boat is,” Noatak seethes, “or I’ll turn you inside out.”

“Noatak!” shouts Tarrlok. Out of the corner of his eye, Noatak can see the advancing fishermen. He releases the old man, and the other men relax a little.

Then, almost inexplicably, the old man begins walking backwards, inching to the edge of the dock. His eyes bulge out of his skull. He opens his mouth, but no sounds come out. Everyone shouts in concern, yelling for him to stop.

“Noatak,” Tarrlok whispers, reaching out to hold his brother’s hand. When their fingers interlock, Noatak realizes his younger brother is shaking.

The old man stops suddenly, just before the edge of the platform, and falls to his knees. The other sailors run to him, asking him questions, suggesting a heart attack. Noatak and Tarrlok melt away, forgotten.

They sprint back to the marketplace, and Noatak pointedly does not mention the tears streaming down Tarrlok’s face. They round a corner and Noatak skids to a stop. He grabs Tarrlok and they hide in an alleyway, beside the exotic pet hawker.

“Don’t,” Tarrlok whispers.

“You want the jackalope or not?” Noatak asks him, trying to keep anger out of his voice. Tarrlok looks to the greasy merchant, to the animal far too big for its cage. He nods.

Noatak tries to be quick, not out of mercy, but out of a desire not to arouse suspicion. The merchant chokes out a protest, but is unable to stop himself from picking up the keys and unlocking the jackalope’s cage. He pokes at the thing, once, twice, and then the animal is awake and bounding out into the sunlight.

Tarrlok waits until it is about to pass their alleyway and reaches out, cuddling it. At first the jackalope struggles, scratching Tarrlok’s cheek with its antlers, and then it relaxes, nosing at Tarrlok’s chest.

“He smells the sea prunes,” Tarrlok says laughing. Noatak watches as the merchant gets his bearings back and starts looking around frantically.

“He can eat them later, let’s go,” Noatak grunts, and the two of them sprint out of the market, the animal seller none the wiser.

Later, when they make camp in a cave along the forested path, the jackalope is resting in Tarrlok’s lap and Tarrlok’s stroking its ears thoughtfully.

“What’s on your mind?” Noatak asks him, all venom gone. Even with their earlier failures, Noatak’s just relieved to be on solid ground.

“We could’ve been caught today,” Tarrlok tells him. “They would’ve arrested us.”

“No one can bloodbend in daylight except for dad, and everyone assumes he died over 15 years ago,” Noatak tells him. “You heard them, they thought the old man had a heart attack.”

“What about the merchant?”

“No one saw that, Tarrlok,” Noatak says tiredly, flopping down by the fire.

“Still, if they talk, they might put it together, it could come back to us-“

“Tarrlok, we’re not getting caught,” Noatak says firmly. Tarrlok frowns and goes back to petting the jackalope.

“That’s not all,” he says after a little while. “I shouldn’t have let you bloodbend that merchant. It wasn’t right.”

“He’s a lowlife scam artist, just like those sailors and he deserved-“

“You’ve never been bloodbent before, Noatak. How could you know that they deserved it?”

Noatak doesn’t really know what to say to that. Guilt pools in his belly and slithers it’s way up to his chest, wrapping around his heart.

“We’re starting over, right?” Tarrlok asks him after what feels like forever.

“Right,” Noatak agrees.

“Then no more bloodbending.”

“Tarrlok-“

“No more bloodbending, Noatak,” Tarrlok says severely, staring hard at his brother. “Or I leave.”

Then leave, hisses a nasty voice in Noatak’s head, but it’s practically drowned out by the rushing panic. Tarrlok can’t leave - Noatak is doing this, all of this for Tarrlok. He doesn’t know what he’s doing out here if his brother isn’t with him.

“Fine,” he relents. “We’re good enough waterbenders without it, anyway.”

Tarrlok smiles at him, and the ocean of fear in Noatak’s ears dulls to a trickle. It’s not ideal, but then maybe it’s for the best. Bloodbending, more than anything else, was his father’s most precious lesson. If he and Tarrlok abandoned it now, Yakone’s teachings would die with them.

“We’re really sticking it to dad, huh?” Tarrlok says as though he’s read Noatak’s mind, unable to keep the glee out of his voice.

“Yeah,” Noatak agrees grinning, “we are.”

They spend the entire next day walking. They happen upon a traveling fruit vendor and offer some water tribe delicacies in exchange for fresh apples and moon peaches. They get sticky from the juices, and Tarrlok’s jackalope licks his face clean.

“You’ll have to name the thing,” Noatak tells him, trying and failing not to smile at the two of them. He can’t remember the last time Tarrlok looked so happy.

“I’m thinking Jack,” Tarrlok says, lying flat on his back and allowing the animal to sit on his chest and lap at his cheeks.

“You’re not serious?” Noatak asks him incredulously. “That is the stupidest name I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, what’s your idea?” Tarrlok says, sitting suddenly. The jackalope squeaks indignantly, and then stretches up to resume its feast.

“What about Zhī?” he asks. Tarrlok laughs loudly.

“Perfect!” he says. “From now on, youre T - hey don’t lick inside my mouth you weirdo!”

They move on, traveling for almost a week. Noatak struggles to hunt without bloodbending, but together they manage to develop a system - Tarrlok frightens the animals in Noatak's direction, and then Noatak stuns them with a water whip. It's not fail-safe, but it gets them some meat, at least. One day they travel for almost 12 hours without food, only stopping to rest their feet, climbing winding hills until the sun is just beginning to set. At last they spot a large, walled-in structure sitting prettily at the bottom of a mountain. Tarrlok’s stomach growls.

“We’ll see if they’re willing to trade,” Noatak says, and they make their way to the front gates, only to find out the structure is an abbey. Both boys bow upon being welcomed in by the Mother Superior.

“Where are your parents?” asks one of the sisters, who offers them supper, much to the brothers’ relief.

“They passed away a month ago,” Noatak says quickly. It’s not a total lie - he and Tarrlok ran into the blizzard about a month ago, around the same time Noatak had decided his parents were dead to him. The nuns all make varying noises of distress, and Noatak arranges his face to look appropriately sad. Tarrlok just keeps chewing until his brother nudges him, and then he bows his head to hide his stuffed cheeks.

“There’s a large sanctuary south of here, but it’s quite the journey,” says the woman who fed them, Sister Meifen. “You two are welcome to stay here, until we can find you proper arrangements.”

“Thank you, but-“

“Is it okay if Zhī stays, too?” asks Tarrlok, picking up the jackalope and showing them all. The nuns titter at the animal, and reach out to pet the its fluffy ears.

Noatak isn’t sure how it happens, but before he knows it, he and Tarrlok have each been given a mat and linens for bed. They’re told the nuns wake early, so don’t expect to sleep in. Noatak doesn’t really know why it matters if they sleep in, because they’re not nuns, but he agrees anyway.

“Tarrlok, we can’t stay here,” Noatak whispers to his brother. “We’re not getting sent to any sanctuary.”

“Then what are we doing?” Tarrlok asks him.

“I don’t know, but I’ll be 18 soon, so I can be your guardian-“

“In four years!” hisses Tarrlok. Noatak shushes him.

“I look older than I am,” Noatak whispers. “We’ll get jobs somewhere, Omashu, maybe.”

“But that’s so far from here!” Tarrlok argues. Noatak rolls his eyes.

“How do you know that?” he asks his younger brother. “You don’t even know where Kyoshi Island is.” Tarrlok pouts.

“Sister Meifen said so,” Tarrlok says, sticking his tongue out. “What about Republic City? That’s just south of here-“

“We are not going there,” Noatak interrupts coldly. “Or did you forget where dad grew up?”

Tarrlok shuffles under his blanket. Zhī snorts a little and adjusts as Tarrlok moves.

“I didn’t think that would matter,” Tarrlok says in a small voice.

“Of course it matters,” Noatak says bitterly, even though he’s not exactly sure why. Then, with less heat, “We’ll find a place. A village or something."

Tarrlok doesn't say anything in response. Noatak waits him out

"But, in the meantime, we can stay here, okay?" Noatak says after a while, as a peace offering. "It's safe and they'll keep us fed. We'll just have to listen in, make sure they don't plan anything without telling us. I'll see if I can find some maps, maybe you can finally learn to read one, right Tarrlok? Tarrlok?"

Noatak nudges his brother lightly, but the younger boy only lets out a snore. Noatak sighs and settles into his mat. There are worse places to be in, and as mistrustful as he is, he doesn't really think a bunch of nuns will try to trick them.

He also thought their boat was safe in the fishing village. Suddenly, Noatak's wide awake. He scooches closer to Tarrlok. Their father never went into detail about his work in Republic City, but Noatak recalls a few stories of children going missing. The superstitious blamed it on spirits. Their father blamed it on interested buyers.

"What does that mean?" a much younger Tarrlok had asked. Yakone only let out a dark laugh. If Noatak's certain of anything on this journey, he's certain he'll do anything to protect Tarrlok, and he doesn't care who he has to hurt to do it, nuns included.

Noatak doesn't remember falling asleep, but the next thing he knows he's being shaken awake.

"What is it, what's wrong?" he barks, sitting straight up. Tarrlok is squatting in front of him with a sleepy smile and messy hair. At least someone slept well.

"Nothing," Tarrlok says happily. "But Mother Superior says we need to earn our keep, whatever that means."

"It means she's putting us to work," Noatak grumbles, motioning for Tarrlok to turn so he can fix his hair. He begins to affix the usual pair of ponytails, and then stops himself.

"Wanna try a different style?" Noatak asks.

"I don't know," says Tarrlok. "I always wear it this way."

"What about something more traditional, like the chief wears?" suggests Noatak. Tarrlok hesitates a moment too long, and Noatak begins to part his hair in disappointment.

"Sure," Tarrlok says suddenly. "Let's try it." Noatak grins. He combs Tarrlok's hair and gathers a section of it up in the center of his head, pulling it into a ponytail, making sure to include side pieces so that it stays out of the boy's face.

"You missed a piece," Tarrlok singsongs, picking up a chunk of hair by his right ear and waving it with his fingers.

"Not necessarily." Noatak makes a small braid out of the hanging piece, leaves the end free, and then affixes the beads they usually use on Noatak's two low-hanging ponytails. He ties the braid.

"Aren't these for warriors?" Tarrlok asks him hesitantly, taking the braid between his fingers.

"They signify battles won," Noatak says. He does not elaborate any further. "Leave it. It suits you."

He fixes his own hair, and then they're off to report to Sister Meifen.

The nun is delighted when they tell her they're waterbenders. She shows them the perfumes the nuns make here at the abbey, as well as the scented soaps and bath products. She asks them if they'd be willing to help her separate the vats of solution into smaller vials. She explains that they sell their products as a means of fundraising for the abbey, and that excess sales go to the less fortunate.

"Did you know," Sister Meifen says almost smugly, "that the great Chief Katara once stayed here? She, Councilman Sokka, and Avatar Aang used this abbey as a resting place during the avatar's preparation to fight the Firelord."

"How interesting," Noatak says evenly, exchanging an awkward look with Tarrlok. They'd certainly heard a lot about Chief Katara and the others, though none of it as reverential as Sister Meifen might think.

"Who knows?" says the nun, raising her eyesbrows playfully at them. "Maybe you two will prove just as talented as her."

Noatak doesn't really know how he manages not to roll his eyes. The effort almost gives him a headache.

It's easy work, more precision than anything else, which Tarrlok has always struggled with. After his third spill, he curses and balls his fist.

"Careful," mutters Noatak, effortlessly dividing the perfume up into 10 different vials. "I don't think they'd like your language."

"I don't get it," Tarrlok groans. His cheeks redden with frustration. "This is easy. Why can't I do it?"

"You haven't had to bend in a while. Take a break."

Tarrlok doesn't seem satisfied, squeezing his nails into his palms, straightening his hands out to stretch his fingers, and then repeating the process. Noatak glances over to his brother and realizes Tarrlok's palms are red and raw. He stops his work.

"Tarrlok," he says in what he hopes is a calming voice. It still comes out nastier than he'd like.

"What?" his brother snaps, fingers still curling in and out, in and out. Noatak reaches for his hand. Tarrlok freezes, and looks down in confusion.

"We'll work on your control another time," Noatak tells him, and it comes out too sharp. He loosens his grip on Tarrlok's hand significantly, speaks in almost a whisper. "Let's see if we can find a different job for you."

"What's the point?" Tarrlok asks, voice tight. "I'll just screw it up."

"Dad's not here, Tarrlok," Noatak tells him sternly, making sure not to let his hand squeeze. "Don't let him get to you from across the ocean."

Tarrlok nods, though he's clearly still upset. They find the sisters feeding Zhī bits of whatever it is they're preparing for lunch. Fortunately the jackalope has a sense of loyalty, and bounds over to Tarrlok the moment he spots him, leaping into the boy's arms. Tarrlok brightens considerably.

"Tarrlok hurt his wrist the other day," Noatak says easily. Tarrlok side-eyes him, and then lets his right wrist hang limp atop Zhī. "I can continue filling the vials, but it irritates his hand. Is there somewhere else he can help?"

Fortunately the nuns seem to see Tarrlok as a little darling, and are more than happy to give him a less intensive job.

"But for now," Sister Meifen tells them, "you've earned a break. It's lunchtime."

They stay at the abbey for one week, and then two. Tarrlok follows Sister Meifen around like a loyal dog, and Noatak successfully bites his tonuge. Tarrlok's obviously latching on to the first kind woman he meets, but he's happy, and he's not bringing up their mother as much, so Noatak leaves it.

The nuns aren't quite as fond of Noatak, which is no surprise. Boys stop being cute once they start to look like men, and Tarrlok has enough baby fat left to get his cheeks pinched by older women with no sense of personal boundaries. It probably doesn't help that Noatak watches Tarrlok like a hawk, often pausing his work when he hasn't heard Zhī’s surprisingly loud squeaks or the sound of Tarrlok's laughter. The latter is almost a shoddy indicator - he's not used to hearing it so often, but he's warming up to the sound.

In any event, Noatak gets his work done in record time each day, and when he finishes he offers to assist in other areas. It's not exactly a deep relationship, but the nuns are grateful for his willingness to work. They always give him extra helpings at meals. One evening he notices Tarrlok staring into his cleared plate, so he offers some of his own food. Tarrlok greedily accepts.

"Tarrlok, why didn't you just say you were still hungry?" Mother Superior gently scolds him. Tarrlok freezes like a deer in headlights.

"I, I'm sorry-"

"You should have offered him more food," Noatak says sharply. The table goes quiet.

"It's my fault, Mother Superior," Sister Meifen says. "I always give Tarrlok snacks during the day, but today we were so busy scent-testing we didn’t stop for anything. I should have told him he could ask for seconds."

The sister and Mother Superior exchange a look that Noatak doesn't understand, but they seem to come to some sort of agreement, and dinner resumes. Tarrlok blushes furiously, leaving the food untouched until Noatak nudges him.

"Eat," Noatak says. "Also, when were you going to share your snacks, huh?"

Tarrlok grins sheepishly, and finishes his dinner.

In the evenings before bed, they practice waterbending. Noatak recalls what his father would say, how he would react, and tries to do the opposite of that. He finds himself getting frustrated easily when Tarrlok messes up, but he keeps the anger from seeping out into his tone. He overcompensates when Tarrlok gets it right, complimenting him profusely. It feels fake, but Tarrlok's smile is genuine, so he keeps at it.

By their third week, Tarrlok joins him at the perfume. He's thinking too hard about it, hyping it up too much. He waltzes up to the ceramic pots like they're a pack of wolves ready to strike. When he first goes to divide up the liquid, he spills it all on the stones.

"Breathe," Noatak tells him in a calm voice, clamping down on the part of him that's laughing viciously. "It's just perfume, Tarrlok. You can do this in your sleep."

Tarrlok nods, too seriously, but does as Noatak says, takes a deep calming breath, and bends the perfume perfectly. Noatak smiles broadly, telling Tarrlok he did great, and it feels genuine this time.

They get through all of the vials without a single mess. It takes almost as long as when Noatak worked alone, due to Tarrlok's cautious approach, but when they finish Tarrlok's beaming with pride. Sister Meifen takes his face in her hands and congratulates him on his improvement.

"Noatak's a great teacher," he says happily. Sister Meifen nods almost gratefully at Noatak. He doesn't nod back. She's been acting like she's Tarrlok's mother, like Noatak’s some wayward stranger who took this precious kid under his wing. Everything about this place makes Noatak feel like he's a transient and Tarrlok's their newest resident.

He's antsy to leave.

The nuns get antsy as well, towards the end of their third week there. He'd noticed them cleaning with more vigor, returning from the market with a variety of fruits, vegetables, and, to Tarrlok's delight, sweets. They're all whispering to each other hurriedly, but when Noatak gets near, they quiet at once and go about their day. It's infuriating.

"You need to try and find out what's going on around here," Noatak mutters to Tarrlok while they're dividing up the perfumes. "Don't make it obvious, but see what you can find out from Sister Meifen."

"She said something about a party yesterday," Tarrlok says nonchalantly. "It's probably that."

Noatak freezes his motions and nearly drops the liquid. He sends the perfume shooting down so viciously into the vials that they shatter. Tarrlok stops what he's doing, surprised.

"It's a going-away party." Noatak feels his whole body shaking with anger. He can only think of one reason the nuns would keep this from him, wouldn’t just tell them they've found a suitable sanctuary.

They're going to separate Noatak from Tarrlok.

Well, they're going to try. They'll have to kill him first, and somehow he doesn't think these nuns have it in them.

"Noatak?" Tarrlok asks, but Noatak doesn't hear him. His ears are ringing too loud.

"Finish this...crap," Noatak spits out, stalking away to find Mother Superior. A thousand scenarios run through his head, each more violent than the last. Several of them involve bloodbending Sister Meifen off a cliff.

When he gets inside, he hears male voices, and it's all the confirmation he needs.

"It's truly an honor to host you-" Mother Superior is saying when Noatak rips open the curtain and reveals-

The Avatar. The literal Avatar. Avatar Aang is talking to Mother Superior. There's another man with him, much younger and with skin closer to Noatak's, but wearing the same air nomad robes and sharing the same surprised expression.

"Noatak!" Mother Superior starts in surprise, eyebrows drawn together sternly. She's too startled by his sudden appearance to say much else. Noatak shakes his head and gathers himself, remembering his resolve.

"Are you going to take me away?" he asks The Actual Real Life Avatar, pointing an accusatory finger in his face. Mother Superior looks scandalized. The Avatar just looks amused.

"I don't think so," Avatar Aang, THE Avatar Aang says slowly. "Did you want me to take you away?"

"No." Noatak lowers his finger slowly as realization hits him. The nuns are throwing a party. The Avatar is here. The Avatar doesn't know who he is.

"The party's for you," Noatak says, thinking out loud and feeling incredibly stupid.

"A party?" asks the legendary, bridge-between-the-worlds, bringer-of-peace Avatar, clapping his hands in delight.

"Well, yes, of a kind, but, Noatak!" says Mother Superior. "What in the world are you doing, bursting in here like this? And accosting Avatar Aang like that, it's the height of disrespect-"

"Please, Mother Superior," the very-much real Avatar says with what can only be described as a goofy grin on his face, "I barely respect myself. It seems like there may have been a miscommunication." He gestures to Noatak, and Noatak realizes he's being asked to speak.

"I thought you were throwing a going-away party," he tells Mother Superior with as much dignity as he can muster, "for me. I thought you were separating Tarrlok and I."

As an afterthought, he bows to the Avatar. Mother Superior walks over to Noatak, and he absolutely refuses to back away despite his screaming instincts. To his surprise, she cups his cheek in her hand.

"Dear boy," the Mother Superior says in the softest voice he's ever heard her use, "I would never separate you from your brother. Frankly, we'd keep you both all to ourselves, but it's not right to deprive children the opportunity for a loving family out of selfishness."

Noatak allows himself to lean into the older woman's warm touch, for just the barest of seconds. He uses it to ground himself. The nun's confession is overwhelming, to say the least.

Then he stands straight and bows deeply to her, far deeper and far longer than he did for the living-legend Avatar.

"I apologize, Mother Superior," Noatak says sincerely, gravely. "I misread the situation. I did not mean to embarass you." She smiles at him a moment longer, and then turns back to her usual severe self.

"Go get your brother and wash up. We have guests."

Noatak's too relieved to notice the curious look Avatar Aang gives him as he turns on his heel to go find Tarrlok.

"Do you think he's hear to arrest us?" Tarrlok asks for what feels like the millionth time as Noatak brushes his hair. The nuns have prepared a luncheon feast, and it seems all work activities for the day have been cancelled.

"No, Tarrlok," Noatak says tiredly. He doesn't have the strength for his usual annoyance. The day's earlier panic knocked him out. "He didn't even know who I was."

"What if he was just pretending?" Tarrlok presses.

"He's the Avatar," Noatak reminds him, placing the beads at the end of Tarrlok's braid - he's been wearing his hair this way since Noatak first suggested it. "He took dad's bending away. He doesn't need to pretend."

"I can't believe you talked to him," Tarrlok gushes, switching tones with lightning speed. Noatak doesn't know how he does it. "What was he like?"

Noatak had, smartly, in his opinion, left out a few key details of his encounter with the Avatar.

"Fine," Noatak says in a bored voice as he brushes his own hair. Tarrlok rolls his eyes, dissatisfied.

"Nice," Noatak adds. "Dopey."

"Dopey?" Tarrlok repeats. "He's the Avatar! How could he be dopey?"

"Ask him yourself," Noatak suggests, standing once his own ponytail's secure. Tarrlok follows suit and they head into the dining hall.

"I'm not asking the Avatar if he's dopey," Tarrlok mutters under his breath. Noatak grins.

They dine on fruits and nuts, and then they are served sweet buns and bean curry. There's no meat, presumably since the Avatar and his company are vegetarians, but it's very filling. Tarrlok can't get enough of it. They nuns have pushed away the tables and set up mats like the ones Noatak and Tarrlok have been sleeping on. It's the most casual Noatak's ever seen the abbey. He and Tarrlok find a pair of corner mats and keep to themselves.

"May we join you?" says a deep, friendly voice. Tarrlok's jaw drops, and so does the dumpling he was holding. Avatar Aang and the younger man he was with are standing above them. The Avatar is smiling broadly, the other man looks like he's trying to smile, but it's something akin to a grimace. Noatak very badly wants to say no, but after his earlier display, he owes it to the nuns to be polite.

"It would be our honor," he answers, bowing his head. Tarrlok swallows whatever was in his mouth and bows as well. The Avatar and his companion settle beside them.

"We were never properly introduced," he says kindly, looking between the brothers. "I'm Aang, and this is my son, Tenzin."

Tenzin bows his head.

"Noatak," he says, pointing to himself, "and Tarrlok."

"I wanted to say I'm terribly sorry about your parents," Avatar Aang says seriously, and Tarrlok freezes again. "When Mother Superior told me how recently you lost them, my heart broke for you."

Noatak doesn't think Tarrlok could sigh any louder. Fortunately, the Avatar seems to take it as a display of sadness.

"Thank you," Noatak says politely. "We'll be alright, as long as we have each other."

Avatar Aang smiles sadly at him.

"I'm glad to hear it," he says, and in spite of his misgivings, Noatak is inclined to believe him. Their father had always spoken of the Avatar's weakness, his bleeding heart. Noatak eventually took that to mean that Avatar Aang possessed compassion, which Yakone was sorely unfamilar with.

"I'm going to sound like everyone's grandpa," the Avatar continues, looking at an absolutely starstruck Tarrlok, "but when I was your age, my friends were all the family I had. I know how important it is to have someone you can rely on."

Noatak realizes with a start he's talking about Chief Katara and the other important people his father despised. For some reason Noatak still feels a pang of anger for Chief Katara, mixed in somewhere with his anger for Yakone. Misplaced loyalty, maybe? He's not sure.

"What brought you to the abbey?" Tarrlok asks curiously.

"I thought it would be nice to visit the sisters, their abbey’s on the way home from the Southern Air Temple. You see, it was time for Tenzin here to select an air bison," Aang says proudly, clapping his son on the shoulder. "Traditionally air nomads choose their bisons during childhood, but we needed to ensure the herd was healthy and happy before separating them. Tell them his name!"

Tenzin blushes furiously, which Noatak finds pretty funny considering he's a grown-man.

"Oogi," he says quietly, but the man's baritone reverberates whether he wants it to or not. Noatak can't help it. He barks out a laugh, and quickly attempts to cover it up with a cough.

"That's great!" Tarrlok says sincerely. He whistles, and his jackalope comes careening towards them. Noatak's not sure when he tought him that trick. Tarrlok holds the animal up proudly, and Noatak notes it's getting a little heavy in the middle. "This is Zhī!"

"Hello, Zhī," Aang beams, reaching out to the jackalope and offering it a carrot. Zhī sniffs at the vegetable, and then leaps a little too excitedly, landing on Aang's head. Noatak and Tarrlok gasp in horror. The Avatar and Tenzin laugh.

"I'm great with animals," Aang chuckles, extracting Zhī and setting him in his lap while the jackrabbit munches on the carrot. Tarrlok, for his part, is ecstatic about this turn of events and chats happily with Aang and Tenzin, trading animal stories. The Avatar mentions his lemur, Momo, who apparently resides on Air Temple Island for the most part. Tarrlok asks them if they've ever encountered another jackalope in their travels.

"They're usually found in the Ba Sing Se Desert," Tenzin muses. "This one's pretty far from home. Where did you happen to find him?"

Tarrlok glances at Noatak nervously.

"We met it in the fishing village north of here," Noatak says, smooth as anything, "there was an exotic animal merchant there, and he accidentally let some of the animals out. We would have brought him back, but Zhī didn't seem to be very well cared for."

Tenzin nods, smiling at little at him, apparently satisfied with the explanation. Aang squints a little, his calm expression never faltering. Noatak stares back at the Avatar with what he hopes is a neutral expression. He also hopes Tarrlok is smart enough to keep his head down.

"Well, I can't fault you," Aang says lightly. "I'm an animal-lover myself, after all. I hate the thought of them feeling uncomfortable. It's why we left the bisons a little south of here, Oogi isn't great with small spaces just yet."

"They're here?" Tarrlok asks in wonder. Aang smiles warmly at him.

"Would you like to meet them? After dessert, of course."

Tarrlok again looks to Noatak, who glares at his younger brother. Why would the Avatar offer them such a thing? He's certain Aang doesn't know they're Yakone's sons, but he doesn't know what the endgame is here. What reason would the Avatar have to introduce a pair of orphans to his precious air bisons?

"Sure," Noatak says after mulling it over. He'll just have to stay on his guard. If he and Tarrlok need to make a daring escape, well, it's about time they move along, anyway.

Tarrlok tears through his fruit tarts like a rabid platypus-bear, except sloppier. Aang and Tenzin leave to sit with the nuns, and Noatak hears them expressing gratitude for the traditional air nomad meals. Noatak had always beleived that the monks ate very little, refusing indulgences. But while Tenzin appears more reserved, Avatar Aang digs into his deserts almost as heartily as Tarrlok. He's nothing like Noatak would expect. He's just kind of...

Dopey.

"I can't believe we're eating with the Avatar," Tarrlok says through a moutful of macaroons. Then, lowering his voice to a whisper he says, "Imagine the look on dad's face."

Noatak silences him with a glare.

It's late afternoon when the Avatar and his son finally stop chatting with the nuns and suggest they go meet Appa and Oogi. Noatak fills his waterskin up, just in case. He's not idiotic enough to think he could win against the Avatar in a fight, but he's sure he could create enough of a diversion to buy them time to escape.

They follow the winding path to a wooded area, and Aang cups his hands around his mouth.

"Appa!" he calls in a singsong. "Appa! Oogi! Where are you?" In response, something among the trees lets out a loud groan. Aang, at nearly 60 years old, takes off at a run towards the bison.

"Dad!" Tenzin shouts, running after him. Noatak and Tarrlok glance at each other, and then they're following suit. They tear through the brush and leaves, Tarrlok giggling all the while, Zhī being jostled under the boy's arm. Noatak hears the groan again and turns a sharp corner, barely managing to grab Tarrlok by the elbow so that he doesn't go sprinting off in the wrong direction. At last they crash through a clearing, and are greeted by the sight of two grown-men cuddling up to a pair of enrmormous furry creatures.

"Wow," Tarrlok breathes, and Noatak can't help but feel the same sense of awe. The bisons are huge, bigger than they could have ever imagined. The biggest creatures up north are the yaks, and they don't hold a candle to Appa and Oogi. And the bisons are, for lack of a better term, adorable - fluffy and incredibly affectionate, if the way they respond to their masters' attention is any indication.

"Come meet them!" Aang calls, waving them over. Tarrlok doesn't hesitate, he runs over to Oogi, the closest one, and immediately begins petting the bison's face. Zhī struggles free of Tarrlok's hold and begins sniffing at Oogi's feet. Noatak is more cautious, approaching Appa slowly. He's never loved animals the way Tarrlok does, but he's more than happy to get a closer look at the unusual beast.

"He won't bite," Aang says gently after Noatak just stands in front of Appa for a few minutes, staring. Noatak still doesn't really care to pet the animal, but he can tell how highly the Avatar regards Appa, and he doesn't want to insult him. Steadying himself, Noatak reaches out to gingerly presse his hand to the bison's wet nose. Noatak holds his breath. Then, Appa leans into the touch, letting out a low snort.

Something both foreign and familiar washes over Noatak. It's not an emotion he can identify, but it feels warm.

He and Tarrlok spend the next few hours playing with the bison. Appa is far older than Oogi, evident by the slow way he moves and the gray around his eyes, but Noatak is more than happy to sit by the bison's belly and rest in his fur. Avatar Aang sits beside him. Oogi is excitable, jumping around the clearing with Tarrlok, and eventually Tenzin, once he loosens up. The airbenders tell them all about the bisons, how they can fly long distances without growing tired, how they can carry whole families on their backs, how they're inherently gentle creatures.

"Oogi came from the Northern Air Temple," Aang explains proudly. "An old friend of mine, Teo, he's been helping to repopulate them up there. He designed Oogi's saddle, actually."

They talk for hours, the sun going lower and lower, and Noatak grows tired, comfortable in the softness of Appa's fur. Even Tarrlok and Oogi tire eventually, flopping down among the leaves.

"It's getting late," Tenzin says, producing some snacks for Appa and Oogi as he speaks. "We should head back to the abbey for the evening." Aang nods, and, in the first display of airbending Noatak's seen yet, the Avatar breezes effortlessly into a standing position. He offers Noatak his hand. Noatak eyes him suspiciously, and then, letting exhaustion win, allows himself to be pulled up.

The journey back to the abbey feels far longer than the first time. When they arrive, Tarrlok is swept up into a loving hug by Sister Meifen, and she even reaches out to hug Noatak as well, although he doesn't reciprocate. Noatak doesn't know why she's being so affectionate, they were only gone for a few hours.

When he and Tarrlok find their sleeping quarters, they both fall asleep the moment they lay down.

In the morning they're roused by Mother Superior.

"Get dressed, you two," she says. "The Avatar would like to speak with you."

"Couldn't he speak with us after sunrise?" Tarrlok whines, rubbing at his eyes. Noatak puts himself together quickly, a ball of nerves. He's not sure why Aang has taken such an interest in them, but he was under the impression the Avatar would be leaving today. They already saw the bison, what else is there to do?

When Noatak and Tarrlok trudge over to Aang, Tarrlok's still half asleep. He's tied his coat around his waist and has Zhī sleeping in the hood. Both the Avatar and his son are meditating. Aang peeks an eye open as he hears their footsteps approach.

"Ah!" he says, motioning them over. They sit cross-legged in front of him, and Tarrlok practically sits on Zhī who squeaks and trudges into the boy's lap. "I'm sorry about the early wake-up call, but Tenzin and I are leaving soon, and I wanted to discuss something with you both. Well, you three."

"Is everything alright?" Noatak asks in as relaxed a voice as he can muster. Aang smiles warmly at him.

"Yes, Noatak, everything's fine. You aren't in trouble," Aang says. Noatak feels his heart slow down, lets his facial features relax.

"I told you last night I was devastated to hear about what happened to you," Aang explains. "Mother Superior told me how you're both talented waterbenders. I immediately felt like our meeting was more than luck - like we were all meant to be here in this place, at this time."

"I am fortunate enough to be married to the Chief of the Southern Water Tribe, and, in my biased opinion, one of the greatest waterbenders the world has ever known. Although I'm sure I'm not alone in saying so," Aang adds, winking.

"What I'm trying to say is - if the two of you are looking for a more permanent home, I would be honored if you would return to the Southern Water Tribe with me."

Noatak's mouth flies open, but no words come out. Tarrlok's eyes are practically bursting out of his head. Zhī, oblivious, sighs sleepily.

"Like...to live with you?" is all Noatak can manage. Tenzin chuckles. Aang inclines his head.

"If you'd like," the Avatar says, voice light but sincere.

"But you're the Avatar," Tarrlok says in confusion. Aang laughs, throwing an arm around his son.

"I'm also a father to three incredible young people, if I do say so myself," he says merrily. He retracts his arm and looks seriously between Noatak and Tarrlok. "You're under no obligation to come with me. If it's not what you want, I completely understand."

"How do you know Chief Katara won't mind?" Noatak asks him suspiciously. Aang smiles, his eyes lighting up with adoration.

"If you knew my mother," Tenzin tells them, "you wouldn't even be asking that question. Helping people is her passion."

Every fiber of Noatak's body is screaming in protest, telling him to grab Tarrlok and run for the sea, to run far away from these men and their promises. But he's planted in place, rooted by disbelief and confusion, and, worst of all, hope. It seems too good to be true. But then, if it is true, there's no where safer for him and Tarrlok from their father than the other side of the world, among the people Yakone hates most.

"May I speak with my brother?" Noatak asks. Aang inclines his head again, and he and Tarrlok step out into a hallway, leaving Zhī in the airbenders’ care.

"I think we should go with them," Tarrlok says the moment they're out of earshot. Noatak grimaces.

"I think we should discuss it," Noatak says irritably. "We can't just go with them-"

"What, like we just left the North Pole?" Tarrlok hisses. "He's the Avatar, he won't hurt us."

Noatak bites his tongue, refusing to let spill all the angry words about how parents aren't supposed to hurt you, either. Now's not the time for that discussion.

"Tarrlok," he says, trying desperately to convey severity. Thankfully, Tarrlok closes his mouth and listens. "If we do this, that's it. We live in the South Pole from now on. We listen to Avatar Aang and Chief Katara. We're Noatak and Tarrlok, the tragic boys who lost their parents. We give up our freedom."

"I don't think we're giving up our freedom," Noatak says, looking back towards the room where they left Aang. "Aang - the Avatar, he seems like he loves freedom. I just think we'd be safe."

Noatak looks back towards the room as well. They could say no, grab Zhī, and head southeast, towards Ba Sing Se. They'd make it, he's sure, living off scraps, resting their heads somewhere new each month, doing odd jobs. They could survive like that for a few years, until Noatak found a decent job. But would they be happy?

Noatak can practically feel Appa's soft fur under his hands. He can hear Tarrlok's hysterical laughter as Oogi and Zhī licked him mercilessly.

"Okay," Noatak says to Aang, once they've reentered the room. "We'll go with you."

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

Dark AU: The Problem

In an alternative universe where @untilthepainstarts‘s Lev married (and murdered) Martin, his captor, only to prove a thoughtful, fascinating criminal mastermind... in a timeline where @whumpiary‘s Cass becomes Cassius Bergen, who takes over the Estate after Christopher Bergen goes mysteriously missing... so there is also a Kauri.

Friendly, charming, engaging, flirtatious, this Kauri is a live-in stray at the Bergen Estate, known to come and go as he pleases. He spends an awful lot of time in Cassius Bergen’s office, and rumor has it he’s not in there to perform administrative duties.

Dot, Nell, and I have had fun along with our group of friends talking out the idea of the Dark AU, and honestly, I couldn’t resist seeing where Kauri might fit into it. I even wrote a thing, which I have been given permission to share here!

So, without further mucking about trying to explain it... here is Dark Kauri. Just sit back and enjoy the pretty.

---

CW: Referenced past noncon and pet whump, hints of fucky headspace regarding spice, some low-level spiciness (like PG-13), conditioned behavior

“Take it off.”

“Mmn… no.” Cass kept his head tilted to the side, watching Kauri stand frozen in the doorway, one hand resting lightly on the frame. Lithe and willowy, the Bergen Estate’s fascinating, gorgeous semi-permanent ward looked every inch the gangster’s moll today. Impeccably dressed, like Cass himself.

Cass wore a black suit over a deep purple pinstriped button up loosely unbuttoned just enough to show off the wide-banded black satin choker he wore around his neck.

The choker was what Kauri’s eyes were locked on, slightly widened.

“Take it off, Cass.” Kauri’s voice caught this time, just slightly, and Cass felt like a shark smelling blood in the water. He could feel the way Kauri’s wants poured out of him, a waterfall of nerves and fear and dark places he was desperate to keep hiding from. “I mean it.”

“Lev’s coming over later, you know,” Cass said, voice light and airy. The blade he cut with, in moments like this, was nearly invisibly thin.

Kauri bled, just the same, whenever and however Cass wanted him to, and somehow he never ran away, no matter how hard Cass tried to push him.

Mostly, he didn’t. Mostly he liked being a safe place for Kauri in a world that had very few of them. But some days Cass felt restless, angry, hungry to prove to Kauri and everyone else that he was exactly the monster he should be.

One day he’d find the thing that chased Kauri away.

Today, he was trying this.

“Do you think he’ll like it?” Cass gave Kauri a half-cocked grin, beautiful poison, crooked two fingers to ask him to come closer even as he wanted to say, Run away this time and stay gone, it’s only what I deserve.

Some of the fear settled, and Cass felt the pulse of his desires begin to shift, to change. Kauri didn’t have what Cass had, but he could read some things, too, in his own way. Instead of turning to leave, Kauri braced himself and stepped forward, moving across the room with each step placed with careless grace. “What? You want me to ask if Lev Viklund-Reid will like your collar, Cass? After he had to wear one?”

“Yeah.” Kauri stopped next to his chair and Cass swung it around to face him, legs apart, sitting back and looking up at Kauri, head tilted. “I want to know if he’ll like my collar. Saw it in a shop two days ago and it made me think of you. And him.”

Kauri’s face didn’t change, but Cass could feel the way his desires twisted, shifted, became darker and started to turn on themselves. Anger, justifiable and justified on every level, was there. But stronger than the anger…

“You want to put one on me, Cass?” Kauri asked, and his voice was low, too deep for how pretty he was, as he moved forward to stand briefly framed on either side by Cass’s suit pant-clad legs. Then he climbed up into the chair, straddling him, the pressure where their hips met entirely too pleasant.

This… wasn’t quite what Cass had expected him to do. “... no, Kauri,” He admitted, and some of the easy confidence was lost, in that moment. The power balance shifted as Kauri rocked his hips forward, rolling them, as his hands laid flat on Cass’s stomach over his shirt and then slid slowly up.

Kauri took over, somehow, in the way his body could light Cass up without even touching bare skin.

Cass cleared his throat. “This isn’t-... Wasn’t my plan.”

Kauri laughed, low and husky, and the spikes of disgust generously ladled over the darker wants that curled around the two of them were heady, making Cass feel half-drunk and outmatched. “What was your plan, then?”

Hands traveled slowly upward, skimming to the sides under his suit jacket to press against his ribs through the silky-smooth fabric of his shirt. They paused over his chest, pressed against his collarbone and then around behind his neck. He felt his curly hair, soft against Kauri’s hands, shift over his neck as he met the warm, wide blue eyes of a runaway pet, someone else’s escaped whore.

Cass knows the feeling, although he didn’t escape - he became the whoremaster instead. Sort of. Sometimes it felt like being whoremaster, trying to hold the Bergen Estate together.

Sometimes, though, Kauri looked at him like this and Cass felt less like he had control and more like Kauri could have shredded him and he might have thanked him for the touch.

“...I wanted to hurt you,” He admitted, not sure why he spoke the words out loud when he didn’t mean to speak them at all. “And Lev. Wanted to see if I could.”

Kauri rolled his hips forward, and the pressure coiled heat low in Cass’s belly, setting the constant low pulse of arousal he felt nearly every time Kauri entered a room into a flame. He hadn’t even felt the pet undo the choker’s little buckle at the back of his neck, blinking in surprise at the feel of the satin sliding away, leaving his neck bare.

“You’d only hurt me if you put it on me,” Kauri said, voice low, husky, warm with need. He held up the strip of silky cloth right in front of Cass’s eyes and tore the buckle off the end in a sudden burst of violence, dropping it with a clatter onto Cassius’s desk.

His smile widened even as Cass felt his smile returning. “I wouldn’t, you know, Kauri.”

“Wouldn’t what?” Kauri knew the answer, but still wanted to hear it out loud. Cass could respect that.

“Collar you. I would never collar you, you know that.”

“Do I know that?”

“Yes.” Cass’s voice cracked, caught, and he repeated, insistent, “Yes, you do.”

“You might, one day, if you wanted someone to see you do it. I’d let you, too.” Kauri shrugged, seemingly unmoved, even as Cass felt the stir of fear that ran through him and around him, half-buried by want for other things but still there, a thread he could pull, unravel, undo if he wanted.

He wanted. And Kauri knew it.

Cass stared with a mouth suddenly too dry for speech as Kauri simply bent himself over backwards, his knees still on either side of Cass’s thighs, and arched his back until he was looking upside down at the industrial-strength shredder Cass kept next to his desk, reaching one arm out while the other went palm-flat to the floor.

Cass’s hands moved fast to grip onto Kauri’s hips and hold him steady as the other man fed the band of shining black satin, torn at one end where the buckle had been, into the shredder. It kicked on automatically, a high roaring whine as it fought to destroy threads instead of paper.

Kauri’s position was nearly obscene, his own growing hardness pressing against Cass’s, shirt riding up to show a flash of pale skin. Cass wanted suddenly to lick his way up or down and he wasn’t sure which or if he would ever stop once he started.

He could see the faintest outline of a bruise along one hip showing above the waistband of Kauri’s pants, his own teeth indented there in a deeper purple surrounded by red and yellow. Biting down had made Kauri scream for more.

If his mouth had been dry before, it became the fucking Sahara when the shredder finished its work and Kauri’s stomach muscles tightened, simply rolling himself back up, curving back to sitting in Cass’s lap again.

He leaned forward, sliding his arms around Cass’s neck, mouth moving against his ear. His teeth nipped lightly at Cass’s earlobe as he whispered, “I’ll wear anything and nothing you want me to wear, Cass, but I won’t let you collar yourself. Now fuck me before Lev gets here or don’t fuck me at all today.”

When Lev arrived, Cass was seated right behind his desk, his shirt wrinkled and suit jacket misbuttoned, half-cocked grin right back on his face, a red mark blossoming along the right side of his neck.

Kauri answered the door for Viklund-Reid with a flush in his face and a swollen look to his lips as he held out his hand. His sweater was on backwards and inside-out. It might have looked accidental, if you didn’t know Kauri.

Which Viklund-Reid didn’t, although he didn’t look surprised, either.

Lev looked to Cass first, eyebrow raised, and he only shrugged in return, giving him a rakish, devil-may-care grin. “Have you met Kauri, yet, Viklund-Reid?”

“I haven’t,” Lev responded, voice warm and slightly lilting, shaking Kauri’s hand without the faint curl of his lip in disgust that some of the others did, either unbothered or just incredibly polite. “I haven’t had the pleasure.”

Kauri shot him a smile, sunny and winning, and leaned up to kiss Lev on the cheek, fingertips sliding down the lapel of his suit. “You will,” He murmured against the faintest hint of stubble on Lev’s skin, and then moved past him out the door.

Lev and Cass both stared, for a second, in silence at the slight sway of his hips before the ex-pet disappeared around a bend in the hall. Cass let himself soak up the hint of Lev’s desires in the air - they weren’t too far off from his own, although Lev’s were far subtler, buried.

Lev turned back, pressing invisible wrinkles out of his suit. “Are we going to have a problem?”

“Nope,” Cass responded, sunny and bright. He felt a low throb at the spot where shoulder and neck met, a growing hickey that would be a dark bruise by night. He was surprised they hadn’t heard him react to that out in the hall. “What possible problem could there be?”

Lev gave Cass a flat stare and said dryly, “I think I see why you couldn’t wait until after my visit.”

“Wait for what?” Cass asked, innocently.

“Bergen-“

The shredder kicked on, surprising them both as it spat out the last few black satin threads into the trash bin below it. Cass slid the collar’s broken buckle, with its bit of tattered fabric clinging to it, carefully into one pocket.

#erase to control au #dark timeline #dark timeline au #Cass the Disaster Lad #lev is my favorite #whumpiary #untilthepainstarts #referenced past noncon #referenced past pet whump #collaring #super fucky headspace regarding spice #consensual spice tw #but like only a little bit #like a hint of paprika spice

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paragonrobits · 4 years

Text

Azulaang fic for @irresistible-revolution for the prompt ‘Azulaang + dancing’!

the premise is that this takes place several years after the events of ATLA, and Azula has been traveling with Aang as part of a long-term life-changing field trip, so she’s grown a bit from the person she was, but she’s still got a few things to learn

----

Azula is a woman of immense pride, and so, it wounds her to admit that she is less than perfect in everything. She has to be perfect, in everything she does; in the way she drops her words into place as neatly as the point of a blade, in the exacting movements of her Firebending forms, in the subtle methods in which she says only a few choice words to fill her enemy’s minds with doubt and uncertainty.

She has struggled long in the vicious political battlegrounds of the Fire Nation, and won out. She doubts that her brother would last long without help; he is poorly suited to intrigue. He is a more competent survivor that she had given him credit for, and his presence as Fire Lord alone has cast an unfamiliar curl of doubt that, maybe, she was wrong to assume she knew everything.

Rehabilitation, they called it as they commanded her to stay by the Avatar’s side until such time as he declared her suitable in his eyes to return home.

It’s a banishment. Yet she doesn't mind it all that much, and it’s not a comforting thought; it’s a rank feeling, a seething hot brand in the pit of her stomach. She has been cast away, her life and freedom at the mercy of an enemy who has little reason to share mercy with her, and it’s a foe she knows she has no way to defeat in a straight fight.

It should bother her more, but it does not. She doesn’t understand why. She is, however, coming to understand that perhaps she ought to watch her words around the Avatar.

He is… she’s searched for an appropriate word, and settled upon fickle. Or perhaps flighty. It’s not something that sets her entirely at ease, the way he flits from one thought to another with all the ease of a bird-cat alighting from one branch and then springing to another, or how his mood can shift from terrible graveness to sudden giggling merriment, with none of the between-moods there should be.

He changes like the wind. It’s strangely exciting, in his unpredictability. She has prided herself, in the past, on being good with people, even if she must admit now that (on the balance of evidence, and time has taken the sting out of what she had considered betrayal), but she does not understand him. She does not understand his ways, or the thoughts that lead him from one idea to an apparently unrelated one.

And this brought itself to the central point: that for all her efforts to be perfect in every way, she does not actually know how to dance.

-----

The Avatar (and it will be a long time before she, mired in the rigid political honorifics of the Fire Nation royal courts, can dare to speak to him by his own name, and her hair prickles in alarm and shock when he persistently asks her to speak to him so familiarly) had grinned.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” His voice was sing-song, almost teasing; gusting this way and that, as if to push her in directions at random. She can’t get a read on him at all, and it bothers her, and he knows that it bothers her, and so he plays his strange games with her.

Her head tilted up. “I do not know how to dance,” she replied, acidly. “You would be so very surprised to learn how it is not an essential skill in military conduct, nor the art of rulership.”

“Honestly, that sounds kinda boring. Learning new things is something to look forward to, not just because it helps you!”

It was important to note that at the time, for no apparent reason, he was spinning on a disc of air on his hands, only looking at her for brief seconds in his revolutions.

Her nostrils flared. “Dancing is for children and peasants who don’t have anything better to do.”

“Are you just saying that because it bothers you that I can dance, and my friends can dance, evne Zuko, and you don’t know how?”

Her silence speaks volumes. Irritable, bad tempered volumes.

He pauses, just for a moment, staring at her head-on. He’s still upside down, but his rounded features (so disarmingly like Ty Lee that some vague suspicions of blood descent and Air leaving behind a few embers, here and there, come to mind) turn towards her, his eyes so grey they are almost translucent.

“So you’ve never even tried?”

“Never.” She gazed into his eyes, trying to find a hint of whatever plan or plot he had in mind this time.

“Mm hmm.” He smiles, widening at the corner of his mouth as though he won’t be honest if it’s a grin or a challenging sneer. “It’s okay if you want to admit you can’t do it.”

“What?!” She stiffened up. “I certainly can!”

“No, no. It’s fine if you don’t think you can learn it at all.”

He has just outright challenged her. “I shall!” Her ego marches ahead of any other thought, and she’s already aware that she has gotten herself entangled in his schemes. Again. “Show me, if you dare.”

“All right,” he said, leaping upwards and landing in a full standing position, and she knows now that he is most definitely grinning, holding a hand out to him.

As she permits him to take her hand, she cannot deny an emotional flicker there, as his fingers brush across her hand.

----

And now, they dance.

Or rather, the Avatar dances, and she does his best to keep up, and part of her keeps thinking of it like a fight. A duel, and it seems strangely fitting.

A duel in which one fighter is a master who knows he has already won, and the other fighter is a novice, too stubborn to admit that she hadn’t the faintest idea of where to begin.

He moves so easily around her. Physical effort is second nature to her; sport games, Firebending, the many martial arts absorbed and devised by past leaders of the Fire Nation even in the days when the Fire Lord had only been leader of the Fire Sages; she knows them all, and picks them up so easily that it is as though she has done them many times over.

He moves more easily than that; he leaps across her, and as she turns to match his graceful movements (too graceful, so fluid and dynamic!), he is already facing her, bowing backwards, his feet leaving the ground and his hands catching him. Then he is spinning on both his hands, each revolution carrying him away from her.

“You’re too rigid,” he chides her. “There’s no secret formula to it. You just go with the flow and ride it!”

“Oh, is that Airbending philosophy?” Azula asks; her tone is bored, but the question is genuine.

The Air Nation is something of a blank spot in her knowledge. History books speak little about them; only that they were a military nation, bested during Sozin’s first military actions, and wiped out to the last man. And she knows that there never was an Air Nation.

There had only been the Air Nomads. As a younger woman, she wouldn’t have cared much either way. But older now, and wiser, and not quite the same woman under the Avatar’s tutelage and experience of the world…

She does not know how to feel, and that vast depth before her taunts at her. But she does know they were very different from the Fire Nation, and here lies an element of their philosophy.

“It’s just how dancing works, where I’m from,” the Avatar replies, now sliding closer to her. It’s a struggle to match his movements; there is no predicting them, there is no switch from one form to another, just a chaotic and ever-shifting flow of limbs and body, and she cannot outpace it, only match it. He grins. “So, you’re not wrong!”

She understands something, then. The thought has been working beneath the surface, chipping away and puzzling over it.

She knows the essence of fire is power; Zuko has spoken of drive and energy, and she still does not quite understand what that means. She knows other Bending forms draw power from other aspects of human nature and thought, and she finally understands that Airbending is freedom.

Fire burns hotter with anger, with drive and aggression. But as he allows himself to be free, to be detached from the tethers around him, he flies; the air around him buoys him upwards, or erupts around him, uncontrolled and truly free, destructive beyond measure or completely harmless without any apparent pattern.

She understands him a bit better, she thinks.

And then he leans in, his hand just below her own.

“A dance between two people is a partnership,” he says mischievously. “It’s not a battle you win. It’s something you do, together.”

Her hand moves, almost on its own, and pauses just below it, nearly ready to grasp his hand.

She hesitates.

She killed him once, she remembers. So why does he make her nervous?

He smiles at her, fearlessly, calmly, as though he is above petty things like grudges or memories of war. His eyes lock with her own, and she’s rarely seen someone so forthright with her, especially not a boy in her age range.

She’s never had peers, she thinks. Only soldiers and subordinates; never real friends, not anyone that pursued her company of their own accord, as he had when he had suggested this in the early days of her rehabilitation.

His hand is still proffered to her. She’s never known anyone who wanted to hold her hand.

And there is a feeling like electricity between his hand, and her own; a simmering tension, a feeling that she must either run away now before he changes his mind, or grasp and never let go-

Her fingers seize his hand, and he squeezes back.

He moves. “Follow my lead,” he says, head tilting up to look into her eyes, and she silently follows.

And, in that moment, it is freeing to simply move in that dance, without worrying about appearances, to let the wind carry her.

And his hand feels warm and soft in her grip. She has known power and authority, dominance and security. She has not known kindness.

She thinks she would like to know it a little better now.

#atla #aang #azula #azulaang #fics #my writing #requests

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the-awkward-outlaw · 4 years

Note

Hello ! Can u write an imagine where Arthur s/o kills Micah and she is banned from the gang. Would Arthur follow her ? Thank u :)

Man, I have been in the biggest writing funk for the first time in like nine months but I finally got this one done! Here you go, Anon! Sorry about the wait.

(Author’s note: Arthur doesn’t have TB) (BTW, Arthur is husband material and no one can change my mind)

It’s already been a long, exhausting day and it’s not even midday yet. You hate it here, always will without a doubt. Beaver Hollow is just a complete shit show and the gang has seriously deteriorated.

You miss how things used to be. You can remember how everyone was: Mary-Beth and Tilly giggling over romance novels, Sean bragging about how tough and smart he was, Uncle’s jokes, Hosea’s stories about his past and how he always added a note of wisdom. Oh Hosea. He was just another casualty of Dutch’s plight against modern America.

Everything’s changed since Hosea died and the boys returned from their tropical trip. Javier doesn’t sing or play the guitar anymore, no one laughs, people fight constantly. It’s a burden and a pain to be in the camp nowadays, and you hate it. The person who’s changed the most though is Dutch. He’s not the caring, almost paternal figure who was just struggling slightly to help everyone get back on their feet like he was right after the Blackwater mess. Now he seems to be on a suicide mission and intent on taking everyone in the gang with him.

The worst thing about the whole situation is Micah. He’s always known how to butter Dutch up but when Hosea was around, he kept himself in check. Now that Hosea’s gone, he’s been in Dutch’s ear the whole time and you haven’t liked it. You’re not the only one; Arthur and John have been suspicious about the whole thing.

Arthur’s faith in Dutch has been severely shaken. He questions Dutch much more than he ever used to. Dutch doesn’t like it, and he keeps on lying, saying he’s going to get everyone out. All he’s done is killed Cornwall, blown up a bridge, brought Pinkertons closer to camp than ever and used the war between the army and the Wapiti into his favor, even getting the chief’s son locked up during a feud.

Arthur walks over to your tent after donating a deer to Pearson, who’s drunk again. He’s been coming to you to talk a lot more lately, though you’re not sure why. You’ve had a crush on Arthur for ages but never acted on it. You two have been friends for what seems like forever and you refuse to destroy that over some silly feelings you have. You’ve wondered if Arthur has a crush on you too. It’s just the way he acts sometimes, things he says. The way he wanted you to come with him to tell Mary he didn’t want to be her errand boy anymore. The way you catch him staring at you sometimes. How he always wants you to go off hunting with him but won’t invite anyone else.

Just as he’s about to say something to you, Dutch calls him over. Arthur gives you a yearning look and then turns around to go see him. A few moments later, someone catches your attention, pulling you away from your work, with their voice. It isn’t Arthur, though or even John or Mary-Beth. It’s Micah.

“Ah glad to see you’re putting an effort into keeping this place running. We can use all the help we can get,” he simpers.

“The fuck do you want, Micah?” you snarl.

Micah’s always been a pebble in everyone’s shoes but now with Hosea out of the way and Dutch going crazy, he’s been acting like he’s in charge of things. He keeps badgering people to do their chores (which most of them have been) and that everyone needs to pull their weight. This doesn’t bother you, what does bother you is the hypocrisy of it all. He never does a damn thing. The last job he helped with was murdering Cornwall but you felt he did it out of a personal interest and less of a needs-to-be done basis.

“Always gotta be so bitter,” he says, smiling. “You know, if you were a little nicer, people might actually like you. Too bad nothing can be done to make you pretty though. Unfortunately you’ll just have to stick to nice but ugly.”

You throw down the sewing you’d just been doing and stand up, marching over to him. He wisely takes several steps backwards as you whip out your pistol.

“Give me one more goddamn reason, you cockroach,” you hiss. “I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

He whips out his own gun and points it at you. “You don’t have the guts, little girl.”

“Wanna bet? You ain’t the first person I killed, though I’m not sure I can really define you as a person.”

By this time, your argument has attracted the attention of many of the others. They form a circle and watch, but no one dares interrupt. You get the feeling that most of them want you to kill him. The majority of them have had problems with him too.

“Woe!” Dutch says, walking over with his hands in the air. “There is no need to have guns drawn in camp. Both of you fools, put them away.”

He stands next to Micah and glares from him to you. Arthur stands a few feet behind him and shakes his head at you, clearly trying to stop you from doing something reckless.

“She started it, Dutch,” Micah says, his gun still drawn.

“Bullshit! You’re the one going around insulting everyone. Trust me, if I don’t shoot you now, someone else will. Like Lenny said back in Colter, when you fall there’ll be a party.”

“Watch your mouth,” he growls. “Keep flapping your gums and you’ll end up just like Lenny and Hosea. Better yet, maybe you’ll get your head shot off like good ol’ Sea-”

Before he can finish, he’s silenced by your bullet slamming into his neck. He sputters and drops his gun, grabbing at his gushing neck. People start yelling and Javier and Bill grab you, making you drop your gun.

“Let go of me!” you scream as Micah falls to his knees. Dutch glares at you, clearly shocked. As Micah slumps down onto his stomach, he stomps towards you. Javier and Bill hold your arms tight and you can’t fight them off.

“You know the rules, Y/N,” Dutch says quietly. “There’s absolutely no reason to shoot anyone in camp unless they’re traitors.”

“How do you know Micah wasn’t a traitor, Dutch?” you snarl. “Ever since Guarma, those damn Pinkertons have been nipping at your heels more than ever.”

Dutch lowers his brow. “I’m going to give you five minutes to get away from here. Never come back, Y/N. I never want to see you around here again.”

Javier and Bill let you go, but you look around, silently pleading with the others to help you. No one does and your eyes finally fall onto Arthur. His mouth is partially open but his eyes say he wishes you hadn’t done it. He says nothing though, and you feel your stomach drop. Of course he’d choose Dutch over you. He’s known him for twenty years and Dutch saved his life. You’ve only known him a few years and maybe helped him get out of a few scrapes. You’ve got nothing on Dutch when it comes to Arthur. You don’t blame him either. No matter what kind of mess Dutch has gotten everyone into, Arthur’s been doing his best to keep things together. All you’ve done is create a bigger mess for him to clean up.

You know it’s time for you to leave. There’s no doubt in your mind that Dutch is just crazy enough to kill you, and the clock is ticking. You push your way between Tilly and Karen and go to your tent, packing everything up quickly. You feel everyone’s eyes on your back until Grimshaw barks at everyone to get to work and for Charles and John to get Micah’s body taken out of camp. You throw everything onto your horse and then run off down the path, feeling your heart break. You’ll never see any of them again, not even Arthur. Your best friend and the man you love will never be part of your life again.

********************************

It’s been three weeks since you were forced to leave camp. You’ve gone back west, back to where you’ve always belonged. You’ve found a small cabin not too far from Aurora Basin in Tall Trees. When you first arrived, the cabin had clearly been abandoned for a long time. You cleaned it up and made it habitable. You’ve decided to hang up the hat on being an outlaw. The Pinkertons won’t be coming out this way looking for the Blackwater robbers, not when they know exactly where Dutch is, so you’re safe out here. Besides, you weren’t even involved in that mess, so no one will associate you with that.

It’s been lonely but peaceful out here. No more having to rob people, no more feeling like you’re chasing your own tail in Dutch’s crazy schemes. No more having to worry about anyone else besides yourself. You’ve missed them though, all of them. You miss joking with Tilly and Karen, discussing books with Mary-Beth, listening to Javier’s stories about Mexico. Even Pearson’s cooking since you’re not much of one yourself.

More than all of that though, you miss Arthur. You miss the sound of his voice, the conversations you had during long hunting trips. He was the only person you could tell anything to. There were many nights you spent under the stars with him and even a few curled against him to keep out the cold. You miss the way he smelled, the way he’d hesitatingly touch you. You two were a perfect hunting team, you were able to track and kill prey without hardly saying a word. You try to settle with the idea that you’ll just have to reminisce in the memories of him but to forget a future with him in it. Not that you had much hope for that before. Arthur may have told Mary to take care of herself from now on, but you always knew he;d never go for you.

You’ve been fishing in the lake for some time and gotten hardly any luck. You sigh and decide to call it a day, collapse your pole and pick up your almost empty bucket. You head up the road, feeling lonely and missing the company of your family. When you round the bend leading to your cabin, you look up and see a familiar face.

“Arthur?” you say quietly, not sure if he’s really there or not.

He rubs his jaw and looks at you, clearly searching for the right words. You stop and look for him, your stomach clenching. Has Dutch sent him? Dutch said you only had five minutes to get out of camp, but not that he wouldn’t hunt you down. The only reason you can think that Arthur’s here is because Dutch told him to find and kill you. You hover your hand over your gun, hoping you won’t have to use it.

“Arthur, please let me explain,” you say. “You know Micah was just making things worse. Let’s just put this all behind us, okay? Just tell Dutch you killed me, at least do me that favor.”

“Dutch didn’t send me, Y/N,” he says softly, his hands on his gunbelt. He takes a step towards you but stops when you back up, clearly worried. He raises his hands. “I ain’t here to hurt ya, darlin’.”

Darlin’? He’s never called you that before. He’s always addressed you by your name. If you didn’t know Arthur, you’d think he might be lying and pretending to be harmless, but you know him too well. He doesn’t lie.

You blink heavily, feeling your eyes water. “Why else would you be here, Arthur?”

He sighs and takes another step towards you, his hands still up. “Y/N, I ain’t followin’ Dutch no more. You said it weeks ago, he’s gone crazy. He didn’t get better when you left either. Micah might not have been around to stir him up, but he’s just gone worse. He was real angry when Charles and I went and broke Eagle Flies out of jail, tryin’ to clean up his mess.”

Arthur goes on to say how the army tried to kill Chief Rains Fall for the oil on his land and how the gang went to help try and save Eagle Flies as he went to get revenge for his people. By the end, Arthur got trapped beneath a soldier and nearly killed. Dutch had been the only one there and could have easily saved him, but chose not to. When Arthur confronted him about it, a huge fight broke out between them and Arthur decided he’d had enough. He snuck John, Abigail and Jack out that night and then decided to find you.

“I knew you’d come out west, Y/N. You’re too much like me, this is where you’ve always wanted to belong.”

“But why would you want to come after me, Arthur? I understand why you left, but why come after me?”

He lowers his hand and walks up to you until he’s only a couple feet away. “Because I care about ya, Y/N.” His gruff voice is soft, sending shivers down your arms. “Because you’ve always tried to help me. If you’d been there, I know you woulda saved my life, not leave me to die like Dutch did. I did everything I could for him, even almost died for him multiple times. I gave him everything I had and got nothin’ to show for it. I’m done, darlin’. I want to be with you.”

Your entire body is shaking as he talks. He closes the distance between you and wraps his arms around you. What little strength you had holding you together crumbles and you sink into his chest, tears leaking out of your eyes.

“I’m sorry I weren’t there for ya when you killed Micah,” he says, rubbing your back. “To be honest, I was happy when you killed Micah. He’s been a giant thorn in my side since he showed up and I’ve wanted to shoot him myself since Sean died. I was just shocked that you’d done it so quickly. I shoulda gone with you when Dutch forced you out.”

You shake your head into his shirt. “No, it’s good you didn’t. If you’d left with me, Dutch would have hunted both of us down. He knows how essential you are to everything, he wouldn’t like it if you left with me.”

He sighs and leans his cheek against your head. “Well, I’m here now, darlin’. If you’ll have me, I’d like to stay with ya as long as I possibly can. You’re my best friend and…” He pauses so long you look up at him to find his cheeks red. “I gotta be honest, Y/N, I’ve been sweet on ya for years.”

It’s your turn to blush and you smile. “Really? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We had things so good, Y/N. We been friends so long, worked so well together, I didn’t wanna ruin that. Besides, I know you wouldn’t have feelings for me. I’m just an old, dirty outlaw. I ain’t worth no one’s time.”

You grimace at him. “Arthur, I hate how poorly you view yourself. You wanna know what I think about you?”

“I suppose, though I doubt it’ll be anythin’ good.”

You sigh and stretch up, placing your lips against his. They’re soft, though slightly chapped. He tenses up when you touch him but after a second he responds. His lips move with yours and you trace his with your tongue. After a moment, you pull away. He’s cheeks are darker but he’s smiling.

“That’s what I think of you, Arthur. I’d love it even more if you decided to stay with me. I’ve been sweet on you for the longest time, it’s been so hard for me to keep it out of our relationship. I just didn’t wanna ruin our friendship.”

He smiles in and leans in to kiss you again. You feel the first surge of excitement and happiness since you got kicked out of the gang. You can’t wait to see what the future has in store for you now.

#arthur morgan #red dead fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #awkward asks #arthur morgan x reader

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gagmebucky · 4 years

Text

[biker!bucky. clothes ripping kink. dollface.]

A gasp falls from your lips, sputtering a high pitched, “B - Bucky!” But he only regards you with a glinting smirk and resumes splitting it up your skin; your hands grab his wrists but his strength is absolute, and all you can do is dig your nails into his skin as you shriek, “What the hell are you doing?” But you already know he loves the marks, when your impression is left on him for others to see.

in which you look too good in that damn dress, and biker!bucky can’t help himself. (includes biker!bucky x chief-of-police’s daughter!reader, clothes ripping kink, reader receiving oral.)

—

A big hand clamps over your mouth, texturized with the calluses of a hardworking man, while a strong forearm anchors across your waist. Before you can react, you’re swept backwards into an unisex bathroom as leather and spice wafts your senses, and a familiarly gruff voice settles your fight-or-flight instincts: “It’s me.”

Immediately, you relax which has him releasing you so you whirl around, your back to the automatically locked door. Your heart like a hummingbird’s, you blink in disbelief at the mountain of a man standing before you in all his louche glory.

“What are you doing here?!” you exclaim in a hushed gasp. Despite yourself, excitement skitters across your skin as you take in your bearded, blue-eyed blackguard: a broad six-foot, towering in dark leather and denim, chestnut brown hair disheveled sexily. All in all, he’s something that draws attention at a suit-and-tie police ball. “What if someone sees you?!”

It’s not that you’re ashamed of the ex-con you’ve been shacking up with. It’s more that your father is being celebrated for his dutiful law enforcement work, and finding out his daughter has been getting on her knees for the same type of person he’s dedicated his life to putting away isn’t the place for that. You plan to divulge your relationship to him soon, just not yet.

Bucky’s tongue darts across his bottom lip, his teeth following as his gaze drags over every curve and contour of your low cut dress clad frame. You’d think he’d gotten enough of an eyeful with the images you texted him. His eyes snap to your face, and he surges forth with an animalistic groan at the base of his throat.

In one second, he grasps you by your hips—a crushing grip glides beneath your satin dress and hauls you high on his waist, palms searing and fingers kneading through a layer of fishnets and panties—and braces you on the bathroom’s sink. A gasp expels from your lips as your back collides against a cold mirror, another sound escaping when he yanks your thighs wide and slots himself between them.

In one hand, his rough pads upturn your jaw, almost squishing your cheeks with his force, maintaining eye contact. Feral, his eyes practically glow, and your skin prickles with a likewise manic passion. “You really sent those pictures and thought I wouldn’t come and see you for myself, dollface?” His wicked orbs flicker down, to the crease of your cleavage, to the slit in your dress, the fishnets covering your legs; his broad chest lifts and falls with a ragged breath.

A simmering furnace kindles in your core, crackling under your skin at the primal reaction to little ‘ole you. Admittedly, it shouldn’t be surprising given his carnal demeanor toward you has persisted since the first time you saw him—being towed away in handcuffs at the station. Nevertheless, it never falls to ignites something unhinged inside you, a wild side that shudders in anticipation for whatever he’s going to do to you.

This wasn’t the plan, but God, you love this deviation.

Upon messaging him that album of scandalous poses, all pristine in your classy—but borderlining skimpy—outfit, you just wanted to work him up while you attended this event. You wouldn’t have thought he would show up here, risking being seen by the flurry of officers who’ve either arrested him, or heard about the suspicious activities in his supposedly innocuous biker gang. Then again, that spontaneousness is one of the reasons why you seem to be addicted to him.

“Did you think I could resist getting my hands on this pretty ‘lil dress and your sexy body underneath?” he asks breathlessly, baritone pitch raking over your nerves like gravel. “And I couldn’t care less about whether your daddy sees us.” His white incisors scrape across his bottom lip. “What did he expect when he let you go out in something like this?“

Thin straps swoop low and reveal your décolletage as the black satin clings like a second skin; from the V of your chest to the reverse V on one thigh, it highlights all your assets tantalizingly, and fishnets do the same to your legs in stretched diamond-shaped string.

“Oh? Does that mean you don’t like it?” you goad innocently, lashes fluttering.

His lips twist up at one corner, entertained by your fauxness. “I’m just pointing out if he didn’t want you to be roughed up by someone like me, he would have told you to put on something that doesn’t make your tits look that good. A blind man can see you’re just asking for trouble.”

“What if that’s what I want?” you reply then tilt your head and part your lips to accept his thumb into your mouth. Your tongue curls around the appendage while your cheeks hollow with a tight suction; your stare remains on his the whole time, watching the flames blaze in his eyes as he pops free from your Cupid’s bow.

“Then you’re on the fuckin’ right track, dollface,” he just about growls and leans forward, intention set on kissing you until you’re breathless and dizzy, and your lips are swollen and glossy with his spit.

Although the prospect tightens in your belly, you stop him with a shake of your head. “My lipstick, biker-boy,” you say to the disgruntled confusion on his face, amused by the expression. “Consider these lips off limits until the end of the night.” You pause. “Then they’re yours to take however you want.”

Impatience lurks in his gaze, and restraint locks his jaw. Air flares his nostrils as his head tips forward. Distance nose-to-nose, he says a quiet, “Okay.” But there’s something about the quality there that has your hackles rising despite the calmness. “I won’t ruin your lipstick.”

The second the last syllable is drawn, without any time to consider the mystery of his purposeful diction, a shrill riiiiiiiiiip cuts bounces against tiled wall’s echo. Somewhere below your eyeline, his hands have hooked underneath the mesh and jerked it apart at the bend of your knee. Once carefully stepped in-to brand new fishnets are reverted into a tattered piece of sheer with a hole ovaling up your thigh.

“What’s wrong?” he teases, brows knitted in feigned confusion, continuing to litter the floor with your clothing. “Your lipstick is fine, dollface. That’s what you wanted. And since I can’t have those lips, then I’ll just have to settle for these.”

With an effortless twitch of his hands, your underwear is shredded into two separate pieces. Next thing you know, he’s on his knees, and he’s pulled you forward until your ass is on the edge of the porcelain sink and your legs are prised apart, leaving his face level with your most intimate part.

No time wasted, he delves in. He wastes no time delving in. Tongue first, he delivers a flat stripe up your sticky folds, ending at your slick bud which he immediately suckles into his warm, wet mouth like you’re a lollipop he’s hellbent on getting to the center of.

Pleasure strikes you like lightning, stimulation zapping you in your deepest depths. Before you can think to suppress it, you give a startled cry, a guttural choke resounding off the walls as you buck into the heaven that is him.

One of his hands shoots up and stuffs two fingers in your mouth, rasping over your taste buds, and muffling any attention-bringing sounds. All the while, he’s feasting on you in that same passionate and skilled manner he kisses you with. He suctions all the honey he can out of you, batting at your clit with his tongue.

Shocks attack your nerves, and shakes rack your body, inadvertently causing you to grind against his face. One of your legs curl over his shoulders, heels pressing into leather-bound muscles. Your fingers plunge into his impossibly soft locks and hold on for dear life while you’re upended by blind bliss building in your center.

Blue eyes pierce your soul, watching the delirium pump through you. Wickedness shines at the forefront of those storming oceanic pools; his pupils are dilated in raw desire at the flush of your cheeks, the look and feel of you desperately sucking on his index and middle digits to smother your pretty moans, the rhythmic undulation of your body.

The pit in your stomach deepens and spirals outward. Your toes furl in your heels, and your spine curves into an arc as an orgasm hurtles through every cell inside of you. A stifled noise vibrates against his fingers which has him jabbing them deeper until he can feel your throat constricting around them.

As you ride out your wave, he’s wringing every iota of pleasure out of you. He keeps your engorged button swathed between his teeth while you tremble with aftershocks. Once he’s satisfied, he retreats after an audible pop and rises to his six-foot and wide shoulder stature.

You’re still buzzing with the residual effects, panting heavily when he comes to loom over you. He grasps you by the jaw in his spit-soaked hand, and his lips glistening with your liquid lust, he kisses you. He takes possession of you, snaking his tongue in and claiming every inch for himself; he smears your lipstick and has you suck the taste of yourself off his taste buds.

Finally, he lets you go to gulp in much needed air. The look on your face already tells him you don’t give fuck all about the ruined cosmetics, or the torn fashion. No, he can see you’re basking in the sensations he invokes in you, grateful you’re allowed to be so undone.

Your eyes are hooded, Cupid’s bow red and swollen from him, bare thighs dripping with a dull ache between them. The formality of the event means nothing to you now when he’s here, having done that to you. You have half a mind to sneak out with him.

Like he knows what you’re thinking, he shakes his head. “I want you to go out there. I want them to see the chief’s pretty little princess looking like she just got fucked with no panties and no lipstick. You got that, dollface?” When you nod, all dazed and starry eyed, he smiles. “Good. I’ll pick you up later and ruin your soft, wet little pussy until she’s as swollen as your lips are now.”

[masterlist / feedback]

#bucky x reader #bucky x you smut #bucky barnes imagines #marvel imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel x you #i struggled A LOT with this one for some reason? i wanted to scrap it but i wanted to post something so i forced myself to finish it #anon who sent it: you can send it again and i'll try to write it better!!#my writing

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sunriserose1023 · 4 years

Text

Merry & Married {9}

SUMMARY: It’s been almost a year since the most humiliating moment of your life. You’ve done your best to move on—by literally moving across the country, starting a new job, and you’re finally starting to feel settled. That, of course, is when your bubblehead cousin sends you the invitation to her wedding—which is exactly one year to the day that you were left at the altar. You have to go, but you don’t have to go alone. Enter Bucky Barnes, the best friend you’ve ever had. You fill him in, and of course he agrees to go home with you. What are friends for? Never mind the fact that he’s desperately in love with you. And if you hadn’t sworn off men forever, you might just find him … attractive. So there you are, surrounded by love, bridesmaid dresses, champagne, and no less than one hundred sprigs of mistletoe. What could possibly go wrong? WORD COUNT: 3557 WARNINGS FOR THE SERIES: Emotional angst, presumably unrequited love, friends to lovers, fluff, happily ever after, written for the @heamarvel Holiday Movie Challenge

Masterlist

“It’s my wedding day!” “Hey, sugartits. Up and at ‘em.”

You gave a quiet huff as you put your face in your pillow. Natasha’s low voice sounded in your ear again, making you laugh.

“It’s too late to try and smother yourself. We don’t have time to find someone else to wear your dress.”

You sighed, rolling onto your back and staring up at the ceiling. Darcy was dancing around the room, and you and Natasha smiled at each other, shaking your heads when music started playing.

“Going to the chapel and we’re Gonna get married.”

Darcy started singing along, as did Hope, and you shook your head, joining in. Carol walked into the room with a tray of coffee and doughnuts, a smile on her face as she yelled over the music.

“Have you looked outside?!”

Darcy’s eyes widened as she ran to the window, an excited gasp leaving her lips.

“It’s snowing!”

Hope waddled up behind her, mouth falling open.

“Good Lord, look at the ground. It’s been snowing for hours. And it’s sticking.”

Natasha scrambled out of bed to join the crowd at the window and you sat up, pulling the covers closer around you and smiling. Carol walked over to you, handing over what you knew was a perfectly doctored cup of coffee. You smiled at her, sipping the coffee as she sat beside you.

“You okay?”

You nodded, holding the cup in both of your hands. Carol glanced towards the crowd at the window and spoke softly.

“I know we got a little heavy last night.” “Yeah, we did. And once you’d all passed out, I couldn’t sleep. Luckily, neither could Nana and we had a good, long talk.” “Figure some things out?”

Carol tried to look nonchalant as she sipped her coffee, and you rolled your eyes.

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

Carol raised her eyebrows and you shook your head.

“Was one of those doughnuts chocolate?” “What do you take me for? All but one of those doughnuts is chocolate.”

You laughed, looking to the window and laughing harder when you saw Darcy with a white pillowcase on her head, dancing with Natasha and Jane before they all noticed the coffee and breakfast.

You stood in front of the mirror, slowly turning, making sure your dress was falling in the right places, nothing tucked into your underwear, no bra straps showing. You took in a breath and let it out slowly, staring at your reflection.

You couldn’t help but flashback to a year ago, when you were standing in front of this same mirror, dressed in white instead of crimson, the same butterflies in your belly, hair piled in a complicated updo instead of the soft curls dancing around your face.

A buzzing noise broke you from your memories, and you looked for the source, finally noticing your phone on the dresser. You picked it up, smiling at Bucky’s face on your screen, wanting to FaceTime. You accepted the call, eyes widening when his pale, unshaven face came on your screen. He was still in the bed—damn boys for only needing ten minutes to get ready when it took you all damn day—blue eyes closed and face pressed into his pillow.

“Oh my goodness. Are you okay?” “Your uncles and cousins and whatever tried to kill me last night.”

You laughed, moving a hand to your mouth.

“Carol heard that it was a bottle of Jack and some poker.” “‘Just a bottle of Jack,’ my ass. I lost count of the liquor we went through.”

You gave another quiet giggle.

“Poor baby.”

Bucky groaned, finally lifting his head, squinting his eyes as he looked into the phone. His eyes widened, then narrowed.

“Good God, Y/N.” “What?” “Hold the phone out farther.”

You did as he asked, watching some light come back to his eyes. He gave a shake of his head, licking his lips.

“Jesus, baby. You look incredible.”

You felt your cheeks heat, shaking your head.

“No, I mean it. That dress … is the wedding in the next ten minutes so I can see you in person?”

You gave a soft laugh, closing your eyes.

“How do you do that?” “Do what?” “Say just what I need to hear right when I need to hear it.”

He was quiet for a moment, until you opened your eyes again. He had a soft smile on his face.

“Because I know you, sweetheart.”

You swallowed, nodding your head. Your lips trembled, but you managed to get the words out.

“Hey, I need to talk to you later, okay?” “Uh oh. That’s never a good sign.”

You smiled.

“No, it … it’s nothing bad.” “Promise?”

You nodded, lifting your pinky.

“I promise.”

Bucky lifted his pinky, touching the screen as you did. He sighed, groaning as he shifted in his bed, and your eyes widened just the slightest bit when you noticed he wasn’t wearing a shirt. You swallowed and he sighed again, lifting his tired eyes to the screen.

“I guess I better drag my ass out of bed.” “Try some coffee. And maybe a shower.” “Yeah, I’ve got to get the cigar stink off.”

You raised an eyebrow and his eyes widened.

“I mean …”

You laughed and he lifted a hand to scratch at his chin.

“And I need to shave this shit.” “Um...”

He raised an eyebrow and you glanced away, pressing your lips together before you spoke softly.

“Maybe not?”

Bucky’s lips curved into a slow smile, and he gave a quiet laugh.

“On second thought, maybe not.”

You smiled as your cheeks burned, slowly nodding. You looked back into the phone and he winked at you.

“I’ll see you in a bit.”

You nodded.

“See you soon.”

You ended the call, holding your phone to your chest. You closed your eyes, a soft smile coming to your lips before you set the phone on the dresser. A knock sounded at your door and you walked to open it, smiling at your mom.

“Hi.” “You look stunning. I love the red on all you girls. It’s perfect.”

You nodded, opening the door and letting her in. She set her things on the dresser, then turned to face you.

“You okay?”

You nodded, letting out a breath. You walked back to the mirror, turning sideways and studying yourself again.

“I can’t stop remembering things from last year. Things that I’ve never once thought about until now. Like … were you in here when I dropped my earring and it rolled under the dresser?”

Your mom shook her head and you nodded.

“My hands were shaking so hard I couldn’t get the earring on. I dropped it, and I couldn’t get it until they brought Morgan in to reach her chubby little arm under the dresser.”

You gave a quiet laugh, smoothing a hand down the front of your dress.

“I also thought about climbing out the window in the bathroom, but I didn’t think my skirt would fit. And then I told myself that I was crazy for being so nervous, that everything would be fine.”

You sighed, and your mother walked up behind you, laying her hands on your shoulders, looking into the mirror behind you.

“I am so proud of you.” “Mom—“ “No, I’m serious. You have handled this week with so much grace. We all know Darcy can be a handful, but you’ve done so well when you so easily could have fallen apart.”

You sighed, leaning your head to touch hers. She smiled, giving you a sort of backwards hug. You smiled, speaking softly.

“I talked with Nana last night.” “Oh?”

You nodded.

“I’m still scared, but … I’m going to talk to Bucky. See if … if maybe we can be …” “More than friends?”

You nodded again and her smile widened.

“I’m so happy for you, baby. He’ll be good to you.” “You think so?” “I know so. He’s crazy about you.”

You smiled as you looked into the mirror again.

“I’m kind of crazy about him, too.”

Your hands were shaking as you stood with the rest of the wedding party, waiting for the music cues to start your walks down the aisle. It wasn’t just due to the chill in the air, the snow still continuing to fall. You were nervous, almost panicking, trying to keep yourself calm and failing. You were pretty sure Natasha knew that you were freaking out, but due to your places in line, she couldn’t do anything to help you.

“Excuse me, Miss Y/N?”

You glanced over, then up, blinking at Jane’s fiancé. He gave you a smile, bending down to whisper to you.

“There’s been a change of plans. Apparently, I’m to walk with you now.” “I thought you were walking with Jane.” “As did I, but Darcy wants Jane to walk by herself. So now I’m to walk with you.”

You slowly nodded, giving him a smile.

“O-okay.”

He offered his arm and you looped your hand through it, letting out a shaky breath.

“Are you alright?” “Nervous.” “Don’t worry, Miss Y/N. I won’t let you fall.”

A soft smile came to your lips when he patted your hand and you closed your eyes as you exhaled. As you breathed, you focused on Thor’s muscular arm, the strength that seemed to exude from his pores, trying to steal just a little bit of that strength for yourself. When the music started to play, you swallowed, straightening your back and clutching your flowers.

You and Thor walked down the aisle with ease, your eyes flitting through the crowd, a smile pasted onto your lips. You glanced over at the bride’s side of the room, doing a double take when your eyes landed on Bucky, a wide smile on his face, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was looking at. His eyes met yours and he winked, and the smile on your face went soft, a soft laugh leaving your lips as you and Thor made it to the front of the aisle. He kissed your hands, making the crowd “aww,” and you laughed again as you went to stand in your place.

You let out a shaky breath, watching your cousins walk down the aisle, your eyes constantly drifting to where Bucky was sitting, always finding him looking back at you.

Darcy was stunningly beautiful in her fairytale gown, a gauzy veil over her face as she walked down the aisle on Uncle Phil’s arm. You saw the moment she found Ian, plump lips curling into a wide smile, until all her teeth were visible. You smiled then, not taking your eyes from her as she was given to Ian, their hands entwining.

You glanced back over the crowd, finding your mom and stifling a laugh when she crossed her eyes at you. Nana had a proud smile on her face, and Cassie and Scott were whispering to each other. Morgan was sitting on Tony’s lap, dark eyes studying the goings on before her. You found Bucky’s eyes again, the room going silent as the minister’s words pierced your ears.

“If anyone has any reason why these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Your heart dropped to your toes as you tore your eyes from Bucky’s and stared at the minister. Darcy and Ian took their eyes from each other, glancing out over the crowd. You jerked your head to do the same, feeling your blood run cold when your eyes landed on Peter and his new wife.

The panic wrapped around your heart like thorny vines, squeezing tightly, until you couldn’t take a breath. You knew you’d pass out if you didn’t get away, and you absently wondered how much Darcy would hate you if you ruined her wedding by making your panic attack known as you ran down the aisle.

“Easy, take a breath.”

Your eyes widened when Hope, who was standing in front of you in line, turned the slightest bit, her eyes meeting yours. She gave you a smile and you blinked, unsteady heartbeat thundering in your ears. You heard a cough and looked out over the audience again, blinking when Bucky leaned over until he caught your eye. You followed him as he sat up, blinking again when he stuck his tongue out at you. He made another face, crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out and you gave a quiet, breathless laugh.

The minister nodded, a smile coming to his face.

“No objections, as I expected. Darcy and Ian, we are here today to celebrate your love…”

The minister’s words tapered off as you kept your eyes on Bucky’s. He stared back at you, a soft smile on his face and you felt in that moment there was no one else in the room, no one else on the earth except the two of you.

How could he calm you down without saying a word? How could just one look from him settle your racing mind, ease your aching heart?

You loved him. Even more than you thought last night.

Tears came to your eyes as you finally looked away from him, and you smiled as you heard Darcy say her vows. Rings were exchanged, a pronouncement was made, and it was all sealed with a kiss.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Ian Boothby!”

You clapped your hands as tears dripped down your cheeks. Hope turned to look at you, tears on her cheeks as well. Carol poked her head around, as did Natasha, and you smiled at them, nodding your head. Darcy and Ian walked down the aisle, followed by the rest of the wedding party, and when you placed your arm in Thor’s, he smiled.

“Beautiful wedding.”

You nodded, your eyes widening at the tears in his eyes and tear tracks on his cheeks. You gave a soft laugh, squeezing his massive bicep, and he smiled as the two of you broke through the back of the makeshift wedding space.

The reception was gorgeous, the food insanely delicious, the band on point with the perfect songs. You had to take no less than four thousand pictures with your family, the wedding party, Darcy, the happy couple. Every time you tried to get to Bucky, someone needed your help with something, until you were incredibly frustrated.

You finally found a break, pawning the latest problem off to Carol, making your way to the banquet space, but you stopped in your tracks when you saw Bucky at the bar, smiling and talking with Natasha’s gorgeous cousin. A sad smile came to your lips as you sighed, turning to see Pepper standing in front of you. She tilted her head to the side and you sighed, shaking your head. She stepped forward, looping her arm around your neck.

“You have walked into this room half a dozen times, the frustration evident on your face when someone comes and pulls you away. And now you’re here, with no interruptions, and I see the saddest smile on your pretty face. What’s going on, honey?”

You sighed again.

“Wanda.” “What about Wanda?”

You waved a hand, shaking your head.

“I can’t compete with Wanda.” “Why would you want to?”

You pressed your lips together to hide the laugh.

“She’s gorgeous.” “Yes, and? Have you looked in the mirror today?” “Pep—“ “Don’t ‘Pep’ me. You’re drop-dead gorgeous today and I won’t apologize for saying that. Anyone who would overlook you for Wanda is dumb as fuck.”

You gave a laugh, glancing over your shoulder. Bucky met your eyes, widening his. He slid his eyes towards Wanda then sent you a pleading look. You looked back to Pepper and smiled at her, taking hold of your dress and walking across the floor. Wanda smiled when she saw you, leaning over the table.

“Hi, Y/N! You look so pretty in that dress!” “Thanks, Wanda. Sorry, can I steal Bucky for a minute?” “Only a minute.”

She winked at Bucky and took her wineglass, walking away. Bucky gave a relieved exhale, turning to you and taking your hands as he slumped forward.

“Thank you. She’s exhausting and we only spoke for five minutes.”

You gave a laugh, taking a hand from his to tuck some hair behind your ear.

“Can we talk?”

Bucky nodded, and you kept hold of his hand as you led him to a corner of the room. You took in a breath, letting it out slowly as you turned to face him.

“Buck—“ “Alright, alright! All the single guys, please gather in the middle of the dance floor!” “Son of a bitch.”

Bucky let out a laugh, raising an eyebrow.

“Everything okay?”

You groaned, shaking your head.

“No, I … it’s fine. We can talk later.”

You started to walk by him and he took hold of your arm.

“Hey. Come here.”

You sighed, turning back to him.

“What is it?” “They’re going to call for the single ladies in a minute and Darcy will embarrass me if I’m not there.” “Then let’s go out into the snow and talk there.” “I’ll freeze in this dress.” “Then talk to me now. Come on, you’ve had me all worked up all day and I know you’re worked up. Forget this single whatever bullshit.”

You met his icy blue eyes and you shook your head. He exhaled through his nose and nodded, giving your arm a squeeze before he let it go, brushing past you as he started for the middle of the dance floor.

“Wait.”

He stopped, waiting a beat before he turned to face you. You whirled to face him, hands trembling, heart pounding in your chest. He narrowed his eyes and you shook your head.

“I love you.”

His eyes widened and he blinked. Neither one of you said a word, until a laugh burst through your lips.

“I love you. Oh my god. Oh my god, that feels so good to say.”

You laughed again, moving a hand to your heart, shaking your head.

“I … I was so scared. I was so scared to say it, because if I said it, then it would be real. The last time I loved someone I got really hurt, so I closed myself off. I didn’t want to love anybody ever again, but you … you.”

You took a step towards him, lifting your shoulders and letting them fall.

“You wormed your way into my life, and somewhere along the way, you took up space in my heart.”

You shook your head again.

“I’ve loved you for a while now, but I’ve been too scared to say it. A very wise woman told me to stop letting my fear hold me back and let it fuel me. So here I am, telling you that you … have my whole heart. I’m so in love with you, Bucky Barnes.”

He just stared at you, and you swallowed, a soft smile on your face.

“I just thought you should know.”

You looked down at your feet, or where your feet would be if they weren’t hidden by your dress. You swallowed again, nodding once before turning away.

“Y/N.”

You stopped, glancing over your shoulder. Bucky lifted a hand to thumb at his bottom lip, dragging his hand over his unshaven chin. You blinked as he stopped in front of you and a smile came to his lips.

“Look up.”

You did, taking in a breath when you saw the mistletoe hanging over your head. You closed your eyes before lowering your chin, meeting his eyes as his hands cupped your face.

“I love you, too.”

Your laugh was cut off when his lips finally met yours. Your hands moved to his hips, needing something to anchor yourself in the moment. His lips were full, soft against yours, his thumbs moving back and forth over your cheeks. You gave an almost-silent moan as his tongue touched yours, and Bucky broke the kiss, leaning back just enough to stare into your eyes, a promise in his dilated pupils.

“Finally!”

You turned your head to see Carol in the middle of the floor, the rest of the crowd gathered behind her and all around you. Hope walked up and laid an arm over Carol’s shoulder, and Natasha came on the other side, shaking her head but mouthing “about time” at you. You just now realized how quiet the room was and you moved to put your forehead on Bucky’s shoulder. He laughed and drew you in close, as applause filtered through the room.

“My god, we’re those people.”

Bucky laughed at your quiet words and he gently rubbed your back.

“Fuck yeah, we are. Come on. Dance with me.”

You nodded, straightening and taking his hand. Halfway towards the floor, Bucky lifted a hand, catching something in midair. You raised an eyebrow as you turned to face him, and he shook his head, a smile on his face. He lowered his hand, opening his fist, and your mouth dropped open when you saw that he was holding the garter.

“Ian’s got great aim.”

You shook your head and he pulled you in again, lips finding yours as more applause broke out around you.

TAGS: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan, @walkingchemicalfire, @eileenalone, @mrsalh32611, @alexxcorona113, @ivoryhazlewood, @chaoticfanatic, @rhapsody-in-flannel, @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall, @captainchrisstan, @ninaminaromina, @geeksareunique, @allsortsofinterests, @nerdy-bookworm-1998, @misplacedorphan, @chrisevansgirl, @whimsicalatbest, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @isaxhorror, @redhairedfeistynerd, @n3rdybird, @moonlessnight14, @momobaby227, @what-is-your-plan-today, @pinknerdpanda, @smolandrare-coffee-bean, @supraveng, @becausewhyknotme, @the-jer-bear, @stupendoussciencenaturepanda, @lets-do-get-help, @straightforwardly, @darkangeldesignstudio

#merry & married #marvel fanfiction #mhea holiday movie challenge 2019 #mcu au #bucky barnes x female reader #mcu #marvel reader insert #mcu reader insert #mcu fanfiction #reader interactive #bucky barnes fanfiction

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make-me-imagine · 3 years

Note

Hi! Congrats on such a huge milestone! I would like to request a matchup please! 🤍 If I could please have a matchup for Supernatural, The Vampire Diaries/The Originals, and The Avengers!

I’m a 21 year old, 5’6, straight, female with a shapely body type. Personality wise I’m described as giddy, sarcastic, and friendly! My personality type is INFP-T which fits me like a glove! I love to talk to people and learn their stories. I’m a bit awkward and loud, but I try to make people feel special. If I think you look pretty or cool, I’m going to tell you! I think the world could do with a big, healthy dose of love and acceptance. I’m usually the upbeat and mom of the friend group. Your order is wrong and you’re too scared to say something? Say no more, sweetpea. But, I love to tease and poke fun at my friends as well. I’m very loyal to my family and love the little friends I have fiercely. However, I have a strong moral compass and this has resulted in losing some of the people dearest to me. Though, I still love them, the respect for them is gone. I am also very soft spoken and often timid when it comes to confrontation- which leaves me at a disadvantage when it comes to voicing my opinion. I’m unfortunately all bark and no bite. I’d rather use my works than fight physically. And even then, I put up a front that I am fearless, but I cry very easily and hate to fight, even when I know I should speak up. Unless its an occasion where I’ve bottled too many things up and explode. Apart from that, I generally am an ambivert! I try to be as outgoing as possible, but I do need time to recharge after a fun day. When it comes to love, I’m a huge hopeless romantic. I want a protective and charming partner. Someone who will do the things I love to do and just loves to be around me. I would dedicate myself to my partner, and would like it to be returned. I know what I want and won’t settle for less. Even if that means waiting a lifetime for it! In relationships, I like to take things slow. I am HUGE on consent. Due to past experiences, it takes time and a lot of patience on my partners part for me to open up to physical touch. I see myself giving myself to someone, but only with someone I truly trust and feel safe with. My love language is Acts of Service! As for activities, I love to watch true crime stories, occasionally draw, play romance visual novels/dating sims, and read! I love online shopping and going to the mall! Even if I don’t buy anything lol! I love going out to eat or spending time out in parks. I day dream about anything and everything. I spend more of my time in the clouds than not. But on other days I can be completely lazy and will stay in and watch stuff on YouTube all day or movies with my family! I can’t wait to see who I’m paired up with! Thank you so much and congratulations again! 🤍✨

Ships are now closed!~

- - -

Thank you!~ I hope you enjoy what I came up with for you!~

Supernatural:

I ship you with Castiel.

I chose Castiel because I think you are his ideal idea of what humans were supposed to be like, and would cherish every part of you.

Castiel absolutely adores that you are morally strong, loyal, protective and kind. These are all characteristics he loves above all else.

He is quite protective of you, as he would hate for the world, or the darkness in it to corrupt and/or hurt you. So he tries his best to protect you from it, even thought he also knows that you are strong enough to make it through.

Castiel is awkward in relationships at first, but he is definitely dedicated and loyal, and would bend over backwards just to make you smile and feel safe in his arms.

He enjoys your company more than any others, and often takes you away somewhere in the world that he thinks you would appreciate.

Castiel does not like sitting around for too long as it makes him stir-crazy, but after stressful days he wants nothing more then to curl up in the bed or on a couch with you and just hold you (once you reach a point that you are comfortable with this of course).

You are his anchor to the world and everything he fights for, as long as he has you, he has faith and love.

The Originals

I ship you with Elijah.

This was tough because I also think you would work well with Stefan. But I chose Elijah because he is highly moralists, loyal and protective and fights for what is best, so I think he would be attracted to those similar characteristics in you.

Elijah finds you to be extremely courageous, kind and compassionate, and knows that he could trust you not only as an ally but as family.

He loves to tell you stories about his long life, and take you to places he lived or experienced that he thought you would enjoy.

Elijah loves how much you try, and often succeed to help others. He finds your compassion extraordinary.

He is patient and kind with you regarding touch, and only waits until you are completely comfortable with him doing so.

Elijah has a complicated life and family, but he makes sure that you know he would never hurt or betray you, and he will do anything in his power to keep you safe.

Elijah loves taking you to various places to eat, as he loves sharing all of his favorite, and new dishes with you.

The Avengers:

I ship you with Vision.

This was a tough call as well, but I landed on Vision because I think he knows and sees everything in people, and he sees exactly what type of person you are and absolutely adores you.

You makes him feel more human as you do not treat him any different.

He loves to explore humanity with you, either with music, books, movies/shows, new places, food, etc., anything he finds that he love he wants to share it with you.

He knows that you are trustworthy and kind, and loves that you are full of compassion and great morals.

Vision will come to your aid if you are placed in uncomfortable situations, such as confrontation you want to be no part of. He simply wants to keep you safe from the things that might harm you.

He will be very patient and gentle with you in your relationship, and will wait until you are comfortable to initiate any physical contact.

I also think that Vision would be really into crime stories and mysteries, and would like to try and solve them if he could lol.

#ship #ships #ship request #matchup #matchup request #5k ships #nonodino #ask

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luckysevenwrites · 4 years

Text

Illicit Affairs

Taylor Swift has really been putting me in the feels lately. So here’s another one based off of her new album. I’ll probably end up doing one for each of her songs. We’ll see though.

You stare out at the city below you that is lite up in color and pull the sheet wrapped around you tighter. The view from up here is amazing, you could stare out at the city for hours and you’d never get bored of looking at it you think. Off in the distance you hear the shower turning off and turn towards the bathroom door that is now opening. Kai comes out with a towel wrapped low around his waist; another is being used to dry his hair. He looks up at you and gives you a boyish grin. You can’t help but return the smile. You honestly didn’t know how someone could go from looking like sin to a cute playful puppy in a matter of second, but Kai somehow was able to pull it off.

“I thought you would have left by now.”

“Got caught up in the view.” You tell him as he makes his way towards you. You turn back to the view and feel Kai wrap his arms around your waist. He leans in to kiss your neck, then rest his chin on your shoulder.

“It is a beautiful view. Almost as beautiful as you.” He whispers.

“When did you get so corny?” You laugh as Kai kisses your shoulder.

“I’ve always been corny,” pulling away from you Kai starts to collect your clothes and sets them on the bed for you, “You should probably get going it’s getting late.”

You try to hide your disappointment as you reach for your clothes and start to dress. You should be used to it by now. You have never once stayed at Kai’s place and he has never stayed at yours. It’s to risky someone could see you and then everyone would know that you two are a thing. And you couldn’t have that or at least that what you tell yourself to make the pain of hiding hurt less. You tell yourself that his fans and the press would be all over you and would make you miserable. That his members wouldn’t be supportive of your relationship. That his company would make you two break up. These are all things that you tell yourself to justify why you two continue to sneak around.

“Let me know when you make it home.” Kai laces your fingers together as he walks you to the door. He leans in to give you a sweet kiss before he opens the door for you.

You step out and watch him close the door on you. You wait until you hear the lock turn before you turn away from the door and pull your hood up over your head. You keep your head down as you make your way out. Hoping that you won’t run into any of his members. Even if you do run into one of them you have gotten so good at hiding and lying that you are positive that they’ll never catch you.

It’s as your leaving the building that you hear their voices. Looking down the street you see Baekhyun and Sehun making their way towards you. But they are not alone, Sehun has his arm thrown around a girl’s shoulder and pulls her in close to his side before he kisses the top of her head. Baekhyun is holding hands with a girl as well. He is swinging their arms back and forth while signing some song loudly to her, causing her to throw her head back and laugh. They are doing all of this in the open, not hiding the fact that they are clearly dating. For a moment you are frozen in place, you can’t believe that they are dating and not hiding it. What were you and Kaidoing then? Why were you and Kai hiding? You don’t have time to think about this though, they are getting closer and you really don’t want to be seen by them now. You quickly head in the opposite direction of them your head filled with questions.

3 days later

You’re sitting at your kitchen table when your phone goes off. You glance over at it and see that it’s a message from Kai. Unlocking your phone, you stare at the message and debate on how to respond.

K: Are you free to come over tonight?

The answer is yes you are free. You are always free for him. You made it that way, from the moment that you and Kai started your affair you made sure that you were able to meet him whenever he was free. Because that was what you thought you had to do. You wanted to be with him, so it didn’t matter if you were out with friends, family, or swamped at work. You somehow found a way to free up your time so you could be with him. Because Kai had changed your world, he made you feel special and when you were with him it was like the rest of the world melted away, and the only thing that matter was you and him, and you would do anything for that feeling, you loved that feeling. Now, you wondered if that feeling was worth it when you always felt like crap afterwards.

If you were being honest with yourself, you hated hiding your relationship with Kai. You wanted everyone to know that you were his and he was yours. You wanted to go out on dates, to leave the bedroom, to not have to settle for glances across the room to each other. You wanted to be able to hold his hand, to kiss his cheek in public. You wanted what you saw three days ago. You wanted what those two girls with Baekhyun and Sehun had. Didn’t you deserve that? You deserved more than secret meetings, stolen glances, and touches.

Y/n: I don’t think I can meet tonight

K: Do you have plans?

Y/n: I just can’t meet tonight

K: baby please I miss you

Y/n: I can’t

You turn your phone off and bring your knees up to your chest. Resting your chin on your knees you think back to how all of this started. How you were so stupid to have even agreed to this type of relationship but, you liked him, and you believed him when he said it wouldn’t be like this forever.

“What are we doing Kai?” You breathed as he continued to kiss down your neck. Your fingers are tangled in his hair and you give him a gentle tug. Pulling his face away from your neck he leans in, so your noses are touching and smiles.

“We’re kissing.” He teased. Rolling your eyes, you gave him a shove.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“I like you y/n.” You knew that but you were glad to hear him say it.

“I like you too.” That made Kai smile even wider.

“Good to know. So, we both like each other and we are kissing and I’m really hoping this kissing will lead to more.”

“Kai, we’re hiding in a storage room.” Leaning his head onto your shoulder you tense waiting for Kai to speak.

“No one can know about us.” He said into your neck.

“Why?” Even back then you knew that hiding wasn’t the way to go. But you still listened to what Kai had to say. You waited for him to straighten himself, he moved his hands from your waist to cup the side of your face and looked into your eyes. It was in that moment that you knew you were going to believe whatever came out of his mouth. Because in that moment you saw how much Kai wanted you no, not even wanted you how much he cared about you and you felt that whatever his reason was would be worth it.

“It’s better if we keep this a secret just for a bit. I just want it to be the two of us without anyone else weighing in their opinion on us. I want us to be solid before we tell anyone about us.”

You should have asked then why you had to keep it hidden from his member. You knew them well enough to know that they all supported one another. They would have supported yours and his relationship but, you were scared of losing Kai and you trusted him and figured that he knew what was best.

“We won’t keep it a secret forever, right?”

“No, just a few weeks.”

That was over eight months ago. You two were quickly approaching a year and still haven’t told anyone about the two of you. You hadn’t said anything because you trusted Kai and figured that he knew when a good time would be to make the two of you public. Besides anytime you brought up the subject he would just say, “baby trust me.” Trust him? Trust him, that’s what you’ve been doing for eight months now, and your trust was starting to fade. There was a knock on your door that broke you out of your musing. You opened the door not bothering to look to see who was out there. You wish you would have looked, because standing at your door was Kai.

“You look busy.” He nodded towards your outfit that consisted of yoga pants and a sweatshirt.

“What are you doing here?” You crossed your arms over your chest, refusing to let him in.

“You weren’t answering your phone. I was worried.”

“I’m fine. I turned my phone off because I didn’t want to talk to you.” Kai’s eyes widen in surprise that was not what he was expecting to hear.

“You don’t want to talk to me?”

“No, I don’t want to see you either so I would really appreciate it if you left.”

“Baby…”

“No, don’t call me that.” You snap.

“Y/n why don’t you let me in so we can talk about this.” You knew that you had two options either let Kai in tell him how felt and then he would leave or continue to argue out in the hallway and considering how stubborn Kai was do that for hours.

“Fine.” You step aside letting him in and close the door behind him. He turns to face you and waits for you to start.

“I know that Sehun and Baekhyun are dating.” You throw at him.

“And?” Kai questions. You let out a humorless laugh, was he really being serious right now.

“You’re joking right? Please tell me that you’re joking. Kai they are dating, and they are not hiding it at all. I’m willing to bet based off of your reaction that you’ve known for a while that they have been dating and you are fine with them dating. I bet the company is fine with them dating, and if I were to look up online most fans are fine with them dating.”

“What are you getting at y/n.”

“Why are we still hiding hmm?” You throw your arms out and let them slam back down to your sides. “Why does no one know about us. I want to be with you Kai and you know that. I have been bending myself over backwards to be with you, lying to my friend and family when I’m going out to meet you. I’ve been sneaking around for months hiding our relationship and here I come to find out that not one but two of your members are dating and doing it openly.”

“I’m a mess Kai because of you. I’m meeting you in secret places, I know all the hiding spots in your company, there are no photos of us together or text messages saved between us just in case I were to lose my phone and someone got into it. I think that it’s normal to not spend the night with the person you sleep with. I can’t keep doing this.”

“Y/n I just need some more time.” Kai calmly tells you.

“More time? How much more time do you need?”

“I don’t know I just need more time.”

“No Kai, no more time either you want to be with me and let everyone know or we’re done.” You couldn’t keep going on like this. You didn’t deserve to be hiding in the shadows. You deserved so much more.

“I’m not ready for people to know about us.” Kai whispers. You know he cares about you; you can see it in his eyes. But you can’t keep doing this it’s hurting to much.

You could feel your throat getting tight and tried to stop the tears that were forming but they came anyway. Kai had given you your answer. He may want you, but he didn’t want people to know that he was with you. For whatever reason he wasn’t willing to take your relationship public and you couldn’t do it anymore.

“Then we’re done.” You croak.

“Y/n I love you. But I just can’t tell anyone about us yet.” Kai’s voice sounded heavy and you knew that he was fighting back tears.

“I love you too. But I won’t continue to live like this.” You pull open your door and wait for him to leave. Once he’s out you shut the door and slide down onto the floor and cry. You promise yourself that this is the only time that you will allow yourself to cry over him and then you are going to move on. So, you let it all out you cry for yourself, for what you two could have had, and for Kai.

One Year Later

Kai is sitting at one of the outdoor tables at a coffee shop when he sees you across the street. You’re in a sundress and your hair is flying behind you as you quickly make your way down the sidewalk. You stop at the crosswalk waiting for the sign to turn so you can safely cross. As Kai watches you, he feels his lips twitch as you bounce on your feet. Something that you always did when you were in a rush and had to wait. The lights change and you make your way across the street. You stop outside a restaurant that is two buildings down from where he’s sitting.

You look up and down the sidewalk and then down at your phone. When you look up again you look his direction and for a moment Kai thinks that you’ve seen him. You’re face breaks out into a smile and your eyes light up. It’s a look that you have given him a thousand times. The thing is though this time it isn’t being directed at him. You’re looking off to the side of him. Kai follows where you’re looking and sees a man making his way towards you. As soon as he’s within arm’s reach of you, he pulls you into him and wraps his arms around your waist. You lean deep into him practically putting all your weight into him. Tilting your head back you go up on your tip toes as he bends down to kiss you. When you break apart, he reaches down for you hand and laces your fingers together, the two of you then disappear inside the restaurant.

Kai rubs at his chest and feels like he’s going to be sick. He should have known that you would move on. You were more than just beautiful, you were fun to talk to you, smart, understanding, and funny. Of course, you would find someone. He just didn’t think that you would move on so quickly. Ever since he walked out of your apartment that day Kai knew he made a mistake. But he was scared. He was afraid that if people found out about you two, they would be mean to you and you wouldn’t be able to handle it. He was afraid that you would listen to all the rumors that swirled around him and would believe them. But most of all he was afraid that you would realize that you deserved better than him. So, in his twisted mind he convinced himself that if you kept it all a secret you would never leave him and that you would always be his.

“You okay? You look like you saw a ghost?” Baekhyun asks as he sat down a coffee in front of Kai.

“Hyung, I’ve messed up and I need your help.” Baekhyun tilts his head to the side studying Kai. Kai took a deep breathe and looked his hyung right in the eyes prepared to tell him everything. From how you two started to how you ended. He wasn’t going to hide anymore and he if he could he was going to fix what he broke between the two of you.

#exo kai #kai angst

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betaadmin · 5 years

Text

STEPS. “Do you speak Zemnian?”

The man’s shoulders tense, his eyebrows curve upwards and there’s the slightest tilt to his head. The floor can only be so interesting, after all. Now the wall… much more enticing.

“I’ll take that as a maybe.” (tw torture, descriptions of violence)

The soldiers of the Aurora Watch surround the man like a swarm, whisk him away through the dark streets or Rosohna with the silence of a well-practiced exit. The Mighty Nein witness it all, following the prisoner to the dungeons on request of the Shadowhand.

It does not take long for Caleb Widogast to figure out why.

They’re just outside the entrance when Essek turns to face them, raising a hand to ask for silence and attention. He does a once over of the group, and then his gaze settles on the wizard, all sooty fingers and palms covered in components.

“You spoke of your ties with their inner circles, yes? And of your training. ” Caleb nods, with far less conviction than he should have. “I have something to ask of you. Come along, Caleb Widogast.”

There’s no waiting for a reply— Essek turns without making a sound, and glides his way through the heavy set doors of the Dungeon on Penance. Six of the Mighty Nein tentatively step forward, the epitomy of a not-so-well oiled machine after the events of the last couple days, but Caleb’s grip is tight on Nott’s hand and she ends up yanked backwards instead. He looks so conflicted that she thinks his eyebrows would fall off if he were to relax his expression.

“Nein, I—“ he clears his throat, “He asked for me alone, so I’ll… go alone. Let’s not test their patience.”

There’s a pensive hum from Fjord as Caleb walks past him, and grunt of acknowledgement from Beau, who leaves him with a be careful so quiet that he almost misses it, and then the door creaks and locks and he’s in here and they’re out there, and he can’t help but feel the coil tighten around his lungs as he wordlessly follows the guard that had so kindly been waiting for him.

It takes them 7 minutes to be allowed to the farthest section of the dungeon, passing through gates and doors where guards would inquire the human’s business, and Caleb would just straighten his back to shine light on the emblem on his chest and stride past without a word.

Essek is waiting for him in front of a door, tense and pensive, with an ear carefully turned to catch any whispers escaping the room— but it is dead quiet. The Shadowhand looks right through him, and Caleb knows, oh he knows what’s about to happen. Essek had shown Caleb how he worked his magic… and it was Caleb’s turn to return the favour.

They stand there in silence 1, 5, 10, 20 minutes, during which Caleb just breathes and counts, thinks about his friends outside who are hopefully on their way home already, as far away as possible from whatever was going to be asked of him. He fears he might not be able to comply. Not like this, not out of nowhere. Proving loyalties hadn’t ended so well for him last time.

There’s a thud from the room, and the metal door slides open and closes with a shriek. The drow man who steps out is a bundle of nerves, tense and frustrated with a jaw clenched so tightly that it might crack. He sharply turns to Essek, and hisses a curse.

“It’s like his head’s on lockdown. It’s not a spell, we’ve checked. The little insect doesn’t even react.”

Essek nods, waves the other man away as he turns to face Caleb.

“I was thinking perhaps you could shine some light on this… resilience of his.”

When he steps into the cold tiled room, the prisoner’s eyes are glued to the floor, to the particularly interesting spot between between his bare feet. He does not look up when Caleb walks around the room, the clack of the hard heels of boots pleasantly filling the air. The redhead hums in contemplation— he doesn’t need to try casting to know that magic is suppressed in this room. Charming someone… would not work. This really was a back to basics kind of challenge.

As he walks, Caleb takes his sweet time to think. The man’s hands are tightly bound, his lush coat and possession removed to leave him only in his shirt and breeches. His hair is light, curled in a pleasant wave that frames a face so fresh that it’s all roses and dewdrops— but he knows better. There’s a line of perpetual frown between the man’s brows, hands too soft and new to belong to anyone who gets their hands dirty, with fingernails filed too short for comfort.

It rings some bells.

Bells about etiquette in a place where presentation is half the fight to be acknowledged.

Another hum, this time followed by a drawn out sigh. The scrape of the other chair against the tiles is deafening in the quiet chamber, but Caleb sits as if he had no cares in the world. He foregoes Common without a second thought.

“Do you speak Zemnian?”

The man’s shoulders tense, his eyebrows curve upwards and there’s the slightest tilt to his head. The floor can only be so interesting, after all. Now the wall… much more enticing.

“I’ll take that as a maybe.”

His accent is thick in his Common, and it serves its purpose well— the prisoner’s eyes finally dart in Caleb’s direction, with the intent of stealing a passing glance at whatever krick spoke the tongue of the Zemni Fields, only to end up absolutely glued on the figure sitting in front of him instead.

In all his grimy glory, a human in faded breeches and a shirt so worn that it just could not have been white in the past, with a halo of frazzled copper hair that really needed a wash to complete the questionable contact look that Caleb was clearly, absolutely, obviously aiming for when he followed Essek into the dungeon 42 minutes ago.

They stay there for another while, and Caleb counts the seconds it takes for the prisoner to go back to the oh so interesting wall. He stands up at 382, and the eyes follow him.

He can’t help it, the disgustingly dreamy smile that comes with knowing he’s being watched, a predator circling its prey with the pressure of someone who’s got all the time in the world. He’s in no rush. He’s learning, and it takes him five walks around the chamber to finally catch something.

“You know, I’ve been wondering— why, instead of someone more seasoned, they sent… you? Such a fresh face… accomplished in your studies, I’m sure. They cherry pick with the utmost diligence back in Rexxentrum, after all. But still… so young.”

Caleb stands to the back of him, hands gingerly placed on his shoulders. He can feel the tension under his thumbs, every shift in his posture and every shuddering exhale. The man’s bindings look so terribly tight, don’t they?

It’s a reaction more than anything else, bending forward, and now his lips are against the shell of the prisoner’s ear and it’s as if he were back in the marble floored basement, sharing his own secrets with people who had just spilled everything in return.

“The ropes are like a breeze compared to the stitches, aren’t they.”

The man’s face visibly tilts upwards, and the clack of the boots as Caleb steps away does nothing to break the silent tension that emanates from the prisoner.

Caleb counts the steps he takes as he waits for any lingering doubts and questions to settle. It’s a long shot, or maybe it’s not a long shot at all, but he dreams about them too often to forget what your skin turns to when it’s stretched and etched with things that don’t belong.

“I know you’re good at this, I’m sure. He thinks so too, for you to be here.”

He circles back to the chair, and he sits down and sighs again, feels the weight of the man’s gaze on him.

Good, perfect, even— poor little prisoner, looking right at you inquirer as he rolls up his grimy sleeves, his icy glare catching your own inquisitive eyes that now widen with realization and fear.

And Caleb, Caleb smiles.

“I want you to know I’m good at this too.”

One hour later, the silence has upgraded to whimpers.

The captive’s hands are unbound, now, clasped tightly in his lap, poised and proper and tensing every time Caleb’s ghostly touch traces the clean faded scars. He has just finished recalling a particularly bad day, when a shard had buried so deep into his flesh that he had passed out from the pain as they tried to remove it.

“A real problem here is that there’s so much hassle with regenerating limbs. Has he ever asked you to rip yourself out of restraints?”

The whiplash of the bloody mental image paired with the feather-light touched on his skin make the man shudder, and he shoots another look in the hopes of catching something in Caleb’s face, something that would dispel the terrifying buildup of torture methods that have been relayed to him throughout the interview, in the hopes of washing them off as bluffing. Caleb just sighs in disappointment.

“Denial can only help you for so long, my friend. And it will make things so much worse, you know that. Come on. You know that.”

Caleb leans forward, and their foreheads touch. His voice is a whisper, intimate, laced with the kindness of someone you want to trust, because they will get you out of here if you just help them out first. A far away voice rings with laugher in the back of his head, and the crystal clear memory bubbles up in all its light hearted mockery.

Oh, Bren, you’re playing too nice today.

He welcomes it with a smile.

“Tell me. Do you remember a time when you were scared for your life? The strain as you tried to resist, do you remember?”

There’s just the slightest of nods in acknowledgement. Caleb takes it and rolls with it, unfolds his own fears in return for knowing the other’s. He feels his eyes sting with unshed tears, and he has to keep himself from grimacing— he hates how good he is at this.

“When I woke up and didn’t remember, I thought it was a blessing.”

The prisoner’s lips are shut in a tight thin line, and it would be so easy, so easy to just start snapping fingers to get them to open, but Caleb knows, Caleb knows it won’t work, that this is a matter of patience and exhaustion as he peels off the layers that keep this pawn grounded. In a different time, with the recklessness of youth, he wouldn’t have been so keen on waiting.

“Not remembering the pain is a privilege, makes the next challenges easier to face. It takes away the fear.”

His hands cup the man’s face, all kindness and empathy, with the slightest glimmer of hope in his glossy blue eyes as his shoulders slump with a wave of sadness, and gods forgive him, he loves how good he is at this.

“There’s no forgetting what I’ll do if you don’t start talking.”

#critical role #caleb widogast #critical role fanfiction #wrote this RIGHT after Scourgers Confirmed and since then...ive been thinking...caleb widogast Interrogate One PLE A SE #torture tw #like kinda???#vanni arts #again...unedited....just...wouldve remained unposted if not for Recent Events #djhfgdfjkhgd

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