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seokiloquy · 1 year

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Wine and Movie Pt 2 - Ushijima Wakatoshi

Au: Regular (timeskip)

Tags/Warnings: GN! Reader, uhhhh

Word Count: 1.6k

Pt 1 | Pt 2 | Pt 3

Suzaku glared at the pitch as the boys ran after the flying ball. His fingers fiddling anxiously with each individual hair, to the point of plucking them out, has you staring at him with more concern pulling your features than necessary. He huffed to himself and you finally caved.

“Uh, coach? Are you okay?”

His eyes flicked to your first, followed by his head. “Can’t you see the problem?”

“I’ve been more cornered that you’re gonna give your chin a bald patch, so no.”

“Look.” He jutted his chin out. “Toshi’s unbalanced.”

You took a minute, watching Ushijima run up to the net and plant his feet before lifting himself into the air and swinging down with his left arm. His weight was pushed forward, making him float towards the net much more than normal.

“He’s favouring his right,” you hummed.

“Ya, but why?”

“Likely just pulled a muscle last game. He was playing full-out non-stop.”

“As he should have.”

“Humans aren’t machines, and even machines are prone to breaking. He just needs a good stretch and some heat. I’ll take him out after this round.”

“Oh, he’s going to love that,” Suzaku’s voice droned sarcastically.

“If he wants to keep playing, he’s gonna have to.”

After an additional fifteen minutes, the team was finally let go for a water break. Hoshiumi ran in front of the rest to get his bottle, on the other hand, Ushijima was staring down at each step he took, a pinch growing between his brows.

“Yah, Wakatoshi!” his head shot up at your voice. You nodded your head to the gym exit. “You’re with me.” Behind you, Hoshiumi gossiped, eager to see the taller man’s reaction to being taken out of play. You huffed. “It's just practice, you seagull. Stop squawking and get back there.”

The silver-haired man laughed, chugging back his water before running back to the net, and you led Ushijima out and away from the gym.

“What’s this for?” he asked.

“You’re tight. Just got to stretch you out and let you recover a bit.” You looked over your shoulder at him, saw his harsh expression, and smiled. “The sooner you’re better, the sooner and longer you can play.”

Softening, Ushijima nodded and followed you into the next room. A plush orthopaedic mattress sat in the middle of the room, and without prompting, the lumbering sack of muscle lowered his 200 pounds of weight onto it. He shut his eyes and sunk into the mattress with a sigh.

You chuckled. “Okay, let's start from your legs. What’s bothering you?”

Without saying a word, he patted his left glute and back thigh, showing where the tightness was.

“Alright, knee up.”

You grabbed his shin, pushing it up to his chest. He was as flexible as his muscles would allow. If he weren’t so buff, his knee probably could reach his shoulder on a good day, but with the tightness, it couldn’t. Passing 90 degrees, he let out a small huff that sounded like a big dog having a dream. You loosened up before pushing forward again, hoping to stretch out the muscle.

Eventually, Ushijima seemed to be fully lax against the mattress. So much so, you wondered if he had fallen asleep. So, with him comfortable, you switched. Hand and lower stomach against the outside of his knee, and right hand on his left shoulder, you pushed.

He grunted, eyes opening the widest you’ve seen, before sending you a dissatisfied stare.

You cuckold. “Butt sore?”

“Yes.”

“Relax your muscles, Toshi.”

As he followed your command, your body weight sank further against his knees and with an extra push, a satisfying crack came from his back.

“Big boned!”

“I’m just big.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

He looked to the side, a bit of rosiness appearing on his ears, and you grinned to yourself once you realised why.

After twisting his other side out to even out his back, you sat him up and took hold of his left arm.

You didn’t even need to ask what was tight on his arm. Easily, you began moving his arm around, contorting it in every position possible to stretch out the kinks beneath his skin.

“What mystery movie do you like the best?”

“Hmm?” You met Ushijima’s eyes. “Oh, Hmm. Have you watched Knives Out?”

He shook his head. “Should we watch it next time?”

“Next time?” You found it hard to hide the grin on your cheeks.

“Tomorrow.”

“How do you know I’m not busy tomorrow?”

“Are you?” he asked expectantly, still with a steely expression. It didn’t seem to match, but it was just so perfectly him.

You let the grin explode onto your face. “Now I am.”

Your home was messier than Ushijima’s and had more western furniture than Japanese, becoming an odd fusion that was distributed by the occasional mess on every counter or seat.

Leading him to your couch, you quickly swiped up your launching laundry and threw it into the basket behind your bedroom door.

“I, uh, didn’t have time to plan food or anything for today. Do you want to order something? I’ll pay.”

He paused, observing your (rather small) couch before sitting. “Hayashi rice.”

“Uh. Okay. I’ll call. Do you mind pulling up the movie while I order?”

Being in Ushijima’s home felt like being ushered into a dragon's den, Ushijima being in your home felt like trying to bring a dragon into a mouse hole. It felt too small for him and made you skitter around to find space to breathe.

He was there, in your home, where not many get to enter. No problem, not at all. You peeked out of the kitchen, phone ringing in your ear as you watched him search for the movie.

Ushijima waited for you to return to the couch before hitting play. “Is this a movie I want to pay attention to? Or is talking allowed?”

“Hmm, I think some talking is fine, but you’ll also be a bit too absorbed in the plot to say anything.”

Ushijima nodded, watching the screen start to change colour, and slouched into his seat.

Having already seen the movie and already knowing the ending, you settled for watching Ushijima’s expression. Studying each and every twitch he made in reaction to a new piece of information or twist. You smiled every time his eyes flicked a bit wider.

About 20 minutes in, the food arrived, and you were reluctant to leave your spot on the couch. Your eyes trained on Ushijima as you got up and walked back towards the door, grabbing the food as quickly as possible to get back to the couch.

When you sat the bag on the table, Ushijima scooted closer to the middle. Your breath hitched, but you distracted yourself by sorting out the plates. Maybe you could use the movie to distract yourself.

It didn’t work. With him sitting closer, Ushijima’s body heat seemed to radiate into your skin and only made it harder to look away from him. It was only when you were trying not to stab yourself in the cheek that you managed to turn away. His elbow brushing against your every time he lifted the food to his teeth made it difficult, though, and each brush only seemed to get longer and longer. It had gotten so bad that you only noticed the movie ended when Ushijima’s head turned and made eye contact.

“So,” you choked. “What did you think?”

“You are pretty smart.”

“Huh?”

“It was enjoyable. But I also think that only someone that strives for knowledge and understanding would want to watch this movie without prompting from another person. So, I think you are a smart person.”

“Really. Um, thank you. But, what are your thoughts on the film? You were pretty focused.”

“Hmm, I was.” He nodded, “I wanted to solve the mystery before they revealed it, but I don’t think I would have anticipated how it went.”

“Is there anything you think you would want to be different?”

He stared at you, thinking for a moment before shaking his head. “I don’t think so. I’m not sure if I’d be able to improve the plot at all. But, I do want to watch it again and see if I can notice the clues.”

You smiled, “Well, I guess we can put mystery movies on the list of things you like.”

He nodded, glancing down at the empty takeaway bowl in his hands. “Yes, among other things.”

Ushijima was back on an orthopaedic chair, letting you contort his body around to get every strain and crack out of his body before the game. But his left butt cheek would not let up.

“Toshi, I know you have fantastic control over your body. Please relax so you can get out there and warm up.”

You folded over his thigh more, leaning down a little closer than you’d want to while on the clock in hopes that that extra force would help stretch him out. It didn’t.

Lifting your head, you glared at him, expecting Ushijima to have his eyes perfectly relaxed and not see the angry stare.

They weren’t closed, and instead of giving up and getting off him, you froze up.

He blinked, eyes flicking to the side as he took a deep breath, before staring you down with a confident look you’d commonly associate with being on the court.

“I want to date you.”

“Heh?” It was your turn to tense, muscles becoming rocks.

“I want to date you. I hope I can take you on a date, a proper one.” He waited for you to respond, but still frozen and carried by the strength of his leg, you couldn’t. “Please, just say yes. I’ll buy you more wine.”

“Yes.”

Finally, his leg released, sending out a loud crack, and you scrambled off. You stared out into space, realising that you had been holding the position instead of having a tight muscle.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”

“Toshi—”

He had already had out the door and toward the stadium, leaving you blicking in his wake.

“Did he really just…” You suck onto the mattress, staring into nothing until you heard a loud cheer. Schweiden had gotten a point.

University makes me braindead. If ya’ll want another part, let me know what you want to happen cause I don’t I could imagine it up at the moment. -Bacon

Posted: 12/03/2023

#Ushijima Wakatoshi #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima x reader #Haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #x reader #oneshot #oneshots #haikyuu oneshots #haikyuu reader insert #reader insert #aus #haikyuu aus #fluff #haikyu #haikyu x reader #anime x reader #anime

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biisexualemma · 3 years

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tired pt.2. bucky barnes

word count: 2.3k

warnings: violence, mentions of blood

requested: n/a

plot: you get injured during the mission to locate karli

a/n: so this is sort of a part 2 to the winter soldier imagine i wrote! i'm gonna be posting a part 3 soon too, i'm pretty much following each episode lol, this is obviously episode 4, and then next part with follow episode 5! hope you enjoy! i am very much enjoying writing for bucky atm! let me know what you think anyway! (sorry if there are any minor mistakes i cannot read this over again i am tired lol)

pt.1 / pt.3 / pt.4 masterlist

you knew this was a bad idea. any idea that involved trusting zemo was bad. which you had reiterated to your team multiple times now, but here you still were, relying on zemo to get to karli. to top it all off, captain america and his nosey sidekick had found you guys, somehow, and invited themselves to tag along. too much toxic masculinity was floating around in the air when john walker tagged along anywhere, it was suffocating. made you wanna punch him whenever he opened his mouth and that arrogant, condescending tone came out. that, and he was resolved to shamelessly coming onto you whenever he spoke to you. you were sure he only did it so he could feel more in control of the situation. you tried not to let it get to you, but sometimes he was plain insufferable.

bucky already hated walker with every fibre of his being, and he definitely didn't take kindly to his flirting with you either. the only thing holding either of you back from decking walker was sam, and his level head. but you were constantly stealing subtle glances and touches with one another when you could without bringing too much attention to it. you had both decided it would only make things way more complicated during this mission if your relationship was out in the open. there were too many things that could go wrong, you definitely didn't want your relationship to be used against you. so only sam remained in the loop. everyone else was blind to your affection for the super soldier, and his for you.

the blonde haired fraud and his right-hand man, had somehow managed to make everything ten times worse again. you found yourself scouring the building, looking for karli, after mr-i-have-jurisdiction charged into the room where sam had been having a, somewhat productive, conversation with the girl. he barged in there, throwing around hollow threats, like karli would cave and come lightly after everything. he was ignorant and he was an idiot and you could've killed him for screwing up another mission.

you held your gun at arms length, kicking the door open in front of you, edging your way in, eyes scoping the room for any signs of movement. it was empty. you lowered your gun, making your way across the floor to the door leading to the next room. "east wing is clear so far, one last room to check and then i'll circle back to the stair--"

your words caught in your throat as a grunt left your mouth, feeling the blunt impact to the back of your head. you stumbled forwards, clumsily spinning around to see one of karli's super soldiers towering over you, an old pipe gripped in his hand. you quickly lifted your gun to shoot but the bullet hit the ceiling when he swung the pipe, knocking the weapon out of your hand.

you gritted your teeth, your head was throbbing where the pipe had made contact, and now you were weaponless. you ducked swiftly as he swung the pipe at you once again. you dived forwards, trying to catch him off guard and using your full force to tackle him. ordinarily, this would have knocked him off his feet and you would have used the upper hand to locate your gun and seize it before he could recover.

but this guy, unfortunately for you, was far from ordinary. he was significantly stronger than you were.

"all clear, y/n?" sam's voice echoed in your ear through the comms but you were far too distracted by your current predicament to answer him straight away.

"shit," you mumbled under your breath. the man had barely flinched, before switching it on you. before you could retreat, his arms grabbed your torso and you were halted, heaved off of your feet. "i need backup!" you shouted desperately into your comms, hoping one of them would turn up sooner rather than later. his grip was painfully strong as you tried to scramble out of his hold. but, with almost no strain on his behalf, he hurled you across the room, your body slamming into the brick wall and crumpling against the hard floor.

you let out a wheeze, you felt like the air had been knocked right out of you, and you definitely heard something crack. you clutched your side, wincing as you clumsily dodged the blows he threw at you, trying to clamber away from him. you had to pull yourself together, get up and get to your gun before this escalated any further.

you propped yourself up onto your arms, pushing yourself back and away from the super soldier towering over you. "sam, buck," your breathing was laboured as you tried to reach them again, after hearing no response from your initial plea for help. "east wing. i'm unarmed. super soldier with a pipe and a mean swing-- i need backup-- now."

you cringed, sharp pains rushing from your chest the further you dragged yourself away from the soldier. that was when you noticed the gash along his calf, blood soaking his pants. that was your ticket. you waited for him to swing again, dodging it only by a split second, but took your window and kicked as hard as you could at the open wound on his leg. he let out a loud groan, his leg collapsing under the shock of the pain.

you, however, scrambled as quick as you could, onto your feet and ran to the gun sitting on the floor behind him. before you got too far, your legs were swept out from under you as the soldier grabbed your ankle, your face slamming into the concrete floor as you fell. you let out a groan, followed by a soft whimper, blood now pooling from your nose. you desperately stretched out a hand for the gun that was just out of your reach. his grip tightened on your ankle, you felt yourself being hauled backwards before you lunged one last time for your weapon.

your hand clasped around the gun, twisting yourself onto your back, not hesitating to fire at the super-soldier attached to your limb. the bullet fired straight into his shoulder, he let out a shriek of pain, his grip lost on your ankle. you hurried as far away from him as you could on your hands and knees, your breathing shaky and uneven as the adrenaline coursed through you.

you sat still, legs brought up to your chest, your breathing heavy as you watched the super soldier grip his shoulder, trying to stop the bleeding. you held the gun up, directed at him in case he made any more movements. you were panting, your hand moving to your head, wincing as the throbbing pain started to return, and your comedown ensued.

"oh shit," you heard from the doorway. "shit," he muttered harshly, his footsteps drawing nearer to you. you were preoccupied, the pain was spreading quicker now that your heart rate was slowing down. you felt the sharpness in your ribs every time you took a breath in, ringing in your ears growing louder and the throbbing in your nose intensifying as blood dripped onto your shirt.

you flinched when his hand brushed up against yours, your unsteady hands still gripped tightly around your gun. "hey," he whispered, you only just about heard his soft voice echo over the ringing. you noticed the familiar metal hand grazing yours and your grip loosened, letting him remove the gun from your hand. your eyes trailed up to his comfortingly familiar, blue eyes. you let out a soft sigh of relief, cracking a weak smile.

"took your time," you mumbled, teasingly, trying to ease some of the tension you were feeling. you moved your hand to your mouth, blood transferring onto your fingertips from where it had trickled from your nose onto your lips. you let out a halfhearted, tired, chuckle, your face contorting as the pain in your chest intensified. you were relieved that it was over, and that he had been the one to find you. you let out a strained breath, "i'm gonna need one hell of a drink when this is all over."

bucky, however, was examining every inch of you, his eyes shifting all over you, frowning as he found more blood the more places he looked. he watched your hands shake as you touched your lips, the lump grew in his throat. he knew you were trying to make light of the situation, to ease his mind but he could tell you were hurting, a lot.

he moved his hand to your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. his stomach lurched when your eyes met his again, the blood soaking your face was a sight he never wanted to have to see again after today. as impossible as that would be in this line of work. "let's get you fixed up, then we'll see about that drink, alright, doll?" his voice was soft, quiet when he spoke to you. you nodded, reassurance slowly washing over you with his fingers caressing your cheek. his touch was more comforting to you than he'd ever realise.

he dragged his eyes away from yours, over to the super soldier who was still squirming, his hand clamped over the wound in his shoulder. bucky glanced at you for a split second, his expression harder than before. you knitted your eyebrows delicately, noticing the shift in his temper. "wait here," he mumbled, his jaw twitching as he moved away from your side. you felt cold with the loss of contact.

bucky moved to tower over the super solider, his head tilting slightly, not hesitating for even a second as he raised his leg, quickly slamming the heel of his foot against his face. the solider dropped back onto the ground, now unconscious. "stay down," he mumbled under his breath.

"c'mon, we gotta' find sam and zemo first," he ignored your amused expression, helping you onto your feet.

you'd returned to the hotel room now you had zemo in your custody again. zemo was nursing his headache with a glass of whiskey, sam busying himself with something on his laptop, and bucky had pulled you into the bathroom to help clean you up.

"how ya' feelin', doll?" he quirked an eyebrow at you, positioning you so you were seated, while he hovered over you. he busied himself, soaking a cloth in warm water so he could tend to your wounds. you shrugged, lowering your gaze to where your hands sat in your lap, shaking less now you'd had that drink.

"i'll be fine," you muttered, unconcerned with your well being for now. your mind was swimming with thoughts on how you were going to handle the karli situation. no doubt, walker would be knocking around soon too, just to make things harder for you guys, and probably try and twist the story around to make it seem like karli getting away had nothing to do with him.

bucky wasn't convinced by your answer, but he didn't push you. instead, his hand moved to your chin, using his forefinger and thumb to tilt your head upwards. you saw his jaw clench before he started to wipe away the dried blood from your face. you flinched when he touched the bridge of your nose, recoiling from his touch. "ow, that kinda' hurt," you admitted.

"suck in your breath," he instructed, his jaw stiff as he spoke. "if i don't clean it up now it'll only get worse," you just nodded, doing as he said. you held your breath, biting the inside of your cheek as he cleaned up the rest of the blood (his spare hand moving to the back of your neck to stop you from pulling away). "all done," you let out your breath, your eyes were watery, a reflex from the sensitivity of your bruised nose. "y'good?"

you nodded, letting yourself fall forward, resting your forehead against his stomach, trying to disguise the range of emotions you were feeling. he let out a sigh, his hand still tucked around the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair. "you don't have to keep up this act," he spoke after a while. exhausted, you let him hold you up, relaxing yourself against him. "it's just me."

you sniffled, pulling back to look up at him. he felt his chest tighten at the sight of your bruised face, stinging red eyes and pink cheeks. you weren't often vulnerable with anyone, but you were so worn out from everything going on, and bucky was looking at you in a way that made you feel so safe, you couldn't help but let go a little.

"i'm just tired, buck," your voice wavering. he moved both hands to either side of your face, pushing your hair out of the way. he cupped your cheeks, his thumbs brushing against your flushed skin. you relished in his touch, comforted by the warmth he was radiating, soothing you. "this missions been hard."

"i know, doll," he hummed, his gaze softening watching you relax against his palms, your eyelids drooping shut. he gulped. "let's get you clean, then you can get some rest."

you hummed softly. "thanks, buck," he took a step back, his hands leaving your face for a second. you hastily moved your hands to his, stopping him from moving further away from you. "no," your voice came out hushed. "just a bit longer," you pleaded, you weren't ready to let go of his comfort just yet.

bucky simply nodded, moving his hands back to either side of your face, letting your head fall against his stomach again. he raked his fingers through your hair soothingly, holding you for as long as you needed. he was just relieved you felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable with him, it meant you felt just as much for him as he did for you.

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raewritez · 3 years

Text

all that mattered

based on this request: Hello! I love your writing! Can i request a zuko x firebender reader where the reader was a close friend of zuko’s and went with him when he had to go hunt the avatar and she goes w the gaang in the catacombs and is hurt by zuko’s decision but they reconcile slowly @ the western air temple? Thanks!!

word count: 2.8k

You were happy, a cautious glint of hope pulling at your heartstrings as you smiled at Zuko from across the teashop. After all you had been through together; from playing pirates with the young boy who wore his heart on his sleeve to sneaking onto the navy ship to follow your best friend on his seemingly unachievable quest for the Avatar, you had finally grasped the scraps of unabashed content in the upper ring of Ba Sing Se.

You were so proud of Zuko. He had come so far from the erratic, rage-filled boy you had stuck with the past three years, now growing into the person you always knew he was. The glimmers of your youth seemed so far now, yet closer than they had been in years. The Zuko you knew then; the soft, earnest child who loved his friend unashamedly in the merriments of your pretendings was slowly peeking out of the harsh exterior he had built up in his desolation.

He found himself aching, yearning for your presence and the unwavering comfort you had always provided him. He could barely remember a world without you, without the familiarity of your laughter and the warmth of your caring touches. He knew he loved you, he supposed he always had. He knew it in the way his heart would speed up at the sight of your grin, how a lovely blush would make its way to his face at the soothing lilt of your voice. He knew he loved you, the same way he had when his hands were small and his face unscarred, when the only problems were the insufficient days that weren’t long enough to hold all your adventures.

Now, you were smiling at him from across the room of Iroh’s tea shop. Like always, he felt his face heat up and the corners of his lips threatening to lift at the mere sight of your joyful expression. He smiled back, forgetting for a moment the weight upon his shoulders. Again, the Avatar had been preoccupying his mind, the temptation and longing to be back home and to feel the affection of his father overpowering his logic. But now, with his amber eyes locked with yours and his uncle’s jolly laughter ringing over the dulled chatter of the customers, he thought maybe a life like this wouldn’t be too bad.

///

“Zuko!” you cried, launching yourself into his arms.

Iroh trailed behind you, the Avatar in tow. The catacombs shone with an emerald glow, a slight chill in the humid air. You turned your head to see Aang hugging Katara, while you step aside to allow Iroh to embrace his nephew.

“Uncle, Y/n, I don't understand,” Zuko speaks, his brows furrowed. “What are you doing with the Avatar?”

“Saving you, that's what,” Aang replies. Zuko growls and steps forward confrontationally, your arms reaching out to restrain him.

“Zuko, it's time we talked,” Iroh says calmly.

He tells Aang and Katara to leave, Zuko’s eyes trailing after them.

“Why, Uncle?” Zuko questions in a hurt tone.

Iroh simply smiles. “You're not the man you used to be, Zuko. You are stronger and wiser and freer than you have ever been. And now you have come to the crossroads of your destiny. It's time for you to choose. It's time for you to choose good.”

You yelp as you feel your body being encased in a prison of crystal alongside Iroh, your eyes snapping up to meet Azula’s golden ones with a glare that could send a man ten feet under. Zuko frantically reaches out to you, only to be halted by Azula’s drawling voice.

“I expected this kind of treachery from Uncle. But Zuko, Prince Zuko, you're a lot of things, but you're not a traitor, are you?” “Release them immediately,” Zuko growls.

“It's not too late for you, Zuko. You can still redeem yourself.” “Zuko, no!” You shout, desperation in your eyes. “You can’t listen to her! She’s lying, like she always does!” Azula chuckles sinisterly. “Am I, Y/n? Or are you just trying to hold him back? He knows his destiny, it seems to me like you’re only preventing him from achieving it.”

“Zuko, that’s not true!” you call out to him, your voice cracking. “I know you, I know that what you want isn’t-”

“Why don't you let him decide, Y/n?” her voice cuts through like a knife. “Zuko, I need you. At the end of this day, you will have your honor back. You will have father’s love. You’ll have everything you’ve ever wanted.” Iroh’s pleads are drowned out by the noise inside your head, the panic setting in and clouding your senses. Please, Zuko. Don’t do this.

Tears roll down your cheeks as Zuko turns his back, following his sister out of the cavern. A choked cry leaves your mouth, desperation for the lost feeling of happiness leaving you feeling empty.

Iroh tenderly calls out your name, the deep sadness in his expression interrupted only by a glint of determination.

/// You gaze up in horror as the figure of the Avatar falls to the ground, Azula’s outstretched fingers crackling with electricity.

Katara rushes forward, her water crashing over the Dai Li agents and Firenation siblings and pulling them under the waves. She embraces Aang in her arms, a look of hopelessness and despair shining in her tear-filled eyes.

You stare in disbelief at the face of the prince, your heart splintering. Iroh suddenly jumps in front of your frame defensively, his voice booming in the hollowness of the catacomb.

“You've got to get out of here! I'll hold them off as long as I can!” Fire thrusts forth from his fists, momentarily halting the soldiers. Katara makes her way over to you, her hand outstretched. You look at her with confusion, having been prepared to suffer your fate at the hands of your nation.

“Come on!” She exclaims, grasping your hand and lifting the three of you out of the wretched caves. The last thing you see are his eyes, piercing your soul with the bitterness of betrayal and abandonment.

///

“Hello, Zuko here.”

You can only stare, shocked into a state of paralyzation by the utter surprise of seeing his figure on the mountainside. He looks different, his hair is longer and his face bears a hesitant smile.

As the shock fades, it is replaced with a burning anger, the one that has been brewing and festering in the depths of your soul ever since he walked out of that cave with his sister. Your eyes narrow into slits, a hardened glare contorting your features. His eyes flicker to yours as your friends unload their bearings onto him, only to shrink away at the fire in your expression.

He longs to rush forward, to fall at your feet and beg for forgiveness. The guilt that has been plaguing his mind for weeks bubbling to the surface; the sight of you almost bringing him to the ground. He yearns to be in your arms again, to bask in your wondrous existence and fearless love.

But he knows he doesn’t deserve it. He had hurt you, abandoned you. You, who had stood steadfast beside him through all his troubles and misfortunes, you, who had shown such faith in him that he began to wonder how he deserved it. And for what? For honor? For the approval of his father? He didn’t know, but he knew that walking away from you and his uncle in those catacombs was the single biggest regret of his life.

He’s sent away, and you don’t argue. Not that he would expect you to. That night, as he curls in on himself by the blaze of the campfire, silent tears stream down his face as he aches for you, as he loves you from afar in the high hours of the night. He at least finds comfort in the fact that you sleep under the same sky.

///

a week later...

It was almost unbearable, having him so near. You saw him everyday as he trained with Aang and conversed with the rest, his gaze always finding yours the second you walked into his vicinity. You kept your distance, the wound of his desertion still raw and painful, building new walls around your heart which had always remained unsheltered. Your body betrayed your logic, your fingers itching to run through his hair, your breath escaping your lungs whenever you heard the rasp of his voice.

You knew he had changed, really changed this time, that much was obvious. The way he and Aang talked like old friends, how he was slowly worming his way into the group’s good graces and affections.

He hadn’t pushed you, hadn’t demanded you speak to him or expressed anger at your coldness. Instead, he waited, reluctantly settling for small acts of atonement and care. He would always ensure you received the first bowl of rice at dinnertime, secretly complete your chores for you. He treated you like an idol, an alter, his actions small compensation for all his wrongdoings and mistakes.

That didn’t mean it was easy for him, though. Zuko starved for your closeness, the feeling of having you so close yet so far eating away at his heart. He feared that he would never again experience the love you so unsparingly served to him, never again bathe in the solace of your friendship.

He found you sitting beneath the moon, Yue’s light cascading through your hair and illuminating your features with an ethereal glow. His breath was ripped away at your unapologetic beauty, a familiar longing consuming his senses.

“Y/n,” he whispered.

You whipped around, your eyes locking with his. Under his intense stare you were paralyzed, unable to run away like you wanted.

You sighed. “What do you want, Zuko?”

There was a bitterness to your words, but all Zuko could focus on was the way his name sounded from your lips. He hadn’t heard the sound in so long, the melody squeezing his heart with adoration. He knew it was undeserved, though.

When he didn’t respond you scoffed and rolled your eyes, standing up to walk back to the temple only to be gently yanked back by a hold on your wrist.

“No, wait, I...” his eyes were wide, a distressed look upon his face. He glanced down at your interlocked hands, reluctantly letting go so as not to overstep. “I...”

You stared at him, brows furrowed. What? What could you possibly have to say to me?

“I...I’m sorry.”

He sighed, brushing his hair out of his face. “I know that doesn’t mean anything, and it doesn’t make anything better, but....I just need you to know how sorry I am.”

When you didn’t interrupt, he pressed on.

“Not a single day went by where I didn’t think of you. When I was in the Fire Nation, I had everything I’d ever wanted. I thought everything would fall into place...but it didn’t. Every night when I went to sleep I would see your face, how you looked at me back in Ba Sing Se. Like I was a monster.”

Your features softened at that, that part inside you that you had locked away yearning to reach out to him, to comfort him like you always had.

“What I did was so wrong,” he continued. “And I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for it. But I can’t live with knowing that you hate me, that we can never be friends again because I was so stupid. And, I mean, you’re not just my friend, you’re way more than that! We’ve been through everything together, and back in Ba Sing Se everything was perfect and I ruined it, and now you hate me and now I probably can’t ever-”

He was rambling now, his eyes ablaze with the struggle to salvage the scraps of your relationship. You couldn’t stand watching him in such distress, all of the emotions you had built a wall around slowly cracking through.

“I don’t hate you, Zuko.”

The words were out before you could stop them.

His rant ceased abruptly, his eyes latching onto yours, a question lingering behind his golden irises.

“I never really hated you,” you spoke, shuffling uncomfortably in your place. “I just...”

His wild eyes calmed, replaced with an imploring gaze, urging you to continue.

“I thought I did. Every time I thought of you I felt so angry, and I thought I hated you but I don’t. I never could.” His lips parted, staring at you with such wonderment you were reminded of the way people beheld paintings. Or how Iroh looked at tea.

“Why?” he questioned. “Why can’t you?”

“I don’t know.”

You knew.

///

Days passed, and the crumbs of your bond with Zuko were slowly falling back into place. You still bore a scar from the memories, but seeing him acting as the person you had always wanted him to be filled your heart with more pride than you’d like to admit.

He moved around freely, interacting with the misfits that had become your family and smiled carelessly in the gleams of his content. Seeing the way his eyes lit up, the way his lips tugged up at the corners made your heartbeat irregular. His hair wasn’t bad either, and his insistence to remain shirtless while training Aang certainly wasn’t helping your attempts to remain impassive.

You found him sitting at the edge of the cliff, his legs dangling over the vast expanse of sky. His ebony locks danced around his face, a pensive expression resting on his brows.

He snapped around at the sound of your footsteps, an unguarded grin making its way to his face upon seeing you.

“Hi,” you greeted, your feet carrying you to sit beside him.

“Hey,” he breathed, eyeing your profile as your arm brushed against his, the sensation sending shivers up his spine.

You tilted your head towards the stars, the coolness of the night caressing your cheeks. You remained silent for a few minutes before speaking.

“I missed you, you know.”

Zuko turned to you, finding your eyes closed against the navy curtain of the sky.

“Even when I was mad. I guess spending ten years of your life with someone makes you a little attached, huh?”

His eyes traced your profile, dipping down the curve of your nose and lips and rising back to the delicateness of your eyelashes. Attached, he chuckled. He was long past attached.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Your head swirled to face him, your eyes reflecting the adoration and love they always had, the same look Zuko had passed to you so often in the shadows of your obliviousness. Your fingers rose to tenderly trace the outline of his scar, your familiar touch elicting all of the emotions Zuko had been deprived of in your time apart.

He nuzzled further into your embrace, feeling much like the boy he had been all those years ago. Just you and him, when nothing else mattered. When he was a child, and you were a child, and he loved his friend in the pureness of childhood.

And he loved you now.

Deciding he couldn’t wait any longer, after years of longing built up on a lifetime of friendship, he pushed himself forward until his lips met yours.

Your breath escaped you in a gasp, your palm finding its way to its proper place against his cheek. Your lips pressed against his with fervor, all of the emotions that you had ever felt for this boy disclosed in the desperation in which your hands grasped his shirt in a hopeless attempt to bring yourself even closer.

His arms wound around your waist, his thumbs stroking your sides as he kissed you with all the love and affection he possessed. His raven hair tickled your face as your lips locked over and over again, until the only thing you two were more desperate for than each other was air.

You breathed heavily, slowly regaining your senses. Your eyes met his with the same hesitant look that was held in his. For a moment you simply stared at each other, gazing, before grins broke out across both your faces.

Your laugh cut through the night, his own chuckles escaping him. He gazed at you fondly, leaning in to capture your mouth in a short and sweet kiss. You smiled unabashedly, pressing your forehead against his. This was long overdue. You basked in each other’s presence, soft caresses and brief pecks shared under the light of the moon. As you loved one another beneath the stars the world faded away and nothing else mattered.

It was just you and him.

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acourtofsnakes · 3 years

Text

Nar dralshy'a - Rogue, Chapter 24| The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader

Gif by: @ansonmount

Summary: After your successful escape from Moff Gideon’s cruiser, you and Din decide to take some time off. Unfortunately, you begin to have some rather... interesting dreams.

Warnings: 18+ Smut!!! Like, intense smut. Threesome (mmf), blowjob, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, multiple penetration, anal (m receiving, f receiving), voyeurism, masturbation, multiple orgasms, literally just... Sex. Some swearing too, injury detail - this is pure filth.

A/N: I have nothing to say but enjoy. I feel this makes up for no chapter last week. Have fun ♥︎

(Dream scene/smut is from roughly just after the middle to the end. Skip if it isn’t your thing♥︎)

Word Count: 4.6k+

Rogue Taglist: @snipskixandbeskar @weirdowithnobeardo @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @kenoobiwan @sarahjkl82-blog @boomtownboy @goldielocks2004 @seninjakitey @what-iwish-you-knew @queenofthefaceless @rosiefridayrogersunday-reads @greeneyedblondie44 @itsnottilly @welcometothepedroverse @xgoldenjenny @mamacitapascal @heyitsjaybird @amyk-37 @greatcircle79 @mikariell95 @justdrawings101

Permanent Taglist: @greeneyedblondie44 @mamacitapascal @mypedrom @kaylee-krystal @queenofthefaceless

Mando’a Translation: Nar dralshy'a - Put your back into it

Din is alive. Din is alive. Din is alive. Din is alive. Din is alive.

Those words repeated like a frantic mantra in your head, the whole way back to Boba’s ship.

You encountered no one, even as Din stumbled and staggered along between you all.

You knew that it mortified him, having to be half carried. But there was no way he could move on his own. And he was hovering on the edge of unconsciousness as it was.

Din tipped his head back, looking at you through his cracked visor, “You came back for me…” His words were a little slurred and awestruck, like he was dreaming. The utter tone of disbelief broke your heart.

This man had been left so many times… Could he even comprehend that you’d brought a team to infiltrate an Imperial Cruiser, face down not only Moff Gideon, but also a Shadow King from legend, and still walk – stumble – out of here?

Probably not.

You looked down at him, wishing you could caress his face, his jaw – anything. “Of course I came back for you. I’d always come back for you.” You pressed your forehead to his, in that beloved keldabe kiss that meant so much to you both.

Din let out a soft huff of breath, maybe a smile beneath the visor…

And then collapsed.

~~~

The following four hours were some of the worst of your life. Ahsoka and yourself had used your powers to assess his injuries and… The poor man was battered.

How he had survived a fall like that in a body full of rock hard beskar, you would never, ever know.

Clearly the Maker was watching out for him.

Regardless, healing him came with its own set of difficulties.

Naturally, you couldn’t remove Din’s armour, so you and Ahsoka had to make do with healing through it… Which meant you had no idea if what you did actually worked, since he was still out cold.

You’d managed to pop his shoulder back in, one of you pushing with the Force and the other pulling – even if it had sent another crack through his collarbone that you swore you could feel in your own body.

Hour by hour, you worked carefully to heal your fallen warrior.

Even after those four hours, after you were emotionally, mentally, and physically spent, he still wasn’t fully healed. His ankle remained sprained beneath his boot, his broken bones still requiring at least a week’s rest and as for any lingering effects in his head and internal organs… Well, that was something you would have to monitor yourself over the coming days.

Din had started to stir during the treatment on his ribs, groaning in pain with his skin flushed and clammy beneath the armour – or so you gathered from the thin strip of skin showing at his wrist. Ahsoka had quickly pushed him back into unconsciousness, where he still remained now.

He was laying on a collection of cloaks and blankets, on the only bit of free floor space at the back of the ship – he was a rather tall, broad man. You were curled on the floor next to him, his gloved hand clasped between two of yours and you just watched his covered face.

More than anything, you wish you were able to see him.

See that face that you already cherished, held so dear in your heart without even needing to see it.

He could have died, and you would never have known the colour of his eyes.

You respected his Creed, never questioned it, but… You would be lying if you didn’t admit that lately, that urge to see him had become a living, breathing thing.

To see his lips, curling up into a smile… Maybe he had dimples.

The frown as the kid did something, or as he thought about some random question you’d asked out of the blue and he couldn’t comprehend how that even made sense to the current conversation. Like that time, you asked if knew they were droids, and if they wanted to be something else. Which had then prompted a two-hour long discussion with Din arguing that droids were programmed and you insisting they had some spectrum of natural emotion that wasn’t programmed in.

You wished you could see the light of a sunrise turning his eyes molten, or to see what they looked like as he gazed at you. The love that would shine through them.

Or to watch his expressions when the pair of you were together, to see those eyes darken with desire for you, or his face contort in pleasure as you worshipped him.

You sighed softly, resting your chin on your knees and you held his gloved hand between your own.

These thoughts continued to swirl around you mind as you massaged his palm and fingers, letting the sounds of the others become a lulling background murmur.

Did he think you wouldn’t love him? Was that it?

You couldn’t exactly assure him... He would think you were asking for him to take it off, that you weren’t happy.

And you were happy. More than happy, with whatever he could offer you. The man had shown you how to live, rather than just survive.

“Maybe you actually should ask him about that, darling. Ask him why he will willingly die for you… but still won’t show you his face.”

Your body locked up at that silken whisper in your head, the same voice that had followed you from the Cruiser, the same voice that had stalked you for years.

His voice.

You hadn’t told anyone that he was in your head again, nor did you tell anyone about the beast now slumbering in your chest, one ear pricked up to listen for that call. That same beast that had purred when you destroyed – there was no other word for it – those Stormtroopers in the hallway.

The act you had pulled off before stabbing Haran… You weren’t entirely sure how much of it was pretend.

“I knew it. You can’t fool me. Or rather, you don’t need to fool me, darling. All I want it for you to have everything you deserve, and more. I could make you a Queen.”

A Queen.

Ruling over people he decided were less worthy? No thank you.

You were happy here, with your friends. Your family. You didn’t need darkness or fear… Just this.

“If that’s what you choose to believe. But you know, deep down… You crave it. I know the beast slumbering in you, darkling. It won’t be long before it wakes up.”

Just before you could spiral too deep into the thoughts he was putting into your head, you felt Din’s fingers twitch in yours, just briefly.

Your heart leapt into your throat and you dropped your knees to sit up straighter, “Lori?” You were still around your friends, after all, so the nickname came out.

“You didn’t think I’d give up that easily, did you?” His rough baritone filled your senses, hoarse and slightly pained but unmistakeably Din.

Something broke in your chest, like it caved in and a sob caught in your throat, “Oh.” You blinked down at his shiny head, and then dropped your own to his chest, not caring that it was hard and cold. It was him. He was okay.

You’d fixed him up and he was okay and here and… safe.

A soft chuckle rumbled beneath you and his free hand cupped the back of your head, “Hey… I survived a fall and kidnapping… I’m sure I could suffer through your nursing.” His thumb stroked over your hair, cradling you to the beskar chest and you swore you could hear his heart beating beneath it.

“You’re lucky you still need to finish healing, otherwise I would be beating your ass for all of this.” Your words were mumbled through tears, breath fogging up the beskar and you slid your arm up under his shoulder, shivering a little.

Din laughed again – shallowly, his ribs were still sore – and pressed the chin of his helmet against your head gently, “Oh, I know. I’m waiting for it, believe me.” He squeezed your hand, just savouring the feel of you in his arms, allowing himself to relax. You were here with him, not on the Cruiser – and not a slave to Haran’s persuasion.

There was the pitter-patter of many feet, and then a tiny green body began to clamber up the beskar mountain, “Bah.”

Din lifted his head, watching as Grogu crawled along his belly and plopped down just near your head, reaching out with grabby hands. “Hey, kid…” His voice turned a little thicker as you let go of his hand, so he could pull the kid closer.

“He missed you… He cried every night and put up a hell of a fight when we left him with Boba.” It was true, Grogu had attempted to use his powers on you all, until you managed to soothe him – and put him in Boba’s helmet, purely so he couldn’t clamber out of the beskar bucket.

Plus, it was ridiculously adorable, watching him spin around in the helmet until his tears melted into high giggles.

Din was most likely raising his eyebrows underneath his helmet, stroking Grogu’s cheek with his thumb, “Is that true, you little womp rat?”

Grogu cooed, tilting his head into Din’s hand and blinking those big, glossy eyes – the picture of innocence.

A mewl came from behind you, and then Duru hopped nimbly onto Din’s belly – earning a soft oof from him because she’s not exactly light. She settled on his belly, curling her tail around her clawed feet and a rumbly purr came from her chest.

You smiled slowly, reaching out to stroke her ears, “Oh, and this one spent every night howling. I had no idea Loth cats could even make a noise like that but… Here we are. I’m sure the others will be eager to get rid of us and the rabble.”

“Damn, straight. I’m an old man, I need peace and quiet when I sleep.” Boba’s gravelly voice travelled from the cockpit, a sign that though they were all trying very hard to pretend not to be listening, he couldn’t help himself.

A warm chuckle slipped from your lips as you shook your head, settling as close to Din as you could, his hand on your head trailing down your spine and coming to rest at the small of your back, “See.”

Din didn’t answer with words, but with a soft sniffle – like he was crying.

Worry careened through you and you touched the edge of his visor, “Hey… Why are you crying? Are you in pain?” You reached out a hand, ready to soothe any discomfort that may have cropped up.

Grogu made a little questioning noise, crawling to Din’s chest and patting the edge of the helmet, his ears flapping, like he too was worried.

Din shook his head, clearing his throat but his voice was still choked, “It’s just… I’ve been on my own for… years. Been hurt, captured, attacked more times than I can count but…” He looked over you all, motioned to the cockpit, “I’ve never had this. A rescue team… A family who missed me. It’s still… so new.” His words seemed a little unsure, like he still wasn’t used to voicing such vulnerabilities aloud either.

His uncertainty melted you, and you slid your hand up as if cupping his cheek, meeting the horizontal band of his visor, where you always seemed to look directly into his eyes, “Me either… But this is our clan, remember? Our family. And no matter what, we will always come back for each other. Even if we take on bases of Imperial troops and fall out of the sky.” You gave him a cheeky smile, your eyes soft and adoring.

The eye roll was nearly audible, but he still chuckled, sliding his hand up to cup the back of your neck and pull you down for a keldabe kiss, “You are insufferable.”

Your eyes closed, hand moving down to rest over the fabric on his neck, “Ah, but you still love me for it.”

Din let out a playful, long suffering sigh, “I suppose I do, don’t I?” He was grinning beneath the helmet though, revelling in this feeling of his family clustered around him, his kids curled on his chest and his friends just a little way away.

No longer alone.

“Well, I love you too.”

~~~

A little while later, you were all clustered in the cockpit, saying your thank you’s and temporary goodbyes.

Boba was going to fly the pair of you to where they’d stashed the Razor Crest, and then escort you to the nearest jump point. From there, Din had informed you that you would be going to a Sanctuary planet.

The same one he had scoped out for himself and Grogu all that time ago, way before any of this.

You both deserved a break – the kids too.

You were looking forward to it, the chance to just… be free, even for a little while. To feel the sun on your skin, to be able to dip your feet in the cool water of a babbling brook and chase the kids through trees and fields of exotic flowers.

To not think about other things for a while.

Before too long, you were making your way into the Crest, and then into the sky.

Home.

Boba and the others escorted you to the jump point as promised, where you waved goodbye and then you were in hyperspace again, as if nothing had ever happened.

Of course, the events of the past week would have repercussions. You’d be a fool to think otherwise… But for now, you didn’t want to think about that. You just wanted to be with your family, and rest.

Even if it did mean going back to the cramped little bed that barely fit your body on, let alone yourself and Din.

But it was familiar, and it was home.

Maybe we could upgrade after the Sanctuary planet… I could convince him.

You fell asleep thinking of plans and ways to convince your Mandalorian to shell out some credits and upgrade this sorry excuse for a bed.

At some point in the night, a haze overtook your dreamless sleep, pulling you into a place that you weren’t even aware of…

~~~

“You beautiful thing… Look at your Mandalorian. Look at him, darling.” Haran’s scarred hands roamed your back, massaging the flesh, scraping his nails down either side of your spine to your ass cheeks. “Let him see the look on his face as I fuck you.”

A breathy moan escaped your lips, your back arching up like a cat’s and then further, as the blunt head of Haran’s cock nudged your soaking entrance and then slipped inside.

Stars above.

Haran was as long as Din was, but a little thicker. Enough to stretch your walls almost a little painfully, but Maker did it feel amazing.

Your head dropped down, your arms trembling slightly where they held you up and you let out a noise that was sinful. “Fuck…” Your back arched a little more, feeling him settle deep inside you, nudging far within you and filling you up deliciously, in a way somehow different to Din.

A soft snarl came from above you, and then one of Haran’s hands wrapped around your throat, yanking your head back up with the pressure, “I said, look at him.” He squeezed your neck, cutting of your air enough to send your eyes to the back of your head momentarily before they settled on Din.

He was seated on a couch at the end of the bed, shadows wreathed around his body which must have been bare underneath. His helmet and gloves remained on, and he was focused on you, on Haran.

The thought of Din being naked, his bare skin on show underneath those shadows… that made you even wetter, made your walls clench around Haran’s cock and earn a grunt from the Shadow King.

Over Din’s shoulder, a big, ornate framed glass rested on the dark walls, a mirror that reflected his bed.

Of course there was.

You were entranced by it, torn between watching Din and watching yourself, with Haran’s lean, toned body rising up behind you as he began to move, taking you deep and rough with his scarred hands gripping your hips with bruising strength.

Your breasts bounced with each thrust, your swollen lips parted in ecstasy as you rocked backward, meeting Haran with each movement, so that the room filled with the filthy sound of his balls hitting your slicked body, sending jolts of pressure through your clit.

His hand remained squeezing around your throat, and he bent his body down over yours to meet your gaze in the mirror, white teeth flashing and he bit at your shoulder, hard enough to draw blood, “You like me fucking you, don’t you? You like seeing him watch me fuck you.”

A keening noise escaped your lips, your own teeth sinking into your lower lip as a trail of blood rang down your shoulder, “Yes – fuck, yes.” You jolted back against him, wanting to feel him tomorrow, wanted to not be able to walk. “Harder.”

Haran let out a dark, velvet chuckle against your shoulder, his tongue darting out to catch the bead of blood and he hummed in ecstasy at your taste, “As you wish, my Queen.” He rose back up straight behind you, and began a brutal, bruising pace.

The relentless thud of his cock against your g-spot made your brain disconnect form your body for a second, your vison blanking before it cleared again.

Din groaned long and deep, leaning forward for a better view, fascinated by the scene before him.

Watching as someone else, the Shadow-King no less, fucked his cyar'ika.

And it was driving him absolutely feral.

The very image of you, that pleasure on your face as Haran drove into you, was killing him. He always thought he would hate it, absolutely despise the very notion of another man touching you. But Haran was different, there was no denying. He was embroidered into the fabric of your lives, whether Din liked it or not.

And now, here he was, his dick positively weeping as he beheld the scene before him, his skin tight and itchy with desire.

The smooth, worn leather of his gloves was torturous over his aching cock, unable to resist curling his hand around his length, moving in time with you and Haran.

Din couldn’t look away… Especially as Haran pulled out, then slammed back into you instantly, hand tightening even tighter around your throat. He circled his hips, hitting all the spots Din knew himself and then your eyes squeezed shut, heady release crashing over you and your arms gave way as you moaned – no, screamed - Haran’s name.

He kept fucking you, pounding into you again and again, as you cried your pleasure into the bed covers, Haran’s seed soon dripping between your thighs as he came too.

And Din wasn’t sure who was most jealous of Haran… or you. To be the one making you scream, making your body contort like some kind of goddess, or to be the one on his hands and knees with that mouth-watering length breaking him apart.

Maker, he was going to explode just from the sheer thought of that.

Like you’d read his mind, you lifted your head, your eyes blown impossibly wide with lust and you reached out for him, eyes focused hungrily on his throbbing length.

Your tongue darted out, licking over your swollen bottom lip and then he was right there.

You wasted no time, those devilish lips lowering over his cock and then the hot, silken smoothness of your mouth encased him.

You both moaned again in unison, the sound vibrating through Din’s head and you eagerly lapped up the bead of precum leaking from his tip.

You didn’t think you would ever get bored of Din’s taste, the feeling of him heavy in your mouth as you bobbed your head, sinking down deep enough that your nose brushed his curls and he slipped down your throat. He was like velvet wrapped steel, and you would never get enough.

Din stuttered a curse, his gloved hand fisting in your hair and holding you there, “F-fuck, sweetheart…” His helmet tilted back, groans spilling from it as you swallowed.

Haran was rapidly hardening again inside you, watching you swallow down Din’s length and he was suddenly moving again, fucking you rough and deep, causing your body to rock around your Mandalorian’s cock. “That’s it, darling…. Good girl…” His hand dragged up your back to your head, entwining with Din’s and the pair of them bobbed your head up and down.

A muffled moan slipped from your throat, the three of you setting a pace as Din began to jerk his hips into your mouth, working in tandem with Haran’s pace.

The scent of sex hung heavy in the air, mixed with the scent of both boys, creating an intoxicating aroma that would cling to you all for days to come.

As you swirled your tongue along the underside of Din’s length, you heard the tell-tale schwoomp of a helmet being removed.

A trace of panic made your body lock up for a second, before Din’s hand stroked through your hair, “Easy, sweetheart, it’s okay.”

Something cool brushed over your eyes, and you realised Haran had set a blindfold of shadow around your head and must be wearing one of his own.

You briefly wondered why, before you heard the faintly wet noise of a messy, swollen kiss above your head – the boys making out as they fucked and were fucked by you, all three of you racing to push each other off that cliff of pleasure first.

A haze overtook the dream, changing the scene and then there you were, reclined on a luxurious sofa, furs scattered beneath your body.

The pleasant burning hum in your bones signified that you had just received yet another mind-blowing release, clearly reclined here to recover because the couch was situated at the end of the bed.

Facing it.

And on top… Din, helmet still on and those dreamy shadows still surrounding his body like a shield. But perhaps they were courtesy of Haran, because the King of Shadows was kneeling in front, back pressed to Din’s chest… As Din rocked in and out of him from behind, gloved hands gripping his hips to hold him in place.

Holy Maker above.

Your humming body instantly tightened, snapping to attention as wetness flooded the tops of your thighs. Eyes still firmly on your boys, you reclined back further, spreading your legs and slipping a hand between them.

You traced slow, lazy circles around your clit, the silky slickness aiding in smooth movements to slowly begin another fire.

Haran tilted his chin down from resting on Din’s shoulder, his arm stretched above him with his hand on the back of Din’s neck, “Look at that. Our little princess likes watching you fuck me, Lori.” His liquid voice was rough with lust and pleasure, his obsidian eyes burning like black fire. His other scarred hand was pumping over his swollen cock, moving in time with Din’s deep thrusts.

Din groaned, his helmet tilted down and tucked into Haran’s neck and you knew his eyes were darting between their bodies, and your fingers, “Good.” He gripped Haran’s hips tighter, thrusting particularly deep into his ass and both men moaned in unison, “Keep your eyes on her when I make you come.”

A keening moan left your lips, two fingers slipping down and inside your aching walls. You didn’t know where to look, what to focus on first, particular when Din’s gloved hand covered Haran’s and guided it faster over the Shadow King’s considerable length. “Harder, Lori.”

Din chuckled, low and rough, “Your wish is my command, mesh’la.” He obeyed your order, leaning forward so that Haran’s body folded slightly, allowing him a better angle to fuck up into him, deep, pounding movements of hips that had both men’s bodies jerking beautifully.

Your trio of moans bounced around the dimly lit room, the faint squeak of the bed and the sound of Din’s balls slapping against Haran’s skin…

The haze came over again, bringing with it a medley of different scenes – your lips round Haran’s cock, whilst Din lay beneath you, his tongue spearheading up into you. The three of you engaged in a messy kiss, the boys at your mercy as you moved your hands in torturous paces, making them fall apart at the same time and coat your thighs. And then Din, his long, lean body folded into the bed as Haran worked him over, first with his fingers and then his own length, all whilst Din lapped and sucked at your aching folds, his tongue inside you again.

It cleared once more.

You were spent, leaning back into Haran’s chest, feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm shudder through you. You had no idea which one it was now. Your brain had given up in trying to keep count, surrendering itself to the overwhelming pleasure of your two boys worshipping your body. You were seated between them, both of them inside you still, body numb with the new pleasure from where Haran was currently softening inside your ass.

And the absolute mind melting experience of earlier, watching the pair of them fuck each other as you recovered.

“Come on, darling. We know you have more in you…” Soft lips grazed the shell of your ear, a cool wash of Haran’s breath tickling and making goosebumps rise to the surface.

Then, Din’s large, warm hands caressed your hips, your thighs, massaging the flesh with a firm grip to regain the feeling in them, “He’s right, cyar’ika. I know you have more in you… I know you want more already. You’re so good, sweetheart, you take us both so well… Want to go again?”

A breathless moan escaped your lips, your body wrecked and numb but at their twin voices, the deep purr that lined them both… The heat rose low in your belly again and you craved the feeling of them both once, filling you up, pushing you over the edge as the you all moved in a perfect, dark harmony…

~~~

You startled awake, bolt upright with the sound of seductive laughter in your ears and the twin feel of lips ghosting over your skin.

What.

The actual.

Fuck?!

It took you a moment to work out that it was a dream, that you were curled up with just Din in your small bed, the engine humming as autopilot took you to a Sanctuary planet.

Lifting a hand to your face, you felt how flushed your skin was, heat still pooling between your legs and your heart pounded. You were soaked – clearly having reached a silent high in your sleep.

What in Maker’s name was that?

Stars above you needed a drink.

You slipped from the bed, Din barely stirring - no wonder, he hadn’t slept the whole time he’d been away.

You padded through the ship to the kitchen area and poured yourself a glass of the nearest alcohol you could find – trying to ignore the fact that your thighs were a little sticky.

Why were you have fantasies about Din and Haran?

Trauma?

Maybe you were sick?

Yeah. Yeah that’s it. Sickness. Maybe even a fever.

“Oh my love, this is no sickness. You’re dreaming about us because you want it. Your knight of light and your demon of the dark. You can pretend all you like, but you’re drawn to me.”

Haran.

He was in your head - of course he was.

You growled, slamming the glass down with more force than was necessary. Your body trembled, either with anger or the aftershocks of what you had just imagined.

You recognised the wave in your mind, similar to when Ahsoka spoke to you through the Force. “Get the fuck out of my head, you creep.”

That dark, velvet laughter again, “You think I sent you the dream? Oh, darling. You were the one practically throwing it at me. Here I was, trying to enjoy a nice dream and what should pop into my head but something like that? I always knew you had it in you, darling. ”

Heat flushed your cheeks again, along with anger, “Get. Out.”

Haran practically purred, “You, Me and Lori, wrapped up together. Now, I have no qualms about a crowd, but I have to admit, I was a little surprised that you would send it to me.”

You shook your head, as if you could throw him out like that.

He continued, his voice flowing through your body, just like his lips and tongue had, the way his phantom power had provided you pleasure whilst Din explored other parts of you, “You like the idea of two men worshipping you, don’t you darling?” He was quiet, like he was reading you, “Oh, you don’t care who it is. You just want to be worshipped. And you want to watch me and your knight fuck too? Oh, you dirty little girl… Does he know? Does he know that you want to watch and be watched… That you want to try everything?”

You hissed, pushing against the feeling of him in your mind, trying to force him out but you felt his silken shadows sneaking through your body, felt the phantom brush of his hands – and other parts of him – and to your utter horror, you realised you were growing wet again.

And a dark part of you was desperate to yield to it. To succumb to that darkness and let it wash through you.

No.

Get a grip.

“Fuck. Off.”

Unbidden, your dream started to come back to you again, the boys on their knees before you, their hands, their tongues. And not only that, but the sight of them together, their bodies rocking and writhing in rhythm -

Another growl ripped from your chest, even as you ached to slip your fingers inside – or to go and wake Din up and fly to wherever Haran was - “Enough.” You threw the word through space to him, slamming it into his mind with a full wave of power.

A final dark chuckle, and then he slipped from your mind, leaving you in peace.

Well, as peaceful as you could be, with the tingles on your skin and the dampness between your thighs.

It was going to be a long night.

Previous| Next

#i am not sorry #this has been in my head for days and i had to #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x force sensitive! reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x force sensitive! reader #haran x reader #haran x reader x din #the mandalorian #din djarin #smut

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one-boring-person · 3 years

Text

What's It To You? (Part Two)

Dwayne (The Lost Boys) x reader(ish)

Warnings: bad language, graphic depictions of blood and death, slight nudity (nothing graphic)

Context: Dwayne has another encounter with the werewolves

A/N: as promised here is part two! It turned out very differently to how I imagined it, but I quite like it. I may develop this if I have time, but we'll have to see

Masterlist

Tagging: @thetempleofthemasaigoddess (original requester)

The roads are eerily quiet, bare except for the lone motorcycle speeding up towards Hudson's Bluff, the near-full moon serving to light the way, even as it is mostly cast in darkness. The figure astride the bike leans forwards over the tank of the vehicle, revving the engine, intent on getting back to the cave faster, knowing the food strapped to the back is getting somewhat cold. His dark hair whips out behind him, flowing smoothly in the rushing wind created by the speed of the bike, allowing the vampire to see clearly.

Around him, Dwayne barely notices the dark forest, paying no attention to it, just as he usually does, never having encountered anything there that may harm him, and not expecting to, either. Internally, he knows that there's no way he'd be able to hear if there were anything there, given that the motorcycle's engine ruined any chance of picking up anything, even despite his enhanced hearing, so he doesn't think too much on it.

He has, however, been plagued by a peculiar feeling since he turned onto this particular road. Something isn't quite right, the hairs on the back of his neck pricking up as a chill runs down his spine, the reflex surprising him; nothing has made him do that, not since he turned, anyway. The vampire tries to ignore it, but he can't fight the pressing notion that he's being watched - and not just by one person, either.

For the first time, he curses the volume of his motorbike's engine, wishing now that he could hear and acknowledge everything around him, and so assess whether or not he's in any real danger. He tightens his grip on the handlebars, gritting his teeth, beating down the rising unease in his gut, reminding himself that it's not too far before he has to turn off onto the cliff, at which point he'll mostly leave behind the eerie forest, and hopefully the sensation with it. Thankful for his sharp vision, he takes in the sight of a sharp bend, a little way away, taking it with ease as he nears it.

His hand clenches tightly around the brake, the bike skidding to a halt with a sharp squeal.

A pair of glowing amber eyes stare him down, blazing brightly in the beam of his headlight, holding his gaze steadily. Swallowing, Dwayne maintains the eye contact, having taken in the form of the silhouette instantly: a huge wolf, easily the size of a small pony, its body rippling with muscle under a thick pelt of black fur, shot with silver and grey, the creature much more barrel-chested than any normal canine. Its lips pull back slightly over its glistening fangs, the gesture disturbingly reminiscent of a smirk as it releases a low growl, as if laughing at him.

Dwayne has no idea how to react, feeling the natural instinct of his vampirism rising up in him, his own eyes turning yellow as his fangs push at his lower lip, threatening to expose themselves. He forces this down, until he realises that the hulking wolf before him is not his only problem. At least eight others have emerged from the darkness, circling him like sharks as they snarl lowly, teeth snapping at him as he glances at each of them. None of them are quite the size of the first, but many are close, their bodies each laden with muscles that would put a timber wolf to shame.

Climbing off of his motorbike, Dwayne bares his own teeth, the food forgotten now as he assesses the situation, figuring out his best way out of the threat. Spreading his weight evenly, he watches the wolves carefully, vaguely surprised when he notices them come to a halt at regular intervals around him, ready to spring into the air to avoid any possible conflict. He should've remembered the werewolves, especially after the last month's encounter with the young female back at the chicken race.

Just as he goes to move, however, two of the wolves start to contort, the largest one, and a much smaller one, limbs stretching and shrinking, joints and bones cracking audibly as they break and reset themselves. Growls and barks escape the two of them, the pelts starting to melt away into skin, paws becoming hands and feet as muzzles pull back into jaws, fangs retracting into natural canines as human features fall back into place, leaving two recognisable people behind. Dwayne has to bite back a sound of surprise as he comes face to face with the two (very naked) werewolves.

He recognises them both from the chicken race, the first being the muscular guy he'd seen with the dark hair, the second being the reckless racer, her expression that of embarrassment and guilt. She stands somewhat behind the taller man, using his bulky body to conceal her own nudity, though her eyes are fixed on Dwayne's as he regards them both, unsure of where this is going now.

The dark-haired man watches him carefully for a couple more minutes, brown eyes taking in every inch of his body, even as Dwayne looks over him, making sure to avoid his lower half, finding himself admiring the curling patterns of ink swirling across broad shoulders, bleeding down onto a toned torso. Bulging arms are crossed over an incredibly toned abdomen, veins standing out even in the pale light of the moon, the man's black hair falling slightly into his face. Since they last laid eyes on each other, the guy's scruff has grown out a little, giving him a much more roguish look, though it doesn't take away from the admittedly handsome cast of his features.

"You know, you bloodsuckers are a lot harder to find than I thought you'd be." His voice when he speaks is rough and thick, words almost slurred from how heavy his accent is, clearly not having originated from this part of the country, but rather somewhere more rural.

"There's a reason for that." Dwayne replies, evenly, still tense.

The man lifts an eyebrow, lidded eyes trained on him.

"I'd ask you to elaborate, but I'm not stupid." He bites out, adjusting his stance.

"Good to know." Dwayne frowns, "What do you want?"

Dark eyes narrow, head cocking to the side.

"I hate to admit it, but we need your help."

A moment of silence falls on them, the vampire blinking in surprise, the werewolves watching him closely.

"You can't be serious." Dwayne eventually manages, suspicious now of their true intentions.

"Oh, I'm dead serious, as much as it pains me to admit it." The werewolf growls back, gruff voice laced with disgust.

"Please, hear us out, will you?" The racer from before suddenly speaks up, imploring Dwayne with her eyes from behind her leader.

Curious, Dwayne nods after a moment, returning his gaze back to the surly leader as the racer shoots him a quick smile of thanks.

"I'll be quick saying this, but there's a new coven of witches in town. Bad ones. They haven't taken too kindly to us, and I don't reckon they'll be too happy to have four vampires on their asses, either. We want your help getting rid of them." The leader explains, shifting a little.

"What makes them bad?" Dwayne questions, not too surprised by the knowledge of there being new witches in town.

"They're Sanguis witches. Blood witches, but a very traditional faction of them. They've got a thirst for the stuff that shames you lot, but it's not necessarily human blood they want." He informs him, tightening his jaw, "They've killed three of our youngest members already, all to use in their vile rituals, and from the sounds of things they've been doing the same with humans. There's word on the street of them looking for new blood, too. Preferably vampire."

The news strikes a cold feeling inside Dwayne, the knowledge of the Sanguis Witches of old being something he grew up fearing, particularly their ruthless and remorseless methods of collecting the substance they treasure the most: blood. For years, he'd heard the stories of how they brutally slaughtered entire villages, looking for the perfect sacrifice to use in their barbaric rituals, or how they'd string up unlucky victims like cows in an abattoir and bleed them out, alive, chanting through the screams of the dying men, women and children above them. Their presence in Santa Carla is troubling, and totally unwelcome, especially if they have murder on their minds.

"You're sure it's Sanguis Witches? Not just some over-excited witches trying to live up to someone else's standard?" The vampire questions, unsure of whether or not to believe the werewolf.

"We're sure." The girl replies, wincing at the memory, "We found our youngest completely dismembered and arranged in a pentacle, with the remainders of a spell around her. It's definitely them."

Dwayne grimaces at the thought, the arrangement sounding very much like the horror stories he's heard. He thinks for a moment, before deciding on a course of action.

"I'm willing to help, but first I need to tell the others. You should come, too." He says to the werewolves, "But only you two. Not the others."

Scowling, the male werewolf thinks this over, before nodding, gesturing for the other wolves to leave, which they do so reluctantly.

"You'll need to know our names, I guess." He mutters, watching his pack members go, "I'm Trace, and this is (Y/n)."

"I'm Dwayne." The vampire nods at the two, going back to his bike, "Feel like following on? It's not too far."

"Sure."

#the lost boys #joel schumacher #vampire #david(thelostboys)#kiefer sutherland #paul(the lost boys)#dwayne(the lost boys)#santa carla #marko(the lost boys)

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mimithings97 · 4 years

Text

0:09am (M)

Bf Jungkook crying from his first handjob - 2k

Warnings: all smut, nothing in between

You’d been the one to touch him first. Jungkook, a virgin in the disguise of abs on legs that had you daydreaming of a hard fuck, even on the first date. But he was timid the first time you went in for the touch, and ever since he had keened a little too much at it and apologised for sporting an immediate hard on, you’ve grown to mediate your libido.

“Coffee or another beer?”

“Neither,” he’s crashed out on the sofa, legs parted wide and head thrown because casual work drinks had turned into partying as though you were younger than your real age.

“Oh?”

“Mmm, just wanna cuddle.”

Your soft, soft boy. A timidity of the confident persona he laced on when it wasn’t just the two of you in one anothers company.

And you’ll give into him because his tone plays you like a fiddle.

“You sleepy?” he reaches out for you, eyes sewn shut so his hand, outstretched, fumbles with the air until you lock his fingers with yours. You’re in his lap with a gentle pull, because he’s good that he thinks he might hurt you.

“Mmm very.” He dons a black long sleeve, cotten and soft but cold because of the frost you’d walked back, hand in hand, in. Yet, his skin burns hot as you caress the tiny hairs that feather his back. The feeling makes him melt. “You smell good.”

“Do I, now?” you kiss the smile he’s caused to litter on your face into his neck. Once, twice, and the third lingers.

“So good. Always smell so good.” He purrs.

You inhale to liken the heady space he’s in. To encompass yourself in all that is Jungkook - the hair that tickles your cheek, the muscles of his back that bulk every time his hands run up to the top of your shoulders and retreats when they map lower, and the smell. That authentic Jungkook smell that has you preening in his lap because it’s everything and anything you need.

Your lips don’t want to retreat from where they started settling under his ear, so you don’t make them. And when you feel him shudder because you wet that same spot with your tongue, you find the incentive to dig a little deeper.

“Tell me how I make you feel.”

You mix teeth with lips, drawing out goosebumps at the base of his neck and he clears his throat as though you’re tempting him into submission.

“You- You’re everything.” You’re surprised he played your game, but his answer has you feeling as though you could tear up. He’s got you a messy kind of falling in love. “You make me feel wanted, and safe, always safe and belonging.”

You shift a fraction forwards, intentionally, but he doesn’t have to know that. You can tell he feels everything, though, from the way his words diffuse to a whisper cracking in your ear.

“You make me want you.”

“Mmm,” you’re egging it on. Drawing what you want to hear from his pretty lips.

“Make me want you too much,” his words catch up to his dick all too fast and it’s gentle, but far too noticeable when he begins the slow lift of his hips into yours.

“You can have it. Take what you want.”

He stutters a breath because he’s worked himself into a hard on he’s not sure he can quit with the way your mouth works that spot on his neck. Your voice is a siren too. It has him in a frenzy. He’s always had the power in him to stop, or calm down, or something, but he’s confused now that you feel his hands steer your hips on him.

“Y/N.” He moans it. You’ll never have enough now you’ve heard that.

“You’re good, doing good Guk.” You’ll let him lead you where he’s comfortable. And that’s him stirring his dick, hard and brazen in the confines of his trousers, into you. “Keep going.”

“I can’t. Want you- ah- to do it for me.”

You finally peel away to round his face, eye to eye and your lustful gaze into his pained one.

“You sure?”

You have to ask, hear him do more than an affirmative nod because you’d always held back for the sake of his shy streak. The dates that had rolled into staying over in his double bed, nestled body to body and sharing warmth, had seen it’s fair share of unsuspecting erections under the covers. He’d blush and you’d coo, telling him to act on it when he’s ready.

“Sure, so sure.”

And now that he’s ready, you’re nervous. For him and the pressure the moments amounted to.

“We’ll go slow. Just hands,” he nods fast and gulps the saliva down like it’s heavy and he’s riding on a throat gone dry. “Unless you want more.”

His eyes hang low and can’t seem to pull away from where his erection pokes out between your legs. It’s not discrete. You already knew he was packing but as you keep shifting, small fractions back and forth, you get an up close in personal feeling of just the length he’s sporting. It’s hot. Not only his dick but how he’s unconsciously drooling over you, on his dick.

“I’m- I’m not sure I’ll last ‘more’.”

“Already feels good?” His neck strains and his lip is sucked tight when you jut over his head. He’s so damn sensitive you might just be staining his trousers in the process of your ministrations.

“So good, god, shit.”

“Take it out for me?” You don’t say it with any ulterior motive other than to lesser the strain on his balls. Your tone is not laced with anything alluring, just a plain simple request. He told you you make him feel safe, and you’re not gonna stray from that, not for the sake of seeing his face contort because you like a little control. Another day, you think.

“Mmm,” you hear his zip first and then watch his jaw slacken once he’s got a grasp beneath the seam. You keep your eyes trained on his face, scared he’d become uncomfortable with an extra set of eyes watching his privacy.

His body tenses and pairs with a moan as you see his bicep roll out a stroke or two from in between you. It turns you on enough you press a couple of light kisses on his unsuspecting lips, then draw out his tongue when you see him relax into his touch.

“Give me your hand,” you whisper into another kiss and he provides, “other one,” the one wrapped tight on his base. There’s a slight whimper once his hand, warm, and wet in spots, meets yours. “Show me how you do it?”

He’s apprehensive because he’s not diving in at the same rate his dick calls for it.

But slowly, he drags your small fist down, and around where he’s bare and vulnerable. You take the first squeeze because you’re too damn eager, and he can’t stop the stutter from the back of his throat.

You’re real and on him. You’re his and he finally has you like this. It leaves his head bowing and his hand tightening around yours because he thinks, just the thought of your hand on him and your pussy so close, will have him embarrassed and emptied too damn fast.

“I’m too turned on.” You try not to laugh and ruin the moment but he sounds genuinely angry at himself. The little noise you make has his eyes on yours, eyebrows turned into a look of desperation and you kiss at the crease they make.

“Relax then, you idiot.” Taking your advice sees him kissing you quickly, finding solace in your lips. “Just do what makes you feel good.”

“Kiss me, that feels good.” And after he begins melting into your mouth, finding the slip of your tongue arousing enough to have his dick get that bit harder, his hand springs back into life against yours.

He’s tentative at first. It’s a little dry and you know it’ll hurt if he has you stroking fast, so he works your palm over the head and then traces it back down to the base, squeezing at the bottom before finding the rhythm back up again.

“I like it.” He reassures himself, finding his footing.

“Yeah?”

“Yeh, a lot- too much.”

“You want me to give it a go?”

His eyes, glazed and dazed, meet yours as he gulps.

“Please.”

Once his hands released yours, it finds purchase on the sofa, digging into spots to compensate for the need to dig his teeth into his lip. He does it anyway and sucks in a breath simultaneously because your touch feels heavier without him leading.

It’s unnerving, and good, so fucking good, to him, not knowing where the next touch will come and he missed when your other hand comes to join.

“Oh shit.”

He peers down his nose, but throws his head back just as quick like the visuals too much.

“You ever think about this? When you touch yourself?”

The corner of his mouth twitches in a laugh but falls when you drift a palm onto his head.

“Of fucking c-course.”

“What you think about?” You reach a hand to his balls.

“Oh god, there.” And squeeze.

“Here?” And squeeze harder.

“Fuck yeh.”

“You’re so fucking hard.” Both hands find a hard pace and Jungkook’s eyes begin to roll back, too far into the feeling.

“I’llcum- Y/N it’s- holy fuck.”

“Yeah? So good for me.”

His stomach begins to cave, hips canting up with a chase for such a fucking good end. He can feel you, everywhere.

“Please keep going. Please keep going- oh my god, oh-”

“You’ll cum for me?” You want it as bad as him.

“Yes. Please.”

He’s pleading into deaf ears, because you watch his mouth gape and hip stutter in a frenzy.

“Urgh, oh fuck, I’m cumming, I’m gonna cum.”

“Please cum Guk.”

“Yess, love you, love you, thank you.” The pit of his stomach breaks as he feels everything rush all over him. Pleasure from head to toe and you hands milking him out again and again, still tight on his shaft and he preens with unadulterated moans. “God, my god.”

His hips follow your motions as he rides it out, and you let them, but his face contorts like it does before he cries. You’re swift to meet his lips and take away the sensation overwhelming him. You’ve been there, spent but so damn euphoric you’ve cried. And it’s kinda hot when you feel wetness where his cheek meets yours.

“Love you too, Jungkook, a lot a lot.” The emphasis has him kissing back, calming his hips and your hand because the moments dissipated into nothing but your lips on his. He just thanks the gods for you. You, you and you.

“Urgh.” His head drops to your shoulder, a little shake in his body that you worry is a sob but then you hear the gentle trickles of his laughter you’ve found yourself to become so in tune with. It’s your happy sound. “I can’t actually believe that.”

You laugh into his body too, letting him envelop you, because the mess in your hands still lingers.

“Can’t believe what.”

“That was so fucking good. Like god tier orgasm.”

“Yeah?” He nods now that you’re eye for eye. His a little red around the edges. Makes sense, considering he’d sealed them shut like a vice for ten minutes. “A lot of cum too.”

“Y/NNN,” he drags it out with an embarrassed whine, head retreating to that space in your neck again so you’re blind to the blush tainting his cheeks. You still get a glimpse of the red around his ears though and it has you smiling.

“You brought it up.”

“Hmmph.”

You’re smiling Cheshire cat style, and you feel his hardened cheeks so he must be too. An all consuming kind of love that you’re both scared to expose because it’s the first time for both of you. He’ll mutter it into your neck though.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah.”

“I love you.” Your teeth bare gleefully without permission, “and you’re really hot.”

“You cry when you orgasm so I guess you’re kinda hot too.”

#bts jungkook #bts smut #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook drabble #jungkook smut #bts drabble #jeon jungguk #bts jungkook smut #drabbles #jungkook things

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theunknowncryptid · 4 years

Text

5. Night One

Masterlist

Namjoon x Y/n

After her brother makes a deal, Y/n is forced to spend seven nights with the leader of the Kim crime family, Kim Namjoon.

Taglist: @amordesiempre01 @jiminals @unadulteratedlyunique @parkmaeri @bbyjoonies @lilacsmoon @s0228 @kelitt @xxxanimangxxx @chogiyeol-utopia @atomickokorox @irenebutfancier

~ ~ ~

The drive was longer than she expected. Y/n figured the quiet man at the wheel would drive her ten minutes across town, if that, but before she realized the skyscrapers turned to oak trees and all she could see were country fields.

“Where are we going?” She asked. The man glanced back at her in the rear-view mirror. He looked like he could be related to the Kim’s.

“To the private estate. Out of town.” His voice was brighter and kinder than Y/n expected. Her stomach churned. What was Kim Namjoon going to do to her that required miles of privacy.

It was a full hour before the driver turned off of the main road and onto a dirt path. Rust colored debris flew into the air around the SUV. A grove of trees opened around the road and gave way to, what Y/n assumed was, the Kim Estate.

“Whoa,” The house in the clearing looked like something out of Clue. It was old and Victorian, built with red brick. It was massive. Large enough for twenty people to live comfortably.

The SUV parked beside the front of the house. The glass of the door and the windows, yellow light illuminated the grass. The driver stepped out and walked around to open Y/n’s door.

“You can follow me.” He said as Y/n stepped down. Until then, she hadn’t realized how young he was. Maybe only a few years older than she was.

He led her into the manor. The inside was just as grand. Decadent rugs covered dark hardwood. It was difficult to place the wall color because of the hundreds of decorations. There were paintings, photographs, bookcases and sculptures covering every available piece of wallpaper. The only light in the main entry was an overhead chandelier. Thousands of diamonds, strung together, cast a warm glow. Stairs lined the left wall. Directly across the room, an archway led to some sort of living room, but it was too dim to see. Instead of taking her up the stairs or through the arch, the man turned to the right wall and knocked on large double doors.

He didn’t wait for a summons. The man opened the door and offered for Y/n to walk ahead. Fear raided her body, but she walked through the doors.

The room was warm. A fire burned in it’s pit against the East wall, filling the space with the sound and smell of a campfire. A beautiful desk was cluttered with papers, files, pens, books and nicknacks. Again, Y/n couldn’t tell what color the walls were. Hundreds of books lined the wall shelves. They were obviously worn and read. Blue velvet chairs sat facing the desk and a large window. The room would almost be cozy, if it weren’t for the tall man standing stiff in front of the fireplace.

The driver shut the door behind him. It slammed shut and made her flinch. He cleared his throat.

“Your guest is here.” The man at the fireplace turned to look. Y/n struggled to maintain a bored expression. She had heard about Kim Namjoon before. Serious, Intelligent, Dangerous. He was someone to fear. He had to be, being the head of the Kim Crime Family. But simple descriptions didn’t prepare Y/n for the man in front of her. He was incredibly handsome. Dark hair fell over his eyes. His skin was tanned and, by his collar, Y/n could see a thin, white scar leading up his neck. He was dressed in a dark grey suit as if he had just come from a business meeting. His tie was loose around his neck and his hands were shoved in his pockets, making him seem more casual than the situation called for. His features were soft, but his eyes were full of judgment and annoyance. He looked Y/n up and down.

“You’re late.” His low voice deadpanned.

“Blame your driver.” Her voice came much calmer than she felt. His eyes flickered to the man that stood behind her.

“That will be all, Jimin.” He said. The air shifted and the sound of the office door shutting echoed. Y/n clenched her jaw. She didn’t want to be left alone with this man. She didn’t want to be here at all.

“You must love your brother very much to come here willingly.” He didn’t move at all. He just stood and stared at Y/n with a blank face.

“Less and less each day.” She answered, dryly. The corners of his lips twitched up. The fire roaring behind left him as little more than a silhouette.

“You’re aware of the arrangement we made?” He walked to the desk and picked up a half-drunk glass of scotch.

“Obviously.” Y/n spat out. Anger flared in her.

“And yet, you still came?” He raised his brow at her.

“What choice did I have?” She glared. Kim Namjoon knew very well that her brother's life hung in the balance. He lifted the glass to his lips and took a swig of the alcohol.

“Your brother had a choice.”

“You knew when you gave the loan that Jungkook wouldn’t be able to pay his debt.” Y/n sneered. Over the last few days, with the help of Jin, she had come to that conclusion. It was a known fact that the Kim’s kept tabs on the Min’s, and vice-versa. Kim Namjoon knew that Jungkook had been cut off from the banks and from the Min’s. Jungkook was broke and addicted to cards. Kim also knew his money would not be repaid. He wasn’t after a simple business transaction. He was after her.

The man grinned. “You’re smart.”

“Why?” She demanded. Her hands fisted at her sides.

“Why not?” He tilted his head. Y/n continued to glare and he sighed. “A chance to have a beautiful woman in my bed. And to watch Min Yoongi squirm.”

“Why would Min Yoongi Squirm?” She feigned. The annoyance returned to his face.

“Don’t play dumb, Y/n.” The sound of her name coming from his lips made her skin crawl. “You think Yoongi won’t notice one of his closest friends is missing for a week?”

He had her there, but she couldn’t let him know that. “I think you overestimate my worth.”

“No. But, good try.” He smirked. With an air of playfulness on his face he looked even more handsome. His eyes travelled over her body, taking stock. He stepped closer to her and she jumped back in alarm.

“What are you doing?” She asked. She cursed her wavering voice.

“Claiming my debt.” Kim Namjoon stalked toward her again. Her lips trembled. With her back pressed to the door, Y/n came chest-to-chest with the man.

“You’re evil.” She glared. Again, he smirked.

“Oh, come on, Y/n. You’re a young woman who spends most of her time in a bar.” His hand reached up and gently placed a lock of hair behind her ear. She flinched away. “I can’t be the worst to spend some time between your legs.”

Her mouth dropped in shock and fury crashed inside her.

“You would be the first!” A furious blush covered her cheeks. For the first time that night, she could see a chink in his armor. It made her happy. His eyebrows raised and confusion contorted his features.

“You’re a virgin?”

“Surprise.” Y/n smirked. Pressed this close together she could feel his breath dusting her face. His hands were pressed to the door beside her, caging her in. His face was unreadable. She couldn’t tell if he was about to kick her out or bring her to him. Surprisingly, he pushed away from the door and walked back to his abandoned drink.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t?” She paled. Her remaining virginity was her one and only playing card.

“Nope.” He said. His bored confidence was firmly back in place. “Some would say it makes you even more desirable.”

Y/n scowled. “Then what are you waiting for? Get it over with.”

He smiled at her coldly. “I haven’t had my dinner yet.” He turned back to the fireplace, but spoke over his shoulder. “Will you join me?”

“I’m not hungry.” She stared at him as if he’d just told her he had ridden a seahorse here.

“Pity, you’ll need your strength later.”

Horror filled her features as, on cue, the man named Jimin entered the office.

“Show Ms. Y/l/n to the bedroom, please, Jimin.” Kim demanded. Without a word, both left into the cold of the house.

Kim Namjoon only wished he could see Y/n’s face when she realized her bedroom doubled as his.

~ ~ ~

The room was huge. Her entire apartment could fit inside. The walls were a bordered forest green with dark hardwood floors. A leather loveseat and a matching chair faced a flat-screen TV. A large, white rug covered the sitting area, bringing light to the dark room. A large mirror covered the interior wall. The far wall had two black doors, one leading to the ridiculously luxurious bathroom, one leading to a closet full of suits, shoes, and surprisingly, hoodies, t-shirts, and basketball shorts. The room smelled like the cologne from earlier. Y/n frowned at that. She felt surrounded by Kim Namjoon. The room was freezing, but the thought of climbing into the ginormous bed made her want to cry. The duvet was black with matching silk sheets. It must have been a king size, but it was hard to tell in the large space. Eventually, she caved and climbed in. With the sheets pulled up to her chin in the dark room, Y/n felt like she was waiting for a death sentence.

Fuck Jungkook, fuck gambling, and fuck Kim Namjoon. Not literally.

At the sound of the door opening, she shut her eyes, pretending to be asleep. Footsteps sounded across the room to the closet. Y/n cracked open one eye. The closet light illuminated Kim Namjoon's silhouette. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it with the rest of the suits. His back was turned to the bed.

“I know you’re awake.” His voice broke the silence. Grumbling, Y/n sat up. She didn’t bother to ask how he’d seen through her. He turned to look at her. He looked wearier than he has a couple hours ago. His hair was ruffled and the top button of his shirt was undone. He walked to the dresser and picked up a plate he must have brought with him. She flinched as he came nearer.

“Eat.” He demanded. The plate he offered had crackers, cheese, and grapes. Cautiously, Y/n took a couple crackers. She nibbled on them, but kept her tight grip on the sheets. Kim wandered away and leaned against the bed post. A ghost of a smile played around his mouth. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, casually. When Y/n finished the crackers he held out the plate again. Without thinking, she took a few grapes. She watched him carefully.

“You’re different than I thought you would be.”

“I can imagine.” He directed his gaze to the window overlooking a garden of wildflowers.

“Why are we here?” She asked.

“In this house?” He raised an eyebrow at her. As beautiful as it was, Y/n got the idea the house stood unoccupied most of the time. “I promised your brother no one would know about our transaction.”

Y/n rolled a grape in her fingers. “Not because you evil plans work better in the country?”

“Well, that too.” Y/n suppressed a smile, then cringed at herself. There should be nothing enjoyable about her situation. Kim Namjoon planned to use her as payment and if mental or physical damage came with that, so be it. Anger flared in her.

“Stop playing with me!” She glared. Y/n overdramatically threw the covers off herself. She threw herself back onto the sheets. “Get it over with!”

Silence filled the room again.

“Dear lord, Y/n, you desperately need some new pajamas.”

“What’s wrong with them?” She demanded. She looked down at the clothing. An old, stained Dartmouth t-shirt and baggy sweatpants.

“Did you steal them off a homeless man?” He mocked.

“What did you expect me to wear? Lingerie?” She snarled. His eyes crawled over her intensely and she knew he was imagining her in just that. Her skin burned from the observation. It reminded her just how horrible and disgusting the man in front of her really was.

“Take it off.” He said gently. Shit.

It was time. She could do this. Who cares if she wasn’t a virgin anymore.

Slowly, she lifted the ratty shirt over her head and threw it on the floor. Then, she lifted her hips and slid off the sweatpants. Goosebumps formed on her bare skin. She was left in just white panties. She refused to meet his gaze. In the mirror on the wall, Y/n saw her exposed body with Kim Namjoon looming over her.

The room stayed silent until she couldn’t take it anymore. All he did was stand there, staring at her with pure hunger in his eyes. A muscle jerked in his cheek and his fists clenched at his sides as his investigation paused at her breasts. Her face burned in embarrassment.

He stepped closer and slid his hand across her raised leg. The feeling of his hand on her made her want to pull away and hide. Every nerve in her body twisted and made her gasp.

“You’re beautiful,” He said in a hoarse voice.

“Do it.” Y/n begged. “Please, just do it.”

The minutes stretched forever before he moved again. Slowly, his face lowered to hers. For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her, then he turned his head and pressed his lips to her cheek. It only lasted a moment and then he pulled back, lifted the covers back over her and walked to the door.

“What-”

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I guess I’m not interested in martyrs tonight.”

186 notes · View notes

solari-writes-things · 3 years

Text

Succor

🛑 WARNINGS: Language, graphic depictions of violence, mild self-deprecation. 🛑

✨ requested by: -

✨ Pairing: Viktor Vector x OC

✨ Summary: Vik checks in on a good friend after she has a traumatic experience.

✨ Solari Says: This came to be through @sazafraz and I talking over Discord. I got her permission to write this out, and I hope you all come to enjoy it!

✨ Prompt(s) -

#35: You don’t have anything to be sorry for.

#80: Your comfort and happiness is more important to me than some stupid dinner.

gif credit: to the OP

MORE VIK | MORE CP2077 | > MASTERLIST < |

Talia could count on one hand how many times she felt her palms begin to sweat. She could count on one hand the amount of occurrences left her with a chill down her spine. That left her in a sort of dazed panic, searching for any sort of excuse that could easily explain what she was experiencing. In any of the other scenarios, it seemed to have worked.

In this one, it didn’t.

Instead her hands trembled harshly, her right hand keeping as solid of a grip on the hilt of her hammer as possible. No matter how much her palms encouraged her hold to slip, no matter how much her hands seemed to vibrate, her hammer never slid through her fingers.

There was a loud, harsh screaming, a sound that Talia Song had been no stranger to. The lucrative business that she had built for herself made sure of that. Xuanwu was a name that floated around Night City through the mouths of gangs, a bit of a legend she had developed due to her own actions against Arasaka. Stealing high-grade cyberware, ripping through rampant gangs that stirred the hornet’s nest. She kept Night City under control, more efficiently than the NCPD ever had.

Mostly because she wasn’t afraid to cave heads inward.

She felt a shaky breath leave her lungs, her eyes staring at the bodies that were strewn across the ground. Some were whole, some had less fortunate outcomes. No matter how much blood painted the concrete red, no matter how many arms and legs were scattered around the ground, nothing could ever amount to the dread she felt watching the Cyberpsycho.

It wasn’t the ferocity in his movements. It wasn’t the raw power behind each innocent that he ripped apart that shook her to her core.

It was some form of familiarity that she felt in the pits of her stomach. Something... Something about this rabid man, jerking his head from side to side to search for something felt so familiar. It wasn’t until he turned to her, his attention on the shivering woman with a hammer in her hand, that made her heart drop to her abdomen.

“Where...!” the Cyberpsycho cried out angrily, turning toward her to ensure that she suffered the same way as those crumpled around him. “Where is she...?!”

Talia knew. She knew, somehow, what they had been speaking about. Who they had been searching for.

She could only remember flashes. The long, dark hair. The polite, brown eyes that they had been blessed with. How kind they always seemed, gracefully flitting around the monochromatic office. An office that Talia once called her own home.

He was looking for her mother, who had passed when Talia was just a child.

She almost choked, wanting to call out to the Cyberpsycho in hopes to get him to stop moving towards her. Her shaky left hand found it’s way to the handle of her hammer, the weapon quivering in tandem to herself.

“Dad...” she practically whispered.

She thought he had died. She remembered him, as the Ripperdoc who worked for Arasaka. They utilized him for their own benefits, upgrading those they had under their employment. However, he once left for a task that the corporation had given him. Another assignment, that’s what the Song family was led to believe. Until he never came home.

Talia had been a teenager, when he disappeared.

Here he was, his eyes crazed. His body holding no sort of human instinct in the way that he stood, the way that he approached. Any sort of kindness that the man once had, the kindness that Talia remembered, it had been gone. He was an animal, lost and trying to find his way. However, as much as she had hoped she would be the one to provide a solace, he wouldn’t recognize her. Not with the amount of changes she had given herself. The large scar that run down the left side of her face made her much different than she had been when she was a teen.

The crazed man in front of her didn’t seem to acknowledge her quivering. Her whispers into the void, calling out to him. He only lurked closer, his eyes boring into hers with hostility. It sent a shiver down the back of her spine, perfectly tracing the cherry blossom tattoo she had in the same place.

She adjusted her arms so her hammer rested in a fashion to where she could swing hard enough to bring him down, steadying herself for a fight that she knew would inevitably come.

“Please,” she pleaded, just a bit louder so he could hear. “Don’t make me do this.”

He only continued his belligerent march towards her, practically snarling as he closed the distance.

She raised her hammer in preparation for a hard swing, eyes welling up with tears of reluctance. “Please...” she whispered once more, hoping that this would be the thing to trigger his stop.

He doesn’t. Instead, his slow approach turned into a sprint, and soon he began to move faster than Talia could see normally. His shape was nothing but a blur, a haze that moved in the directions that he would dash.

All to make sure she couldn’t get a proper reading. But all too bad, she was much used to other enhancements such as this. She knew all about the movement, and how to predict the arc of her swing.

So while choking back the lump that formed in her throat, she swings her hammer forward. There was a loud crack, as it connected to his chest. She follows through with the rest of her power, bringing him to the floor. He practically snarls as he hits the floor, causing her to almost choke on her panic.

The rest of the fight seemed like she was seeing through textured glass. It was hard to breathe, between the hard hits that he landed on her and the tears that seemed to never stop. Every single impact that she felt, a few more would streak down her cheeks. What she could always do so easily to others, felt like weight would sink on her shoulders when she did to him.

She wanted to save him, to hug him. Tell him that everything would be okay, and that she would find a way to help him that wouldn’t involve shipping him off and leaving him to be scared and alone.

But she couldn’t. The way he continuously tried to rush her down, tried to disarm her by attempting to break her body. He wanted to kill her, and she knew there was no hope in talking to him to save her own life.

So she worked at him. Diligently and diligently, she withered away his stamina so that she could have him laying on the concrete. It took quite a long time, wearing away at herself in the process. However, her determination made it so that she lasted.

So he lay on his back, feral but tired, like a stray and scared animal. As much as he wanted to scramble up and beat her, his body would give. So he could only lay there, his hostile eyes searing into hers. She choked down a sob, her hammer brought up next to her head to swing downward.

She didn’t want to do this. But she didn’t want him to suffer, not anymore. She could only imagine the horrors that he had gone through, his cyberpsychosis leading him to search for her mother blindly. It was more than a decade later, finding him again, and she didn’t want to think about how many of that he spent in torture.

Her face contorts into raw sorrow, another shaky breath pulling into her lungs. She shivers again, trying to choke back the sob that boiled up inside. “I’m so sorry...” she whispered.

Her hammer was brought down.

She could only feel the physical manifestation of white noise. Absolute nothingness, radio silence in her mind. Her office wasn’t open, she ignored every message and every call.

It had been three days since she had killed him. She felt that she was sparing him pain, in the moment, but the more her emotions dwelled the more she felt it was murder.

She remained unmoving, body tucked in the mass of blankets on her bed. Her eyes stared at her cherry blossom bead curtain, staring at the details that shown in the dim light. She elected to ignore her hunger, in trade of staying stationary. She had no motivation to stand, to get herself something. She would do it eventually, it’s what she had been doing the past two days.

Ignoring, until it becomes too loud for her to wave off.

She hears the hatch that led to her living quarters open, causing her to jolt upright. There was only one person that she ever gave access to her home, that knew exactly where to enter in order to reach her at her most vulnerable.

Viktor.

Her heart began to race. She had ignored his calls, his messages checking in on her status. She had a day planned with him, when she investigated the Cyberpsycho attack. Watch old flicks, eat some Chinese take out. Just a day, between the both of them, to enjoy the company in more ways than one; it usually led to it.

“Talia?” he called, his voice concerned but gentle. “This is the only place that you could be... Are you okay?”

She didn’t answer, pulling her knees to her chest and tightening her eyes. She wanted to keep ignoring him, for him to disappear. Anything, to not see her like this. To not see her as this shriveled, broken woman. It wasn’t anything that he’s known her to be. He knew her as confident, headstrong. A badass in its full form.

She was none of those things, now.

She could hear his footsteps, moving for her bead curtain. His large silhouette, just shadowed on the other side, slowly approaching. She watched as his hands push through, pushing the curtain apart to reveal his face. His frown was not one that was scolding, but of worry.

She couldn’t tell if she wanted to scream or cry in his presence.

So she does neither. She just stares, choking back on the noises that threatened to escape her mouth. She watches, as he now was at the foot of her bed. He rounded the side, taking a gentle seat to her left to see if she would reject him. She didn’t.

“Talia, what happened?” he asked.

“I...” she tried, but couldn’t finish the first time. So she inhales sharply through her teeth, before trying again. A sob threatened to escape this time, but it didn’t. “I investigated a Cyberpsycho attack nearby, and...”

“And?” he inquired quietly, placing his tinted glasses to the side so he could examine her expressions.

She swallowed hard, her eyes dropping to her lap. There was shame in her eyes, twisting her expression into something that Vik couldn’t bear to see. “I’m sorry...”

He saw the tears beginning to streak her cheeks, seeing her in pain brought a pang in his chest. He didn’t like the idea of her crying. He didn’t like the idea of her suffering, it made him anxious and angry at the same time. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. Please, just tell me what happened.”

Her eyes finally traveled up to look at him. He always found it fascinating, the two different cybernetic patterns she had: one white, with a black ring to imitate the iris and one a solid black, with a red X in the center. However, the little details of her face was not the important thing.

“Do you remember our talk, Vik..? When I finally opened up to you about my childhood, about my parents...?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah...?”

“Vik, the Cyberpsycho... it was my father...” she whispered, the long-awaited sob finally breaching into the open. “And I killed him...”

Viktor was silent, as the gravity of the situation began to settle on his shoulders as well. He figured it was something serious, Talia had always been prompt about answering her calls, but something about this felt so different after three days of whole silence.

He contemplated coming, and he was saddened he didn’t do it sooner.

“Holy shit, Talia... I’m so sorry,” he says quietly, one of his strong arms resting over her shoulders.

He waited for a moment, to see if she would shove him away. She didn’t, and he proceeded to bring her closer to his side. She obliged, moving towards him, and when she was close enough he brought her into a gentle hold.

She almost melded into him immediately. Something about Vik’s very calming personality made it easy for her to relax around him. She sighed, her body shaking. It was like she had just experienced it, all over again. The haunting moments where she had to end her father’s suffering.

“No... I’m sorry,” she whispered softly. “I should have called you... You didn’t deserve to be left like that, wondering all this time...”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he cooed, his arms moving up so his hand pressed against the back of her head. He gently pressed her head against his chest, pressing a gentle and comforting kiss to the top, “your comfort and happiness is more important to me than some stupid dinner.”

More tears escaped her eyes, followed by loud sniffling. The tears dripped down, staining the front of his shirt. He didn’t mind, though, not in the slightest. He was just here to help her, now. Help her find some form of solace, some form of peace with herself. He reaches up with one of his arms, gently stroking the side of her face to wipe away more of the tears that dribbled their way out.

Her arms finally moved from their place around her chest to wrap around him, pulling herself so that she felt secure. Because now this was the one, true safe place for her.

“I feel like... I feel like I should have done something else...” she whispers quietly, taking comfort in the gentle strokes of his hands.

“Like what, Talia...?” he questioned quietly.

She listened closely to the hum of his voice emitting from his chest, the sounds of his heart beat. “I should have let him go through the stupid fucking therapy thing...”

“I... I don’t know if that would have worked...” he muttered softly. “You told me it had been decades since you’ve seen your father... Cyberpsychos, they’re long gone by two years, tops...”

She clutches his shirt gently, not wanting to hear something of the nature.

But he was right. He was absolutely right about that. Her father would have just suffered longer, trying to become a human again.

“So what do you suggest I do, Vik...?” she whispered, a genuine question.

“Stop hating yourself for your decision, Tali,” he prompted. “You... you did him a favor, whether you see it that way or not. And... let me stay here. Take care of you. You need it, even though I know you don’t want to admit it...”

She lets out a small exhale into his chest. Once again, Vik was correct. She had to live with this, somehow. She wasn’t going to be able to continue her duties in Night City, if she decided to wallow like this forever.

It would take several days, though. Several days of reclusive behavior, to ensure that she was okay to step into the public again. But she had to heal, and if she had to heal with help of Vik, she would gladly accept.

If there was anyone that she would trust herself to, it would be him.

So she sinks, into the comfort that his presence was slowly beginning to envelope her in.

Cyberpunk Tag List: @sazafraz :|: @tsumethedrifter :|: @angelaiswriting :|: @kind-wolf (if you wish to be added to the tag list, please comment or message me!)

#viktor vector #victor vector #viktor vektor #cyberpunk 2077 #viktor x oc #solari writes things #cyberpunk

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peacefiresky-archive · 3 years

Text

gemstones

(feat. @brokencrown’s nerevarine, moon! possibly part one. we’ll see)

The crystals were the most concerning thing, really.

Iiraeniil frowned, glancing up at the pacing Dunmer. Spinning globules of metal and light danced overhead, simulating the orbits of the Divines and Mundus, along with Masser and Secunda, and casting the halfmer’s tower in gentle, fluctuating light. The sound of intermittent rattling of the Orrery overhead interrupted the soft footfalls of Fathili’s leather boots as they circled once, twice, thrice around the table they had laid their friend upon.

Iiraeniil hadn’t seen Thili in years - not since they were taken to their supposed execution in the Vvardenfell district. For all she knew, they were dead or worse - impressed into the service of the Blades. Their hair was longer now, wrinkles pressed into their twilight-grey skin, silvery scars marring the black-blue enchanted ink of their tattoos. Whatever had happened during their time in Vvardenfell had not been kind to them, it seemed.

To find them trudging towards her tower, carrying a wounded elf, had certainly been ... a surprise. The unconscious mer they held had a gaping wound across his chest, right over the heart - and, if the bruising around the wound was any indication, a few cracked ribs around the organ, as if his chest had been caved in and his heart ripped out. A cloth mask obscured the bottom half of his face - from what she could see, Iiraeniil figured he was either a very beautiful man or a very handsome woman. Slim and muscular, with dark, dark grey skin cut through with lines of red warpaint - he might be pretty when not half-dead.

Helping Fathili up the remaining stairs was a blur of adrenaline and concern. Once the injured mer was on her table, though, her instinct took over, and here they were - Fathili, worriedly tugging at muddy brown strands of their long hair, and Iiraeniil glancing between the two Dunmer, a Restoration spell gathering in her open palm, a quiet look of complete and utter shock overtaking any urgency she might have felt.

Thili caught her eyes, and their face contorted with worry and confusion. “He’s hurt - Nils, you have to help him, he’s -”

Iiraeniil raised a golden-toned hand, the magic fading from her fingertips. “He’s healed.”

Thili paused, arms falling gently to their side. “...Already? You worked that quickly?”

“No,” Iiraeniil replied, eyes trailing back to the unconscious figure. The blood that had pooled in his chest had crusted over, forming a sort of ... natural bandage, replacing torn skin the same way a Mending spell might’ve. Except - except.

“This friend of yours,” Iiraeniil began, voice bordering somewhere between cautious and deeply curious, “As far as you aware, does he hold any special ... abilities?”

Thili’s concern faded into confusion, their brows knitted together. “Wait. Wait, what do you mean, ‘no‘?”

The magician didn’t respond at first, the warm, golden glow of Restoration giving way to a bright white light. “Abilities. Does he have any?”

“Not - not as far as I know -”

“Nothing?” Iiraeniil watched as the crystals shimmered and deepened, observing with the sort of morbid fascination that came with wizardry, “How much do you know?”

“Not much. Not enough.”

The light bounced off of the crusted blood, draping the dim room with vivid refractions, as if shining a light through a cut garnet. Strips of the same substance - strips that Iiraeniil hadn’t notice in her haste - cast more of the graceful, red beams of light onto the various baubles of Iiraeniil’s tower. On his legs, torso, arms - everywhere there was a ‘scar’, it had apparently healed over with this strange, crystalline substance.

Thili had fallen silent, moving to Iiraeniil’s side - the action was familiar, it seemed, an old reflex still ingrained into their muscle memory.

“...Faelyn did this,” they whispered, reaching a hand towards the wounded elf’s chest. The glow, at first, was faded to the point of being unnoticable, though growing in its intensity as their fingers ghosted over the crystal sheen. The refractions that had hung suspended on the tower’s wall dulled as the light grew, casting the table and the pair around it in the an almost playful light. It followed Thili’s fingers, flowing languidly from scar to scar as they moved from his chest, to his shoulder, to his arm. “So. These... these are scars.”

Iiraeniil could still see the blood under the thin sheen. It was disconcerting - and marvelous. “You’re familiar with these markings, then?”

“I’m familiar with every mark on his body.”

“Oh.” Iiraeniil paused, blinking. If anyone would bring their half-dead lover to be healed by their ex, it was the lovable moron of Fathili Cursed-Stars. “Oh, I see!”

Thili stared for a moment, before something clicked in their mind. “Wait, no -”

“I had assumed he was simply a friend -”

The Dunmer scrunched their nose, a hand tugging again at their hair. “No - I mean, maybe? It’s complicated, but - not like that, woman!” Thili’s hand smacked gently against Iiraeniil’s shoulder, and she found herself smiling despite herself. “The man runs around in nothing but a loincloth is all!”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Iiraeniil said, nodding solemnly. Thili sighed and slinked backwards a bit.

“He’ll be okay,” they asked, though it sounded more like a statement than a question. A mantra they were no doubt repeating in their head like a prayer.

“Probably.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

#friend's ocs #fathili #iiraeniil

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visceryl · 4 years

Text

Age of Corruption - D&D

Here’s a little short story based on a Dungeons and Dragons campaign our group runs. I absolutely adore this group with all of my being. Liam belongs to @angrynar. Elijah belongs to @kas-voton. Safin belongs to @noceurro. Benny belongs to @zuulosdovah. Fennorin belongs to me. Sar belongs to someone off of tumblr!

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

“Excuse me?”

Fennorin’s voice rang out in cold shock as white wisps of hair coated red from battle hung down in his face. His chest heaved, the fists locked around his longsword trembling with effort.

He watched the lanky boy of sickly pale skin hover over a drow. Liam sported a grin sharp and wicked enough to make a heart jump twice in shock, then recoil of fear. A spell buzzed upon his fingertips, the will of the weave tainted black with necrotic misuse. It raised the drow’s veins to the surface of his skin, crowding them with boiling agony.

The captive yelled out in his mother tongue. A rough, deep language that turned to the sad wails of a creature mourning its emintent fate. The open cavern of the Underdark did little to dampen the echoes of his begs.

“He deserves to die!” Liam barked back. “They all deserve to die!”

Even Elijah shifted nervously behind the servitor. A fresh ooze of blood filled the spaces between his fingers as they pressed between the loops of his armor where a blade had embedded in flesh.

“No, Liam!”

The servitor of Corellon staggered forward a step, his foot dragging over bones that littered the floor. Skulls, ribs, fibias, tibias. From wicked beasts that hunted the unofficial layer escaped from hell to surface dwelling races dragged to the belly of its depths. He stumbled, letting his sword crumble from his hands.

Steel on stone pierced the tension with a resounding clatter.

“This isn’t you! This isn’t what Kainan would have wanted!”

Liam’s lips curled upon the holy worshipper’s approach. He hated him. He hated the elf that made his insides boil simply by being around him. He hated the way Fennorin always put himself in the way of his nature, parading himself around like a saint when he’d done no better a time or two.

He wasn’t holy. He put Kainan in the ground and would do the same for anyone here, but not Liam. Death didn’t have to be the final line. He knew how to bring them back even if it wasn’t the same. His fingers curled tighter into the drow’s hair, wrenching his head back to look upwards into his own hellish gaze.

“You’re wrong. I’ve always been this.”

“I know that’s not true. I don’t care what’s in your blood, Liam. You will always be my family, and I will not let you do this alone. We will get you through this together, whatever those fanatics say, they’re wrong!”

Fennorin was close now. Close enough to reach out for the mage.

For a moment, Liam’s grip on the drow sagged, letting his head turn back to the floor. He leveled his gaze on Fennorin, jaw clenched so tight it jumped with strain. No one said anything. No one even moved.

The battle had nearly wiped everyone out. Elijah, hanging at sanity’s edge as he waited for any chance to step in if needed. Safin on the ground with Benny’s head in her lap as she eases the bleeding from a nasty wound. Sar pulling on his ears and cursing Allustan for dragging him into a mission he was too faint of heart for. They were all so tired.

Liam skimmed his gaze over them with wavering resolve. He’s wrong. He lies. He just wants to get you to turn yourself over so he can finish you. The voice lingered maliciously in the back of his head. Hostile and full of blinding rage. His fingers twitched in the drow’s hair, the spell held at ready surging wildly once more.

“Please,” Fennorin begged, his voice softer. The pale skinned elf reached a bloody hand out for his friend to take.

Not this time.

Jet black fogged over Liam’s eyes and the drow dropped discarded to the floor. His own hand leapt up, latching to the servitor’s and the spell released. It shattered through the elf’s defenses.

A scream lit up the silent cavern as visions of hell warped and tore at Fennorin’s mind. Liam held fast. His dark energy challenged the divine glow rooted at his friend’s core, watching veins of black crawl up Fennorin’s arm, corrupting.

The elf’s footing quickly caved and a skull splintered beneath him as his knees crashed to the ground. Blood began to soak through his trousers around the area, but the pain went unrecognized up against Liam’s influence.

Elijah fumbled for his blade in a panic. Fingers slipped slick over the pommel before pausing in hesitation. Could he truly raise his sword up against his friend? No. For all the fear coiling tight in his stomach, he knew the blade would never pierce Liam’s skin. But he held it aloft, leveling the mage threateningly.

“Let him go, Liam! You don’t want to do this!”

Black eyes flicked mindlessly to the large boy. “Except I do.”

He released Fennorin with a shove far beyond his own strength. Like a god swiping down on an ant, the elf was sent crashing back into Elijah, narrowly avoiding the sharp end of the raised blade.

It was immediately dropped for strong arms to coil around Fennorin. Elijah staggered back, brandishing the weight as the elf struggled to find his footing. He could feel the heavy breaths rattling in Fennorin’s chest, the shivers of mental exhaustion trembling in every muscle.

Liam didn’t wait to level another spell at them. His fingertips curved into wicked claws, his teeth elongated and carnivorously sharp. Rivulets of blood clung to his lower lip and whitened teeth from shredding through the inside of his own cheeks. The spell cracked like a whip, a jet of ebon darkness striking the both.

Kill them. You don’t need them.

He watched as Elijah’s grasp on Fennorin loosened. A gasp parted the brunette’s lips, his body arching in a twist of anguish. Both were back on their knees in an instant. Fennorin’s weight rocked onto his forearms as they brandished upon the cold ground. An awful choking strangled in his lungs, strings of blood pooling his mouth and dribbling down his chin.

“That’s enough,” Safin finally declared. She eased Benny from her lap, her palm facing outwards to Liam as a small wooden splinter began to enlarge at the center.

“Don’t.”

Fennorin’s voice scraped out raw, his shoulders shaking. He rose from his curled position like a ghoul from the ground, pallid features turning up to Liam. “It’s not him, Safin. Please don’t hurt him.”

Safin’s gaze flicked between the two wearily. There was the slightest hint of hesitation as if a consideration of ending it had been taken. But she trusted their healer. Fennorin wasn’t perfect. He was stubborn and sometimes blinded by his own faith, but he always got them through everything.

She grimaced and lowered her hand.

Liam’s lips parted in a toothy grin that spanned ear to ear and while her’s lowered, his raised. Another flare of magic readied to smite down the servitor. He stepped past Elijah who lay unseeing, invisible nightmares plaguing his waking mind.

His footsteps stopped in front of Fennorin, an air of disgust wrinkling his nose. The mage knelt down to level them both, the hand flaring with mana coming to rest gentle upon the elf’s cheek. “You should have let her,” he whispered. “This is me now, Fen. Accept it.”

The hand scalded at Fennorin’s cheek. He forced his gaze to remain on Liam’s, his own hand fumbling within his robes to latch onto something solid hung at his neck.

“I can’t accept that.”

Liam’s features contorted into an angry snarl. His hand burned hotter on the elf’s cheek, near branding him with necrotic energy. “Why not!?”

Tears surfaced in Fennorin’s eyes like he’d already accepted he could very well die here trying to save Liam’s soul. A sob strangled in his chest. He tore the silver chain from around his neck and feebly lofted his holy symbol up.

It was met with the psychotic laughter of a devil.

“That won’t work on me, Fennorin. I’m still very much alive.”

“That’s not what it’s for,” Fennorin presses. The salt of tears mixes with the taste of metal heavy on his tongue. His cheek leaned towards Liam’s touch and he managed to grab hold of his other hand, forcing the holy symbol of Corellon into his grasp. “Whatever is in your head, it’s not your god, Liam. Real gods don’t ask their followers to change who they are for them. You have not been abandoned.”

Liam curled his fingers around the symbol carved of pure silver, threatening to bend it in his iron grip. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

Something twisted in Liam’s chest as he stared down his friend. How did he answer with such certainty even facing death itself? How did he just sit there and take it? He was the Spawn of Bhaal. A visage of true evil to spread death and destruction in the wake of his angered and forgotten god while Fennorin was a visage of true good. A healer to uphold the light even in crippling darkness. They couldn’t have been further opposites. Why did he care?

“I’m not lying, Liam. The dark gods are cruel. They’re devils disguised as holy beings, and all we can do is endure them, but I promise you, the real gods would never abandon you. You’re no elf. You’re no healer or student of the arts. But Corellon loves you. He loves you because I love you and every night I pray to him to save you! I pray for him to protect you from the devil infested blood running through your veins because blood is not a defining quality! It is a building block of life that gives you the sentience to be your own person. And the person you are is one of my best friends. For that… you will never be abandoned. Corellon will protect you even long after I’m dead.”

“Shut up!”

Liam’s voice raised in an angry roar, his hand lifting from Fennorin’s cheek only to connect again in a vicious slap that tore claws across his cheek.

The elf yelped out, his head snapping to the side as skin split beneath the force. It almost burned as much as the magic had. “I will always love you,” he repeated, the words forced through tears.

Another slap.

Then a fist. It sailed into Fennorin’s gut.

Liam couldn’t think. The anger that boiled inside him shifted gears to someone else. That voice. The lingering catalyst to his demise. A noise tore from his chest, sounding of a wounded animal in the night.

His body shuddered before giving out. He collapsed against Fennorin as the black faded, returning the whites of his eyes and the subtle stormy blue of irises. The holy symbol remained clutched in his grasp as sobs overtook him. He pressed himself closer to the warm glow of the servitor who’s fresh wounds left him complacent against the boy.

“I’m sorry,” he finally gasped. “I’m sorry, i’m so sorry.”

Fennorin swallowed the rock lodged in his throat, releasing a breath that shook his entire being. Arms worked around Liam with an exhausted squeeze, swathing him in an embrace. He pushed his face down to the mage’s shoulder.

The magic holding Elijah released as Liam lost himself in clinging to his friend.

“I forgive you.” The words that tumbled from the elf wrenched another sob free from Liam and fingers twisted into robes. Desperate. “We’re going to fix this. I’m not going to abandon you. Ever.”

The two held each other fiercely, Fennorin soothingly stroking Liam’s hair until finally the sobs faded and breaths evened out. Sleep took the mage like a silent lover in the night, coaxed by the warmth of his friend.

#D&D #dungeons and dragons #dnd #writing #short story #liam ravenloft #elijah smenk #fennorin #safin #sar #benny morow #age of worms

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thoughtfullyyoungduck · 4 years

Text

Ashamed

Summary: Could I request one where Eddie is ashamed of the scar on his chest from Pennywise and that he refuses to take his shirt off for any reason until Richie confronts him and tells him that the scar is a reminder of his bravery and he takes Eddie's shirt off and kisses it?

A/N: I hope you enjoy and I’m so sorry it took so long! I’m a bit behind on my request but I promise I’m trying to finish request every day so to everyone who has requested stuff, I promise it’s coming!

warnings: there’s a sex joke in here, and a sex reference (not graphic at all)

Eddie has contemplated before on hanging up a towel over the mirror any and each time he’s in the bathroom by himself. He’s never executed the plan, Richie’s too observant for that too work and would notice but straight away, leading to questions Eddie’s ashamed to answer, but whenever Richie is away on tour or a show, he’ll prop the towel from one side to the other, obscuring the view of his chest.

He’s never been very confident in his appearance, but he wasn’t hyper aware of it like he is after the Pennywise accident either. He didn’t have to be. For years Myra smothered him with her self-presumed love and adoration, picking out the clothes he wore and buying all the creams and aftershave she treasured, and Eddie followed her in those things without stopping and thinking about what he liked and how he wanted to sell himself towards other people.

Once, he was gifted a perfume bottle from one of his coworkers, a secret Santa gift, and when he sprayed it on to go to work the next day, Myra picked up on the change and gave him a piece of her mind. She reamed Eddie about not remodeling himself to be accepted by his peers, not mulling that maybe the Eddie she prepared and drilled every morning was not the real Eddie. There were threats being ushered, like Eddie cheating on Myra and switching perfumes to galvanize his mistress, and no matter how many times Eddie tried to reason with her, she was dead set on the idea.

He tossed the bottle out that same day, immensely guilty that he gave Myra grounds to question him. She was right after all, Eddie was married, and he didn’t have to make anyone happy except his wife, not even himself.

Post Derry him is happier. So fucking happy he gleams and elates every morning awakening in Richie’s arms, or the other way around, nosing behind Richie’s ear to get that one little inch closer, turning off the alarm and dosing an extra hour, work suddenly coming second for once in Eddie’s life. Richie had that effect on him, made him long to be near him twenty-four/seven,

But he also feels worse, and that can be tracked back to the long, vertical scar smacked in the middle of his chest. It’s starts in the mornings, but in a stand offish way, the insecurities bubbling on the edge of his mind loud enough that Eddie knows they’re there, but not so ample close that Eddie nitpicks and examines them, yet.

And at first it wasn’t even that bad, Eddie mostly enthralled with moving his stuff in and out of houses, and fitting as much RichieandEddie time into their shared schedule to gain back what they lost over the years, the underlying doubt and terror every time he caught a glimpse of the scar background to the best moments of his life.

It only really became a problem the first time Eddie and Richie made love to each other, and Eddie refused to take of his shirt. The pleasant, hot and vastly attractive sight of Richie’s slightly pudgy stomach and thighs, and his clean, smooth chest Eddie could run his fingers over and not bubble once incited a deep meekness and carved him hallow. Emptied by the idea that he’s horrific and undeserving of the adoration so blindingly clear in his boyfriends eyes.

Most off all, the scar is reminiscent on the clown trauma, proof that Pennywise maintains some sort of power over him, in comparisons to his friends and Richie, who moved on with their lives. It distinguishes him from the group, and not in a good way. In a way that shines a bright neon spot over Eddie’s head, accentuating his cowardness.

The reflections displayed in the mirror exhibits his slip up, his idiocy to entertain the idea of him being strong enough to defeat Pennywise all on his own, he wants nothing to do with it. The scar tissue puckers up his skin and his disgust is so deeply rooted that he didn’t even bother to check up on it for months after Derry, to assure it didn’t fester.

So no, Eddie doesn’t conceal the glass whenever Richie is home, but what he does do is strip down everything except for his shirt when slipping in the shower, towing the shower curtain and tossing the shirt out, rumpled on the floor, via the small slit.

The wrinkles in his shirt agitate him, but are a small price to pay for preserving his sanity and spirits. In the shower he resolutely does not look down at all, his eyes trained on the ugly pattern of tiles Richie claimed came with the house when he bought it, but Eddie suspects he just really fancy’s it.

Eddie always neatly packs his new shirt on the countertop, effortlessly accessible from the lavatory so he can dry off and pull on his shirt without drawing his own attention to his chest.

Stowing away his insecurity is a weight he’s been holding over his own head, so dangerously close to imbalance and tumbling over that Eddie feels shifting his attention from it slightly will let it all crash down on him. Because Richie has a tenacious personality, and once he catches a whiff of it, he’ll cling to the smallest straws to get to the bottom of it.

The schedule Eddie’s built has never been interrupted before, Richie knowing, or at least being tricked into knowing, and understanding that the bathroom serves as Eddie’s sanctuary, a place for being alone and restocking and regrouping his overactive mind. The interference in the schedule is Eddie’s own wrongdoing, for glossing over the fact that they had a dinner party to attend to, and dragging out his time in the bathroom for way too long plus forgetting to grab a change of clothing.

He only addresses the issue at hand when the shower runs cold and he’s bordering on being late, contemplating his options with his hands resting on his hips. Richie always sings a derivative of a song before entering a room, transforming the lyrics in a way that fits in Eddie and Richie’s life, as a substitute for knocking as that’s boring according to him, but Eddie discerns tiny snores emerging from the living room, so Eddie hurriedly dries off and dons his underwear, training his eyes down casted to not look at the mirror.

He wastes a long time debating on what to wear, matching multiple t-shirts to the pants he has elected to wear, unbeknownst that the snoring in the other room has ebbed away. This is an important business meeting with Richie’s new manager, one that will lift up his spirits and encourage him to fly solo, writers free, and Eddie can’t afford to mess this up. He’s scrutinizing an oxford-button-down forest green shirt, analyzing if there’s a spot on the fabric or if it’s a trick of the light.

Hearing the caroling a smidge too late, Eddie has no time to slip in the shirt before the door cracks open, Richie’s wild curls sticking out in every direction and his pants too low, pulled down from the movements he slanders during sleep.

‘I was about to call the ambulance and ask them to assemble a rescue mission’, he quips, feet padding the carpet of the bedroom lazily.

The weight Eddie’s been bearing up dislodges and veers menacingly to the edge, a gust away from keeling over the edge.

‘Get out’, Eddie says calmly the first time, contorting his body so his upper torse is veiled from Richie’s observation, the button-down serving as a shield of sorts. ‘Get out’, he clamors, a panic attack lurking in the shadows and prowling on his burst of utter panic.

‘Eds’, Richie says perplexed, his eyebrows contracting, his droopy eye more squinted than it is with his face slacked.

‘Get out, I don’t want to see you’, Eddie hisses, witnessing the decay of Richie’s happy face, teetering away backwards and back out in the hallway.

Eddie swallows, the door obstructing his outlook on Richie, and appareling his shirt so fast it tears around the sleeves, pretending he didn’t hear that. His instincts lure him to hide under the covers and wait for the whole thing to blow over, but his comments hurt Richie and his instincts were formed his primary years, while living with his mother, so he does the exact opposite.

‘Rich’, he groans, eyeing Richie leaning on the counter, his body jutting out, dancing on his feet and shelving the cleaned dishes.

‘Richie stop.’ Eddie plasters himself against Richie’s back, fitting so perfectly like puzzle pieces, like a riddle so complicated that’s been solved. He hooks his chin over Richie’s shoulder, kissing the underside of his jaw.

‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled.’

‘No it’s fine, it’s my fault. I need to learn how to knock. I didn’t mean to agitate you.’

‘You didn’t agitate me. I know I say you do all the time but somehow everything you do is endearing, not irritating.’

‘Careful Eddie Spaghetti, you’ll give me a big head.’

‘I can do that tonight if you’d like?’ Eddie teased, the tight knot in his heart uncoiling at the rumbling of Richie’s laugh.

Richie rotated in his arms, front to front, hugging Eddie back in equal fierce as Eddie did too him.

‘Forgive me?’

‘That depends my good follow, however shall you atone me?’ He released Eddie with one arm, using his hand to tap his chin thoughtfully. ‘Hm, perhaps with a reason as to why?’, his British accent lacing his words.

‘Rich, I really don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Come on,’ Richie pleaded, pouting with his bottom lip. ‘How can I help if you won’t tell me what’s going on?’

Eddie sighed, his arms cave in and the weight collapses down upon him. ‘I just don’t want you to envision this’, he says, unconsciously smoothing down his shirt on the spot his wound is located.

‘Envision what? You?’

‘No’, Eddie explains miserably, ‘I mean the scar, the disfigurement.’

‘Eddie’, Richie gently chuckles, ‘I don’t give a shit about that.’

‘That’s because you haven’t seen it yet. It’s so ugly and,’ Eddie interrupted himself, unwinding from Richie to give himself some breathing space. Being near Richie is intoxicating, but he needed to think clearly.

‘And what?’ Richie pries.

‘How much of a coward I am okay? I don’t want you to look at me and realize how much better you can do.’

‘Eddie, do you honestly believe you’re a coward?’

‘Yeah.’ Shame flooding the tips of his ears, making it harder to engage the conversation, when all Eddie wanted was to leave and go the this dinner.

‘Like I told you down in the sewers, you’re braver than you think, Eds. I’m the one who aimed higher and scored the jackpot.’ Richie asseverate.

‘You keep saying that but I’m the only one idiot enough to get injured.’

‘That’s no true, I strained my leg muscle.’ Richie states, twisting his leg, reliving the memory of the shards of affliction lodging in.

‘Seriously, maybe you’re the only one that got hurt, but you survived. Who in the world can claim there’s so badass that they lived through being shish kebabbed? By a demon from outer space no less.’

‘No one I guess.’

‘No one, erase the “I guess”. Give yourself some credit.’ Richie says firmly, outstretching his arm and then thinking better of it. ‘Can I touch it?’

‘Richie,’ Eddie hesitated, eyes flitting around the room as if to plan his escape.

‘I’ll be really gentle. And if you don’t like it I’ll pull back straight away.’ The soft tone settles Eddie somewhat, and with a hesitant nod, Richie slowly inches closer. He goes so leisurely, as one would approach a feral kitten, but Eddie keeps the parallels to himself, Richie will tease him relentlessly for it.

Eddie expected Richie to slide under his shirt from the get go, but all Richie does is pet his chest on top of the shirt, mapping out the area and feeling where the scar is located.

The area is strangely sensitive, a reason why Eddie has to douche it softly as opposed to the harsh scrubbing he’s used to doing to every other part of his physics.

Only the barely-there, soft touches of Richie’s fingers pawing, tickles Eddie, realizing a breathless hum as he gets acquainted to Richie and him converging in that spot.

Eddie giggles, Richie steadily ongoing his ministrations, until the notion borders on too much, and he plummets to his knees.

He kisses top of the blemish, all the way to the underside, blowing a raspberry there as if the normal kiss wasn’t ticklish enough.

Eddie cackles, halfheartedly shoving Richie backwards, his worries fizzling out into the night. The smooches leave a trail of slobber from Richie’s mount, wilting spots on his blouse Richie’s manager will discern him in.

‘Richie stop, you’re going to ruin it and we have to leave soon.’

‘Nah, I cancelled.’

‘You cancelled? Why?’

‘Because the love of my love, my Eddie Spaghetti, my Eds, gave off the impression he was in a pretty foul mood.’

‘Was I that obvious?’ Eddie grumbles, fingers racking lovingly trough Richie’s curls.

‘No, I just have a knack for you. Anyways I rescheduled.’

‘Oh Rich you didn’t have to do that. What is she going to think of you?’

‘I don’t care. Look, if she’s striving to be my manager she best believe that my career always come second. You’re my number one priority, no matter what.’

Eddie’s eyes turn bloodshot, blinking rapidly to contain the upcoming flow of tears. Richie presses a final kiss, then resurfaces upwards, a lopsided grin grazing his face.

‘You’re not going to take it off?’ Eddie inquires fretful, not sure what he wants the answer to be.

‘No, later, when you’re more at ease. But Eds, I need you to know, I’m going to look at it, and all that will be going on in my mind is holy fuck. That scar is symbolic for how strong and daring you are, and how glad I am to have you here breathing with me. That motherfucking clown tried everything, and he still couldn’t kill you. You know why? Because you’re a stubborn little basterd, and also indestructible. And I love you so much.’

The taste of salt explodes on Richie’s tongue, surprisingly, he hadn’t got a clue he was crying in the first place.

‘Great, good job idiot. Now look at us, two blubbering idiot sniffling in a kitchen’, Eddie grumbled, but he was smiling so wide the dimples in his cheeks were distinguishable.

‘I love you too.’

#reddie #reddie imagine #reddie fluff #My writing #the loser club imagines #it chapter two imagine #richie tozier imagine #eddie kaspbrak imagine #Richie x Eddie

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spnsmile · 4 years

Text

Strike (My Heart)

SPNSTAYATHOME @pray4jensen @helianthus21 @bend-me-shape-me

Monday: Thunder

When Billie came to the Bunker, she found the couple pressed by the control panel in a messy tangle of heat skin, legs wrapped around naked waist and flushed faces— silence fell upon the earth.

Not a pin drop could be heard from the distracted couple who stares Death in the eyes. Death who didn’t bat an eyelid before pulling her eyes to survey the empty vicinity. When she looked back, Dean was making a face, certain now that Death wasn’t going anywhere. There’s a staring contest until Castiel nudges the hunter’s chin with his cheeks. They whisper at each other. Dean’s face contorting even more, then both stare at her again. When Billie didn’t disappear, a very annoyed hunter glares and says—

"Do you mind? Can't you see we're a little caught up here?"

Billie flickers impassive eyes to Castiel who quietly presses his lips and turns to hide his face on Dean's other shoulder, the tip of his ears red. Dean scowls at her. Next thing, the angel pushes Dean away and ducks to grab his discarded pants on the floor. Dean grumbles after him and follows suit.

Death ignores the sounds of belts and zippers around her until both are decent enough to face her untimely visit.

“I need to speak to Jack.” She says.

“Well, why don’t you pop up where he is and stop getting in other people’s way, how about that?” Dean says, clearly unforgiving. “There’s plenty of room in the house, right?”

“I told you this was not a proper place,” Castiel mutters, trying to pat away the wrinkles on his shirt where Dean’s hands had been. Dean moodily helps him with his tie while Billie’s eyes narrow at the two.

"I need you both to concentrate."

“No shit.” Dean arches an eyebrow. Castiel elbows him but too late. Billie transfixes Dean a cold stare and yes, when you’ve started two Deaths in the eyes it makes things a little cliché, so what makes this any different?

Except Death doesn’t discriminate. Wielding her scythe, she propels it to the floor with a flash and bang— a loud crack of thunder overhead and then she’s gone, leaving Dean taking steps back from Castiel, feeling the air around the angel zinging in a familiar way. He makes a move to approach Cas again but the angel, blue eyes striking and all, glares at him with jaws clenched.

“Don’t.”

Dean stares.

Shit. What did Billie do?

“What do you mean you can’t touch Cas?” Sam demands later when he and Castiel figure out what happened.

“I mean it in every literal way, Sammy.” Dean smiles despite it all. Sam wasn't amused. The brothers are sitting by the library table while across them, Castiel and Jack are listening quietly. Dean catches Cas’ eyes and they both grimace at the space apart.

“So you mean, if you touch Cas— fuck you , stop grinning!”

“Let me strike you an example.” Dean stands up and heads to where Castiel is sitting. The angel sits straight and frowns when he sees the hunter approach him.

“Dean.” He warns in his gravelly voice.

“Don’t worry, Cas, let’s just show em—”

“I don’t think it’s safe—”

“Just hold out your hand, or a finger, okay?”

Castiel is obviously very much against it but he did. Sam and Jack watch as Dean raises one finger to touch the pad of Castiel’s hand. The instant he did, thunder rumbled in the walls of the Bunker and a strike that doesn’t appear to be physical seems to hit the hunter.

Strike 1.

Dean grimaces with all the hair in his body standing on ends. Sam gapes, Jack’s eyes are round while the angel squints at his boyfriend with an I-told-you-so expression.

“She made Cas— untouchable?” Sam guesses but there’s Jack patting Castiel’s shoulder and nothing happens. The Winchesters exchange looks, then there’s Sam stepping close to Castiel.

“Sam.” Is the only thing Castiel said but then Sam is also patting his shoulder and nothing happens.

That’s when all three eyes fall on Dean whose frown deepens, finally understanding Death’s curse. Even Castiel looks lost for a moment.

“What exactly did you do?” Sam asks suspiciously, though there’s an edge in his tone that suggests he knows exactly what. “Dude, you’re an idiot. Do you really have to go piss off all the gods in this universe to make a point?”

“I didn’t know Billie was gonna make house-calls for her daily job. But more importantly, what are we gonna do now? How do we fix this?” he throws the question straight to Castiel. The two of them stare at each other, mutually trying to communicate how the hell they’re going to go around it.

“I think this is the part where they say, ‘save yourself’ .” Castiel offers in the silence, a feat which everyone knows Dean sucks at.

***

By supper all the research and summon come fruitless so Cas and Dean are forced to stay away on corners of the kitchen table. It didn’t bother Sam and Jack because they can still approach Dean and Castiel without literally getting hit by lightning. It didn’t seem to bother Castiel too because the angel is immune to any lightning strike, leaving Dean a pile of rejection because Castiel won’t let him any nearer until they find a way to ‘ not get Dean hurt,’ .

“That’s bullshit!”

Castiel lets Dean get struck by lightning three strikes in a row. The fourth strike he tells Dean to fuck off where the man sulks in one corner not talking to anyone.

Dean is left to admire Cas from the side, sulk even as Castiel has fun with Sam and Jack on the table where Dean chose not to sit. Castiel glances his way when he is not preoccupied and stares, he gives Dean is apologetic and sad. There was nothing they could do less Dean embrace all the lightning strikes and claps of thunder— something Castiel would never approve of so they separated. For Dean’s sake.

Dean hates every second of it. There are times he can’t control it. Be it an accident or simply on purpose because Dean likes trying his luck.

Castiel knows what Dean was doing. It didn’t take him long to guess when Dean yet again tried standing behind him from the sink or when Dean extended his hand on the table with Castiel at the other end, indicating that Cas reached out too. The angel ignores him.

“I’m leaving for an indefinite period of time,” Castiel tells Sam one evening when at the last straw he escapes Dean’s arms when Dean tries to tackle him in the kitchen again, leaving the hunter shutting himself off in his room in frustration. “I can’t take this, Sam. Your brother just keeps throwing himself at me, if I stay here, he’ll eventually gets toasted—”

“Is that smarter?” Sam asks with a pointed look at the angel, “Cas, Dean’s been… dying to hold your hand. You think running away will hold him back?”

“I’m not sure anything can hold him back.” Castiel gives a shaky laugh. “I just want to protect him, Sam… even if it means pulling away…”

“So is the same song we sing every time we care too much, Cas. But at the end of it, Dean will be hurt. You’re just choosing another way for him to feel it.”

Castiel stays silent, Sam lets him. After a moment, he turns a somber look over the entrance to the corridors where his ears can pick up Dean’s sharp intake of breath.

“Must be hard to have a pain in the ass lover?” Sam’s smile is teasing. Castiel bows his head with a chuckle, before glancing up to meet Sam’s eyes.

“I’ll take Dean in any way.”

“Thank you, Cas… for always looking after Dean.”

“You know I’d do anything for him…but… why do you think Dean thinks he’s the only one desperate to touch?” the question leaves his mouth before he can stop himself. Sam gives him a small smile and like a real sympathizer, Sam grips his shoulder in a friendly gesture.

“Hang in there, Cas. You and Dean can get through this too.”

Castiel nods, trusting Sam’s words of wisdom.

Three days later and still no solution, Dean has had enough. He is painfully aware of the time that he isn’t holding Castiel or kissing his back, his shoulders, his lips too soft and plush—

Enough.

He chances Castiel along the corridor where the angel’s blue eyes flicker in familiarity, a smile upon his lips that quickly disappears when Dean walks straight to him and embraces him tightly.

A rumble comes—another crack of thunder. Followed by Castiel shouting Dean’s name in both stricken and exasperated tone.

Sam and Jack glance at each other from across the table in the library. Light nights strike again and more shouting. Sam shakes his head, giving up as he looks back at his research, sighing.

“Idiot.”

Inside the Dean Cave is a lightning show. Dean traps Castiel in by standing in front of the doorway with a determined look, his arms wide open like a goal-keeper in some frenzy soccer ball. Castiel stands at the end of the room with the couch and table between them.

“Stop it, Dean!” Castiel grates, blue eyes flashing. “You’re only going to hurt yourself!”

“I don’t care! Three days is long enough! A man’s gotta feed!”

“Feed—?”

“You!” Dean takes a step forward and every time he draws closer, the air around Dean spins.

“You’re being ridiculous! You know we can’t!”

“Oh, yes can ! Give up, Cas! Just come here and gimme a nice little squish!”

“Forget it, Dean! Why don’t you find someone else to scratch your itch!” Color leaves Castiel’s face the moment he says it. Dean grins.

“You want me hitting on some hot girl outside?”

“If you’re that desperate!” Castiel growls. Dean’s eyes glints playfully.

“Fine.” He lowers his arms and stands straight. “I’m going then.”

Castiel falls silent with a flash of hurt in his eyes. Dean laughs and takes several steps to the distracted angel who finds himself immediately trapped with a wall behind him. Dean’s upon him the second he looks back. Damn hunter agility.

Still, his eyes are on Dean speaking volumes of uncertainties.

“You’re going, Dean?”

“Of course not, dummy. Come on, man! We’re not children to play who’s gonna be more mature, think we’ve done enough!”

Castiel bristles. “Stop it.”

“I want you!”

“You’ll hurt yourself!”

“It’s fine!”

“NO!”

“Cas— dammit, I’m already in pain—if I’m gonna die then at least let me kiss you one last time!”

“You’re not going to die, Dean, but I won’t let you get—"

They’re both being dramatic and silly but the cracking of thunder is unforgiving and lightning over Dean won’t stop striking. Castiel watches in horror as every bolt hits Dean solid—they haven’t figured out why the lightning seems both tolerable and painful for Dean at the same time The only truth Castiel knows is that every time Dean gets a strike, his whole body turns white to the point you don't need to be an angel to see through his body. Something about Dean burns.

It wasn’t a fun sight to see.

“Dean, let go!” Castiel shouts trying to pull away but won’t budge, “DEAN! LET GO!”

"No!" Dean's arms trembles.

"Why are you doing this!?" Castiel watches in terror.

"Don't play dumb, Cas! I know you want-- shit!"

"DEAN!"

Lightning dances in Castiel’s eyes and Dean gets toasted.

“NO!”

All the lightning bolts suddenly get siphoned by Jack who acts like a conductor. He draws all the lightning and rolls of thunder his way, consuming all the energy with hands clutching Dean’s shoulder until they go away.

Leaving Castiel with an unconscious Dean wrapped in his arms. He heals Dean at one embrace, keeps healing Dean just to make sure there was no damage on any of his organs or nerves. He kisses Dean too for good measure.

The warning roll of thunder never came. Dean remains safe in his arms so Castiel holds him closer, buries his fingers on Dean’s side. Jack helps him put Dean on the couch with the angel setting Dean’s head on his lap. There he strokes Dean’s soft hair quietly. Jack returns to tell Sam what happened and that everything’s okay.

Finally, Dean stirs. Castiel holds his breath as the familiar green eyes find his.

He strokes Dean’s cheeks and when the man opens his eyes, the angel beams from ear to ear.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean takes Castiel’s face for a moment then smiles sleepily. He reaches for Castiel’s hand and pulls it to his lips. Castiel smiles warmly, butterflies in his stomach spinning like it’s been hit by a light bolt. That’s just it. They don’t need any thunder or lightning. They are enough.

“Can we kiss now?”

Castiel gives Dean the longest, sweetest kiss he can muster.

Dean Winchester yet again was able to strike home in the angel's little heart.

@verobatto-angelxhunter laaaatteeeee ;p

AO3

#spnstayathome #destiel crack #destiel ficlet #destiel fics #romance #fluff #dean is in pain #dont touch castiel's baby

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percabethfeelsfandom · 4 years

Text

writing prompt: me as a demigod

HI so if you don’t know i’m primarily active on instagram @percabethfeelsfandom and I’ve decided to join this prompt thingy for the month of october except i’m super behind so i’m gonna be posting them in random sprints it’s hosted by @pickocha on insta (thank u for all the support on what i’ve been writing thus far :)

~~~~

“I’m not leaving you,” I cried. The satyr smiled, blood coating their teeth as they gripped my hand tightly.

“Yes, you will. You’re going to run. You’re going to keep running until you see the hill. You’ll know when you see it. Don’t stop, don’t stop till you see the tree.” I held on tight and lowered us to the base of a tree, hiding among the shrubs. I peeked above the leaves to check if the monsters had followed but the night was dark, the moon hidden behind the clouds.

“Dylan it’s a forest! There are trees everywhere,” I said forcing sarcasm into my tone to keep it lighthearted but my heart felt like it was caving in on itself. Rain pelted down in sheets, and I could feel the cold in my bones. But the sickly warm feeling of Dylan’s blood was like fire in my hands and soaked down the front of my shirt.

They’d gotten shot on a loose thorn of a monster, and I didn’t need to look down at their front to know that it was poisoned as well.

“They’re catching up. The rain can only hide your scent for so long. Let them find me first. GO,” they began to cough, more blood coming out of their stomach in small spurts.

I held back a sob and pressed my shirt against their front again trying to absorb it. Why wouldn’t it stop?

“You will be a powerful demigod. It was an honour finding you Caitlin. Please run.”

I swallowed and finally nodded. I pressed a kiss to their forehead and thanked them for everything they had done for me these past few weeks.

I helped them up and they walked off in the direction we’d come from, screaming for the monsters to come and get them.

They turned to me once more and nodded in goodbye. I couldn’t bring myself to mirror them so I turned around and ran.

My body seemed to go into autopilot. My mind shut off and every ounce of my energy went into dodging trees that seemed to appear out of nowhere, branched that had fallen in the storm and puddles of mud that made me sink into the ground. The ground seemed to tremble beneath my feet as I ran, thunder booming as I kept running.

I craned my neck looking behind me but the moon had come out from behind the clouds and cast shadows along the trees so everything looked like a monster reaching out to me. I pushed myself to run faster, the voice of Dylan still echoing in my mind.

I’d left them. I had left them to die.

I choked as I paused by a tree. Pushing my dark hair out of my face, trying to see the hill Dylan had described. The entire forest blurred together but in the distance, I could see a hill taller than the others I’d been on. I felt a pull on my gut, like a magnet pulling me and I knew that there was where I was meant to go.

Even with the sounds of the storm crashing around me, I heard a roar pierce the night. White panic sparked through my entire body and I sprinted towards the tall hill. As I ran I tore at my shirt covered in Dylan’s blood and threw it as far as I could towards the right. I did the same to the left until I was only in my undershirt and the tattered remains of my jacket. My jeans stuck to my skin but I took precious moments to kneel into the ground and smother my face in mud and crushed fruit that I found beneath the shrubs.

I didn’t know if it would mask my scent but it would have to do for now. My legs pumped, but I had no idea where on earth I was getting all this energy from but I knew it couldn’t last. My body was reaching its limit.

Another roar pierced through the forest but I finally broke through the edge, opening into a small clearing. The hill stood tall in front of me, a towering pine tree with a golden fleece glowing on its branches. Even from here, I had to blink at the bright light and the aura it was giving off. There was no other way to explain it but magic.

I took off again but my body was spent. My legs felt like lead. I tripped over a branch I hadn’t seen and cried out as my hand caught all of the weight. Even under the cover of the rain, I slapped my hand over my mouth terrified the monster had heard me.

I forced myself up and began crawling up the hill.

Claws sunk into my ankle and I screamed as I was dragged from the hill. For a moment I was weightless as I fell.

The impact of the fall should’ve killed me. But it didn’t.

I pushed myself up and came face to face with the monster that had been hunting me and Dylan since they’d befriended me at school.

The monster’s human face was contorted in anger. But whatever that thing looked like, was nothing in comparison to the sheer fury that was coursing through my veins.

“You want to kill me! Well come on and do it!” I challenged.

I had no weapon on me. Dylan had left me nothing but knowledge about the monster that was hunting me. The ancient manticore.

The monster cracked its neck and began to shift. In moments, as its bones cracked it took the form of a lion, scorpion hybrid. Only it’s human face remained the same, its sleek body blood-red in the night, and it’s tail a dark whip. Seeing it in its true form only inflamed my anger.

This had killed Dylan. My friend.

It tilted its head at me, mocking my stance as I picked up a branch from the ground and held it up like I was wielding a sword.

It roared and charged, but I was already moving. I dropped to the ground and heard it land behind me, its claws scraping against the bark of a tree.

I got up and ran. My senses seemed to heighten as I focused on the area around me, my brain somehow both quiet but also completely aware of exactly where everything was in my immediate vicinity.

It charged again but I grounded my feet, and threw the branch I was holding into the ground. The ground that was soft and supple because of the rain. It sunk deeply in the mud and stood straight like a spike.

The manticore realised too late and felt on the spike, the underneath of its armour pierced completely through. I stayed where I was and let it come to me. I gripped the ground for another weapon and threw gravel into its eyes.

It’s teeth glinted in the moonlight as it cried in pain.

This time I ran. I ignored the pain in my hand from my earlier fall. I ignored the heaviness of my heart at Dylan’s death. I ignored the freezing cold of the rain.

And I ran.

The monster was right behind me, but I knew I’d slowed it down because its footsteps were heavier as it followed.

The pine tree was just out of reach when I turned back for one final look.

“FIRE.”

I looked for the source of the voice and saw a line of people just beyond the pine tree all armed with arrows and quivers. Dressed in an odd mix of orange shirts, armour and pyjamas their arrows loosed shooting towards the monster behind me.

I cradled my head as the arrows whizzed past me but I kept moving. I reached the tree and leaned on it for support, a ripple of energy seemed to pass through me as I stepped past it.

Two people in orange shirts, a blonde girl and a boy with dark hair held their hands out to me as I walked.

My vision turned to static as I felt them grip my arms in support. Their voices blurred together and I pressed my hands to my ears.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I whispered until my mind finally shut off, and everything turned black.

“On her own? How is that possible?” A deep rumbly voice said as I twisted and turned in my sleep. My entire body screamed in protest but I kept moving, trying to stop the voices. It was too loud.

“It’s not impossible. Percy did it barely.” A girls voice this time.

“She’s a lot older than most campers don’t you think? She’s about our age Wise Girl.” A third voice, a guy this time, different from the first voice, younger.

“Let her rest and then we will ask. What she did was no small feat. Have a small group camper look for her satyr. They have to be out there somewhere.” The older voice said, and I heard the sound of hooves? Before a door closed and shut.

“I know you’re awake.” Even with my eyes still closed I froze, and held my breath.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” the girl’s voice said, “I’m Annabeth.”

I opened my eyes slowly and turned to her at my side.

“Caitlin.” I offered.

She smiled softly and held out a drink, the ice clinked softly in the glass and I sat up slowly, trying to hold it. She lightly batted my hand away and held it up to my lips.

I took a sip and nearly spit it back out. I wiped at my lips and stared at the apple juice coloured drink.

“What did you taste?”

“Nutella?” I whispered.

She laughed and took the drink away. I stared at it still confused.

“Nectar. The drink of the gods. How much has your satyr told you?”

I swallowed hard and looked at my bandaged hands, still trying to wrap my head around it.

“Names have power,” I started off slowly. Annabeth nodded in encouragement.

“The Gods of Olympus are real?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much it. There’s tons more to it, but I’ll let you heal up more before I blow your mind up.” She got up to leave but my hand shot out and I grabbed her wrist with surprising speed.

“Wait- no. You can’t just drop that on me, the gods can’t be real. I’m Catholic. There is only one God. I’m not a child of- What?” She was staring hard at me and frowning.

“Your eyes. I didn’t realise they were grey.”

“Yeah, my mum said I got the genetic lottery. My ancestors had lighter eyes.” She nodded but didn’t add onto what was bothering her.

“If you can walk I can give you a tour.” I agreed and let her help me out of bed. A pair of shoes had been left by my bedside my old shoes nowhere to be found so I slipped them on and followed Annabeth out. Someone had thankfully put me in a proper shirt and I was in a faded orange shirt that read Camp Half-Blood with a pegasus on the front.

Annabeth began to lead me around her camp, pointing out cabins and areas for training. Training for what I wasn’t sure.

My body was tired but it wasn’t on the same level that it had been when I’d woken up. Breathing was easier and the pain in my hand was gone almost numb. We stopped in front of a grey building with an owl carved over the doorway and plain white curtains.

I felt a similar tug in my gut like I had down on the hill and started towards the building.

“Hey wait you can’t!” Annabeth cried as I walked up the steps. The tug was so strong I thought I was going to drop to my knees. I touched the owl on the doorway, my fingertips grazing the wings and felt another ripple of energy like I’d just walked through a forcefield.

“Caitlin.” I turned to Annabeth and she was staring at me hard again, except she was focused on something above my head. I frowned and looked up, the shape of a silvery owl hovered just above my head, it’s wings outstretched over me.

“All hail, Caitlin, daughter of Athena, goddess of Wisdom,” she whispered with a grin and dropped to her knee. Other people around her applauded and sunk to their knee as well.

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unicyclehippo · 4 years

Note

prompt - beau is so very tired of feeling helpless / "i have no magic. all i have are my fists." (sometimes i think a lot about the multiple times beau's lamented that there's nothing she could do in a fight because she doesn't have magic)

‘to you, master wizard with the heart of flame,’ the silver dragon says, rows upon rows of gleaming teeth and an intelligence—a kind intelligence, even—in those enormous eyes, ‘a boon, for freeing me from these bonds. if i may,’

a sliver talon lifts, touches to caleb’s brow. they are sooted and sore after fighting their way through the tunneling depths of the sorcerer’s lair and when that talon touches to his skin, wounds begin to close and dust and grime and mudded blood-and-dirt seas and flake away as though they cannot stand to be in the presence of this dragon.

caleb’s eyes—already wide—widen further. they flash over with a silver gleam, and he breathes out shakily.

‘never again shall fire harm thee. never singe your hair nor burn at your skin. and when you call for her, she shall answer with fervour.’

‘t-thank you, oh dragon of silver,’ caleb murmurs, bows.

the dragon rises slowly from its nest, it’s captivity bed. it is slender, though whether that is natural or due to being held for so long, there’s no way to tell. its forelegs clutch at the edge of the nest and with a long, sibilant hiss that cracks and carves up from its gut like a pained groan, the silver dragon hoists itself up. steps with cavern-shaking steps down into the chamber. for though it may be slender, it is also immense—the talon that had so gently tapped caleb had been easily almost as tall as nott.

‘and for you,’ the silver dragon breathes. ‘glittering jewel, healer,’

‘jester. jester lavorre, um, your majesty?’

the dragon laughs a laugh of pealing bells, grand and silver. the sharp face seems to curl into a smile. ‘i am no majesty. simply a traveller.’

‘oh well, you know, maybe one day,’

‘perhaps,’ the dragon agrees. it bows it’s head, turns so that it may examine jester with an immense glowing eye. the pupil is entirely consumed by the sclera, the entirety of the eye mercurial gleaming silver.

they rely heavily on branding, dragons.

‘you are my kin,’ the dragon says after a moment. ‘you embrace the cold, as i do.’

‘oh! yes! i thought you were going to say we were long lost relatives or something, that would be so mysterious and incredible!’

‘it would indeed. i will look into it,’ the dragon promises. the creature is so immense and strange and frankly terrifying even weakened that it’s impossible to tell if they are just appeasing jester or if they mean it. ‘may i?’ when she nods, the dragon lifts their talon again. there is a flash of silver where it meets jester’s forehead and then gone.

‘what - what did it do?’

‘i have not the ability to grant flight. but wherever you may go, a friendly wind shall follow.’

‘a friendly wind,’ jester repeats, awed. ‘like, a fart?’

caleb and most of the others wince but the dragon booms its laugh again.

‘freed at last,’ it says, no shortage of wonder in its voice, ‘and a reason to laugh. it feels good.’

the dragon moves forward, slowly, toward the centre of the chamber. nott stands there and they exchange quiet words for short while, something beau thought impossible with the size of the creature. after a moment, the dragon pulls a small scale from the side of its neck—small meaning it is fully the size of a dinner plate in nott’s hands—and nods to her. to fjord, a breath of air so cold that when the fog has faded, icicles cling to his hair, his eyelashes. he tries to blink them away and then, with a smile, lifts his hand and seems to pull at the icicles—only to find that while the ones on his face did respond, so too did the immense icicles that cling to the ceiling. pulling a face, fjord releases the spell, thanks the dragon. to yasha, it plucks a hair, a strand of its whiskers, and says something to pull tears to her eyes. she is quick to tie the strand around her head like a headband or circlet. it gleams the same silver as the dragon.

‘grave keeper,’ the dragon says, seemingly delighted, when it sees caduceus. ‘what brings you so far from your charge?’

‘i am - looking to heal my home.’

‘heal it? from the sight of you, i would name you clay,’

‘you would be correct,’ caduceus agrees, smile blooming as he ducks his head. ‘and what may we call you?’

‘zoelfir. a name i owned long ago.’

‘zoelfir. good name.’

‘mm.’ the dragon pulls in a great breath, eyes half closed. ‘how fine it is to be free! how fine it is to hear my own name. you have done me a great service today.’ the talon comes up, pauses long enough for caduceus to nod, and the flash of silver. ‘to help protect your home, when it is righted.’

‘i appreciate your saying when, zoelfir. that’s very nice of you.’

‘i have faith, master clay.’

with that, an a benevolent smile, the dragon slowly stretches out their wings. the leather creaks and groans like sails in the wind but finally snaps out to their full span and with a roar the dragon pushes up off its hind legs and, wings beating a few times, weak and then stronger and stronger, zoelfir the silver climbs on a cold wind up the massive chimney of this space and into the biting cold of the storm above.

‘wow! i can’t believe we saved a dragon, you guys!’

‘do you think it makes up for the one we stole from?’ fjord asks. ‘balance and all that.’

‘you know, i don’t know. i could ask the traveller.’

‘i think they are too separate for anything to change, any animosity to be eased,’ caleb says. his eyes are still glowing faintly as he examines his hands. for a moment, it almost looks as though there is flame in his very veins but then the moment passes; a trick of the light, probably. ‘what think you, beauregard? you are very quiet.’

beau blinks. looks over to caleb with an oddly serene, blank expression. ‘i think we gotta figure out how to get out of here.’

‘yes, but first,’ nott announces, popping up between them all, ‘pillage! zolly-‘

‘zoelfir.’

‘- said most of this shit belonged to the sorcerer and he doesn’t want it. she? they? zolly doesn’t want it so we’re welcome to take as much as we want! how cool is that!’

‘ah. were there restrictions to this grand gift?’

‘nothing that came from zolly. no scales, no blood, no teeth,’ nott tells caleb, gnashing her own sharp teeth. ‘other than that... as much as fits into the bag of holding, i guess?’

‘incredible.’

beau takes the second watch that night atop the mountain just inside the mouth of the cave. the others have long since fallen asleep and she’s tempted to do the same—exhaustion weighing heavily on them all. to fight the temptation, beau steps out of the magic hut and hunches, shivering, against the cold of the night and the storm.

the fog and snow parts in the distance. beau grabs for her bo and gloves—but the lack of crackling energy in them tells her they’re still dormant. she slips away from the hut, forward, to see what it is.

the same parting comes again. this time, beau can see it is more like a billowing, and she looks up in time to find zoelfir descending, wings buffeting the thick fog as the dragon looks for a safe perch. the claws crunch down upon ice and rock and zoelfir shakes out their body, spines and scales clacking with a metallic chorus as they do so. as the body shifts, and the scales sing, the body begins to contort and shrink until the gigantic form is only huge, and then much smaller—the size of an ordinary human. and beau loses them once again in the closing wall of fog until she hears the tap of boots.

the form zoelfir has chosen is female, seemingly at first glance. not too terribly tall, with vibrant silver hair that would only look aged from a distance. up close, as the dragon enters the cavern, it almost glows. the eyes, too, are still silver and retain their ability to see in the dark; they find beau where she stands and the dark skin the dragon has chosen creases with a wide smile.

‘good evening.’

‘hey. dope transformation.’

‘thank you.’ zoelfir holds out their hands, opens and closes them a few times into fists. ‘it is strange to have such small blunt appendages but it is not for always. simply to join you all for discussions, if i might.’

‘huh? oh, yeah, i’m sure everyone’d love that. just knock on the dome, caleb’ll let you in.’

zoelfir cocks their head to the side. ‘you say it as though you do not intend to join.’

‘someone has to keep watch.’

‘your eyes cannot see in this. what would be the point?’

‘i promised?’ beau suggests with a shrug. ‘i dunno. something to do. makes everyone feel safe.’

‘surely with my assurance that i saw nothing, you may join us?’

beau stiffens. looks down at the cold hand zoelfir has set on her elbow. ‘no. thanks.’

the dragon recoils slightly, pulls their hand from beau. ‘very well,’ they agree. ‘i shall go speak with your friend the wizard. excuse me.’

beau listens hard to the footsteps, the low hum of greeting as the others awake and welcome zoelfir into the hut. then, she hears someone leave.

‘beau?’

jester. of course it is.

‘are you coming inside? zolly said you were shivering out here.’

‘i’m fine.’

‘they’re going to tell us about how they got captured and about this really cool place in the north. fjord thinks it was that place that’s now a ruin, you know, just above where cad’s home is in the woods? but we don’t really know how long zolly has been caught here.’ jester moves a little closer when beau doesn’t respond or turn to look at her. ‘beau?’

‘sounds fun.’

‘yeah!’

‘i’m gonna keep watch.’

‘oh. really? all alo—do you want me to stay with you?’ she shuffles the last few steps closer to beau. nearly but not quite touching. beau can feel the warmth of her beside her and she knows she’ll have to head back into the hut soon if jester of all people feels warm.

‘no. no, go in and talk to the dragon. not a lot of people can say they’ve done that.’

she can see out of the corner of her eye the deep frown that crumples jester’s face. mostly confusion.

‘right, which is why you should come in too! zolly said there’s no one out there—‘

‘i’m not going in. someone has to keep watc-‘

‘beau, we’re safe, that’s silly,’

‘it’s what i can do!’ beau snaps, whirling on her, shaking off the hand jester set on her elbow. the exact same place zoelfir had set their hand. ‘i can do this!’

‘of course you can,’ jester agrees immediately. ‘but - ‘

‘please.’

jester looks fully dismayed now, which is the last thing beau wanted, and she steps in close enough that she isn’t touching but she feels like she is. she’s almost of a height with beau which means that beau has to turn her head to the side when jester moves in so that they don’t collide. she looks out into the flurry of white and feels her eyes sting with the wind.

‘is everything okay?’ she asks, setting her hands on beau’s waist. the light touch makes beau’s middle tense hard and she winces, feeling the pull of a vicious wound, only half healed. ‘i know it was a hard fight and not your best but,’

‘not my best?’

‘well,’

‘i didn’t land a single hit. i didn’t do fuck all to that sorcerer. i have my fists and a stick, jester, and that’s -‘ beau blinks a few times, shakes her head. with each shake, it’s like the fog is clearing and she sees what she’s been ignoring for - fuck - a while now. ‘it’s not enough.’

‘what do you mean?’

‘i mean i’m a human!’

‘caleb’s human!’

‘caleb can summon fey creatures and fireballs from the sky. he’s different from me. i just punch things.’

‘why are you saying it like that? it’s a good thing! you - you’ve saved our lives and, and for the truth out of avantika-‘

‘and for her fucking neck snapped right in front of us! that’s - i’m not saying it wasn’t what she deserved but that’s on me.’ beau scrubs at her face with the palm of one hand. steps back from jester and the hands still on her waist. ‘i can’t heal. i can’t shoot fire or control water or fly. let’s face it - the only reason i’m here is because i’m too much of a stubborn asshole to realise i’m way out of my depth.’

jester stares at her for a long moment. then, ‘why are you saying this now? why not earlier? why not - we can get you a magic sword or something, beau, or a familiar or you can join up with the traveller and he can give you powers and - ‘

‘jes. jes, no,’

‘why not? this is something we can fix!’ jester seems to realise what she has said at the same moment it hits; her eyes go wide as beau’s flutter shut, as beau takes a step back like she’s taken a physical blow. ‘that’s not what i meant.’

‘you’re not wrong,’

‘no, no i am, i am wrong,’

‘jester. we all know it. i’m not—‘ beau braces herself to say it. her throat feels tight and rough like she’s been screaming, or crying. ‘i’m not special. everyone else in this group is a hero - a wizard or healers or someone who literally fucking died and is remaking her body. or a literal angel. i’m just—some deadbeat criminal who became a librarian. even the dragon knows it.’

‘what do you mean?’

‘you can’t have missed it. they gave everyone a boon but me.’

jester had missed it, obviously. not that beau can hold it against her—it was obviously a big deal and distracting as all hell.

‘i get it. i didn’t help save them, not really.’ beau shrugs. shivers. ‘i’m - pretty tired. i think i’m gonna turn in early.’

jester just stares.

exhaustedly, beau just sighs. ‘g’night, jes. sleep well.’

#cr tag #prompt fill #tagging my stories

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one-boring-person · 4 years

Text

Just A Babysitter. (Part Six.)

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: blood imagery, character death

Context: (Y/n) is woken by the sound of voices in the cave, one of which is very familiar.

A/N: I'm sorry that this is so short, but hopefully the next (final) part will be longer and better. 😊😊

Part One , Part Two , Part Three , Part Four , Part Five , Part Seven , Part Eight

For what feels like the hundredth time in a row, I'm woken from my light sleep, conscience coming back to me instantly as I try to figure out what woke me this time. Blinking away the sleep in my eyes, I sit up slowly, cracking my neck, stopping suddenly when I hear something from the outside. I remain as quiet as possible, ears straining to catch whatever it was they heard before, confusion and fear rising in me when I manage to discern the sounds floating in from the main cave. Voices.

Biting my lip, I silently climb out of the bed, my pulse racing as I pull on my boots, my eyes still trying to adjust to the bright sunlight, unused to the change in light around me. Muscles tense, I creep to the entrance of my room, pressing my back to the side which isn't visible to the rest of the sunken hotel, a hand clasped over my mouth as I try to calm my erratic breathing, fear holding me in place as I listen to the rapidly approaching voices, finally able to recognise one as it calls put loudly to the others.

"Don't you touch her! You stay away from her!"

Michael.

Anger flares up in me at this, my body wishing it could reveal itself and confront the brunette, a sense of betrayal accompanying it as the other voices move about, the sound of footsteps echoing around the airy cave sounding along with them. I listen in to what they're saying, horror and panic encroaching on me when I figure it out, my brain trying to figure out what I can do to stop them, mostly coming up blank. Looking around, I take in the surroundings, doing my best to figure something out without being found myself, knowing the boys are only minutes away from being discovered.

As my eyes land on an old metal dustbin, a plan forms in my head.

Swiftly, I throw myself forwards, grabbing hold of the bin and throwing it as best as I can, wincing a bit as it crashes horribly loudly to the floor, continuing to make noise as it rolls to a halt, bouncing over the debris covering the floor. Without a second thought, I duck back into the doorway to my sleeping area, holding my breath as I wait for someone to react, knowing that at least the intruders will have heard the racket.

Nothing happens. For minutes, all is quiet, the only sound being that of someone entering the cave and leaving again a moment later, not giving the bin a second thought. The suspense has me on edge, my leg twitching nervously as it prepares to move, ready to make me sprint away from any trouble.

Eventually, I give in to my worry, emerging quietly from my hiding spot, looking around the hotel briefly before making my way to the entrance of the boys' sleeping area, crawling into it with ease. I navigate my way through out of memory, using the beams to aid my hurried crawl, my lip nearly bleeding with how hard I'm biting it, following the sound of the voices in the darkened space. A sharp cry of fear rents the air, before being cut off, as if someone covered their mouth, the sound spurring me on as I crawl at a faster pace, anxious to get there, hoping with all my heart that the boys heard the noise from the cave. My foot catches on something, slowing me down as I fight to shake it off, growling in frustration when it just gets more tangled; upon reaching down to free myself, I find the item to be an old net hanging off the beams, my foot wrapped tightly in it despite my best efforts to loosen it. Seconds later, I manage to shake it off, continuing on my way with a rising sense of urgency, terrified that I'm too late.

Finally, I emerge into the small, circular clearing they use as they're sleeping area, my eyes instantly finding one of the intruders, a young boy with an odd sense of fashion, a flashlight clasped in his hands, the beam of light facing upwards. As I move to grab him, pushing past my initial surprise, I hear the one thing I hoped I'd never have to hear: a scream of agony from one of the boys.

Looking up, I swiftly locate the shrieking, writhing mess of vampires, the youngest of which is bleeding and crying out in pain, hands clutching at his chest as he falls to the floor, two other boys following. Horror and shock burst into life within me, my knees buckling as I fall to the side of the fallen vampire, the contorted features only too familiar, his yellow eyes becoming dull as the screaming continues, his body tense under my hands as I try to calm him.

Marko. They killed Marko.

Above me, I hear David snarling something at the intruders - the murderers - before he drops to the floor, fangs bared as he chases them back into the tunnel, hissing at them as he goes. I stay with Marko, holding him close to me as he continues to twitch in my arms, his eyes and fangs fading as his conscience starts to leave him, grief and despair welling up in me even as tears start to spill over my cheeks.

"No, no, no, no! You can't die, please, don't die on me, Marko, you mean too much to me! Please! Don't go..." I start to beg, knowing my sobbing is fruitless as I bury my head into his jacket, ignoring the sticky blood that coats his chest, the vampire gasping beneath me.

"(Y-Y/n)..." He manages to murmur, before his eyes turn blank, his muscles going limp underneath my grip, his icy skin as lifeless as ever.

"No! Don't die, you can't die! Please, please...you can't...no..." I cry out, my voice laced with agony and pain as I clutch him closer to me, my body rising and falling erratically as I weep into the frigid chest of the blonde vampire. I don't notice as two others kneel beside me, their faces just as lined with grief as mine, tears already falling down their cheeks as they reach over to me, placing a hand on my back. Together, Dwayne and Paul hold me and their fallen friend, neither of them saying anything as I continue to plead and beg for this to be a dream, the weight of Marko in my arms all too real. At some point, David returns, determination hardening his resolve before it is softened again when he sees the three of us together, the vampire instantly coming over and kneeling in the gap between us, cradling Marko's head in his lap with a tenderness I've never seen him use.

It feels like hours before we speak again, David breaking the silence with a decisive tone.

"It was those kids from the comic shop and Michael's kid brother. They won't survive the night. We won't let them." His voice is low, broken up with emotion, tear tracks staining his cheeks as he looks at each of us in turn, his blue eyes filling with new pain when they lock with mine, his pale hand reaching out to grasp my own shaking one, "I promise."

"So do I." Dwayne agrees, the usually composed vampire openly allowing tears to spill down his cheeks, his dark eyes finding mine as well.

"A-and me." Paul echoes, quietly, the blonde as silent and still as I've ever seen him, his face showing more hurt than any of ours,the grief having numbed his usual cheery demeanor, Marko being his closest friend and confidant, even more so than Dwayne or I.

"Just make them pay for this." I spit out, my hurt giving my words venom.

"Oh trust me," David assures me, squeezing my hand, "We will."

Part Seven

#joel schumacher #the lost boys #vampire #david(thelostboys)#paul(the lost boys)#dwayne(the lost boys)#kiefer sutherland #marko(the lost boys)#santa carla #star(the lost boys)#billy wirth #brooke mccarter #alex winter

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