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peachsayshi · 4 months

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ domestic diaries

minors / ageless / blank blogs dni

ೃ⁀➷ notes: I saw this gif (top right image) & wrote a post about nanami getting turned on seeing his wife in an itty bitty tank, and I cannot get this out of my head. I need this man to **** ** until I'm ******* and ******. this is very self indulgent. forgive me lskjfd

ೃ⁀➷ tags: smut; masturbation; oral (f receiving); nipple play; p in v; rough sex; reader wears glasses

feb 3 - 8:31 pm

"look at how wet you are-" nanami exhales, a strand of gold kissing his forehead. the muscles of his strong stomach flexing when he unfastens the last button of his shirt. he pulls the fabric over his broad shoulders, taking in your hungry eyes roaming all over his body. rough hands instantly trail to the belt cinched around his waist. you whimper when he loosens the buckle, your fingers circle over your clit just a little faster as you watch him yank the leather band out from between the loops.

"n' you're hard..." you softly pant, licking your lips which only continues to exacerbate your husband’s madness to have you.

he palms over the prominent tent that's formed against his slacks, his length stiff from the sight of coming home to you earlier. you were innocently standing in the kitchen, wearing your black thigh high socks and a pair of shorts along with an itty bitty tank top that did nothing to cover you. midriff out, nipples prominent. your hair a mess, and your glasses resting comfortably on the bridge of your nose.

it was in that moment when the realization struck nanami. when he pondered when was the last time he taken you to bed. both of your schedules have been busy. neither of you have been in the mood for making love, too worn out from the stresses of every day life.

so, his reaction towards you shouldn't have been that much of a surprise. he just wished that he noted the dry spill that's hit your relationship a little bit earlier.

"hi, baby", you sweetly greeted with a smile, as he stood there dumfounded with admiration. "you're home late, I was worried you might miss dinner-"

nanami loosened his tie, swallowing the hard lump that formed in his throat as his skin scorched with heat. he can feel it prick the tips of his ears, singe the the highest parts of his prominent cheek bones, and burn it's way down his neck. he stalked towards you before you allowed yourself to get distracted, and circled his arms around your waist to pull you in for a kiss.

you were taken aback by the urgency, but you soon melted in his arms and found yourselves in the sanctuary of your bedroom.

nanami smiles - an angelic grin, full of reverie. you have to press your lips together to stop yourself from pathetically moaning at the gesture.

your husband doesn't make it easier by treating his exceptionally attractive self with such nonchalance. so completely clueless by the power he has over you.

he boldly stares at you, eyes falling to the peaks of your breasts, the tips furiously prominent against your tank top and begging for attention. he followed the path down the lower half your naked body, to the triangle between your legs where you were fingering yourself in anticipation. half your legs were still concealed by your thigh high socks, your glasses slowly falling down your nose.

he drops his shirt to the ground, bringing those fingers to push back that infuriating rogue strand of hair that carelessly fell. he cups your knees, his thumbs stroking your socks lovingly as he nestles himself between your legs. his jaw twitches when you spread your lips for him, your arousal strings of sweet sugar. nanami leans forward to peck you tenderly at the source of your desire, and the sound that travels out of your throat is so desperate he nearly cums on the spot.

"shit-" you curse, your hands moving to rest on your lower belly so nanami can touch you as he pleases.

he uses to fingers to spread the petals once again, before placing his tongue flat to broadly stroke up your slit. his eyes flutter close and the drawl of his hum is deep, sending a shiver up your belly. you bring one hand to the locks of his hair, massaging his scalp lightly as you keep the strands from falling over.

"haven't tasted you in a while, my love," nanami sighs. his hot, heavy breath fanning your cunt.

he dives in with no mercy, making your hips buck into his face while he fucks you with his mouth. he pays extra attention to your clit, sucking on the bud and flicking his tongue back and forth, and back and forth, and back and forth...your fingers dig into his scalp, your upper body nearly off the mattress as you hold him close. when nanami slides two fingers in to stretch you out, your eyes simply vanish to the back of your head. you're so soaked by the time you orgasm, tremors shaking your clenched thighs that nearly squeezed your husband's head.

you taste yourself on your tongue when he kisses you. it's sloppy, wet. completely primal. nanami only stops to remove his slacks, rbefore eadjusting your position when he climbs on the bed.

"take your glasses off," he commands, and you oblige as you place them by your side.

he flips you over, lifting your hips and creating a lovely slope on your spine. his hands graze over the socks pinching the meat of your thighs, and he widens your stance before aligning the heavy tip of his cock to your entrance.

your words are reduced to vowels, and when your husband gradually pushes himself against your folds, you release a long cry as you grip onto the sheets for support.

"oh fuck,-" nanami purrs, before pulling back and rutting deep into you. "uh-you feel s'good, s'warm..."

"kento-" your whine out his name pornographically, which makes your husband thrust into you even harder, "kento, more...please, please, please-ah~"

your tank top rides up as your body rubs against the mattress, your sensitive nipples brushing over your cool bed sheets. he's usually so gentle when fucking you, calculative even - but not tonight. tonight, his movements are unrelenting. whenever that mushroom head hits your sweet spot it has you seeing a cluster of white stars in your eyes. the sound of skin slapping skin echoes all around you, with nanami's grunts following in harmony. he's rough when he holds your hips because he's unable to hold onto any self control, because you're sucking him in, and milking his cock.

you anticipate the soreness to come.

when you orgasm a second time, tears prick your eyes from relief - it's been so long since you've had your husband inside you that you forgot how pliable you become in the process. he's so close now too, his flow staggering as his hipsstutter, until he finally releases his full load inside you.

it takes you both a few minutes to gather yourself. you can feel your husband grow soft inside you. you turn around to face him when you finally detach. sitting upright on your knees as you circle your arms around your neck, and bring your face in front of his.

you moan into a kiss, his own hands cupping your breasts chastely, his thumbs swiping over your pebbled nipples.

he rubs his nose over yours, his lips finding your cheeks as he kisses you. "you okay, my love?" he asks, always the gentleman for checking in. "m'sorry if I was rough, I..." he sighs, stealing another kiss from your lips before whispering, "I didn't realize how long it's been..."

you sniffle, your body coming down from the rushed high. "m'okay, kento..." you dreamily reassure, your lips seeking his own for another kiss, "that felt so good..."

"yeah?" he smiles before nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth and tracing that dangerous mouth down the curve of your neck. "felt good for me too, baby..."

you're like sand between his fingers, slipping through the cracks of lust and love. nanami leaves a trail of kisses down your collar bone, moving further until his lips circle over the tip of your breast.

you hiss when he sucks on it, using his hand to cup the weight. the sensation of his thumb makes you pulse between your legs, and you gaze down to watch him slowly pull away to release the bud. his eyes stay fixated on your chest, a small string of saliva connecting from your nipple to his bottom lip. he uses his thumb to wipe it away, stroking the hardened peak.

"want to keep going?" he speaks in a hushed tone, lifting his head up and resting his chin against your chest to gauge your mood.

"yeah," you sigh, wanting nothing more to ride along this intimate dance until your bodies can no longer keep up. "yeah, let's keep going..."

#nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x female reader #nanami kento smut #nanami smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #nanami kento x you #jujutsu kaisen fan fiction

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l0velysmut · 3 months

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can you write about inexperienced neteyam having sex for the first time and hes a whimpering moaning mess?

neteyam x fem!na’vi!reader

contains: poorly written short smut, aged up!neteyam, inexperienced neteyam, virginity loss, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie.

wc: 740 unedited

You and Neteyam lay in the mossy bed on the ground of the forest. The light was dim, and the breeze was chilling but both of your bodies were heated and needy so nothing about the environment around you mattered at that moment.

“Are you sure?” He stares at you, holding his cock in his hand and slowly dragging it up and down your slit before pressing it to your entrance when you nod your head.

“Use your words, sevin.” He says in a low voice.

“I’m sure. I want this, Neteyam. I want you. I need you.” Your words and the way they came out in such a desperate tone was enough to make him cum all over your pussy, but he tried to calm his breathing before slowly pushing the tip in because he didn’t want to embarrass himself.

He sighed out in pleasure as your cunt engulfs his tip, clenching around it. His eyes are closed as he leans down and presses his forehead to your shoulder, feeling your hands snake into his braids.

Your hips bucked against him in a way to tell him to push in deeper, and when he did, he could’ve sworn he was seeing stars. This new feeling was so overwhelming to the point where Neteyam was getting dizzy. His mind was baffled at how good this felt; he always imagined how you felt when he would jerk off to the thought of you, but the real thing is so much more then he was expecting.

“Oh my- Fuck…” He whimpers when he finally bottoms out, his ears falling flat against his head once he realizes how pathetic he must’ve sounded. You giggle softly, stroking his hair as you clench around him to stimulate him a bit.

He feels his cheeks get awfully hot and hides his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply and not being able to lift himself off.

“You can move, Neteyam.” You tell him softly.

“I know, just.. Just give me a second. It’s- You- Shit. You just feel really fucking good.” He stutters out shakily. You could feel his cock twitch inside of you, making you hum in pleasure.

He inhaled your scent deeply before drawing his hips back then pushing back into you, his cock passionately submerged in your wet heat that sang out for him with each sloppy thrust.

You moaned and he lifted his head to look at you which was a mistake because the second he saw your face contorted with pleasure, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his length spurted out long and thick streams of cum into you. He whined and whimpered into your skin, holding onto you for dear life as intense waves of euphoria crashed over him.

“Oh, great mother. Forgive me. I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“ He began to ramble, but you grabbed his cheeks and kissed him on the lips. He melted into the kiss, pushing his body further against you which caused his cock to push further into you. You could feel his warm cum inside of you, and you clenched around him which made him moan into the kiss.

“It’s okay. It’s your first time; I was kinda expecting you to finish fast.” You tell him and he looks away in embarrassment, but you tilt his chin up to look at you. “If you’re able to handle it, maybe I could get on top and we could keep going?”

Your suggestion nearly made him cum inside you again, and he nodded quickly, cock twitching inside you. You smiled and flipped the two of you over, his calloused hands resting on the plush on your hips, squeezing as if telling you to move.

“If it’s too much, just tell me, okay?” You say, and he nods, mumbling a small ‘okay’ before you began to roll your hips.

He sighed out, wanting to savor this moment and live in it forever. He dreaded the moment you lifted yourself up and off of his cock, so he pushed you down onto him the best he could whilst supporting your hips to bounce up and down his length.

This was it. This was the feeling he’s been needing for so long. Something to take his mind off of all the responsibilities that stressed him out, something to use as a stress reliever. And, thank Eywa he had you now.

#avatar #neteyam #avatar smut #neteyam sully #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam x metkayina!reader #neteyam smut #neteyam sully smut #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #avatar the way of water #l0velysmut #neteyam x you #atwow #smut

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ceilidho · 5 months

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exit, no entry wound joe bear graves x reader; part 1 (3.8k)

Local time at destination: 0500 hours.

And then the world rushes back to him like the culmination of a terrible dream.

Bear wakes up in another rosebush outside the front steps of the local library worse for wear. Blinking out of sleep-crusted eyes, shapes diverging in blurry unfocus before slipping back into material objects. A bench. A door. The thorny stems of roses already on their way out, already depetalling, the ground below covered in a thin layer of them. One petal even sticking to his cheek when he pulls himself off the ground, wincing at the branches that crunch around him, that tug against his skin and clothes.

His clothes smell of cheap liquor. Gin. Bourbon. It hurts to open his eyes, to sit up.

“Morning, sunshine,” someone says. He remembers hearing it in his dream too.

He looks to the source of his awakening, blanching when he notices the man staring at him.

Rip sits on the other side of the bushes on his haunches, looking deeply unimpressed. Hair slicked back for a change. “This what you get up to when I’m gone?”

Bear doesn’t respond. He struggles to his feet instead, hangover only just creeping in. Still drunk, to an extent. His knees threaten to buckle under him, forcing him to lay a hand flat on the wall to keep himself upright. One foot in front of the other. The walk home feels endless in the hour before dawn, hardly any light to guide him.

“Pretty pathetic shit, Bear,” the man says, trailing along behind him. Not quite mockingly, but bordering on it. “Getting piss drunk and passing out in a bush? Really? C’mon, man. You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

There’s no sense in responding, Bear knows that now. No sense in even turning around to look. One foot in front of the other. Stumbling home alone under the cloak of night, dawn just around the corner; terrified that one day he’ll have to see it—the sun coming over the mountains, over the horizon.

It’s been less than a year. He hasn’t yet made his amends with God. Forgiveness sits outside of him. Not quite the right time to let it in. Maybe that time passed a long time ago, a small aperture that shuttered closed at the approach of his eyes. He missed it sometime between killing a boy and losing his mind.

A man cannot hold himself up on the scaffolding of the world alone. There has to be something beneath him. There is no sense in repeating the horrors of the world back to him; he’s already lived them. He’s got something of a Midas touch for death.

The months have been long since the divorce was finalised, since Lena left for good, since Buckley died, since Rip—since it all went down. If he thinks about it for too long, it seems like a nightmare that he woke up from still mad about; a nightmare he had no choice but to drink himself into a stupor over to escape. That’s the reality of the world.

“You know, Bear, you’re not the one that’s fuckin’ dead,” Rip spits as he follows behind, matching Bear’s stumbling gait stride for stride. “So you can stop acting like it.”

There’s a truth in Rip’s words and it leaves him feeling nauseous. There’s also a kink in his neck and a headache threatening to split his forehead open. In the belly of him, he has a truth that says that the firmament of heaven is beyond his reach. When he looks up and the sky is void of coruscating light, the meagre stars like an exit with no entry wound, it doesn’t surprise him. Of course there wouldn’t be anything there.

On a good day, his heart feels like it’s weathered a siege.

“So she left you! It’s time to fuckin’ move on. Go to a bar—I mean, you already are, so step one done—and pick someone up. Go on Christian Mingle or something. You keep living your life like this and you’re going to wind up killing yourself. And then the fuck good that’ll do?”

It takes everything in him to not turn around and do something rash. Only the nausea keeps him from making any sudden movements. Even if he were to turn around and do something, his knees would probably buckle under him. Probably throw up the contents of his stomach. Not much in there either. It rumbles when he thinks that, clenching at the thought of food. Then it twists, the nausea returning.

One foot in front of the other. The walk home takes twice as long, his whole body aching.

“Heard you almost quit. Wouldn’t be the worst idea you ever had. Let Buddha take over—he’s earned it. Get yourself a nice piece of land in fuckin’…Montana or something. Couple cows, maybe some chicken—you could get a dog, Christ. You look like a guy who’d have a dog. Why don’t you have a dog, actually? You would’ve told me if you didn’t like dogs, so it’s not that.”

His forehead is greasy when he touches it to rub his head. Body secreting poison in his sleep. Oily. The corners of his lips crack when he yawns. It’s not like he’s never thought about a dog, about having something to care for, another living thing in his house.

But—

(“Bear? …I don’t think we should have a child.”)

What he wants often falls to the wayside, slides off him like a glancing blow.

Her old, familiar shape appears at the sudden loss of a dream: one where Lena’s gaze lingers on him long enough to burn; but then it is the sun.

Bear watches dawn break. Sunday morning. In a different life, he would’ve squinted into the light of a new day and closed his eyes against it, curling into the slighter body tucked into his chest for another hour of rest. Felt the rise and fall of her chest. Woken up to a hot mouth on his cock or fingers curling in his chest hair, petal lips seeking him out. Church after that, showering off the remnants of their morning, solemn in their pews with their chests still holding the laughter of an hour previous. Light as air, as a feather.

He won’t go to church today; hasn’t in months. Not with the guilt of missing it the week before trailing after him, each missed week compounding month after month. The cracks in his faith webbing. Splintering out like stepping on the lake when it freezes over in the winter, crunching under his boot until he holds his place. Conscious that it could break under his feet.

“I grew up with a dog,” Bear finally responds, voice hoarse. First thing he’s said since last call at the bar.

“Yeah. Figures. What kind?”

“Black lab. We called her Daisy.”

It’s another lifetime ago. Still living in his parent’s house, Daisy curled by his dad’s feet, her favourite spot to sleep. Television playing at a low volume, mom at the kitchen table doing her crossword, ink bleeding into the side of her hand. It’s been a long time since Bear buried all of them. He’s buried countless people since.

“What—can’t get another? One and done? That’s how everything works for you?”

Teeth raze across his skin again. Trust Rip to always cut to the quick. Finally back in his neighbourhood at least, the street empty apart from the cars parked in their driveways or along the sidewalk. Bear’s stomach rumbles something fierce now, entreating him to eat. Worse than hunger is how he’d kill for a glass of water though. Anything to settle his head.

“Haven’t wanted a dog,” Bear grumbles, then clears his throat.

“Yeah, you have,” Rip scoffs. Bear hears him kick a rock, sending it skidding across the asphalt.

“Fuck off.”

Heart silicified in his chest, composed of fossilised shells and rocks and bones. It feels heavy in his chest.

He turns down the street leading to his house.

“Gotta let someone else in, Bear. Girl, dog—whatever. You can’t keep this up forever or it’ll kill you.”

When he turns around at the door, fishing in his pocket for his keys, the sidewalk beyond his house is empty.

(So a man lies down and rises not again; till the heavens are no more he will not awake or be roused out of his sleep.)

Every Friday like clockwork, Bear stops at the diner down the street for a coffee and a slice of cherry pie before heading to the bar.

Today is like any other. He leaves the house with only his keys and wallet and walks the long twenty minutes to the diner. Every time he fights the urge to drive, but there has to be something holding him in place. A reason not to throw it all away.

It’s never completely empty when he shows up, but it’s never full either. His seat at the back of the room is open as usual, like they put up a sign before he comes ambling down the street that says Reserved for Joe Graves and then pluck it away before he opens the door. It’d be nice if that were the case. Nice to have something just for him for a change. The thought comes with its accompanying pang of shame. Desire is a dangerous thing; anything he’s ever wanted has come at him with sharpened teeth, clamping down on his leg and ripping through the flesh. Bear trap for old Bear.

He slides into the booth and waits for someone to notice him. Never bothers to flag someone down—if it’s ten minutes or even half an hour before he’s served, that’s fine by him.

“Hiya,” a clear voice says to his right, pulling him away from staring through the blinds out the window. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, tea?”

The face Bear turns to meet is pleasant, smiling. Wide and untroubled. It’s not a face he recognizes though, despite months coming to this diner and becoming familiar with the staff. If he had to guess, he’d bet she only started a few days ago, maybe a week at most. She still has the sparkle of someone who hasn’t had the goodness beaten out of them yet.

“Coffee,” he says, his own smile strained. “And a slice of pie.”

“Sure—we have key lime, blueberry, apple—”

“Cherry,” he interrupts, not letting her build steam. The wick in his chest burns too low for any conversation. The quick flicker of her brow makes the shame in his chest swell again. Forgive me sitting on his lips, unsaid. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I do this.

She nods and scurries off to the back, skirt swishing with her movements. Bear notices only because his eyes get stuck there, somewhere between the curves of her hips and the roundness of her ass. When he realizes where he’s let his mind wander, he pulls it back, flattening his lips into a hard line. Any sort of indulgence feels wrong, a taking that shouldn’t be taken. He hasn’t even begun to pay penance for all the damage he’s wrought.

It’s only on her way back that Bear notices the small bump protruding from under her apron. His mouth goes dry. When she reaches him again, he wordlessly accepts the cup of coffee and her reassurance that the pie will be out in just a minute. For a moment, he can hardly meet her gaze, eyes locked on the gentle curve of her belly, caught off guard in a way he hasn’t been in months.

The first thought with any clarity is, what is she doing working here? A crummy diner on a Friday night. Down the street from an even sleazier pub. His second thought is to look outside at the poorly lit stretch of road and think that this is no place for a pregnant woman to be alone. He recognizes each car in the parking lot save one, likely hers. Drove herself here with the expectation of driving herself home at the end of the night.

If it had been Lena—well, he never would’ve let it be Lena, but if it had been, Bear can’t imagine letting his pregnant wife drive herself home in the middle of the night. Can hardly stomach the thought.

She’s not Lena though, so he has no right.

She’s gone before he has time to say anything else, skirt swishing behind her. It catches his eye again. When he tears his gaze away for a second time, he swallows back the metallic taste of self-loathing. It curdles in his mouth. It’s the sign telling him to stop coveting, stop looking out into the world and wondering what he can take. It’s his hamartia, his fatal flaw; thinking himself above the reproach of God. Thinking that he can kill, fuck, curse, and stray farther and farther from the light only to find his way back in the dark.

The bell above the door rings when someone else comes in and Bear tenses. His shoulders only relax when two older women step in and head to a table.

He watches as she picks up a plate from the pass-through window and heads back towards him. When she places it in front of him, he draws a deep breath in, trying to catch more than just the aroma of fresh baked cherries.

“Here we go…one slice of cherry pie, straight out of the oven.”

“Thanks, honey,” Bear rumbles, smile finally meeting his eyes.

“No trouble. The guys in the back said they make it special for you. Joe, right?”

That gets him to levy her with the full weight of his attention. The thought of her asking about him. “I go by Bear.”

“Oh. Alright, Bear.” She twists the word around in her mouth and seems to find it satisfying. “I think I’ve heard your name before. You were—I mean, you’re part of Pastor Adams’ parish, right?”

He clears his throat, cutting off the triangle point of his pie with the side of his fork. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Me too,” she confides, voice a low whisper. A secret between strangers. She doesn’t glance around though, doesn’t bother to draw out the ruse. “Or, I was, anyway. Haven’t been to service in awhile. I, um…I remember you. From a year or so back. You and your—um…you and your wife used to always sit up at the front.”

The fork scrapes against the plate. “Ex-wife.”

He catches her wince from the corner of his eye. “Oh. Sorry. You just—” She doesn’t have to say it. The slight dip of her eyes tells him all he has to know, and besides, it’s his own fault for still wearing the ring. Even with the paperwork signed and dated, even with Lena in another state now, starting a new life without him, the thought of taking it off makes him break out in a cold sweat.

“It’s not—” Bear starts before giving up. He curls his fingers into a fist on the table.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine. Not a big deal.”

She fidgets in the silence. Bear can’t bring himself to break it or make the atmosphere less oppressive. He tenses under it, the ache in his low back worsening. These days, he always aches. Nerve damage, a disc on the verge of slipping, an old ankle injury that flares up whenever he goes running. A ghost that follows him from haunt to haunt. The ring on his finger is just another old ache.

“So, uh—” he clears his throat, nodding to her belly. “Your first?”

It’s inappropriate, hardly his place to ask. Incredibly intrusive for someone he’s met for the first time, a stranger just trying to do her job and serve him coffee and pie before he goes off to drink himself half to death again at the dive bar down the road.

Still, he asks.

Only the faintest wrinkle of her nose betrays any embarrassment. “Oh. Yeah. First one.”

“Congratulations.” It’s sincere. The envy in his gut is old, but it’s a manageable pain.

“Thanks,” she says, with a small, private smile, hand resting absently under her belly. “I’m excited. I’m only a couple months along, but, uh…it’s been a journey. Just me and baby against the world, you know.”

That stops him in his tracks. Screws up the whole course of his evening because suddenly the sound of the bell over the door jingling doesn’t draw his attention away. It stays fixed on the smiling girl to his right that just opened her mouth and said something unacceptable.

“Where’s the dad?” he asks, far too bluntly.

She shrugs. “Somewhere. Didn’t stick around long enough to tell me where. It’s fine though—I’ve got my little peanut. That’s all that matters.”

“You told him and he left?”

The pie sits cooling in front of Bear as a pit in his stomach opens up. It’s a terrible, empty hole that holds truths like the fallibility of the body and the good shouldering the burdens of the world.

He only regrets being so direct when her lip quivers, a little motion that betrays her until she wrests control over her face again. “It’s not his fault. I don’t think he was—well…you know, it was a surprise.”

“That’s—” he struggles to find his words, “—that’s not right.”

Again, she shrugs. “That’s life.”

Bear feels his eyes go hard. A coldness settles under his skin.

In the deep, dark gut of him, only anger lives. He spends his days questioning why God has allowed everything else in his life to fall apart, has allowed countless other people to die, but refuses, for reasons unbeknownst to him, to kill him. He’s given him enough opportunity and enough reason.

The answer he circles back to time and again is the same. An eye for an eye. Divine wrath. The litany of his sins could be sung until the end of time and there’d still be more to sing. It’s only right that there would be consequences for him.

The rage that simmers in his blood now is twofold. It begins with the sharp pang of injustice, of witnessing a punishment meted out to someone innocent. The girl standing by the booth he’s shoved himself into, almost too small for a man of his size, cannot be deserving of the same punishment that he’s brought upon himself. She has never killed. The babe in her belly has never killed. The two of them should never have to meet at the point of two paths converging with the likes of someone like Bear and proceed down the same road together.

Then it sinks into a familiar territory. A place at the core of him where righteousness gives way to envy, as it always does. After what he's been through, the thought of someone having everything that he's always desperately wanted handed to them on a silver platter and then sending it back leaves him feeling a bit off-kilter. Not quite right.

“Bear?” Her voice breaks the silence. When he blinks, concerned eyes stare down at him, brows furrowed. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he rasps, dragging a hand down his face. Shaking it off. “Sorry, I—got lost in my head. Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” she says, again gentle in her voice and smile. “Easy place to get lost in, isn’t it?”

He makes a sound in acknowledgment. Drags the silence out. Her mouth twists shy under his scrutiny.

“Anyway, I have a few other tables to get to, if you don’t mind. Enjoy your pie. I’ll check on you in a bit.”

He eats his slice of pie in silence as she leaves, eyes following her to her next table. Rage still sizzles under his fingertips. It makes his hands shake, old nerve damage and anger problems.

It’s like a gun punch to think of her all on her own. It’s not right. For someone like him, well, it’s—deserved, earned. Inevitable, even. Every step taking him further away from grace, from its light. No one who knows his story would think otherwise.

She’s a pretty thing though, this new waitress. Too tired, the bags under her eyes testament to that, no matter how well she hides them with makeup. Slightly puffy anyway, maybe from a lack of sleep or too many tears. His stomach aches at the thought. It must have come as a shock, the bottom of her world dropping out from under her when the baby’s father took off. Dragged away from the church not through her own doing, but the fault of another. Not her shame to bear, and yet.

He forces the pie down. Bites that taste like nothing,

Bear hears the lilt of her voice from two tables over. “Refill on your coffee, hun?”

A supplicant sits in his place as he sips his coffee. The hour slips by into the next and it starts to come together in his mind. Why he's been forced down this long road alone, why God hasn't struck him down yet despite every terrible thing he's done. His eyes follow her flit across the diner, the light seeming to bend around her like a halation.

When Bear looks across the room at her, he thinks, Lord, do not think I am waiting patiently for your hands. Every part of me trembles with anxiety.

(O Lord, show me I can fall apart together again; but not just yet.)

He stays until the last customer has finally left, waiting for her to come back to his table with an apologetic smile. When she does, Bear hands her his empty plate, watching her take a step back when he scoots out of the booth, rising to his full height. He makes note of the way her eyes round as they follow him up. Taller than her, unsurprisingly. Surprising though, the way her bottom lip droops just the slightest bit.

“Is it just you closing up?” he asks, voice a tad too gruff. He clears his throat again, looking around for anyone else.

“Well, the chef’s cleaning up in the back, but, uh—” she looks around the diner, conspicuously empty apart from the two of them. “Yeah. Just me.”

Bear gestures with his chin towards the door. “I’ll wait ‘till you’re done, then walk you to your car.”

“Oh, Joe—”

“Bear,” he corrects.

“Bear,” she amends, fingers twisting together now. He relishes the sound of it on her lips. “You don’t have to. I’m used to it, honestly. I know I just started here, but I’ve done closes before, you know.”

“I’ll wait outside.” A statement now. Stubborn. He’s always been a bit mulish, hard to shake off.

He can tell the second she relents, shoulders slumping. “Alright. I shouldn’t be too long…you can leave if you get bored though. Won’t blame you.”

He fights the urge to tilt her head up by the chin to make her meet his eyes. Just barely restrains himself.

Leaning against a tree out front, he twirls the ring around his finger as he watches her clean up. For the first time in a long time, he slips it off.

#ceil writing #joe bear graves #six (2017)#joe graves #six #big bear

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heavenlyraindrops · 2 months

Text

♱Father Forgive Me (For I have Sinned) ~Chapter Two♱

Lucifer Morningstar x Angel!Reader Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Chapter Two Warnings: profanity How to find the other chapters in my pinned post

♱ In which the purest soul in Heaven falls from grace… for the Devil. ♱

[Chapter Two]

“[name]!”

You turned your head, before seeing Emily racing towards you to tackle you to the ground in a hug. You laughed, although it came out as more of a wheeze under her crushing grip, and hugged back. She raised her head, eyes watery.

“Adam said you disappeared,” she said, and the barely restrained fury at him was evident in her voice, which dropped to an incredulous whisper. “Where were you? What happened? Sera’s mad as hell-“

“He didn’t leave me,” you managed to crack a reassuring smile, and Emily’s shoulders drooped at your next words, “I flew off.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that he neglected his responsibility. And, frankly, ignored my direct orders to keep you safe.”

You raised your head to see Sera, her forehead creased in a stressed frown. “Come with me to my office.” She began to turn, then paused, eyebrows pulling right down, deepening her frown. “Is that blood on your clothes?”

You glanced down. The dark patches seemed to be covered with a thin gilded sheen. “I-it’s nothing, really,” you babbled, scrambling to wipe it off, only to see most of it had dried.

Sera didn’t seem convinced.

Emily pulled you up before you followed them hesitantly, the confusion on her face at the situation evident, even though she was smiling at you nervously. You gulped.

Charming.

♱♱♱

“So, to be clear, you let [name] fly off and put herself in harm's way even though she has no experience as an exterminator?” Sera turned from Adam to you. “[name], this is only a one time thing. You are most certainly not accompanying the exterminators down to Hell next year. After Adam has proven how neglectful he is-“

“No,” you gasped, the words flying out your mouth without you even thinking about them.

The entire room seemed to freeze.

Awkwardly, you cleared your throat and continued, more gently. “No, it wasn’t his fault. See, what happened was-“ you glanced over at where Adam was seated next to you. He raised an eyebrow, face flat, and you swallowed. Your throat felt like a desert.

“I flew off,” you continued. “He went after me, I mean, he really tried I swear. But I shook him off and ended up tearing my wing on a branch, hence the blood- he found me a while later and healed me up. The wound wasn’t too serious. It only broke some skin, and- and, I could still fly. We just lost each other in the crowd going back up to the Pentagram is all.”

What am I doing? What the hell am I doing? You could almost feel the beads of sweat forming on your brow as you smiled at her stiffly.

Sera turned and looked at Adam, waiting for his confirmation. He looked over at you, grinning wide. You pointedly stared back, which wasn’t necessary- he didn’t miss a beat. “Yup. That’s what happened. I was tryna tell ya the whole time and you guys just weren’t listening.”

“Please let me go next year, Sera,” you pleaded, eyes widening. She chewed her lip, contemplating, as you continued. “I was perfectly fine. And I may not be an experienced exterminator, but you know more than well enough I can hold my own against a couple of mere sinners.” You shot a look at Adam.

”Yeah, [name]’s powerful as fuck-“

“I wouldn’t say powerful-“ you began, but was cut off by Sera.

“You’re far too modest, [name],” Sera smiled at you tiredly. “And what you said seems to add up. I know you’d never lie to me-“ she side-eyed Adam, who didn’t notice, continuing to pick at his nails. “-Or to anyone, for that matter. Yes, you may go again next year if you wish.”

You looked at the ground. “Thank you, Sera,” you said, your own voice ringing small in your ears.

♱♱♱

“Jeez, sugartits, I didn’t think I’ve ever heard you lie before,” Adam smirked, wiggling his eyebrows at you. You glared at him in fury, before jabbing a finger at his chest. You were both in a hallway, Sera’s office door at the end of the corridor where you had come from.

“Watch it, Adam,” you hissed, then took a deep breath, calming yourself down. “I did it for you, so be grateful.”

“…thanks.”

You smiled at him. “No problem.”

You both stared at each other for a few moments, before Adam spoke.

“Are we gonna fuck right now?”

“No!” You hissed, exasperated, feeling your face burn. “No, we are not. Here’s what is gonna happen, Adam. Next extermination, you’re gonna let me fly off by myself, mind your own business, and not tell Sera, and if you don’t do that, I’ll blab and tell them everything. And then they’ll hate you forever.”

He stared at you for a second, blankly. You gulped, your blood pounding in your ears. Crap. Dumb idea-

Adam finally raised an eyebrow. “Why do you want to go off sneaking around Hell during the extermination, sugartits? Got a secret?”

“Most certainly not,” you snapped. “I simply want to explore Hell alone.”

Adam stared at you for a moment. “You never say what’s on your fuckin’ mind, do ya, sugartits? You always gotta water it down to be nice. If I annoy the shit outta you, just say that.”

Your gaze softened, then you shook your head and stared at your feet. “I’m not a mean person.”

“Not mean if it’s the truth.” He shrugged. You looked back up at him. He was wearing that familiar, shit-eating grin again. You huffed and rolled your eyes, kicking at the pristine floor.

“Sure. Well, some people have a filter.”

“Meh. Whatever.”

“So, will you do what I asked you to do?”

Yeah, I’ll do what you want.”

“Wait really?” You stared at him.

“Yeah, I don’t give a fuck. Do what you want, you saved my ass from a three hour lecture back in there anyways.”

You watched him walk away until he rounded a corner and disappeared, shocked at his nonchalance, and then pressed your back to the wall and sank down, head in your hands.

Did you seriously lie to the Seraphim just to be able to go back to Hell next year? Why? Why?

Was it because of- no way. Don’t be ridiculous. You knew Lucifer had the quality of being ‘tempting’, from what the Bible said, at least, but there was no way you were being led to temptation from a small interaction with absolutely no ‘tempting’ aspects to it. Whatsoever.

Hell is a nice break from Heaven. And it’s interesting to see what it’s like. I’m just curious is all…

You stared at your hands, mind flashing back to something Sera had said a while ago.

Curiosity killed the cat.

“[name]?”

You looked up. Sera was staring down at you. “Are you alright?”

You cursed internally, your heart almost leaping out of your throat. “Yes, Sera, I’m just… thinking.”

“Perhaps I could help?”

You studied her face. It was wearing the specific, reserved look she wore for when she was suspicious but didn’t want to show it. You smiled and shook your head.

“I’m just trying to figure out what I ate this morning that could make my stomach hurt this much.”

Sera’s face relaxed, nodding. You knew that she wouldn’t believe that you’d lie to her. You knew it would be easy to squash her suspicions.

“Well,” Sera said, “Let me know if you need anything.”

You nodded smiled weakly again, watching her steady, deliberate steps as she disappeared around the corner, then hung your head again, sighing.

You prayed you weren’t digging yourself into a hole.

♱♱♱

A/N: Stay Tuned!

Taglist: @boredlime, @ica1, @tremendoushearttaco, @sweetadonisbutbetter, @lucky-flowey,@kitty-kei, @thornwolfy235, @w31rd3rg1rl, @marxo5, @lvstyangel

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blue-sadie · 7 months

Text

Broken Words

Moon System x Reader

How they apologize after fights

Steven Grant

You normally never had a argument or anything as bad as this, you guys had disagreements but you always talked it out but marc and jake have gotten on his nerves and he took it out on you, he grimaced as he thought back to the words he said to you and the look of hurt that was plastered on your face.

You were ignoring him and he hated it with a passion he'll try everything to get you to talk to him, he made you tea but all you said was 'thanks' you wouldn't come to bed you'd rather sleep in the couch and he couldn't fall asleep without you so he'd lay awake staring up at the ceiling.

"My love are you awake" he asked as he slowly raised himself off the bed 'mh" he heard you hum and slowly walked to the couch and took a seat on the ground beside you, you were angry with him but it didn't stop you from caring, "I'm sorry for the things I said.... I didn't mean any of it"

He breathing quickened as he tried to form words to help fix the mess he created, he flinched slightly as he felt your hand caress his cheek he leaned into it and took a deep breath before continuing "marc and jake have been at eachothers throats lately and they just won't shut up and I'm sorry that I took it out on you" he would grab your hand and hold it tightly and wait for you to speak "I accept your apology".

Marc Spector

He'd leave the flat to let himself cool off and give you space, his time away from the flat grew 30 minutes to an hour to 2, his guilt grew he would mutter to himself and didn't even look at the time intill it was 2 am he would curse at himself and slowly make his way home knowing that you would be asleep.

But you weren't, he opened the door to see you sitting on the couch staring at him with tears rolling down your face it made him want the ground to open up and swallow him whole, he'll take off his jacket and shoes while still maintaining eye contact with you and slowly make his way to sit beside you, he would nervously grab your hand and hold it between both of his while he two started to cry.

His body will shake with sadness as he stared into your eyes the flashes of the fight appearing in his mind, he clasped the couch cushion tightly as he tried to steady himself "forgive me" he would murmur quietly over and over he would get lost in his mind and was only brought back as you layed a gentle hand on his.

"I'm sorry baby, I'm sorry for everything I've done to you, I make you worry everyday day and I see that, I don't deserve you I don't deserve anything you give to me" he tears became more frequent as he spoke "I am trying to become the man you deserve, I am trying so fucking hard and it's scary I-I I'm trying ok and I'm sorry for all the shit I've done" you'd carefully pulled him to you letting him cry it out into your chest as you rub his back in comfort "I forgive you".

Jake Lockley

He would completely shut down and let one of the others front and let them console you, he wouldn't come out for weeks, marc and steven would try to get him to front and when they did he would just leave not saying a thing to you, when he came back you would be sleeping on the couch facing away from the door.

He would walk over to you, gently pick you up making sure he wouldn't wake you and carry you to the bed covering you with the duvet and blankets, he would lean down and lay a gentle kiss on your forehead before going to sleep on the couch himself.

He would wake up to you handing him a cup of coffee and he would try to get steven or marc to come out but they wouldn't saying that he need to fix this "trying to run away" you would smile trying to lighten the mood he would give a light hum and take the coffee out of your hand placing it on the coffee table.

"I'm sorry mi amor" he whispered and softly patted the space beside him which you hesitantly took "I've just been under a lot of stress" he would be to nervous to meet your gaze the guilt was eating him alive "I already had to protect marc and steven I think the thought of not being able to protect you as was getting to me" you grabbed his face between your hands and gently caressed his cheeks "it's ok I forgive you".

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gregorovitch-adler · 4 months

Text

What Will I Be, Without You?

John had dozed off on the sitting room sofa of his new flat, covered in his own mess. Worn-out, two-day old clothes, stinking with sweat and alcohol.

It had been a year since Sherlock's death. Well, a year and two months to be exact. John had moved out of Baker Street within two days after Sherlock had jumped off the building. He couldn't bear to live in that place anymore.

Not without being reminded of Sherlock in every single particle of that living space.

Not without thinking he saw Sherlock in public every time he stepped out of the house. Not without going through the entire line of thought and regrets.

Regrets about what could have been, if he had been honest about his feelings for Sherlock when he was alive. About how he called him a machine, hours before he committed suicide. All that.

He knew there wasn't any point in living any more, and absolutely not at Baker Street.

So he'd moved out. Having spent the time of his life with Sherlock for a year and a half, after they'd met, had made him somewhat hesitant to actually to take his own life.

That didn't mean he didn't consider that every now and then. The gun sitting on the coffee table probably had a lot of things to say.

A few hours later, the morning light from the outside hit his eyes and they fluttered open. He must have forgotten to draw the curtains last night.

His head was throbbing with pain as he got up. He winced and held his head in his hands. Must be the hangover from yesterday.

He felt disgusted and sluggish, the smell of sweat and alcohol making his nose scrunch. He turned around to drop his feet on the ground to get up slowly. To go on with yet another dreadful day.

When he looked up, a tall figure dressed in dark clothes greeted him. A man with curled hair, sea-green eyes and an impeccable dress sense. He was holding a bottle of tablets and a glass of water in his hands.

John startled and sat back as he stared at him blankly. The man looked strikingly similar to Sherlock, John thought, as he reached for the gun that he'd left on the coffee table yesterday.

"That would be hardly necessary, John," he said, holding held out the bottle and the glass to John. The voice was unmistakeably Sherlock's. John would know. "You should take these."

John's jaw dropped. He felt some dizziness, and he didn't remember the next few moments or probably hours.

John's eyes opened again and he found himself lying on the sitting room floor, covered with a blanket and a pillow beneath his head. He winced as Sherlock sprinkled some cold water on his face.

"You okay?" Sherlock asked, placing a hand on John's left shoulder.

"You... aren't you..." John was suddenly bolt upright on the floor as he stuttered. "You were dead! I saw it happen, I was right there! How... Sherlock, what the hell!"

Sherlock gazed at him for a bit and lowered his eyes. His lips were compressed too. "I'm sorry, John. Forgive me."

John opened and closed his left hand trying to process all the things he was feeling. His hangover wasn't helping. He massaged his forehead with his hand.

Sherlock Holmes was alive.

John still remembered how he wished Sherlock would stop being dead when he was performing his burial.

Not just that day. John kept hoping (begging) for it to happen every single day since then. He thought about nothing but that only yesterday.

Just another day of his live since Sherlock died.

John knew how impossible it was, but he kept asking Sherlock - who resided in his mind, heart, soul, every part of his body - for the same thing: to stop being dead. And Sherlock was alive after all!

His whole body lightened up from within with joy.

But he dimmed again almost as quickly as he'd lightened up.

A whole year of his life had passed by, grieving for nothing. Everything he went through, all alone, was in vain.

John hissed and grabbed his head with both of his hands.

"Please take this. You're clearly not okay and -"

"You don't bloody get to tell me what to do!" he shouted, aggravating his headache some more. "You leave, make me grieve for more than a year pointlessly, I'm left here feeling like a bloody idiot, and you break into my flat pretending none of that happened? Now you're sorry? Perfect!"

John hissed in pain and snatched the bottle of pills out of Sherlock's hand.

John swallowed a pill and drank the glass of water that Sherlock had placed on the coffee table, before he had sat back defensively.

He got up from the floor and went straight to the bathroom to brush his teeth and take a shower, leaving Sherlock behind in the sitting room on his own.

He spent the whole shower cursing Sherlock mostly in his mind (and a bit out loud) and going through a plethora of conflicting emotions. The whole time they spent together, after all they'd both been through, did that mean nothing to Sherlock? Not as much as it meant to John, apparently.

He scoffed bitterly as he continued to wash himself. Sherlock had probably gone to an adventure. Maybe the case was unusually complicated this time. Or, who knows, he probably solved a lot more than just one case during his time away.

Why didn't he let John accompany him then? Was he really that useless to Sherlock? At least he wasn't dead now.

No. Screw that.

John got out of the bathroom and slammed the door of the attached bedroom. He was getting dressed as quickly as he could, planning to head to the kitchen to make himself some tea and breakfast, all while ignoring the hell out of Sherlock. Probably this would make him leave John's flat.

He opened the door to go to the kitchen.

"John." Sherlock called from behind as he followed him. "John? John, listen to me!" his volume was getting higher.

John was not going to respond. He put on the kettle and looked for some eggs in the fridge.

John couldn't help wonder one thing though: why was Sherlock back now, if he thought John's presence in his life was that useless? What was the point?

Maybe Sherlock needed his expertise in his current case. Yeah, fuck that. He wouldn't even think of helping Sherlock after this.

"John, can you hear me? How long are you going to pretend I'm not here?" Sherlock's tone had become indignant. The audacity! "It's not like I'm invisible!"

John didn't even turn around. "Well, you were. For more than a year. Until yesterday." He kept his voice as cool as possible, suppressing his rage.

He took out the eggs and grabbed a pan from one of the cabinets and began to cook.

It must have been two whole minutes of silence in the kitchen while John watched the things he'd put on the stove. He served those eggs on a plate before pouring some tea in his mug.

He set the things on the kitchen table and sat down to eat, as though this was just any other day, and he was the only sign of life in that dark, lonely flat.

He could feel Sherlock's gaze on his face tangibly. Probably he was waiting for John to make eye contact with him. John shifted in his chair a bit.

Part of him wanted Sherlock to get the hell out of here. Part of him wanted the man to stay.

John sighed as he kept looking at anywhere but Sherlock in the room.

"Fine. If you're going to be like this..." he trailed off began to look here and there for his coat.

John's head snapped up. "If I'm going to be like this? Me? Sherlock you utter-"

"I did it for you," he said, looking at John in the eye with earnestness.

John scoffed as he continued to eat.

Sherlock shook his head with his brows knitted. "I'm not lying. Moriarty had appointed three snipers, threatening to kill three people who were the closest to me. You, Mrs Hudson, and Lestrade."

John looked up at Sherlock again with his lips parted.

"His only condition was that I jump off the building. The keycode that I'd deciphered - it was fake. He told me those three snipers could be called off only by him. And then he shot himself in the mouth."

John placed the silverware on the plate. If Sherlock was to be believed, then... Oh God.

"You tell me. What was I to do then? I could either go ahead with Mycroft's plan that involved faking my death, or I could die for real and never come back. Did you really want the latter, John?"

"Jesus, no! Sherlock, I didn't... I thought you were - I thought you'd gone on with an exciting case or something. An adventure. Without me," he dropped his voice a bit in the last sentence. His stomach gave a pang of guilt.

"Why would I do that?" he asked, with a genuine-sounding confusion in his voice.

John shrugged. "Because you thought I was useless. Maybe you didn't need me anymore."

"Don't be ridiculous," he said and drew a chair for himself, taking a seat across from John on the table. "I always need you."

John swallowed as he picked up his fork again. He wanted to reach out for Sherlock's hand. Not now. "There's some more tea in the kettle," he said instead.

Sherlock waved this off. They gazed at each other and, if John wasn't imagining, there was surely something else he could see in Sherlock's eyes apart from the obvious frustration.

Something that probably reflected John's own feelings for him.

John cleared his throat. "What happened after that? Where did you go?"

"Many parts of the world. Russia, China, and India were some of them. I was trying to dismantle his network from its root. My last location was Serbia, before I came back to London, finally. It took me unexpectedly long to get out of there..." he trailed off and swallowed as he looked away.

"Why?" John took sipped his tea some more.

"Never mind."

"Sherlock," he warned and gave him a hard stare.

Keep me in the dark again and I might actually punch you in the face.

Sherlock seemed to have read his mind, because he looked up at John and took a sharp breath. "They captured me in a confined place. Worse than an average jail. They tied me up. Whipped me, starved me to death, and if I would dare to doze off, they'd whip me some more. I had to live with the smell of my own human waste for a whole month." Sherlock bit his bottom lip.

"Jesus!" he exclaimed in a whisper. He looked down at Sherlock's slim forearms that were placed on the table. He wished to reach for them, but didn't, for some reason. His heart was on fire with anger. "How did you escape?"

"Mycroft showed up," he said briefly. "He managed to set me free. And now I'm here."

"When did you come back?" he asked, knowing nothing else to say.

"Three days ago."

"Why didn't you come here then?"

"I was in hospital the first night."

John nodded, blinking a bit with a strange, stinging sensation in the corner of his left eye.

"Then I was thinking of ways to meet you in person. Explain myself to you," he said and paused for a bit. "John, I know you've been through a lot. But I wasn't out there having fun without you either," he said in a cautious tone, sounding quite gentle.

"I know! Or I know now, at least." John swallowed and got up from his chair, his eggs forgotten on the plate. He went around the table and stopped behind Sherlock. "May I see?"

"John... I don't think-"

"Please?"

Sherlock turned around to face John. He nodded and got up from his chair to take off his suit jacket.

He unbuttoned his shirt slowly and shrugged it off, revealing his sculpted upper body and a completely battered back. Black and blue. Some blisters had appeared, too, on his lower back.

"Jesus Christ," John whispered and felt his eyes welling up. John wanted to find all of those arseholes and kill every single one of them. "You did all that for us?"

Sherlock began to put on his shirt again silently. He tucked it in his trousers. "For you, mainly," he said, in a quite tone.

John couldn't take it anymore. He placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, making him turn around and placed his arms around Sherlock's neck. He tried to be careful about his wounds.

Sherlock stiffened for a moment but then he relaxed as he placed his arms around John's waist.

They didn't speak for a long moment. John closed his eyes and sighed.

He turned a bit to breathe in Sherlock's perfume and his natural scent from his jawline and neck, enjoying his proximity for as long as he could.

Their arms were wrapped tight around each other and for the first time in a whole year, John felt alive again. John was living in the moment like anything.

"I'm sorry," John said, breaking the silence in the room.

"What for?"

"For assuming the worst about you," he said in Sherlock's ear, with his nose touching Sherlock's cheek. "For reacting like this when you returned."

Sherlock hummed.

"Who else knows about this?"

"Molly and my homeless network."

"Molly?" John's heart sank.

"She helped me with the plan along with Mycroft. It was only possible because Moriarty deduced the very specific people who were the most important to me. She was excluded from the list." Sherlock cleared his throat. "You were the first person I decided to meet as soon as I was discharged from the hospital after coming back to London."

John sighed in relief, feeling bad about jumping to conclusions again.

Another moment of silence fell in the room. Their breathing was synchronised.

Sherlock turned to face John, who did the same at the same instant. Their eyes locked with their noses touching.

Unsure of who initiated it but now John's mouth was on Sherlock's, and they were kissing. John placed one of his hands through Sherlock's curls and deepened the kiss as Sherlock tilted his head a bit.

They parted after some time and stopped for breath. The way Sherlock looked at him was setting John's whole being on fire with all the things he felt for Sherlock at the moment (always had).

"John," he breathed. "Since when?"

"Always. You?"

"Same." Sherlock leaned in to close the gap between them again.

John gasped with relief and kissed him back, trying to express everything he felt for Sherlock through his fervent kisses.

They found themselves moving to the sitting room. No one broke off the kiss, not until they both sank in the sofa, with John on top of Sherlock.

John moved his mouth along Sherlock's jawline and planted kisses along his neck, getting familiar with what that beautiful, long neck felt like at last.

"I always need you," Sherlock said, repeating his statement from before. "You'll never be useless to me." He grasped for John's jumper around his shoulders and held him tight.

"I see. Thank you for telling me," John said when he stopped kissing him. They looked at each other in the eye again. "I need you too. Right now."

Sherlock furrowed his brows. Then his eyes widened. "Oh."

"Please, can we...?" John trailed off, painfully aware of the tightness in his jeans now.

"John," Sherlock began, clearing his throat and shifting back on the sofa to look at him properly. "Let's not, I'm afraid."

"Oh." John shifted too and they were both sitting on the sofa now, facing each other. John cringed at what he was going to do. He was now getting soft. "Sorry. I shouldn't have -"

"It's not that," he said and took both of John's hands in his own. "You don't have to apologise."

"But what's the problem?" John wanted to know. "D'you think it's a bit too soon? I'll understand." He shrugged.

Sherlock shook his head. "There's no problem. I've never done this before with anyone," he said, gesturing between the two of them. "Never wanted to." He looked away and inhaled deeply. "And never will."

John frowned. "You don't want a... relationship, then?" (Please no.) "Still married to your work?"

"What? No, of course I want that! But not the other thing, what you wanted to do with me a moment ago."

"Oh." He looked down at the space between them.

"I've always been like that. Don't think it's personal."

John looked up at him again. Then he tried to recall the term he'd heard (or read) on the internet in passing for people like Sherlock. Asexual, probably.

Once he remembered that, everything fell in place for him.

John nodded in understanding. He stopped feeling anything negative after that. "That's okay," he said and pulled Sherlock in his arms again.

They arranged themselves a bit and John was lying on the sofa on his back, with Sherlock on top of him.

"Do you still want me?" asked Sherlock, with his face buried in John's neck.

"Of course, I do!" John pulled him closer and kissed him on his cheek. "With you gone for a whole year, dead - at least in my eyes - I was lost. Worthless. Feeling like a vegetable. A rotten one. I used to think about taking my life every other day."

"John!" Sherlock turned to look at him, alarmed.

"Why do you think I have my gun lying around, otherwise?"

"Don't do that again. Don't even think about it. Just, please," he rambled, gripping John tight around his waist.

"I won't anymore. I promise. But just saying. I'll never stop wanting you."

Sherlock kissed him on the forehead and smiled against his skin. "Neither will I."

John sighed in contentment. He could stay on the sofa all day with the love of his life.

"Let's move back in to Baker Street. I can't let you live like this. Please."

"I will. Move back in with you, I mean."

They gazed at each other, with John's heart brimming with fondness and love, and began to kiss again. Softly and slowly this time. There was no rush, after all.

They had the rest of their life to love each other as much as possible.

Tags: @helloliriels @gaylilsherlock @gaypiningshit @totallysilvergirl @lisbeth-kk @jamielovesjam @a-victorian-girl @topsyturvy-turtely @keirgreeneyes @peanitbear @inevitably-johnlocked @catlock-holmes

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the-tripping-and-the-touching · 6 months

Text

Landslide (series)

Part Nine

Pairing: Josh x reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: You've lost something in a hiking accident... are you prepared for it to come back?

Warnings: angst.

MASTERPOST

Playlist

An unceremonious toss of a pillow onto your face was your wake-up call the next morning. Adjusting your eyes to the light-filled living room, you looked up, squinting, to find Josh standing over you with his eyebrows furrowed. For a split-second the warm, uncomplicated feeling you’d associated with Josh for so long washed over you. That is, until last night crashed into you like a wave during a hurricane.

“Why’d you let me sleep alone in your bed?” He maintained his stare, his eyes lightening to a deep amber in the golden morning sun.

Clearing your throat a little as you pulled yourself up to sit, you raced to find an excuse as to why you wouldn’t just join him after he’d fallen asleep. “I, uh… was feeling sick.” Terrible work. You studied his face as he took in your answer, the expression that laid on it unchanging.

“Why not just wake me up and kick me out then? You didn’t have to sleep on the couch.” His line of questioning continued, but it was free of any accusatory tone. If you weren’t so guarded, you may have even detected a level of concern.

“You just looked so comfortable.” That, in itself, was not a lie. He had looked very comfortable, curled up on top of your comforter as you uncovered the evidence of his nondisclosure. But you knew you couldn’t go into more detail. You couldn’t tell him how, if you had woken him up last night, you would have unleashed your very own barrage of inquiries, most likely in a tone less forgiving than the one he was adopting for this conversation.

Again, he mulled over your answer, before his expression finally shifted. “Just don’t… Just wake me up next time. I sleep perfectly fine in my own bed too.” He leaned over, feeling your forehead with the back of his hand. “And you don’t feel warm.” Shrugging, he turned to the door and grabbed his keys before catching your eyes one last time. “I’ve gotta go to work, try not to get yourself another brain injury while I’m gone.” And with a flash of perfectly white teeth, he was gone, leaving you sitting all alone on the couch.

Waiting for a few minutes after you heard his tires pull out of the driveway and carry his car down the street, you finally mustered the courage to pick yourself up off the couch and walk to the place you knew your answers would be. Going straight to the far corner of your bedroom, you reached up as high as you could and felt around the top of your hanging planter, until your fingertips found purchase on a smooth wooden surface.

Careful to not pull the whole thing down from your ceiling, you picked up a rough little box and put your feet flat on the floor again. Swallowing, you sat yourself on the hardwood, needing to be as close to the ground as possible at this moment. Taking as much time as you could bare, you held the tiny receptacle in your palms, staring at the grain pattern for more than a few seconds as you prepared yourself for what you imagined was in there.

You set the container down in front of you before slowly pulling the lid up by the sides. Piled inside were dozens of little sticky notes, all scrawled on with Josh’s quick handwriting. Taking the first one between your fingers, you brought it closer to read. “Call me!” Not bad. You shuffled through a few more harmless pieces of paper before a new one caught your eye.

“You have my heart”. Shit. There’s no way, right? Fighting the urge to just snap the lid shut before you completely left the realm of blissfully unaware, you pressed on, grabbing the next note. They only increased in flirtiness and insinuation, until you picked the last one up.

Shivers ran down your spine as you read, confusion pounding against your skull as the ink seemed to leap off the paper at you. “Already miss how you taste” was all that was written, but the implication of it was enough to make your breath catch in your throat. Letting it slip from your fingers, the little note fluttered to the floor, joining the rest of them as you tried to stop the spinning in your head.

The sight of the colorful slips of paper scattered around you was enough to make you feel like you were losing your mind. And as much as you almost wished that were true, you also knew that you had to have collected these notes for a reason. They were tucked away safe and out of sight, in a place that clearly only you knew of.

In that moment, that pressing desire you had, to recall the start of your summer, became unbearable. You tucked into yourself, the weight of the situation coming down on you as your knees came up to your chest. Frustration came to a boil inside of you, forcing tears out of your eyes as you felt your cheeks get hot. Unable to even attempt wrapping your mind around the situation you found yourself in, you let yourself cry, closing your eyes as you stayed curled up on the floor, surrounded by the proof you had walked in on Josh trying to find right after you’d gotten back from the hospital. Notes that clearly meant just as much to him as they apparently had to you.

Nothing seemed to feel real until the click of the front door closing snapped you back to reality. Shuffling the notes back into a messy stack, you shoved them back into their box before placing it back in the planter, out of sight. Cautiously, you opened your bedroom door, watching with wide eyes as a boy so similar to Josh, yet so strikingly different, made his way into your kitchen.

After a few long seconds, taken to dry your face and make a poor attempt at cooling it off, you emerged into the main space. Stepping lightly, you approached him, studying him as he pulled a glass from the cupboard and stood in front of the sink, filling it with water. Just as he was about to bring it to his lips, you spoke up.

“Jake?”

In a flash of dark brown and denim, you were wrapped in his arms. A wave of relief washed over you as he held you close, the warmth of his embrace radiating all around as you relaxed for the first time since you’d woken up. You sniffled a little, a byproduct of the tearful event that had just occurred, and he pulled away, looking at your face for the first time in months. Remembering the same excuse you had given Josh, you offered him an explanation for the stuffy nose, “I think I’m coming down with something.”

He scanned over your features before the edges of his lips curled up, giving you one of those soft smiles that you had always associated with him. “And here I was thinking you were getting emotional over me coming to visit.” You were happy to see Jake. Happy enough to get teary-eyed, truly, if your discoveries hadn’t just about tapped you out.

“If I cried every time you came to visit your brother, it wouldn’t be as special, would it?” In all honesty, you probably would have let a tear or two slip past if this were any other day. Jake had always been special to you, in a way that really only the two of you could understand.

Given the position of you two being Josh’s best friend and twin brother, respectively, there was plenty of venting to be done through the years. And while you were typically at the Kiszka household to visit Josh, you would never be disappointed if his twin met you at the door instead. If you ever needed some time to just relax, you could always visit Jake in the garage and listen to him pluck at his acoustic until he formed a new riff. Although there was never really any pressure from Josh to be anything more than yourself, the feelings you had for him always kept you on the tiniest edge. But there was never a stress like that when it came to Jake. Over the years, he had become a friend that you had grown to always need.

“You know I’m never here to visit only my brother, sunshine.” The feeling of his hands on your shoulders was a comfort too rare nowadays, the nickname washing over you like a warm wind. His eyes flicked across you, not catching on any of your bruises, like you’d almost expected. “Looking good for someone that almost let a couple rocks kill ‘em.” Of course. Unlike Josh, a moment between you and Jake could never be too sweet for too long.

You laughed, pushing away from him and pulling a glass from the cupboard for yourself. “It was a landslide, Jake. More than a couple rocks.” Following his lead, you filled it with some water, already feeling your need to rehydrate.

“Yeah, yeah.” Looking at him again, you noted how his smile had changed into one of his big grins. You pushed his shoulder gently before walking to the kitchen table and pulling a chair out to sit in.

Following suit, he joined you at the table, rotating his glass around his fingertips. “So, Josh give you any warning at all about us coming to visit?” His voice held a certain warmth this morning, lulling you into nearly ignoring a certain word he had chosen to use.

“Us? Don’t tell me…” Your eyes shot up to meet his, eyebrows immediately furrowing.

“Shit, he really didn’t tell you anything. Sam’s at the studio with him right now, doing what little brothers do best.” At least he wasn’t here. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see him, you loved Sam. He was just more inclined to ask questions and make invasive observations than Jake, and you found yourself thanking the stars that he wasn’t here to witness and analyze your weak excuse for your puffy eyes. “At least they said they’d come home with dinner.”

You knew his eyes were on you, and as hard as you tried to keep up your unbothered demeanor, you also knew that Jake was always able to see straight through you. Thankfully, he didn’t take it as an opportunity to pry. You had to count your blessings, he never really did.

“Everyone else stayed home for the summer, work and internships and whatever nonsense they have. Nothing as exciting as coming to this place for a few days.” He nudged your arm with his elbow, pulling a small smile from you. Good enough for him.

It was always a gift to have Jake in a rambling mood. People would never know it when they saw him next to his twin, but he could talk just as much. On a good day, you could get him spiraling through topics every few minutes, keeping you happily entertained for hours.

“I mean, having you to visit in the middle of all the bullshit I’m dealing with with the band? Fucking saving me, you don’t even know.” Huffing a laugh and rolling his eyes, he took a moment to look around your kitchen. It wasn’t hard to see, after all of these years, that there was some sort of storm rumbling under his cool exterior.

“The band?” Your head tilted as you asked the question, your eyes not leaving his face as his caught on the little brass wall hanging in the shape of the sun that hung right above your head. He bit on the inside of his cheek as he mulled over his words.

Finally his thoughts solidified, but his eyes didn’t leave the metal sun. “When Josh moved out here, I had to scrap the whole band thing we had going.” His voice was heavier, almost like he was still mourning the loss of his twin. “Without Josh’s voice, every song was just kind of fucked… had to restart.”

Bringing his hand up to his face, he started playing with his bottom lip, running his fingers along the edge of it before pulling it a little. You knew there had to be a thousand things rushing through his head, though you’d never actually considered what coming to visit must do to him.

The move was hard for both of them, but especially so for Jake. To have a support system was one thing, but to have someone by your side for quite literally your entire life? It was a gift he hadn’t understood the true value of until it accepted an admission offer from across the country and tore his best friend away from him. His best friends.

“It’s interesting,” he seemed to snap out of his thoughts, “I never imagined my playing could sound like it does now.”

A laugh bubbled up from your chest as your eyes focused back on his. “Yeah, I guess studying for a music degree tends to enhance your skills.” There it was. That smile was back.

“If you say so, sunshine.” He tipped his glass back and forth on the table, watching the water inside lap against the sides as he formulated a new query. “Do you really remember everything?”

“Mostly.” You offered him a shrug as you sipped on your own drink. “The beginning of the summer is a little fuzzy, but it’s not like you were visiting then. At least not that I’m aware of.”

Letting out a little chuckle, he set his glass down flat and started to drum his fingertips on the tabletop. “Ah.”

“Ah?” An abrupt response wasn’t exactly what you were expecting, or what you were looking for.

“Just, uh, I was gonna offer to fill in some gaps, but you sound set.” His eyes went down to his tapping fingers after he spoke, the repetitive motion filling the silence with a dull noise.

“That all?” Your foot taps against his leg under the table, pulling his attention back to you.

“Yeah, yeah.” Another soft laugh falls from the small smile that had found its way back to his lips. “Was hoping for your sake that you’d lost your memory of all those films Josh makes you rewatch. Make it feel like you were seeing them for the first time instead of the hundredth.”

A louder laugh comes from you, widening his grin. “At least they’re good. God forbid he had taste like yours.”

“Hey! In no world does A Clockwork Orange have better rewatch value than anything I’ve ever shown you.” Just like that, falling back into your routine, you and Jake laughed with each other for hours, up until the moment you heard the key turn in the front door’s lock. Up until that tiny click pulled you away from it, you’d been having possibly the most restorative day yet since you were released from the hospital.

Hearing the same thing as you, Jake rose from his seat, meeting his brothers at the door as it swung open. Pizza boxes in tow, Josh waltzed into the kitchen, tapping your head lightly as he breezed by you. Making as much of an effort as you could with the memory of that morning hitting you, you rose to meet Sam, letting him wrap his long arms around your shoulders.

“This asshole popped up behind me as I was trying to frame a scene this morning.” Josh shouted over his shoulder as he pulled plates from a cupboard. “I can’t imagine Jake’s entrance here was any less nightmare-inducing.”

Just like that, a war was instantly waged in your mind. You could respond, acting like nothing had happened, or you could not, leaving him hanging at the risk of sending this entire evening, possibly even Jake and Sam’s entire trip, to absolute disaster.

Luckily, a choice was made for you as Jake defended himself, “All I did was help myself to some water after my journey!”

“You make it sound like you walked here from Michigan.” You quipped back, pulling paper towels off the roll and setting them on the kitchen table next to the boxes.

As much as you wanted to run from this situation, to go lock yourself in your room, you knew that the younger brothers didn’t deserve that. You knew that showing up at an inopportune time shouldn’t sentence them to a week of silence and domestic warfare. Accordingly, you pulled it together, trying not to make a point of only responding to the two of them. As much as they had a right to a friendly visit, Josh had forfeited his right to your conversation.

So for the first time in what very well could have been your entire adult life, you sat through a dinner without so much as stealing a glance at Josh. You almost made it through unscathed, the clamor of laughter and shouting covering your pointed silence. Almost.

“I need to know where the hell I’m sleeping, because the floor didn’t exactly agree with me last time.” Jake’s words crashed into you like a freight train, the weight of them immediately sobering you to the reality of the closing night.

“Well I’m not taking the floor either.” Sam piped up, sealing your fate.

You could feel his eyes on you before a single sound escaped his mouth, confirming what was about to happen. “We could always just sleep in your bed. They can argue over the couch and mine. I’m not really worried about getting sick.” For the first time that night, you looked at Josh. It was almost painful, the way the warm kitchen lighting deepened the color of his eyes, inviting you in like a siren on a stormy night. He shot you a wink, the edges of his lips curling up.

“I don’t think so, I really don’t feel well. Why can’t one of them take the couch in your room? Then no one has to sleep on the floor.” Your eyes didn’t leave his, even as Sam started speaking again. Like it was a game. Like he was daring you to look away, to get flustered, to give in.

“I’m not sleeping in the same room as either of them, I wouldn’t get a wink of sleep with the way they snore.” That earned him an elbow from Jake, leaving the two of them to bicker.

“C’mon,” Josh just had to keep pressing you. To him, this was how it was meant to be. To him, you had no idea. To him, your condition was some sort of miraculous second chance at whatever game he was playing. “It's not like it’s new for us. Jake can take my bed, Sam’ll sleep out here. Seems like everyone wins.”

That was as much as you could take. Because you couldn’t let him win. Not when you were losing as badly as this. “No.” It came out harsher than you would have liked, but drove the point home quicker than anything else you could have said. Knowing the look on his face had the ability to break your resolve, you went back to avoiding interaction with him.

Not giving them time to get up or say anything about your response, you gave Jake and Sam quick hugs before turning and walking straight back to your bedroom, swinging the door fully shut behind you.

As you got ready for bed, you could hear the shocked silence slowly turn into quiet bickering, no doubt over who got to sleep away from the others. You let the darkness of your room wash over you as you collected yourself, speechlessly praising yourself for staying firm on your decided course. Eventually, as you laid in bed scrolling through every app that offered some sort of distraction, the conversation died down to nothing as they found their spots for the night.

Texts from the twins rolled in during the silence, both asking what was wrong, Jake offering an open ear. As much as your mind was begging to be unburdened, you knew you couldn’t. Not now. So while you drifted off to sleep alone, a million thoughts ran through your head, each one of them focused on the boy who lived in the next room over.

#josh kiszka x reader #josh kiszka fic #josh kiszka #gvf fic #landslide fic

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justaduckarts · 1 year

Note

How did Eclipse and Sun react to Moon's transition? And was Pluto ever notified?

Hello!

This itched something in my brain, so here's a short lil drabble.

TW: Deadnaming (not intentionally), Dysphoria mentions

Nervous didn't cover it. Moon stood before the mirror, adjusting and readjusting his cap. Smoothing his tunic and turning this way and that to ensure the chest binding was secure.

The flatness of his chest brought him more relief- more joy than he could have ever imagined.

It was like he was meeting himself for the first time as he stood there. No more silken gowns. No more 'lovely young lady'. No more Mona. Just Moon. His truest self.

"Is my handsome son almost ready?" Luna propped herself in the doorway, a hand on her hip. Moon looked up at his mother and fidgeted.

"Forgive me... I just... What if the others don't like it?" He spoke so quietly. His throat was sore from pushing to deepen his voice. To sound less... Like Mona.

Luna gently cupped her son's face.

"My son, if your friends cannot support you and love you as Moon? They are not worthy of you." She kissed his forehead. "But I sincerely doubt Sunny and dear Clipsy would ever be anything less than supportive."

Moon nodded, sighing softly.

"I know, mother. I just..." Moon looked into the mirror.

"I understand," Luna wrapped an arm around him, "sometimes, it's difficult to quiet our uncertainties. I assure you, I'll be there every step of the way."

The two shared smiles. Moon couldn't be more grateful for his mother. His rock. Someone he knew would encourage him no matter how silly or strange the endeavor.

Glancing in the mirror one last time, Moon took in his appearance.

"Look at that," Luna's smile brightened, "my wonderful son. You're already such a fine young man."

Young man.

It felt right. It felt nice.

No more days of throwing all of his clothes on the floor or hiding in oversized sweaters or avoiding looking at the stranger in the mirror.

At least, he hoped.

"Mona!" Sun came striding up to greet his old friend, only to be caught by the bicep. Obscura dragged Sun back to her side and began frantically whispering at him.

Moon felt his heart pounding.

He'd spent the whole summer cooped up in the tower studying. He'd only seen Sun for the Solstice Celebration, and at that time he'd still been going out as Mona.

But he'd been Moon for months, and he hadn't been prepared to hear his old name again.

A gentle hand settled on Moon's shoulder. He glanced up at his mother. She smiled at him, confident and cool-headed as ever.

"Hello, boys!" Luna waved, "and Obscura. A vision, as ever."

"Oh, you," Obscura chuckled. She guided Eclipse and a now sheepish looking Sun across the entryway and they stopped at the temple's front step.

"Are we waiting on Solaris?" Luna glanced around for the radiant king. Obscura's smile faded. Eclipse crossed his arms- and Luna noted his second pair were noticeably absent again. She frowned.

"No, he's not attending. But let's not worry about him," Obscura's eyes glowed even through her dark veil, "why don't we go ahead and have lunch in the garden?"

"Sounds lovely. Oh, but first," Luna gently nudged Moon forward, "Obscura, Sun, Eclipse. I'd like you to meet my son, Moon."

Shyly, Moon waved at Sun and Eclipse.

Sun took a step forward, extending a hand. He grinned, showing off that chipped tooth of his. A battle scar from one of his sparring matches with Eclipse.

"It's nice to meet you, Moon."

Tears pricked the edges of Moon's vision as he shook the hand of his longtime friend. Finally being seen as himself by the world for the first time.

"Likewise," Moon said quietly, voice nearly cracking. He smiled. Sun released his hand.

"We're happy to have you, Moon," Obscura gently patted his shoulder, "you are such a fine young man, I'm so proud of you."

Eclipse moved towards Moon and Moon yelped as he was suddenly lifted off the ground.

"Who knew the Star Mother would bless us with another brother?" Eclipse squeezed Moon. The smaller god laughed, patting Eclipse's back.

The fledgling god of darkness was still young, but already so big. He was well on his way to being as impressive as Obscura someday.

After a few more hugs, the group was finally on their way to the garden. Once they entered, the smell of daisies and fresh cut grass washed over them.

Seated on a large blanket near the statue of the previous sun god was Pluto and her mother. Terra was absent, likely holed up in the forge as usual.

Pluto shot up like she'd been bitten and darted across the garden, unconcerned about the ends of her dress growing grass-stained.

"Moon!" She slammed into the meek blue fledgling god with such force that they both tipped onto the grass.

"Pluto," Moon wheezed, "hi."

Giggling, the lavender-skinned girl sat up. All around the two, soft pink flowers began to bloom. A show of Pluto's enthusiasm.

"I finally get to see you! Look at you, a whole new man." Pluto got to her feet, dragging Moon with her.

"And you're the same brute as ever," Moon stuck his tongue out at her. Pluto responded by sticking her own tongue out, crossing her arms.

"A man now and still can't stop me from bowling you over?" She taunted.

"Please, not even Obscura could stop your dragon-strength." Moon rolled his eyes, "you're going to kill someone by accident."

Pluto gasped, "I'd never!"

"Pluto, where are your manners?" Ursa set a hand on her wily daughter's shoulder, smiling at Luna and Obscura. The lesser spring goddess was so much shorter than the greater gods. Shorter now than her own daughter, not that that ever deterred Ursa from scolding Pluto when it was needed.

"Hm?" Pluto looked at her mother, then back at the other goddesses. "...Oh! Stars above, sorry! It's nice to see you, Luna, Obscura." Pluto bowed her head.

"That's quite alright," Obscura waved off Pluto's worries, "we're all friends, there's no need to be so formal."

"Oh, I know," Ursa sighed, "but that's still no reason to be running around-

"Ursa," Luna took the hands of the lilac goddess, "let them be children a little longer."

As the three goddesses began to chat about parenthood, responsibility, and other nonsense that teens don't really care about, Pluto turned to the gaggle of boys around her.

"Tag?" She grinned.

Sun's blue eyes shone with excitement. Eclipse was already backing away from the group, intent on a head start.

"You are so on," Sun bounced, "I'm not losing this time!"

"Ha! We'll see about that," Pluto put her hands on her hips.

Moon couldn't help but laugh, too.

He'd been so nervous, but things felt so normal.

No, they were better than normal.

Because now he was finally feeling like himself. And his friends, his family, still loved him. They loved Moon.

And Mona could be laid to rest.

#justaduckarts answers #star holder au #moon is trans #ftm drabble #lore

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alien-in-residence · 2 months

Text

The Last Human Diplomat Ch.2

Lights flickered from disrepair in the tram station for the Plains district. Rhean emerged from the crowded train and climbed the stairs two at a time. A discreet scanner in the wall analyzed her ID and communicated with the turnstiles to let her pass. Rhean emerged into the Plains district, a section of the Ring purpose made for the aristocratic class of Rouen-Ta. Grass covered every patch of flat ground and vines climbed up most archways and walls.

Lhuk’s apartment in the Ring was much more of an estate than Rhean’s. It wasn’t free-standing, still linking together with a long line of houses that formed a wall around a central walkway. It did, however, have a lawn out front. Lhuk had filled it with all the notable flora of Rhah’Fa, the Rouen-Ta homeworld.

Rhean was the last to arrive, a thin layer of sweat on her forehead. Lhuk was waiting on a bench designed for her centaur-like frame while the other invited diplomats complimented the topiary. The two other guests were Lhuk's assistant and the Sezeen ambassador. The junior staffer appeared to be substantially younger than Lhuk although Rouen-Ta age was still hard to gauge for Rhean. His ram horns were short, barely making a half loop. Rhean had been told his name once but had never seen him after initial introductions when he first arrived on the Ring.

Vessa, the Sezeen, was somewhat short for her species but still towered over everyone else. Of her coworkers, Rhean felt that Vessa was closest to being called a friend. She had arrived on the Ring just a few weeks after Rhean successfully applied for her office in the ambassador's annex. Vessa had initially been too patronizing to the "plight of humanity" but had shown a genuine concern for Rhean's refugee constituents.

Vessa’s tunic was made of rich leather and had long colored strips that flowed down the back to accent her plumage. It was sleeveless, allowing her large fore-limbs flexibility to carry her large body around. Her small manipulator arms were neatly at rest within the folds of an intricate undershirt. She even wore a few rings along her serpentine tail.

Lhuk and her assistant wore rich purple coverings over their hind torsos. It reminded Rhean of a saddle but she kept that comparison to herself. Lhuk had a silken dress with fractaline patterns crawling across it like lightning. Her assistant wore something incredibly modest so as not to upstage his boss.

“Thanks for waiting, everyone.” Rhean told them in Rouen-Ta high speech. She was trying and failing to hide that she was out of breath. “Sorry, I lost track of time at home.” Lhuk gave a short snort that was neither rude nor forgiving. Rhean dipped her head slightly to Lhuk and the junior staffer returned a similar nod. The social display seemed to please Lhuk and reinforce a desired hierarchy.

Lhuk did not travel on the Ring’s public trams and would not degrade her guests by having them do so either. She had chartered a shuttle that left from her affluent neighborhood and would take them the 60 degrees along the Ring to the Yonk College.

It was a well decorated and automated shuttle with almost all its fuselage committed to passenger comfort. Windows covered much of the ceiling and walls. It was not a machine that Rhean would trust in open space. The vessel was of Rouen-Ta make and the seats were likewise fitted to their physiology. While it was overly spacious for Rhean, Vessa had difficulty fitting her full body between the floor and ceiling.

“Are you alright, Vessa?” Rhean asked the Sezeen as she wedged herself sideways into a tiny couch.

“Oh don’t worry about me,” Vessa replied. She scrunched her neck back into her torso which ruffled her ridge of feathers there. She looked somewhat comical and Rhean stifled a laugh. Vessa was in good humor and stifled a laugh herself.

The trip was only a few minutes long. The shuttle took a less direct path to provide views of the Ring’s axial support structures and the parent sun, Pale Yellow. Rhean had been disappointed that the star hadn’t been given a more poetic name by the Rouen-Ta pioneers. The star system was populated exclusively by massive colorful clouds, rich in minerals but lacking in living space. It seemed to her that the Rouen-Ta Republic had grown so large that coming up with good names for their frontier systems just didn’t matter anymore. The shuttle quickly passed out of the sunlight and into shadow as it docked with the station.

They emerged just a moment later from the cramped shuttle into the nauseatingly spacious Yonk college. The college took up a full 5 degrees of the Ring and was designed to make you forget you were on an artificial station. The ceilings were either painted or covered in vid screens which played looping footage of Core’s blue and auburn skies. Buildings did not stretch floor to ceiling. In fact, the multi-floored design of the Ring had surrendered here to the single, dominating reality that was the College. It made Rhean feel like she was falling.

Yonks walked along foliage lined pathways between buildings made of brick and wood. Small fauna flit on insect-like wings or scurried up and down the treelines. It was an impressive display of wealth from the Imperium. It was an excessive use of Ring resources to propagate this planet-side facade. It was propaganda. It was working.

Their host was an elderly representative of the college. Rumor had it that even though he was nearing 200 years old he was the sure pick for the college’s next dean. He had initially taken the faculty position as a retirement job after his war service. Lhuk had talked at length about how a college dean was sometimes worth more as an ally than a dozen Primes. Her goal over dinner was to make a notable ally just as they became important.

The college architecture was ostentatious in its design and building materials. Everything was constructed, no pre-fabs. Each building was given a wide berth from its neighbors. Maintaining such large open spaces was a display of wealth on par with a gold toilet. And wood, whether fabricated or cut, was outrageously expensive. Rhean already felt guilty about the wood in her office and apartment. The college did not have such reservations.

A young Yonk with no Psion markings and a light-blue shelled Hifan approached them as they walked the grounds and offered to escort them to the college's reception hall. The Hifan spoke Imperium Standard through a vocalizer on the top of his barrel shaped body. Theirs was a species Rhean was still not comfortable with. They completely lacked a face and glided along with a single slug-like foot. In her head, they registered more as animal than person.

The social dynamic between the Yonk and Hifan was obvious. The Hifan was not a student here, but a slave. The college likely owned and leased many Hifan out to their Yonk students. These collegiate Hifan were all some variety of servant, either note-takers or maids. The diplomats could see a few of them scooting around the grounds, collecting trash or dutifully following a student. It was difficult for Rhean to conceptualize the Hifan as people but it was a courtesy the Imperium denied them by design.

Square columns of steel and stone adorned the entrance to the reception hall. Inscriptions in Imperium Standard spoke of the power and longevity of knowledge. The intimidating architecture seemed to banish the friendly Yonk and his servile Hifan.

The diplomats were the last to arrive. A small crowd of Yonks milled about in the impressively decorated antechamber. Portraits of previous college deans lined the walls. Hifan with crisp, white fabric fixed to their shells were silently offering up refreshments and scented vapors. The whole scene reminded Rhean of old earth vids of black-tie, backroom speakeasies. Although the complete lack of humans besides herself made the comparison thin.

Lhuk led the charge, introducing herself and then her guests to their host, a pale and heavily marked Psion named Barret. Barret likely had a Psion score in the high triple digits. Rhean had been told that fellow Psions were able to read the markings and interpret the score instantly. She only knew that the more intricate and extensive the markings, the more prestigious the Yonk. And the more dangerous, she thought to herself.

Small talk in the reception hall was short lived. It appeared that dinner as well as the other guests had been waiting for the diplomats. Not long after introducing themselves to their host the doors to the dining room were opened.

The central event of the evening was to be a classic Yonk style dinner. Contrary to their species’ reputation as loner erudites, Yonk festivities were long, involved social events. By tradition, dinner was always served across multiple tables, kept small to encourage conversation. The host was expected to stay at one table and guests were expected to rotate throughout the room to their liking. Being too stationary was seen as being a boring curmudgeon while being too mobile was looked on as flighty or vapid.

The evening’s attendees were mostly Yonks with many faculty from the university attending alongside some minor politicians from the Imperium. There was a Kiran Fleet Marshall as well as a Huliotess Deputy Director bureaucrat in attendance. In total there were ten tables, each with six seats. They were not expected to always fill a table, but never to let one grow empty.

The hierarchy was instantly visible to Rhean. The Huliotess, despite being a Deputy Director, was woefully out of place amongst the two meter tall crowd of intellectuals. The Yonks were quietly making sure she felt lesser. The host had provided universal benches for the attendees but notably the chairs did not include a roosting rest for Huliotess physiology.

The kitchen staff were mostly Hifan with some Va-tess mixed in as chefs. The food smelled great, infused with the rich spices and heat that Yonks preferred. Rhean had moved tables twice by the time the food was finally brought out. They served her a first course she could only describe as “spicy oatmeal” with what looked and tasted like seaweed flakes mixed in.

At her current table were three Yonk faculty and the Huliotess deputy. The Yonks had been going on and on about economic activity along the DMZ. The arrival of food distracted the Yonks and allowed Rhean an opportunity to talk to the Huliotess. “Do you really think piracy is that big of a deal in the DMZ?”

The Huliotess looked surprised that someone was talking to her. “Well, piracy is a constant in the universe, like gravity,” she replied in a musical accent. “You can never really eliminate it, just prepare for it. But I don’t think that a few caravans raided in the last month warrants ending two millennium worth of cease-fire.”

One of the Yonks looked up from their bowl of soup and quipped, “Well more like a century’s worth.”

The Huliotess’ frills raised in embarrassment. She dipped her head and pecked at her plate of seeds. Rhean took the comment in stride and continued to address the Huliotess. “So do you think traders should simply arm themselves when in the DMZ?”

“I think a fighter or two following in a foreship’s wake is a far cry from putting an armed patrol fleet into the DMZ,” the Deputy Director replied. The rude Yonk was still staring at Rhean, hoping to elicit a response. The Huliotess’ feathers continued to stand on end. “Recent military excursions into the Zone aside, putting a patrol fleet into the DMZ will only serve to raise tensions and scare a few pirates. Certainly not worth the risk.”

Another Yonk decided to chime in, “Ha! Political philosophy from a clerk! The DMZ has been too sacrosanct for too long. Pirates view it as an open invitation to hide there.” The deputy’s feathers began to calm as the Yonks took control of the conversation. “Two possibilities exist. Either there is a pirate planet or there is not. If there is, then the solution is to find and burn it. If there is not, then we simply must be more vigilant at port and weed them out.”

Another Yonk interjected with an esoteric rebuttal and Rhean took this as a sign to move tables, taking her bowl of spice-oatmeal with her.

One table closer to the host, she found Vessa and yet more Yonks. This table had a densely marked Psion and the only student in attendance. She was conspicuously the only of her species without Psion markings in the room. The Kiran Marshall had just left and Vessa was talking about post-commonality literature.

“You’re judging the First Generation too harshly. When you’ve been required to follow forms for so long, it makes sense you’d flock to the abstract,” Vessa said to the Psion.

“But you have to admit that some of Gheera’s treatise is borderline unreadable. Ending and starting sentences at random. Some of the pages were hand written!” The Psion replied.

“No argument here, but I understand where Gheera’s coming from. I’ve read pre-Commonality prose and it makes me nauseous. Like automated number readouts.” Vessa laughed to herself in that deep trilling sound that made Rhean feel at ease. “What about human literature, Rhean. Any notable phases of formlessness?”

Rhean was both thankful and mortified to be included in the conversation so swiftly. “Well that’s a difficult question isn’t it? If it has a name, doesn’t that mean it has a form?” The Psion flared his gills in annoyance and decided to switch tables. Rhean continued to her audience of now just the student and Vessa, “There was a movement called Postmodernism. I’ve never been a huge fan but a few people I know call it the only honest literature.”

The Yonk student was intrigued. “And what was the style in the Human postmodern movement?”

“Oh well I’m not a literature expert but there was no one way to write. It sounds similar to what Vessa was describing,” Rhean said. The student now looked fully intrigued. “Again, I’m not hugely familiar, but one type of poetry was- sorry, is- stream of consciousness. You simply write exactly what’s coming to your mind as you go. No real structure, end goal, or point. Just exactly what comes to mind.”

Vessa and the student looked horrified. Vessa blinked her eyes a few times, clearly lost in a grounding meditation. The student kept her eyes on her dinner bowl for a long moment. It was Vessa who finally returned to the moment and asked, “So you just write exactly what comes to mind, as it comes to mind? That sounds horrifying.”

“Well perhaps I’m speaking the Imperium Standard sloppily, but the style really only reads like a poorly edited monologue,” Rhean tried to reassure her table.

Vessa was still visibly uncomfortable but asked, “I’ve been meaning to ask. Do humans have imperfect memories?” The student stared down at their food, clearly upset by the thread that Vessa was pulling.

Rhean absent-mindedly looked to the nearby tables, hoping for a new guest to rotate in. She had no choice but to answer the question, unaware of the faux-pas she was making. “Well, no. Memory is a skill and is highly variable among humans. It also takes up multiple forms.” The new info did seem to garner the student’s interest. “But if you mean precise memory, some humans have what’s called photographic memory.”

“So what do you ‘see’ when you remember something?” the student asked.

“Well, I don’t really see anything. I can somewhat picture something in my mind, but for me it doesn’t always come with clarity.” Vessa and the student nodded. The table felt much less tense and Rhean didn’t know why.

The student began to lead the conversation, asking Vessa about her history in politics and how she’d come so far from Nest. Another Yonk joined their table and the topic shifted to Sezeen spacecraft. Rhean stayed at the table until her oatmeal was nearly gone and then stood to hand it to a Hifan waiter. She saw her opportunity to finally join the Host’s table and took it.

Barret was emptying what looked like his second bowl of pasta while Lhuk discussed the Duoro border crisis to a crowd of bored looking Yonk diplomats. “It’s the inconsistency of it all that maddens me. One day I’ll have a formal trade agreement from a clan and the next day I get a call that the same clan has raided a caravan!”

“That’s what you get for trading with brutes,” Barret replied with fish meat still in his mouth. “What do you expect, Lhuk? They’re barbarians with warp drives.”

The blatant racism definitely shocked Lhuk and she did a meager job hiding that fact with her impassive face. “I’d take an honest brute over a lying sophisticate.”

Barret ignored her comment and charged forward with a rant that had clearly been brewing. “The problem is the Duoro, as a culture, lack hierarchy and discipline.” He took a triumphant slurp of a stray noodle for dramatic effect. When no one challenged him he continued with confidence. “Each clan acts on its own, unconcerned with the needs of the whole. Their leaders pursue the fleeting desires of the day with little control or oversight over their rabble. When a clan leader can be deposed by a simple challenge, what level of stability do you think that provides? No, Lhuk, the only way to communicate with the Duoro is with threats.”

Lhuk did not see an easy way out of the situation and so gave a non-committal huff. The other Yonks at the table nodded their heads in subservient agreement with their host. Rhean wore disbelief across her face. The host and table quickly noticed that Rhean was the only one not to voice a response to Barret’s condemnation of the Duoro. A row of bulbous Yonk eyes and Lhuk’s beady set of four eyes came to rest on her. That familiar feeling of otherness rose in her stomach.

She had to say something, anything. “I’m not so sure.” Her rebuttal garnered her a moment of shock and a narrow window to formulate an inoffensive political position. Barret’s comments were a red hot poker to her temper. She knew escaped members of the Duoro’s slave castes and their first complaints were not lack of hierarchy and discipline. With few options she had to lie and find middle ground between herself, and a racist.

“The Duoro are a confederation, are they not? I think that shows their fear of tyranny more than a lack of discipline. Each clan wants independence from each other. While that may not be hierarchical, I don’t think it shows lack of discipline.” Rhean had partially convinced the Yonk diplomats, Barret was annoyed to have been contradicted at his own event, at his own table. “I know members of their caste system, and their commitment and discipline nearly matches the Imperium’s.” She could see Barret cool down ever so slightly.

“Well then perhaps not discipline, but consistency,” Barret said. The major thrust of his argument was intact, as was his pride.

The conversation was still for a moment and Lhuk saw an opportunity to take the steering wheel again. She’d been at the host’s table for a little too long and had maybe one more opportunity to ingratiate herself with Barrett. A Va-tess waiter walked near their table and saw the number of empty or emptying bowls. He made quick eye-contact with Barret, Rhean, and the other Yonks at the table to confirm their readiness for more food. Lhuk’s plate was barely touched.

Rhean slowly slipped the tiny disk of poison from her dress pocket and split her mind into two focusses. One was playing the part of an impartial and polite dinner guest, happy to be at the host’s table. The other was watching the door to the kitchen and discreetly unwrapping the poison. She kept her hands below the table and slowly peeled away one side of the plastic baggy. Surface tension kept the other side of plastic stuck to her now sweaty left palm.

The Va-tess waiter appeared not long after his disappearance with four bowls balanced between his six arms. His rodent-like face expressed a worry born both from the balance and the heat of each bowl. He came to the Yonk to Rhean’s right first and happily exchanged a steaming bowl of soup for a cold, empty one.

As he twisted to deliver Rhean’s meal she moved her foot slightly to trip one of his spindly legs. He fell briefly and shot out of one his arms to steady himself on the table. In doing so he nearly dropped the full bowls of food he still carried. Rhean took the opportunity to grab hold of two of his arms and help him stand again. In the instant that she helped him rise, she slipped her palm over the one bowl of pasta he carried and let the poison drop. The swish of her dress and the minor chaos of the fall helped to obscure her delivery.

The Va-tess thanked her and delivered her another bowl of spiced oatmeal. He offered a meager apology, “Sorry sires, I was too ambitious to deliver them all at once.”

Barret did not offer a response. His barbles dangled from his face as he smacked his mouth in anticipation of another bowl of pasta. Rhean saw the tiniest tip of the poison disk bobbing in the bowl. She hoped its pale blue would be lost in the rainbow of exotic ingredients present in the dish.

Rhean had to wrestle her attention away from the others' food and forcibly concentrate on eating casually. Lhuk thankfully provided unintentional distraction as she talked Barret’s ear-holes off. It was clear that she had pushed her luck this evening and was skirting ever closer to annoying the host. Lhuk picked at her tray of grains and fruit when it became obvious that Barret was more interested in eating than talking.

Lhuk decided to surrender and pushed her chair back from the table, signaling she was finally going to rotate elsewhere. She tried her luck one last time however and moved her hand into Barret’s personal space, offering up her contact card. “Well if you ever need to discuss getting things past the border, I know a lot of caravan houses,” she said.

Barret eyed the card with derision but ultimately took it from her. He flipped it over in his hand a few times and then used its edge to wipe a bit of food from the side of his mouth. He smiled and his gills fluttered in boasting, “Certainly Lhuk, I’ll always keep you in mind.” One of the other Yonks at the table chuckled and Lhuk took the indignity in stride. With that, she was gone to some other table, nursing her pride.

Rhean remained at the table, committed to watching the coming fiasco. It came maybe a minute after Lhuk made her ignominious exit and right as the Yonk student sat down. At first, it looked like Barret was choking, but a Yonk’s breathing and eating tubes are separate. He pounded his chest with a fist and tried to cough out through his gills. He started to stand but his arms felt weak. He shook a little in his chair while his eyes bulged in his head.

His psion markings felt hot. They felt oh so hot, hotter than being in the chair almost two centuries ago. He could feel the needle poking at his skin while the proctor and the machine barked questions at him. Memories broke into his conscious mind and he didn’t have the strength to stop them. His mouth felt dry as the sensations of the past overloaded his brain and he started to hallucinate.

How long had he been in the chair? Had it been two minutes or an hour? What was his score? What would he look like when the test was finally done? The machine drew a long line across his abdomen. It burned like molten metal in his skin. He’d never told anyone but he was worried that he’d be ugly once the test was over. What was that last question? Something about time distortion in the L3 point between three moving blackholes. Could he ask for repeats? He couldn’t remember. Oh no, he hadn’t been breathing. Was the test over?

He was on the bridge of Dutiful. Some Marshall was reading off casualty reports while the Psion war council looked over a hundred reports a second. HIs head felt woozy as he skimmed through satellite images. Someone was saying his name but he couldn’t hear them. His arms felt weak. How high up were they? Was this orbit safe? Did the humans even have any orbital defense missiles left? How much longer was this madness going to last? It needed to end, he was so tired. Why was he so tired?

He was back in the college reception hall and there was no oxygen making it to his brain. Barret thrashed at the table as his gills turned a dark red. He tried over and over to cough. The Yonk next to him was trying desperately to smack him in the back and make him cough, but Barret was moving around too much, trying to grab something. Like an idiot child he started clawing at his gills, trying to get air in them and the clotting blood out.

He needed to clear his airway. He needed someone to strike him just in the middle of his back where the minor lungs connected to the pulmonary branch and his gills. Why wasn’t anyone helping him? Was he having an allergic reaction? It wasn’t in the air. Nothing was that quick and some other Yonk would’ve been affected as well. Was it something in the food? It couldn’t be, half of the Yonks had ordered the same dish. Lhuk’s business card! He’d wiped it right on his mouth! Foolish! Terrible discipline next to a foreign agent.

Barret was standing back from the table while a fellow Yonk nearly punched him in his back. It didn’t solve the problem. Blood was starting to drip from Barret’s overinflated gills. They’d already sustained enough damage that he’d need a transplant anyway. His eyes darted around the room frantically until he found Lhuk. He jumped at his table and clawed at the business card. His arms were starting to grow rigid. Each movement looked pained and forced. He had to steady himself on the table with both his arms as strength left his legs. His species’ double jointed arms didn’t ever truly lock in place and so he quickly fell.

His face impacted the bowl of pasta with force enough to knock over the table. In the chaos he had managed to get a grip on the card. A mess of food and blood splayed out around his now convulsing body. He crawled around to orient himself facing Lhuk. With their eyes locked he took her business card and smacked it over and over onto his now shattered dinner bowl.

The crowd stood back, so shocked at the hectic display that no one moved for a moment. A host of servants from the kitchen had appeared and were trying to administer first-aid. Their efforts were in vain. Barret had stopped moving. His last actions were clear to the guests assembled. He had condemned Lhuk. The table of Yonks had seen her hand over her business card shortly before leaving the table. They had seen him wipe it on his mouth. Her embarrassment and her foreign status were all they needed to condemn her.

No one said anything but they all stared at her. Vessa moved up next to Rhean as did Lhuk’s assistant. They knew they had to condemn her immediately if they were going to make it out of the college.

Lhuk took the stares of the crowd like a criminal on the way to the gallows. She took out her data slate and called the Rouen-Ta consulate for the Ring. “Hello? Yes, this is Lhuk. I am requesting diplomatic privilege.” The crowd began to stand in a wall between the exit and Lhuk. “You can check the record of my blood. I’ve earned the right,” she continued over the call.

The Yonks began to look toward the Kiran Fleet Marshall as the authority figure in the room. At first he was confused but then moved into the role of military commander. “Madame Lhuk, if you would. I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Psion Barret,” his vocalizer announced in commanding Imperium Standard.

It took a second for her ambassador’s translator to deliver the Kiran’s command. Lhuk stood rigid as a soldier and ended her call.

Rhean had to summon herculean strength to suppress her grin, but to her benefit no one in the room was looking at her. She gifted herself the enjoyment of beholding the now deceased Psion Barret. The former head War Psion for the War of Human Pacification lay in a puddle of pasta sauce and his own blood. The last Psion calculation he ever made was wrong.

#writeblr #hfy #sci fi #tales from terra #The Last Human Diplomat #writing

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lenoraslament · 3 months

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Lenora’s Love: A Tom Riddle Fanfiction

Chapter 27: I Lost You

(Warnings: Angst, Dark Lord Heartbreak)

Lenora finds out Tom obliviated a year from her life and confronts him.

Tom Riddle couldn't stop fiddling with the small box in his pocket. The candles he enchanted were staring to drip with wax, he looked at his watch and paced around the grass. The creek behind him was bubbling softly.

A sound like a pop cracked through the atmosphere.

He turned to see Nora walking to him in strides. Her hair clung at her face, partially wet in the front, mascara dripped onto her cheeks, her face was red from crying.

"Darling what-" Tom started before he was blasted back. He thudded on the ground.

"HOW COULD YOU" she screamed.

"Nora-" he looked at her eyes, she stood above him her chest heaving.

She knew.

"I can explain darling" he sat up and she sent another bolt at him knocking him flat onto his back.

"Explain? EXPLAIN!?" She turned around, he couldn't tell if she was laughing or crying, "There is no explaining this Tom! My memories... I was ra-...we were" she couldn't catch her breath all of a sudden.

Everything was rushing back to her all over again.

Tom stood up quickly and tried to touch her but she shoved him with a scream.

"You were in pain, you were suffering..." Tom held his hands up and took a step back.

"BECAUSE OF YOU"

"I just wanted to save you. You couldn't function, you were... you needed help"

"Oh so you just decided to wipe my memory? A fresh start? So your precious Nora could be clean again?!"

Tom shook his head frantically, "No, no, I wanted you no matter what. I just chose to-"

"It was not your choice to make!'" Lenora's voice was almost hoarse from screaming.

Tom tried to search for the words, he couldn't take the look of hurt on her face. She shook with rage.

"You are no better than them!" She turned, her fingers raked through her hair, her nails digging into her scalp.

She thought of him carrying her down the hall at Hogwarts. Running her the bath.

"Lenora, please let's just ta-" his voice sounded desperate.

He always thinks he can just wash away the pain. The lies.Erase it.

She held out her wand "CRUCIO"

Tom dropped to his knees yelling out, his whole body on fire. He felt like a thousand cuts rippled against his skin.

He was crumpled on the floor.

She dropped the spell and he coughed and sputtered.

"I lost something!" she stood over him yelling "you stole my memories, my autonomy!"

His eyes were full of tears as he stood.

"I lost something too" his voice was ragged, she realized he was crying.

"I lost you" his shoulders shook as faced the away trying to hide, "I lost you again and again. Every day"

CRUCIO she hit him again and he fell ragged on the floor crying out.

"Stop Nora please... please"

She withdrew the spell and sobbed, she cradled her own head, exhausted.

He turned to her again, his eyes were red and glassy, he reached out to touch her face but she only drew away in anger.

"Lenora please" he tried to calm his breaths that were ragged from sobs.

Lenora shook her head in disbelief, she never believed he was capable of crying and yet he raveled in front of her, his hand pressed on his chest.

She stopped moving away letting him step in front of her. He touched the side of her face with deep relief that she didn't pull back.

How pathetic she was before. All she ever wanted was for him to-

"I love you." His words hung between them and she placed her hand on his, their eyes clung to each other for a moment, "I've always loved you" his forehead touched hers.

They cried together holding onto each other.

It's too late.

She shook her head, a single tear fell down her cheek, "that's not love"she said softly.

He tried to kiss her but she turned her head and he cried against her cheek.

"I'm sorry...you have to forgive me darling please" he sputtered.

"I can't "gave him a tearful look as she apparated away.

Abraxas found him. He didn't know how long Tom had been sitting there. His stare peered at nothing, his whole face seemed devoid of any emotion.

The red in his eyes gave him away.

"My lord?" Abraxas asked, "are you okay?"

Tom picked up the box and threw it. It landed with a splash in the creek, the water sweeping it away.

"Where's Nora?" Abraxas asked.

"She knows" he said. Abraxas face paled greatly, he felt nauseous.

"How?" He asked.

"Black betrayed me. Betrayed us " Tom's voice was flat. He looked up at Abraxas and his face almost crumpled but he took a breath and regained his composure. When he stood, the anguish was replaced by rage.

"Tom.." he said, "What happened".

"Bring him to me" Tom said, "now".

Everyone. Everyone knew.

Everyone betrayed her.

Lenora could barely breathe, she apparated back to the train station . She didn't know why. She only knew she needed to be as far away from Tom as possible. Farther than she could ever apparate away.

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heyyyharry · 1 year

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Deep End - Chapter 17: Die for Me

...in which Ezi feels betrayed, and Harry just wants to help.

AU: famous!harry, siren!mc, adult modern retelling of the little mermaid? lol, fake dating, enemies to lovers.

WARNING: MATURE THEMES

All chapters / Synopsis / Moodboard / Playlist

A/N: Starting my new job tomorrow, kinda nervous but excited!!! Enjoy this chapter. New update next week :)

A million thoughts ran through Harry’s mind when Maggie took him to her home. It was an old block of flats near Shadwell station. Hers was the door numbered 27 on the ground floor.

“I hope she’s awake now,” Maggie said as she unlocked the door. There was light coming out of the room at the end of the hallway, and Maggie beckoned Harry to follow. The flat was cold and wet, with muddy boot prints on the wooden floor, but it didn’t make any difference since both Harry and Maggie were soaked from the rain anyway.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Maggie said as she entered the room. “Harry is here to see you, dear.”

When Harry stepped in, Ezi’s blue eyes pinned him to the spot. She was sitting on the bed in Maggie’s funky rainbow t-shirt; her forehead and arms were bruised. Maggie had told Harry that Ezi had fallen from the bridge, and honestly, he had imagined worse, so this was quite a big relief. He did wonder how Maggie had managed to dive in and save her, but that was a question for later.

“Hi, Ezi. How are you feeling?” There was no response or reaction, so he continued, “I was very worried when I heard. I’m glad you’re safe now.”

Still nothing. Just two hollowed eyes staring at him like they didn’t speak the same language.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Maggie said.

It was then that Ezi spoke. "Get out. No, not you, Maggie. You can stay. I don't want him here."

Harry's gaze jumped to Maggie, who was now half a step out of the door. She slowly looked up, eyes locked with his.

He didn't know what he was expecting, for her to say something, maybe? He wished she would defend him and try to convince Ezi to just hear him out. But Maggie only stared back, helpless, as if saying, 'Maybe you should go.'

But you fucking asked me to come here, Harry wanted to say, but he clenched his fists and took a deep breath.

Ezi still refused to meet his eyes. She had her arms crossed in front of her chest and an agonising look on her face. It was at this moment that Harry thought about her falling into the dark water, her struggling to swim, drowning and helpless against the currents for the first time in her life. She must have been so scared. He wished he'd been there. He would have jumped in and tried to save her.

"Ezi--"

"What did I say?" she snapped. "Get the hell out or I'll start screaming and the neighbours will come. Maybe they'll even call the police." She whipped her head to Maggie with a threatening glare. "You wouldn't want the police to knock on your door, right?"

Maggie tugged gently at Harry's soaked sleeve. "M-Maybe you should go outside for a bit."

But Harry was impatient. He shrugged off Maggie and strode over to the bed, and Ezi recoiled and gripped the duvet tightly to her chest, an alarmed look on her face as he sat down on the edge of it and reached for her. She didn't think he meant any harm, did she?

"Hey, listen." Carefully, he placed his hand on her knee and felt her stiffen against his touch. He hated this. What had he done? "Ezi, please hear me out."

"I've heard enough," she hissed. "My sister tried to kill me, my queendom is in danger, and now I can't go home. Are you happy now?"

"Of course not. How could you say that?"

"Harry, maybe you should go.”

Maggie’s attempt to intervene was ignored.

"When Maggie told me what happened to you, I was so scared I'd lose you. Why do you think I came?"

"You came because you feel guilty." The words came out of Ezi’s mouth so fast that Harry believed she'd spent this whole time thinking of the reason why. "You want me to forgive you for the horrible things you said so you could move on. Well, guess what? I'm not a person, remember? I don't feel, and therefore, I have no sympathy for you.” There was a pause, and then, the worst thing she could possibly say to him, "You will never get my forgiveness, Harry." Her voice was shaking, her lashes wet. "I can't believe for a second...I was willing to die for you."

When coming here, Harry had prepared himself to get yelled at or have stuff thrown at him depending on how well Ezi was, but to hear her say she would never forgive him left him completely numb. His hand fell back onto his lap, and he sat there, watching her turn her back to him and yank the duvet up to her neck. As she pretended to fall back to sleep, he got up and quietly left the room.

“Hope you like herbal tea. I don’t really drink tea.”

“Thank you.”

Maggie placed the steaming cup down on the table, and Harry instantly warmed his hands on it. The kitchen was just as cold as the rest of the flat, and while waiting for the water to boil, Harry had taken some time to observe. Everything here seemed clean and tiny but didn’t really feel like it. He paid attention specifically to the seashells collection on top of the fridge and the dead flowers, which had sat in that dusty vase for so long that they’d turned black. Since this building was so close to the tube station, you could hear the train from the distance.

“It gets quieter after midnight,” Maggie said as she sat down in front of Harry with her own cup of tea. Harry’s cup was plain white, but hers was shaped like a fox.

Harry blew into his cup and took a sip. “So, how did you manage to find Ezi? Did she tell you she was going to the bridge?”

“Not at all. I followed her there because I assumed that would be the place she would meet the Sea Queen.”

Harry froze while Maggie just calmly took a sip of her steaming tea.

“What…did you just say?” he asked.

The steam fogged up her glasses, so she took them off, folded them, and set them down on the table. Without them, her blue eyes were more vivid than usual, almost resembling Ezi’s. The colour of the sea.

Chills rushed down Harry’s spine and he swallowed thickly. “You know what she is?”

“Harry, darling,” Maggie said. “I am what she is.”

“You’re…a siren?”

“Well, I used to be. Decades ago. My sister killed the man I loved. He was a fisherman. I was supposed to become the next Sea Queen, but my sister had always been jealous of me. She knew I was in love with a fisherman, so she murdered him and ate his heart. But then she suddenly possessed power so strong that she could raise the ocean and drown an entire island. She turned me into a human and forced me to live eternity in this world while she told everyone that I had been killed by my lover. And I must tell you this, immortality is overrated. People mourn and forget about you, and you have to watch every single person you know pass away.”

That was too much for Harry to take. He could feel the pounding of his heart inside his own head. After a moment of silence, he managed to ask, “Have you told Ezi?”

“Yes. She was more shocked than you, actually. But deep down, she knows I’m someone she can trust. I think we established this mutual understanding from the moment we first met. After all, we both share royal blood. One Queen would recognise the other.”

“Does that mean she’s gonna be trapped here for eternity as well?”

“Unlikely. I think her sister took the pig’s heart, thinking it was your heart, and attempted to kill her, but failed.”

“We have to do something.”

“We are no match for the Sea Queen. It’s Ezi who has to stand up for herself.”

“I don’t want her to end up like you.” The words flew out before Harry could stop himself, causing Maggie to stare at him, wide-eyed. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant,” he stuttered. “But Ezi is a good person. Not that I’m saying you’re not, but Ezi never really wants to be Queen. She just wants to make her mother proud. She just wants to be loved like any of us in this godforsaken world. She belongs here with me. She deserves to have a normal life here with a family that appreciates her, and if those creatures believe she’s dead, then we cannot allow her to face them.”

“Those creatures are her family.”

“By blood, not by choice.” Harry clenched his fist so he wouldn’t slam it on the table. “I’m not letting her go back to the ocean after what they put her through.”

Maggie broke into laughter as she slowly shook her head. “Do you have any idea what you’re talking about, child? When they realise the heart they have is not yours, they will come back for you. The Sea Queen would do anything for your heart. Now you may say you don’t care, that you will gladly die for your damsel in distress or whatever, but what you’re thinking right now isn’t heroic; it’s foolish. This is not your fight, Harry. If the Sea Queen got your heart, she would wipe out humankind.”

“So you’re saying I have no choice but to lose Ezi?”

Maggie reached across the table to hold his trembling hand as she looked into his eyes. For a moment, they shared a sense of understanding. “If you care about Ezi, you must stay back and let her fight her own battle.”

Harry picked up his cup of tea and sipped away in silence. Then, he asked, “Did you turn back into a siren to save Ezi from the river?”

Maggie smiled. “No. I’m just a really good swimmer.”

Harry woke up to find Ezi staring at him. He was sitting in the armchair facing her bed, unsure how or how long ago he’d fallen asleep, but it seemed like she had been awake for a while; she’d read a big chunk of the book lying open and face down on her lap.

“You know, you talk in your sleep,” she said suddenly, breaking the nerve-wracking silence between them. Harry didn’t expect her to acknowledge his existence after her tantrum earlier, so he really didn’t know what that observation was supposed to mean.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asked, combing his fingers through his messy hair.

“No, it’s just gibberish, really. But you seemed frightened.”

He had a good reason to be. Although he didn’t quite remember the specifics, he’d had a short nightmare about falling into the ocean, and he’d just kept falling and falling. There had been flashes of a half-fish, half-human creature, and the stench of blood was alarmingly vivid. When the claws ripped his chest open, the last thing he saw was Ezi’s face, his blood dripping from her fangs.

“It’s alright,” he said. “I’m alright.”

Ezi only nodded. This eerie nonchalance wasn’t like her at all, and he kind of wished she would start yelling at him again. Instead, she flipped the duvet to the side, revealing her broken ankle, which had been bandaged by Maggie. Speaking of Maggie, where the hell was that woman? She had told Harry to watch Ezi as she went out to get groceries, so she should be home by now.

“Would you mind helping me out of bed? I want a bath,” Ezi said.

Harry was frozen in shock for a second, then he snapped out of it and quickly got up from the chair to help her. She could barely walk, so she had her arm around his neck and held onto him as she limped to the bathroom. He would offer to carry her, but he wasn’t sure if they were cool enough for that yet; she couldn’t have forgiven him after one short nap.

He drew the bath with extra hot water, just the way she liked it, and waited for her to strip off her clothes so he could settle her into the bath. She lay there, her bandaged ankle resting on the edge of the tub, looking relaxed as if she’d just finished her 9-to-5 and not survived from attempted murder by her own sister. After his conversation with Maggie, Harry knew Ezi couldn’t have that simple life, but he couldn’t help but fantasise about one for them.

“If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen. Just call.” Harry turned to leave, but Ezi stopped him.

“Wait. Can you stay here with me?”

He stared at her. “You want me to stay?”

“Yeah, to make sure I don’t fall asleep. I don’t want my bandage wet.”

“Okay. I’ll stay then.” He came to sit on the floor beside the tub, elbow resting on the edge, head against his knuckles. Steam curled up from the water as she soaked her entire body in, only leaving her head above the surface. They sat in silence, listening to the dripping of the sink. Harry had so much to say, yet he didn’t want to give her a reason to dismiss him. Maybe she’d thought it through and changed her mind about him. Letting him stay here with her could be her way of showing forgiveness.

“When you said I wasn’t a person,” she spoke suddenly yet quietly, “was there any part of you that meant it?”

He nervously wet his lip. “To say no would be a lie. So yes, only at that moment, though,” he sighed. “It was like…oh, I think I’m in love with this girl, but now I find out she’s been plotting to murder me this whole time, so maybe none of it was real.”

Ezi nodded once. “Fair enough.”

Her response made him chuckle. “You know, you sound very British now.”

“Guess I’m easily influenced,” she said, giggling a little. It felt good to hear her laugh again.

“But I’m very sorry about the things I said out of anger. I didn’t mean them.”

“That’s okay. I know you didn’t. I guess I was being a little bit harsh, too. I just...well, it was a lot. Feeling betrayed by you and then my sister also betrayed me, and I..."

She left the sentence unfinished. Silence seeped back in as Harry watched her stare intensely at her broken ankle.

“Why didn't you believe me when I said I loved you?”

His question caught her by surprise, and her brows furrowed thoughtfully. “Why do you believe you love me? I’m not trying to be mean or anything, but as you said, love is a complicated thing. It’s not one emotion. You can’t possibly know what love feels like.”

“Yeah, well…I don’t know. But I miss you when you’re not around. I get happy when you are. I think about you in the middle of the day. And I’ve been having these scenarios of you, me, and Chilli just having a normal life together, away from the fame and your murderous family. I know I’m just a useless human. I don't have magical powers, nor am I the ruler of a kingdom, but I want to protect you and keep you safe. If that's not love, it's something very close.”

“Well...I wouldn’t know.”

“I think you do, Ezi,” Harry said. “When was the moment you realised you couldn’t kill me?”

“This may sound silly, but I think it was bedtime, and you were reading to me and Chilli, and you were so tired that you stumbled over your words.”

“You didn’t want to kill me because I couldn’t read properly?”

She rolled her eyes at the joke. “It was when I realised I didn’t want to be Queen or my mother’s puppet. I just wanted to be in bed with you and the cat after a long day and listen to bedtime stories.”

When she placed her hand on top of his, Harry squeezed it tight and brought it to his lips.

“Harry!” Maggie’s shout made Harry jump. He told Ezi that he would be right back and hurried to the hallway to see what Maggie needed. But Maggie had brought another guest home with her.

“Dawson?”

“This handsome boy saw me at the station, and I told him about Ezi so he wanted to come check on her,” Maggie said as she unzipped her boots. Meanwhile, Dawson stood there holding two grocery bags and gave Harry a tight-lipped smile.

Maggie headed to the kitchen, and the men followed. Watching Dawson put away the groceries, Harry couldn’t even act like he wasn’t upset. He came to stand beside Maggie by the table. “You told him about Ezi?”

“He’s her friend, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, but not every friend of hers needs to know.”

“Harry, I’m literally right here. I can hear you.”

“Yeah, I know, Dawson. You shouldn’t even be here.”

Eyes narrowed, Maggie flicked her finger between them. “I sense some tension here. Is there any rivalry backstory that I need to know?”

“No,” Harry and Dawson said at the same time, but it was obvious in the death stare they’d been giving each other. What was Dawson doing here anyway? Harry thought that it was clear that Ezi wasn’t interested in him. Why was he so persistent? Ezi probably didn’t even want to see hi—

“Dawson!”

“Ezi!”

Harry’s jaw dropped when Ezi – now with clothes on and her hair in a towel – limped into the kitchen to embrace Dawson. Okay, rude. What about their romantic moment in the bathroom?

“I’m so sorry for running away without an explanation,” Ezi said, eyes squeezed shut, still holding Dawson like he was a lifeboat in the middle of the storm. Harry tried to act unbothered, but it did make his skin crawl.

“It’s okay. I’m glad that you’re okay now. Maggie told me about your car crash.”

“Car crash?” Ezi blinked at Dawson, then whipped her head to Maggie and Harry. “You lied to him?”

“Well, I…I didn’t know if he knew…”

“He doesn’t,” Harry told Maggie.

Ezi let out and sigh and took Dawson’s hands. “I can’t keep lying to my friends, and I think you of all people should know the truth.”

“Erm, Ezi?” Harry spoke, but Ezi ignored him and told Dawson to take a seat, then sat down beside him. Harry opened his mouth but Maggie shushed him so Ezi could talk.

There was no way this was a good idea. Dawson would think Ezi was wrong in the head for admitting that she was actually a mythical creature. He wouldn’t believe her, but on second thought, maybe that would be for the best. If Dawson didn’t believe Ezi, he would leave, and Harry wouldn’t have to worry about him anymo—

“I believe you.”

“What?” Harry gasped, causing all heads to turn to him. Quickly, he sat down at the table across from his cousin. “You believe that she’s a siren? Really?”

“Yes.”

“Be fucking for real. You’re only saying that because you’re a simp.”

“Harry!” Ezi gasped, but Harry hadn’t said anything he didn’t mean.

“He probably thinks you’re crazy, Ezi. He doesn’t actually believe this without proof.”

“Well, I’ve spent enough time with her to know that she’s not just odd because she’s American, Harry. And to be honest, her being a siren is better than her being American.”

“Thank you, Dawson.”

“Absolutely ridiculous,” Harry hissed as he slumped back into his chair, arms crossed like an angry child.

Ezi sighed. “Guys, can you let me talk to Harry for a sec?”

“Yeah, sure, Dawson, come. I’d be happy to answer any of your questions about us,” Maggie said as she pulled Dawson up by his arm.

“Us? Wait, so you’re also a siren???” Dawson said before his voice faded into the hallway.

Now alone with Harry, Ezi’s smile was gone. “What the hell? Why were you acting like a dick?”

Harry leaned across the table so he could whisper angrily to her so the other two couldn’t hear. “Because you didn’t need to drag my cousin into this. He doesn’t have to be involved.”

“I’m tired of lying,” Ezi said. “And who cares if he knows? It’s not gonna change anything.”

Harry let out an exaggerated exhale as he threw his hands in the air. “Because he’s going to want to help, and if he dies, my mother will kill me. Maggie and I are enough help around here.”

“Who says any of you is gonna help me?” Ezi scoffed. “Tomorrow, I will come up with a plan and confront my mother on my own. I just don’t want to leave this world without telling the truth. I owe it to everyone here.”

“Wow, you’re so fucking strong and independent, aren’t you? You have to do everything on your own. I swear to God, Ezi, for fucking once, let other people help.”

Her eyes went wide with feigned shock. “Oh, what are you gonna do? You’re gonna punch my mother in the face when she shows up to rip out your heart? I think you humans underestimate how easily we can—"

“Listen," he cut her off, "when you told me you were willing to die for me, I told myself that I would not let that happen again. We’ll come up with something, but I want to help. After all, I will be her new target when she finds out the heart Koa brought to her isn’t real. Also, how did you manage to get a pig’s heart??? You know what? It doesn’t matter. What’s important is that I need to be there with you, and you can't get rid of me."

Worry edged into Ezi’s expression. “How do I know you won't abandon me again?"

"You need to trust me this time."

"Trust should be earned, not given."

"I'll earn it then. Just...don't push me away."

Ezi's expression immediately softened, and Harry knew he had said the right thing. Even though he wasn't sure if he was forgiven or not, it was reassuring to know she still wanted to give him another chance.

"I gotta go check on Dawson and make sure Maggie hasn’t traumatised him.”

Ezi pushed herself up from her chair, and Harry quickly got up to help her. “You know, if push comes to shove, we should sacrifice Dawson.”

With her arm around his neck, she shot him a glare. “Harry.”

“Sorry, sorry, just a thought,” he said, grinning.

#harry styles #deep end series #harry x ezi #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fanfictions #harry styles smut #harry styles fic #harry styles angst

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tabletennis20 · 6 months

Text

(NSFW) Submissive Godrick x Dominant Tarnished

Finally got around to finishing this :') Godrick is a whore and you can't convince me otherwise. The Tarnished is relatively gender-neutral, but penetrates. Strap-ons exist though!

A Tarnished makes quick work of Godrick.

Thanks to @elden-shame for letting me rewrite their post!

“What?!” Godrick hissed, incredulous. His fingers dug into the eroded cobblestone from where he knelt in Stormveil’s graveyard.

A slight tilting of the Tarnished’s helmet was all the emotion he got. “You heard me,” they said. “I know you excel at begging, a monument attests to it not far from here.”

Heat rushed to Godrick’s face, obvious on his ghostly skin. “I…is kneeling before thee not enough?” He searched the darkness behind the Tarnished’s visor, wishing he could view their expression. Even with how close they were, his poor eyesight had difficulty discerning much.

The Tarnished chuckled, raising their greatsword to rest it underneath Godrick’s chin. “Do you need further prompting?”

Godrick swallowed thickly, and the motion bobbed his throat against the flat of the Tarnished’s blade. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. “I-I— Ah— No,” he stuttered, pausing for a moment before one of his auxiliary arms impulsively jerked towards the hilt of the greatsword. The Tarnished easily grabbed his wrist with their left hand, holding it in a grip firm enough to threaten the bone.

They dug the tip of their sword into the hollow of Godrick’s neck, a thin trail of blood beginning to snake down the steel. Godrick’s eyes widened in horror and he tried to remain still, knowing the blade’s devastating sharpness from their fight only minutes ago. When the Tarnished spoke again, their tone was severe. “Try something that stupid again, and your corpse will be feeding the dogs,” they growled, delighting in the raw fear that filled the demigod’s eyes. “Now beg.”

A whimper left Godrick, desperate pleas tumbling from his lips as soon as the blade gave him enough room to speak. “P-please, Tarnished! Forgive me, I will not test your strength again, I swear it!” He bowed his head until his crown hit the stone and clasped several pairs of hands above his head in beseeching submission.

The Tarnished stared silently at Godrick’s prostrate form, much preferring his groveling to his arrogant boasting. Finally, they released his wrist, and the arm shot back to press firmly against its host. Godrick risked a glance up at them then, unsure what he should do. Two of his hands wrung themselves together, and he shifted his bulk against the ground.

“You’re a pathetic excuse of a lord,” they said. “Look at you, a craven mess at my feet. How your men continue to follow a greedy fool such as yourself is beyond me.”

Godrick whined, pressing himself lower to the ground as if he could duck the scathing words. It had been a while since someone had bested him so easily, and the power the Tarnished held was unquestionable. He badly wanted to ask what it was they wanted from him, but he feared it would end whatever patience they had left.

“As expected from your cowardly nature, you licked Malenia’s boots after she humiliated you in a duel, yes?” the Tarnished asked.

Oh. The flush returned to Godrick’s face beautifully. “I-I didst not—!” he stammered before his better judgment snapped his jaw closed. Pleading his case would do nothing.

“I’m sure you know I don’t believe you,” the Tarnished replied. “You talk too much for that mouth of yours to not be practiced.”

“Ah,” was all Godrick could manage at that. He weakly tried to avert his gaze before an impatient snap of the Tarnished’s fingers corrected him.

“You will clean my sabatons,” they said simply, and sat down on the crumbled remains of a gravestone only a pace to their right. Godrick nodded, looking at the Tarnished’s feet with dread.

Slowly, the demigod craned his neck down until he was inches from the Tarnished. He shut his eyes, wishing he could plug his nose as well, and let his tongue fall out of his mouth, making sure to lick a broad stripe immediately least he incur the Tarnished’s ire again. Their sabatons tasted of dirt, gore, and things Godrick could only guess the foul origin of. His tongue spilled his saliva over the steel, the dirt mixing into bloody mud that coated his taste buds with a foul, gritty slime. “Swallow,” came the demand from above him, and he did, hoping his innards would accept the unholy concoction.

“Show me.”

Feeling his cheeks burn, Godrick sat up enough to be just below the Tarnished’s face, only able to meet their assumed gaze without confirmation of their expression. He hesitantly opened his mouth for them, proving his obedience, and failed to suppress a small noise as their thumb pried his jaws further apart. The leather pad of their gauntlet ran over his teeth, pausing where one was missing to nudge the gum there. “You poor thing,” they said sarcastically, watching his golden eyes flick towards the entryway of the courtyard as they spoke. “What, concerned your men will see you like this? Your servants? I should have you crawl around behind me on a chain and show you off. Surely I won’t be the only one to find pleasure in your submission. I know I’m not the only Tarnished to enjoy the squirming insect under your facade of power.”

Godrick prayed his mortification would be read as being from the threat, not the dangerously potent heat that pooled between his legs. “What do you mean, other Tarnished?” he asked around the finger in his mouth, unable to help himself. Somehow the notion of Tarnished discussing topics, let alone him, had escaped him until that moment. The thought was not unpleasant, immediately conjuring images of being surrounded by bodies eager for him. He had no current shortage of suitors, but none of them came close to matching his strength.

The Tarnished laughed, thumbing Godrick’s tongue idly as they thrust their sword into the ground. “Your reputation precedes you for most, yet I know you have bastards scuttling around the castle grounds. Do you really find it so surprising that there are those who would bend you over your own ego?” they asked, the rhetorical nature of the question clear once they swapped their thumb for two fingers.

Squirming with hardly-suppressed arousal, Godrick gave a final look towards the graveyard’s entrance before letting his eyes fall closed again. He cautiously licked around the gauntlet in his mouth, grateful the mild taste could be ignored easily. When his tongue found no harsh edges to cut itself on he grew bolder, relishing in the approval his efforts gained. Soon he shallowly bobbed his head, his tongue freely swirling around the Tarnished’s fingers as he tried to restrain the needy whines threatening to burst from his chest.

“You behave surprisingly well once put in your place,” the Tarnished observed smugly. Their gauntlet briefly dipped further into Godrick’s mouth, a lust-filled huff leaving them as the demigod gagged, his throat tightening around the tips of their fingers. “One would deem you practiced in the art of pleasing others.”

The Tarnished pulled away, leaving only a trail of saliva connecting the two. Godrick moved to wipe his mouth with his cloak, but startled as the Tarnished made a disapproving sound.

“You’re not done,” they said. They stuck out the handle of an axe—his axe, he realized, unsure when they had claimed it—expectantly, making sure wipe their gauntlet briefly against Godrick’s cheek to stain it with a smear of his own spit. The demigod eyed the thick shaft of the axe nervously. “Well? You were so eager before,” the Tarnished said, mocking him. “Open your mouth.”

Godrick wished he could ignore the rush of heat the Tarnished’s words breathed into him, fortunate his position did not yet give away his trembling legs. Obediently, he leaned up until his lips where equal to the pommel, loosening his jaw enough to sate the Tarnished without being overly inviting. Immediately, the cool metal kissed Godrick’s lips before pushing past them, heavy on his tongue and forcing his jaw wide. He grunted in discomfort and tried to glare at the Tarnished, but they only scoffed.

The pommel pushed firmly at Godrick’s throat until it was forced to yield, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he choked around the girth. The Tarnished made quick work of him, opening his throat with a surprising efficiency that had Godrick groaning with masochistic pleasure. “You have some nerve to call yourself a lord of gold,” the Tarnished said, delighted at Godrick’s submission. “You’re nothing but a desperate Leyndell whore. Look at how you work a shaft.”

The neediness in his own unabashed moan had Godrick blushing furiously, ducking his head to take the handle deeper. He sunk down as far at he could go without causing himself to vomit and hoped his weak gurgling communicated as much. The Tarnished fucked his throat then, pumping the axe in and out with a surprising amount of precision. Godrick’s hands clutched at both the ground and the Tarnished’s legs desperately, his lust-filled gaze cast up at them as they forced him to drool and slobber all over the metal handle. “That’s it,” they said, the fingers of their free hand curling tightly into Godrick’s hair. They held no qualms about jerking the demigod around on the handle, quickly yanking him back and forth. A uniquely fervent noise had them pausing to watch hands pump at his lengths, which had hardened considerably. “You better not cum,” they said with false disgust, forcing Godrick’s head a fraction to the side so they could watch him work himself.

Without the Tarnished guiding him, Godrick laved his tongue around what was in his mouth, his throat spasming around the intrusion as he swallowed. He got a few moments of reprieve before the Tarnished returned to forcing wet squelches out of him, his mind going pleasantly hazy from the lack of oxygen.

The Tarnished scoffed, their gaze flicking between the axe handle bulging Godrick’s throat out and his cockheads drooling onto his eager hands. “If you crave being put in your place this badly, we can make this a regular occurrence,” they mused. “I have enough time to reward and punish your behavior as I see fit.” They smirked as Godrick tugged at himself faster at that, no longer having to do anything but hold Godrick’s axe up for him to work diligently. As his hips started to jerk uncontrollably, the Tarnished lowered their voice to a sensual purr. “If you spill, you’ll be unbearably sensitive when I fuck you,” they teased, sliding the axe out of Godrick’s throat to toss it aside.

Godrick’s eyes widened and his hands immediately left his cocks, which throbbed precariously. The heat the Tarnished’s words spurred in him nearly pushed him over the edge, and he grabbed at anything he could reach to ward off the sensation.

The Tarnished slowly walked around Godrick, ignoring the hands that pawed at their armor. “Behave,” they said firmly, patting the demigod’s back once he stilled.

Lifting Godrick’s patchwork robes revealed his anus and genitals, and the Tarnished smirked at the shiver that ran up his spine. They paused to admire the grafted mess of the demigod’s intimate areas, pleased when they noticed his cocks had begun to twitch again even in Stormveil’s cool air. “Are you enjoying this?” they asked, reaching out to cup the heavy sack hanging from between Godrick’s shaking legs.

“Y-yes,” Godrick groaned, his hands crawling over each other in anticipation. “Very much so.” It became difficult to think once the Tarnished began to tug on him cruelly, forcing him backwards to alleviate the pain. The Tarnished walked him in reverse this way for a few paces, soaking up Godrick’s uncomfortable panting.

“Good,” they said, moving their hand to one of his lengths. Godrick gasped and throbbed in their grasp, his other cock jerking as it stiffened impossibly more. “Do you usually get this hard when you’re about to take it up the ass?”

Godrick shuddered, the cool touch of the Tarnished’s gauntlet oddly soothing to his engorged shaft. “Yes,” he admitted, too aroused to feel ashamed. Could he be blamed for being impatient? Surely anyone would be in his situation, he reasoned. The teasing only served to worsen his anticipation. It seemed as though the Tarnished knew exactly how to play him, and oh, did it ever feel euphoric.

The blunt pressure of the Tarnished’s cock appeared suddenly at Godrick’s entrance, causing him to get as comfortable in the rubble as he could. He rested his torso against the remnants of a pillar and eagerly raised his hips, watching the Tarnished from between his right shoulders. They moved their helmet enough to spit on Godrick’s hole, prodding their saliva in with shallow thrusts. Their difference in stature allowed the Tarnished to work Godrick open easily, their hands spreading him apart as they nudged his rim. “Tell me how bad you need this, and I’ll make you cum,” they said, roughly digging their fingers into the flesh of the demigod’s ass.

“Oh, please, Tarnished,” Godrick begged without hesitation, trying to impale himself the rest of the way. “Cease this teasing and take me fully! I has’t been nothing but obedient for you!” Unused to being denied his urges, his voice took on a feverish pitch as he craned his neck to shoot the Tarnished a pleading look.

The Tarnished ran their palms across Godrick’s back, wishing they could save the view. Not one to miss an opportunity, they landed a few more hardy swats to Godrick’s rear and earned themselves rough groans. “This is true,” they said. “I suppose good whores deserve some compensation, hmm?”

“Yes, I do! Please!” Godrick cried, unsure how much more he could take without relief. He felt like he was overheating, sweating even in the breeze. A part of him desired to simply finish himself in his hand before the Tarnished could drag out his arousal, but it had been buried by his long-unfulfilled fantasies of being dominated and claimed in such a bestial way.

Godrick groaned as the Tarnished’s cock slid in to the hilt in one firm thrust, biting his lip a second too late to muffle the sound. Each pump of their hips weakened his resolve to maintain some semblance of dignity. His limbs shook with the effort of keeping him kneeling, the pleasure coursing through his nerves faster than he could hope to manage. He clung to the collapsed pillar with every hand that could reach it, his lilting whines obvious even against the wind. The head of the Tarnished’s cock continuously pushed against Godrick’s walls in a way that had him moaning, blood seeping into his mouth as his teeth broke the skin of his lip. Distantly aware that he was unable to hide his enjoyment, he rocked his hips back to meet the Tarnished’s thrusts.

“You’re such a pathetic slut, Godrick,” they said, properly fucking his hole open. “I bet you’ve been hard since I forced you to kneel. Is that right?” The pace became brutal as the Tarnished’s orgasm began to build.

“Y-yes—!” Godrick yelped, his arms shaking violently before giving out. His chest hit the stone with a muted thump, and he panted with the exertion of keeping his back half raised for the Tarnished. Their shaft thoroughly tormented his prostate, the perfect length to repeatedly batter it with their cockhead. Bliss threatened to overwhelm him as they pushed him rapidly towards his climax, his breath coming in desperate gasps.

“Scream your gratification for me,” they growled, slapping a palm roughly against his ass. “All your men will know you came undone by my hand.”

“Tarnished, I-I’m going to spill!” Godrick shouted, his masochistic urges thrilled. His voice sounded raw, even to his own ears, and the thought of his guards hearing him in such a vulnerable state stirred the molten tension in his loins. The noises leaving his slack jaw were nothing short of lecherous, the pitch sharpening with each harsh drag of the Tarnished’s cock against his walls. The pleasure built to a dizzying peak and Godrick drew stiff, babbling his thanks helplessly before his cum splattered against the rubble in waves. His broken scream echoed so loudly across the graveyard the Tarnished would be surprised if none of his men correctly assumed what was happening. The Tarnished finished soon after, the wild clenching of Godrick’s hole milking their cock.

Godrick moaned weakly as the Tarnished pulled out, blearily looking up at them as they walked around to his front. His hair was plastered to his face where it had been yanked free from his braids and his limbs limply rested against the ground. “Well, you look absolutely fucked out of your mind,” the Tarnished said, clearly proud of themselves. Godrick only half-heartedly covered his face in exhausted humiliation, his head too foggy to think of a retort. “Enjoy your night,” they said, fixing themselves up. “Try to not let your soreness be too obvious to your men.”

“Wait,” Godrick rasped. “If I so desire to repeat this…how shall I contact thee?”

The Tarnished chuckled and gave Godrick’s head a pat. “Send for me when that happens.”

The demigod watched the Tarnished walk back the way they came from where he lay on the ground, feeling content. Soon enough, the Tarnished left Godrick’s line of sight, and he was only accompanied by the sound of birds and a pleasant, full-body ache. He peeled himself off the ground, deciding he would sleep in the throne room. His legs could certainly make it such a small distance. Then, of course, tomorrow he would let his men know about this particular Tarnished…and that they may be a frequent guest.

#i have so many unfinished fics godrick is too fun to mess around with :')#i want to edit the other two as well #i'll post the link when i do that though #godrick x tarnished nsft #elden ring nsft #godrick x tarnished #godrick the grafted #tarnished #elden ring

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