#i tried to make the nips as abstract as possible
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Mermaids playing with their sea puppies🌊
#baby sharks yeay ea sea puppies#mermay#mermaid#shark#art#dumplr pleaase do not flag this#i tried to make the nips as abstract as possible
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Article Title: Creation of Aether Fields using Virtual Spaces
Reading Level: Considered appropriate for those of thirteen summers and up
Abstract: Further investigation into the artifacts of Mhach revealed information pertinent to the creation of their ‘Ozma’ weapon system. It appears to have been a small part of a larger construct that exists mostly in higher dimensional spaces. Here, we explore what that might mean for advancing our knowledge of spellcraft, as well as some possible practical applications of that knowledge.
Notes: None Article contents believed to be relevant to current investigation into the incident. -Y.Shtola
~*~
Mhach. The so-called Weeping City.
It was easier to travel within now than it had been the first time Zoissette had come here. Its defenders had been eliminated, and since it no longer held the nullstone within its protective facilities, most of the voidsent had lost interest. That was not to say it was not dangerous. Taking the city properly would almost certainly require the resources of one of the city states to be brought to bear, and sensibly, none of them had any real interest in doing so.
But whereas before it had taken a veritable army of adventurers, this little foray required little more than some covering air support from the air pirates, provided by a Leofard who was still grateful to Klynt for the help, and a small adventuring party on the ground. So while it had not been easy, it certainly was not nearly as dangerous as the earlier trip had been.
And so they had arrived at the gloriole facility once more. Ryssthota wanted to learn more about Mhach spell works, and Zoissette was just interested in what she could find out from a nation that had been contemporary with Nym. So while the other adventurers delved deeper into the ruins for what treasures they could find, Klynt gamely stood idly by to keep an eye out while Zoissette and Ryssthota delved into ancient knowledge.
Zoissette had found a number of books detailing the construction, maintenance, and operation of the gloriole itself. With Foxglove’s assistance, she had come up with a translation enchantment that allowed her to quickly read through the books, but she was finding herself stymied. Some parts of it had been translated cleanly, and she understood them well enough, but the parts she was really interested in, geometries and equations and calculations, all seemed to be utter nonsense.
She tried to copy it into the more modern symbols and glyphs she was familiar with. It did not help. Coordinates had too many numbers, and what should have be linear equations were decidedly not.
Unless.
She blinked.
It was obvious if you thought about it that way.
She made her way to the edge of the large structure, and looked down the sides of it, trying to find where Ryss was. Spotting her, she yelled down.
“SAY! RYSS!”
Ryss looked up, and yelled back. “WHAT?”
“I WANT TO SHOW YOU SOMETHING!”
“CAN IT WAIT?”
Zoissette looked around. Nearby Klynt had her arms crossed looking at her with a bemused expression. The rest of the adventurers she had come in with had found their way elsewhere, and it would probably be bells before they came back. If she looked out in the distance, away from the gloriole structure and out into the clouds, she could just barely make out one of the Redbills’ manacutters.
“SURE. HOW ABOUT WHEN YOU WANT LUNCH, YOU COME UP HERE, WE CAN EAT TOGETHER AND TALK?”
Her voice echoed around the facility, and the space was such that it lent her an almost musical quality, with a bit of a distortion that sounded otherworldly.
“SURE!”
Klynt had stalked up to her now, and was giving her the most befuddled look.
“I could’ve just nipped down t’ her and asked, and bounded right back up,” she said.
Zoissette just shrugged at her.
It was after lunch when Zoissette and Ryss began comparing notes. Ryss stood and watched as Zoissette paced.
“So, I have been studying their texts on Ozma, trying to figure out how it worked.”
Ryss nodded gamely, pushing her glasses up.
“And I was thinking - well, none of the math was working out. None of it was making any sense. But, well, here, look at my notes.”
Ryss took Zoissette’s notebook, and leafed through it carefully, and raised an eyebrow.
“Your coordinates have too many numbers in them.”
“Exactly! Exactly! They have too many numbers… for three dimensional space.”
Ryss frowned, and looked back down again. She traced a finger over Zoissette’s work, and her face broke into a big smile.
“Oh, oh, oh, girl, I see what you’ve done here. Oh, that’s - wow. That’s brilliant. Extra dimensions.”
“Right! Exactly. Here, here, let me show you something. Stand over… here.”
Ryss dutifully walked over to where Zoissette pointed, and Zoissette began to pace around her.
“Okay. So, the way I think it works is… imagine you are Ozma.”
“Sweet. Do I get energy beams?”
“Obviously. Now, imagine you are Ozma. The real actual Ozma, not the part we interact with. And I think what is happening is… it is like we, you and me and the others, it is like we are people who exist on the floor. But only on the floor! Flat, compared to you. And what we see of Ozma is not you, of course, but we see your shadow, and that is what we have been interacting with the entire time. Ozma exists in some higher dimensional space, and it is casting a shadow into our three dimensional world, just like you are a three dimensional person-”
“Aw, thanks.”
“-casting a two dimensional shadow.”
Ryss looked excited. “And that is probably why it took the forms of various simple shapes. Because we are not looking at the entire Ozma, just its shadow into our reality. Just like my shadow is much simpler than I am. That’s brilliant!”
Zoissette crouched next to Ryssthota’s shadow, and held a hand to it, frowning. “The only thing I cannot figure out is the spellworks involved. While allowing for the assumption of these extra dimensions suddenly makes a lot of what I have read about the workings of Ozma make sense mathematically, I have no idea how they brought it into physical reality, so to speak. Or even if I could figure out how to make higher dimensional spells, how to get their effects to connect to our three dimensional space.”
Ryssthota looked thoughtful, and paged through Zoissette’s notes some more, and nodded to herself.
“Aw, sweetheart, you’ve been thinking too hard again.”
Zoissette looked up at Ryss with a raised eyebrow.
“Look at me. Look at where my feet are. See?”
“…I am not certain I do.”
“My shadow, Zoissette. Where’s it at?”
“On the ground? … oh, no, I - okay. I understand. It is attached to you.”
“Exactly! I mean, if I jump, there’ll be a gap between me and it, but it’ll close as soon as I land again, and there’s no reason to make Ozma jump. These extra dimensions don’t have to be far off the way you’ve drawn them - I get that it makes it easier to visualize, but think about it. They’re right here already. Right on top of us.”
Ryss scribbled a few notes while Zoissette considered.
“…yeah. Yeah! This could maybe work… can at least write a paper about it… call them aether fields...”
Zoissette ran her hand across Ryssthota’s shadow.
“…there is nothing here.”
“Hmn?”
“The shadow. It is… an absence, not a presence.”
“Yeah, but that’s just ‘cus of the way shadows work. Could just as easily be, like, an outline in snow or sand. Don’t think too literal about it.”
“No, I mean, that is just it - it could be something else. We could rig some sparklers or lights, for example, and influence the colour and outlines of the shadow, just like you moving your arms or legs would. Jumping would change its attributes as well. But also, there is no reason for Ozma, or any such aether field, to actually be anything at all.”
Zoissette stood up, and put her hands on her hips, thinking. “In fact, any aether field, Ozma or otherwise, instead of being something, could also just be an absence of anything.”
“Now you’re onto something. I knew you had it in you! You’re right. And think of other things. It could show up in multiple places at once, like when it shucked us over to that other place outside of the gloriole. Or it it could collapse down into a singularity. Lots of options. I think a lot of them would require a truly ridiculous amount of aether, but we could probably get a lot of malmage out of starting simple and working our way out. It’s practically a new field of spellworks!”
“You really think so?”
“It’s what I do, girl. You do math, Apple does artifice, I do spells. I know so.”
“Huh,” said Zoissette, thoughtfully. “You know, since you mentioned math, now a lot of the more curious equations in the Nymian texts make more sense.” She looked at Ryssthota. “What do you think we should call this new space? It’s a kind of complex math, but the new coordinate plane and the number types deserve a new name I think. Imaginary numbers, maybe?”
Ryssthota groaned. “You should not be allowed to name things. Nobody’ll take that seriously.”
“Well, I mean, because we are no longer dealing with the real…”
“It’s plenty real, just in a higher dimension. Hypernumbers?”
“Now who sounds ridiculous.”
“Better than your idea!”
“…I got it. We are talking about essential qualities of reality, invisible to us here, but real indeed. Virtual numbers.”
Ryss nodded. “That’ll do for now.”
Zoissette gave Ryssthota a big smile. One of her genuine ones, Ryss noted. Valuable indeed.
“Thanks. I really appreciate your insight. And your help.”
“Anytime! Even the theory on this will keep me busy for moons. Hah, wait’ll they see our papers back at the Assessor’s Office.”
Off from the edge of the platform, Klynt gave out a shout, and both women looked over to see the first of the other adventuring parties returning.
“Well, I think we’re done here,” said Ryss. “Hop down, help me back up my stuff?”
“I will be right there,” said Zoissette. “Just give me five minutes to clean up my own mess up here.”
Ryss gave her a thumbs up and hopped down off the platform, and Zoissette watched her go before turning back to look at where Ozma had once lain.
Well, there was a lot of work in her future, but this, at least, was a start.
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“bite your lip once more, i dare you”
AN: Woop! This long detour has finally ended! Read the complete fic - here.
Warning: Some smut
---
It was with embarrassment that she bowed and apologised to the patrons and staff outside. Soon enough though, a steady arm around her waist steered her away from their disgruntled faces, Sesshoumaru leading her around a street corner.
"I should really go back and apologise once more..."
"Hn, I sense their moods will not be better improved by it, miko," amusement coloured his tone. His eyes found her in the dark. "What exactly were you doing? Other than...flexing."
Kagome fiddled with her fingers, missing his arm around her the second he released her. "I got tired of keeping a lid on things, I guess. Did they know who you were, in there?"
"Mn, seems so."
"No one knows who I am," she muttered, hugging her arms loosely. "And I haven't been honest with any of them. Not one demon boyfriend. I never showed them my true self, so I just thought, maybe I could start tonight. And instead..." she sighed. "I just made my problem their problem. I better go apologise-"
"I know who you are, Kagome."
The glow in his eyes was unmistakable, stopping her.
Sesshoumaru inclined his head, "and there is no need to express regret over announcing it so loudly. It is something I would have done, a long time ago. Those with power can afford to stomp their feet, just a little."
Kagome looked at him, searching his face for any hint of the overworked person she'd seen at the park. Reaching up, she brushed careful fingers over his striped cheek, mindful of the slight burns.
"I hurt you…"
A large hand ensnared her wrist, thin lips meeting lithe fingers in a lingering kiss.
"They will heal quickly. I am merely out of practice with handling reiki."
Kagome swallowed, tears stinging her eyes at the unexpectedly gentle contact. She glanced away, voice hushed. She couldn't contain what she'd seen a moment longer. "I saw your children."
Sesshoumaru's grip tightened, his form becoming tense. "The kit-" he sneered, flashing sharp teeth.
"He was just trying to help. I… saw them at the park," she murmured, fingers curling to touch his hand, prompting him to release her.
Kagome stepped back, searching his guarded, watchful expression. Slowly, the confident, easy facade he wore melted away, leaving behind a weary near immortal. Sesshoumaru swept the length of his silver hair back over one shoulder, sinking down to his knees.
Blue eyes flew wide.
"W-what are you doing?"
Sesshoumaru bowed his head- forehead descending. Kagome quickly gripped at broad shoulders madly, nails biting in. "Stop! You don't have to!-"
A crescent moon pressed to the dirty street floor as Sesshoumaru remained in a deep bow, large body hunched over. No matter how much she pulled and yanked at him to rise, ugly emotions clogging her throat, he would not budge.
"This Sesshoumaru apologises."
Hot tears leaked down her cheeks as the once cripplingly regal demon lifted his head, catching her gaze. "It occurs to me now...perhaps I should have started with this," thin lips crumpled into a jaded smile. "I cannot claim to be very good at humility. Even after all this time."
Kagome smiled sadly, reaching out and brushing gentle fingers over him, wiping away the mud marring his blue moon sitting proudly upon his forehead.
"My apology comes too late," he uttered, resting clenched fists upon his knees. "There is no Western territory in Japan that I own anymore. I am not a lord."
"How'd that happen?" she mumbled.
"I became disillusioned."
Kagome shifted, seeing the lines that he'd tried to conceal before that cut beneath his eyes. He seemed tired, even more jaded and weary than she. "I was naive," he uttered. "So set in my convictions. After losing you, I tried to convince myself it was for the best. We were an ill-suited pair, that sort of thing. I even approached my Mother, seeking vindication from her. She...who had taught me from a young age, instilled in me the value of our special blood and heritage."
Sesshoumaru chuckled, golden eyes dimming in the moonlight. "It was she who looked at me after I explained everything about our breakup and said, 'why did you do a stupid thing like that? Foolish pup.'"
She bit her lip, knowing how rattling that must've been. He'd explained to her before about the necessity of his role. He'd been the perfect heir by design. The Killing Perfection.
"It had not occurred to me she could change. That I could change. That blood and suitability were just abstract concepts, and in the end did not matter. The realisation came too late. You were...gone," Sesshoumaru looked at her soberly, as though waiting for the verdict of his trial.
Kagome hated the idea of him awaiting judgement, gripping his shoulders again.
"... Let's go back to my place," she said softly. It was there in her tone, living and breathing within soft blue eyes. Forgiveness wasn't clear cut or easy. She still hurt. But...she couldn't let him pass by without at least trying to see if they could last this time.
Helping to guide him up back to his feet, a thought occurred to her. "Unless- do you need to go home?"
"No," he said sharply, eyes wide, as though fearing that the offer would never come again. He relaxed his features, "no, my eldest can watch over the young ones."
Kagome nodded. On impulse, she took his hand and began walking down the street.
Sesshoumaru kept pace with her, long fingers frozen, slack in her hold. Soon they twitched, wrapping tightly around her own.
---
Stepping into her humble apartment silently, with the shadows thick and moonlight pouring in from behind them, having guided their steps- Kagome paused in the dimly lit hallway.
Sesshoumaru stood still in his usual way, so watchful and quiet, having not donned a glamour. Long silver hair tumbled down his shoulders.
Kagome's fingers reached up and buried in it, moving herself up on tiptoe.
Lips crashed, bodies meeting- his back thudding against the wall as she shoved and pressed herself against him hungrily.
There was nothing gentle about it. Hips met and pressed demandingly against one another, clawed hands hooking under her thighs, dragging Kagome up the toned length of his body, allowing her to squeeze them around his waist.
Teeth knocked, noses bumping. Sesshoumaru's tongue forced itself past her lips. He kissed her for so long- too long, indulging in the hot cavern of her mouth. Kagome's blunt nails dragged over his scalp, swallowing his answering hiss and canting her hips.
Inside. Please. I want you inside.
Sesshoumaru pulled away to press sloppy, hungry kisses over the length of her throat, sucking at her neck with a low, possessive growl. Kagome reached for his belt, loosening it hurriedly- finding his hard length ready against her thigh. Yet still he was content to tease, nipping at the sensitive skin of her collarbone. Kagome climbed down in frustration- only to yank and pull at his clothes, discarding them in their clumsy attempt to reach the bedroom.
They made it to her small living room, collapsing to the floor. It would do.
After 506 years, give or take a few- neither had envisioned it to happen on her pastel red rug. Surely a nice fancy hotel room, or at least a huge, plush bed-
Kagome straddled his waist, lavishing attention on his pointed ear with her lips while fiddling with her dress. Pulling it up over her head, she growled as it got stuck halfway, obscuring her vision.
Sesshoumaru took advantage of this, capturing a hardened nipple in his mouth and holding her arched back as she gasped, sighing breathily.
It wasn't until their underwear was shoved down, a condom hastily grabbed and a clawed thumb over her clit, circling it- did they find each other's eyes again.
Kagome stopped, panting.
His face was flushed, hair dishevelled. A bite mark had begun bruising his thoroughly kissed lower lip.
Sesshoumaru caught his breath, staring at her, unblinking. Slowly, Kagome gripped his shoulders, guiding herself down just as he held onto her hips. The head of his twitching, achingly familiar cock nudged inside slick folds, before surging deeper with a hard jolt. Kagome cried out and buried her face in his neck.
Sesshoumaru pressed his nose into dark curling hair, wrapping her up in a tight embrace, skin to skin. He cradled the back of her head, everything stopping for a long while.
They held each other without speaking a word, rendered mute, overcome with finally being connected again. Kagome shuddered, clenching her inner walls tight, as though luring him deeper, forbidding him to never part. She'd keep him locked inside her forever if possible. His body felt so warm and nostalgic, plastered against her own. She nuzzled and breathed in his good smell, sighing against heated skin.
A horrible thought whispered in her ear; It was all so breakable. He could ruin her again. With just a few words, he could undo years of progress.
But now Kagome understood it was the same for him. She could dismiss him tomorrow morning and break him too. Hurt him. Hurt the untouchable demon lord who had broken her heart.
Kagome cupped his cheek, lifting her head to brush an ardent kiss over his jaw.
"I missed you," she said instead. Because it was the truth. Nothing could compel her to willingly hurt someone she loved.
"I have…" he whispered, kissing her closed eyelids, "dreamed of you for centuries," starving lips pressed to her neck, "'missing you' is an understatement."
Kagome gave a broken laugh, saddened. "We're so stupid. We've wasted so much time."
"I wasted so much time," he uttered grimly. "But...perhaps it was not wasted time if it brought us here, eventually. Together."
"We've both made mistakes, let's leave it at that." Resting her forehead against his for a moment and inhaling his exhale, Kagome kissed him tenderly before beginning to move.
---
Laying nestled into a sprawled out Daiyoukai's side with her face pressed snugly against his chest wasn't a terrible way to wake up. Kagome stretched slowly, making a soft noise. She planted a few kisses over his ribs, palm splaying over his abdomen and grazing along the length of his exotically striped body. It lay littered with a few scars that hadn't been there before, new to her. Kagome kissed those too, wondering about their stories.
A velvety chuckle soaked with sleep escaped him. "Minx, you are aware that our late night activities will continue if you persist?"
"Maybe that's my goal."
Sesshoumaru sighed, stroking a lazy, affectionate hand through her dark rumpled hair. "I see your appetite has not diminished."
"If anything, I think it might've gotten worse," blue eyes danced as she bit her lip. "It's your fault, you started it."
"Hn, this one takes full blame," he rumbled, touch shifting to her mouth, sharp nail gliding over her it. "Bite your lip once more, I dare you."
Kagome flushed red- and she'd forgotten she could still blush right down to her toes. She bit her lip, hard.
Sesshoumaru flipped her over and muffled her giggles in the bedding as his lips found her neck and hands wandered all over again.
After thoroughly rememorising each other's bodies, they finally located her bed.
Shifting beneath the covers together, Kagome slung a leg over his hip. Sesshoumaru rested a hand over the back of her thigh under her ass, stroking. Basking in the afterglow, she began asking him about his life.
"How come you adopted so many kids over the years? Hanyous too," the topic soon came up.
"I did not do it for any particular reason. They were abandoned, much like Rin. Whenever I happened upon them, they took to following me in a similar manner. However..." his lips thinned, gaze dimming as it stared at the ceiling. "The first Hanyou that followed me was persecuted quite badly at my Stronghold. I did not intend to feel as much as I did about it. She was deemed 'mine' and so I felt outraged on her account. I experienced protectiveness for her, even if I did not recognise it at the time."
"Change happens slowly," Kagome hummed, shifting to lay atop his chest, their stomachs meeting as she rested her chin on her arms. "Did she marry a demon to extend her lifespan?"
"No, she died of old age, much like Rin."
"I'm sorry."
"Do not be, Erika chose her own spouse and lived as she wished. There is no sadness in that," golden eyes slid shut as she stroked his bangs, combing them back briefly from his handsome face. "There is only sadness when children are taken too early," his tone became wooden, dim.
Her heart squeezed in her chest. "Shippo...said there was a reason you didn't come for me during those 6 years. What happened?"
"I thought it wise to wait since you were experiencing heartbreak. My appearance would have made matters worse," Sesshoumaru's eyes peeled open, hazed with remembrance. "On top of which, one of my children could not be moved from his facility."
"Facility?"
He did not answer.
"...Can I meet him now?"
Sesshoumaru gazed out of her brightening window unseeingly. "If I could stop myself from taking in one species again, it would be humans," the words came softly, like a secret. "You always die much too quickly," he uttered, golden eyes sliding to her heavily. "Ruka was terminally ill."
"D-did you adopt him knowing that?"
"It makes no difference to me," he said a tad bitterly. "Whether they last five years or seventy, it is always too short a time," passing a heavy hand over his eyes, Sesshoumaru let it linger there. "Tenseiga brought him back, briefly. But not long enough. Never long enough."
The depth of his grief felt staggering. Kagome could see it, hidden away in all the corners of his face that he tried to hide behind a placid mask.
"Come here."
Sesshoumaru arched a brow. She persisted, leaning back into the pillows beside him and beckoning the demon closer with arms open wide and inviting. He was not one to refuse such a thing, soon resting a striped cheek directly over her heart. It thudded loudly, quick as a rabbit beneath his ear.
"I have not changed my opinions on some things, miko," he said in a dour, soft tone. "You humans are weak. I curse your weakness- and loathe every mortal child I take in for it. They are so fleeting. Every time they came to be in my care, I promised myself no more. Never again. Surely someone as great as I can have the self-discipline not to heed their cries should I hear them, nor follow the scent of their tears. Surely I do not need a pack so badly."
She could tell his conviction to stop caring for them wasn't working out too well, considering the group she'd seen at the park. He would love human children again, and continue to love and take care of them in an endless cycle of happiness and grief. Such was the way of an immortal guardian.
Kagome bent down, kissing the crown of his head. "You've given them a home. Even if it was fleeting to you, it was a lifetime of happiness for them."
Kagome couldn't see his expression anymore but felt Sesshoumaru's grip on her elbow, tight. His thumb dragged slowly, reverently. Heavy breathing shook, beginning to calm as she soothed his rippling youki.
"I'll look after you for now," she muttered, petting silky silver hair and massaging his scalp. "I can't do it all the time. Sometimes you'll have to take care of me, but we can take it in turns. So you can tell me...if you ever need to get those thoughts out again."
Sesshoumaru made a noise of affirmation, lulled by her gentle ministrations. After a while she figured he'd fallen asleep before he asked;
"Do you think you will desire to adopt, in the future? Raising them alongside our biological children is certainly possible."
Her mouth grew dry, hands freezing. Kagome drew in a shaky breath, vision going blurry with damn tears again. She stubbornly held them back, giving a laugh as she squeezed his shoulder.
"That's a tad presumptuous, isn't it? We haven't even said we're dating yet."
"You just said you'd take care of me, duplicitous woman."
"Yeah, because you're a tired old dog who needs a break," she teased, giggling as he huffed and transformed with a burst of youki, collapsing dead weight atop her in a smaller version of his true form. Wheezing, Kagome whined and wrapped her arms around him, stroking fluffy silver fur.
As she caressed along his muzzle, tired crimson eyes slide shut in a display of utter trust and peace, causing her to smile and kiss his wet nose.
---
They did things carefully after that explosive night, gradually easing into things. It was a couple of months before Kagome was introduced to everyone, not wanting to shatter that which had become so precious to them.
"Come on, come on. We have the place to ourselves for an hour, so go wherever you like," Kagome smiled, spreading her arms wide within the museum, voice echoing.
"It is not as though you needed to arrange for a private tour, you could have just showed us around during your normal working hours," Hiroji observed as most of the other children ran around.
"Ach, but I wanted to do something special..." she put a hand to her heart, pretending to be wounded.
"Hiroji, you're so bad with women!" one of the Hanyou's piped up.
"Bad with women!" echoed the other.
The snake demon grit his teeth sourly, while Kagome giggled and picked up the leopard Hanyou and accepting a nuzzle, gazing at their spots with affection. "I'm teasing. It's just nice to let everyone wander around in the open without glamours sometimes, right?"
"Won't the security cameras see us?"
"We have a face-painting section in the stone age area. Totally explainable," she leaned against Sesshoumaru's side as he wrapped an arm around her waist, markings on full display.
Golden eyes smiled, "and if that is not a suitable excuse- we're a Yakuza family with many colourful tattoos."
Akiko giggled, "that sounds cool!"
"I think a family of demons would be easier to accept," Hiroji grumbled, glancing in Shinto's general direction, who lingered away from everyone else anxiously.
In the snake demon's minds eye, he could see the shape of a powerful reiki source approach his brother. Kagome bent down into a crouch, getting on eye-level with him.
"It's okay, Shinto," she said gently. "You know, they have an interactive computer section in here on the Edo Period."
He brightened slightly. "They...do?"
"Mhm, come on. I'll show you," Kagome gestured, catching Sesshoumaru's eye in passing.
His expression softened, morphing into something she could recognise now. Trust in. They'd probably keep making mistakes, but so long as they weren't quite so costly as before, she felt as though they could weather the storms now. Kagome gentled and returned his smile, grabbing his hand as they entered the Edo section.
His children gasped and pointed at the display case of his armour. "Papa, this was yours!"
"I am aware," Sesshoumaru rumbled with amusement, taking his lips to Kagome's ear. "Do you miss wearing the hankimono to bed?"
She shivered, "maybe a little. They were comfy pyjamas," blue eyes caught the mischievous look skittering across his face. "Oh no you don't- Sesshoumaru! Don't you dare steal them! You donated them to this museum!"
"Technically they were mine first so I would merely be taking them back," he chuckled. "Never fear, dear one," he purred, tossing his head regally. "A bit of thievery is a minor feat for a Yakuza family, and the matter is especially pressing when it concerns comfy sleepwear."
Kagome groaned, burying her face in her hands and hiding another smile. She had centuries more of this to endure.
End
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panic room
anon asked: B62: terror in the night + kakashi
send me one, and a character
62. terror in the night
kakashi; 1,339 words
a/n: angst, and fluff. inspired by real-life events of a musician asking the mexican gov to donate a ton of confiscated weapons and then turning them into instruments.
once upon a time, in a faraway land, where there is no war, no children being taught to hold weapons instead of pens because even though all wars begin and end in words, they are still fought with blood and human lives -- and once upon a time, you told him a story about how someone convinced an entire village to donate all their weapons to an orphanage. where they then melted down the metal and made them into instruments.
kakashi wakes up screaming, his voice carrying too far and not far enough; he wonders if the neighbors will finally complain before he remembers that konoha is a village made up of ninja and people who live next to ninja, those who kill and those who try not to think about the killing. he knows that no matter how hard he screams, it’ll never bring anyone back.
the first time you held his hands, he wonders if this is what it feels like when they taught the shuriken it can do something other than take lives, that it might be molded into something not made for the infliction of pain. you hold his hands like teaching them were made to hold things other than weapons -- like love, or music. his fingers soft instead of rigid, that he could just as easily mold them into the shape of you as a handseal that might spell an enemy’s doom.
“th-the blood --” he stutters, his eyes wild and wide and unseeing, even as you tug his fingers into yours, press your lips to them like forgiveness. he chokes out a sob even as he collapses into your chest, his lungs heaving out breaths he never knew how to hold.
you see, no one ever taught him how to swim -- and it’s by some miracle that he learned himself. but still, it feels wrong -- the way the air gets forced out of his lungs -- the fear of drowning beneath the weight of his own body so real he can feel it pressing down over his chest -- he gasps.
you press your lips to his forehead, run our hand down his back.
it trickles across his skin like piano music, the notes sweet and soft and singular.
“there’s no blood,” you say, holding u his hands, brushing his bangs from his face, tugging down his mask to press a kiss to his cheek, “see?”
he nods, burying his face in your shoulders even as he searches for the steady rhythm of your heart, finding it, grasping it, pulling it in till it’s all he hears. it’s relearning how to breathe, like teaching a kunai how to sing instead of sting, teaching his fists that they can hold instead of swing.
“yeah -- y-yeah,” he nods, swallows, breathes. you curl around him, your fingers carding through his hair even as he shudders.
“let’s go shopping tomorrow,” you say,” your lips pressing into his hairline.
he calibrates himself to the sound of your voice, his own throat still raw from bad dreams. he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to tell himself that this is his reality. you and him and your voice and his breathing -- just this. he relaxes, ever so slightly, nodding as he puffs out a breath against your shoulder.
“what do you want to buy?”
you hum, “a kugo, or maybe a koto.”
he allows himself a tired little grin, “you play?”
you laugh, “nope, but we can learn.”
we, he thinks. as if he could ever be taught to wield anything but misery in these hands -- then again, he sighs as he relaxes into the way your fingers draw abstract shapes into his skin, you’re here, aren’t you? and that’s one good thing, isn’t it? in this vast, unforgiving world full of badness -- he’s got you, hasn’t he?
and still, he curls his arms around you, pulling you close. still, he wonders if one day he’ll wake up to find that this is all just a dream, some fantasy concocted by his war-addled mind -- desperate for some semblance of closeness or connection. he kisses your shoulder, swallowing down a flood of terror even as e shakes through him.
you card your fingers through his hair and let him hold you.
“i bet you’d be so good at it,” you say, and he can hear the grin in your voice.
he fights the urge to scoff, “how’d you figure that?”
he looks up, his eyes catching on the way you smile, how you lean in to brush your lips to his, kiss him like reminding him you love him. because yes, he could always use a little more reminding.
he softens against you, chases after your lips.
you pull away with a wicked smile.
“you’ve got that sharingan of yours. think about it -- all you have to do is watch some pro do it once, and then you can copy that perfectly.”
he laughs, the sound foreign even to himself. but he finds that he likes it -- like reminding his throat it can do things other than scream -- like laugh, or perhaps even sing.
like reminding his body it’s more than just a panic room, with no windows, no space, thick walls and hushed voices -- that this body could be made an instrument not of death but of music -- he thinks, wonders if it were at all possible.
but with you, he feels like it is.
“we can buy a koto, or... maybe something smaller. better for travel,” he muses, finally lying back down, pulling you with him. you pillow your head on his chest, and he lets out a long breath.
“oh, like a biwa, or a shamisen.”
he chuckles, “our neighbors will hate us even more.”
you turn your face up to glance at him, reaching up to tap his nose.
“they won’t hate us -- and plus, they would’ve said something by now if they minded the noise.”
at this, you blush, and he sees it, even in the relatively moonless night. and he tells himself that if he can make you do that -- if he could make you smile and blush, make your body sing for him, as he’s done so many nights before, that perhaps all is not lost. perhaps he could learn, if he tried.
if you were with him.
“you are quite noisy sometimes,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss along your temple, down your nose, till he reaches your lips, hovering over them with a knowing grin.
“only because of you.”
you crinkle your nose and lean up to nip at his lower lip. he laughs, falling on top of you just enough to make you wheeze. you break out into laughter as well, and he wonders if this might be called music too -- the way your voice rings through him, the sound of his name on your lips.
“yeah, let’s go shopping tomorrow,” he says, rolling onto his back once more only to curl around you, burying his face in your hair.
“you still have to pick an instrument,” you say, snuggling into his chest. he feels the weight of your arms around his middle and relaxes into the familiarity of it.
“mmm... whatever you want.”
you huff out a breath, “but i want you to pick.”
he sighs, “can’t we think about it tomorrow?”
you smile, nodding.
“sure, we’ll think about it tomorrow.”
so he settles around you, and he knows that the nightmares will still come -- he knows they will haunt him, possibly, for the rest of his life. but tomorrow, he’ll go with you and pick out an instrument. and maybe, he’ll learn how to play it.
and maybe, when he learns his first song, plays it all the way through, hopefully, it’ll be not a tribute to the dead --
but an ode to life and living.
--
taglist: @loneveenas @miyuswriting @nerdygremlin @deathcab4daddy @wackatoshi
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#kakashi hatake#kakashi scenario#kakashi imagine#naruto imagines#kakashi x reader#kakashi#believe it#angst mcgee#floofy floof floof#its honeslty not that angsty#i always say to myself LOL#idk how to feel about this one like i feel like i could've done better but#well i wanted towrite this and here is what happened#but rly the thing about the musician and weapons is totally tru -- and how wonderfully poetic omg#weaposn turned to instruments#i love the concept of repurposing#teaching one thing it could be so many other things --#and now i am truly tired and do need sleep u__u <3#pls give my main mans kakashi some love thanks
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Summary: Zenia Agatsuma was always afraid of two things, dying and not being able to find her true love. A close experience with the former helps her with the latter. Except that her future husband was something completely different, for which she was not prepared at all. Furthermore, her new friends are even rarer than that strange Inosuke beast.
Could she survive all madness?
"It is strikingly beautiful, the contrast of red against white."
That was what Zenia was thinking as she put a hand on her shoulder and dedicated every ounce of will left in her body to the impossible task of standing and most important of all, staying conscious and in the realm of the living. Her sense of sight was beginning to fade and she was beginning to depend on her ears to know where she was, where her enemies were, how much time she had left before the darkness became permanent. On her back, she could feel the hard surface of the tree she was leaning against, in a vain attempt to look as if she still had an ounce of force inside her body. But surely she was not doing a good job projecting that, she had always been a failure at feigning confidence and this time was no exception.
Anyone who saw her at the time would say she seemed like a complete mess.
Her clothes and haori were torn in various places, stained with mud and blood. Her hair, also dirty and stained, was loose, swaying in the light mountain breeze. Her free hand was still clinging to her sword, even though the tip had broken and the shard was nailed to her shoulder. She was losing strength at an alarming rate and each breath hurt even more than the various wounds that were scattered across her skin, forming a strange ornament on her body. Her golden eyes struggled to clear the fog that pawned them and tried to stay focused on the horde of demons that were surrounding her.
But it was so difficult.
Each thought required too much effort.
It was much easier to focus on the strange combination her blood was making on the snow-covered ground, on the strange patterns it was forming; now that she realized she had lost enough to leave a trail with each step she took or with each fall she suffered. It was much easier and much more beautiful than concentrating on the creepy face of her future assassin (full of lumps, teeth, and tumors) or looking at the sky where the afternoon was giving way to the stars and realizing that this fight was over; it had gone too long. She was running out of time, the reinforcements were not going to appear on time, mostly because the rest of the squad with which she had come on this mission was too busy to come and save her.
Or worse yet, all dead.
Her head felt lighter and lighter, but even so, she could feel her heartbreaking at the thought of nurturing that awful likelihood. All her companions, some whom she hardly knew, dead and scattered on the ground; destined to be overlooked forever on this damn mountain. Her soul shed tears with the simple idea of visualizing the sweet Kanao gone or the serious and humorless Murata with his body broken and lying motionless on the ground, despite the fact that she was not intimate with any of them in particular.
That was why it was better to focus on the red and white.
"Just look at the red and the white." She mused, her own thoughts appeared like an echo in the mist. "Focus only on that."
Not in the metal tip protruding from her shoulder and it was primarily responsible for the source of the red that was coloring the snow. She just had to focus on the snow, and not on the burning, throbbing pain that came from her shoulder and spread throughout the rest of her body. Not in the horde of demons that was getting closer, blocking her path and whose grunting and thirst for blood surrounded her, forming an unusual death march. Not in the possibility of rescue and definitely not in her imminent demise.
She could do that.
Considering all the things that had brought her up to that point, the color red wasn't bad for being the last thing she was going to view ever.
Which in itself was somewhat poetic.
Since she had become a demon slayer, Zenia Agatsuma could only think about the moment of her death.
Her first thought was always "This may be the day I die."
It was the first thing that came to her mind when she got up from her futon and the last thing she thought of when her head met the pillow. Each day could be her last on earth and each mission could be the reason for that. The blonde did not know what perils lurked in every corner and always acted as a pup scared of her own shadow. Zenia felt that she could feel death itself breathing on her shoulder every moment of the day.
Perhaps that was the reason why anxiety and all kinds of tears were the things that were most present in her life.
The dread of dying was the central theme of all her crying fits, the primary cause of her weakness, and the main reason why she was so frantic about getting married. She wanted to spend what could be her last days with a special person who treasured her and protected her from all danger, she aspired to give birth and be able to have children, to leave a mark behind her, a proof she had been in the world and that, fleeting moment, she had been happy. What she most desired was for someone that could save her from her doomed fate and die surrounded by love and affection instead of alone and pitiful in some forgotten well or corner.
It was safe to say that the blonde was obsessed with the subject of her death. Or perhaps, more appropriately, terrified at the prospect of dying without having been able to fulfill any of her dreams.
All the outlines had crossed her mind.
And when one said all possible outlines, one referred to all.
Each and every one of them. From the most common to the most absurd. Her mind had conjured millions of scenarios from the moment her beloved grandfather had freed her from the debt she had gotten herself into because of her ex-fiancé and put a sword in her hand, training her to fight demons, under his tough supervision alongside her hard-to-love older brother, another reason for the hardships that had tormented her days. After that fateful encounter, she resolved that what little honor she had left was going to be spent on returning the kindness to her beloved grandfather, the only person in her life that had believed in her (if only for the selfish reason to want a successor in his style with the sword.) And one of the consequences of that had been her obsession with her own death.
Every little situation had been considered.
The most heroic, where it was her sword that saved an abstract equivalent of humankind, where her hand was responsible for the great victory, where the sacrifice of her life was the price to pay for crushing and freeing the world of demons.
The most tragic where she lost her life under the hand of her ex-older brother, turned into a devil and her beloved grandfather buried her, with tears of bitterness at her failure, for not having been able to meet his expectations and was strongly regretful for having wasted time on her.
The most common, where death opened their arms and welcomed her thanks to a failed mission, a simple demon doing it a thing, a severe or rare illness, a poorly healed wound or any other cause that reflected the really insignificant that she was and how little she had added to this conflict.
Even the dullest, where she vanished because she tripped on a branch and broke her neck against the ground or drowned in a small puddle of water, agreeing with all those people who had once called her a waste of space or other harsh labels that she was not willing to quote.
Every possible scenario had passed her mind.
In a way, she had everything mapped, what she was going to do with her last moments, what her last words were going to be, to whom she was going to direct her last thoughts, to what posture she was going to breathe her last breath.
Everything.
Which made all this extremely strange to her, now that she was on the verge of death, and the only thing that traversed her mind was to stare the snow dyed with the ink of her own body.
That and that she was going to die alone and without knowing the warmth of another body against hers, ironically frozen to the bone.
(But that had always been among the plans.)
This mission had sounded like a bad idea to her from the start, even more than usual.
It had all started with that damn meeting.
A small settlement, slightly larger than a village, which was on the edge of a large and famous mountain range had sent a request for help to the Butterfly State since it was relatively close to their location. The message had sounded quite hopeless and filled with great need. Apparently, a group of demons had been seen nearby and these had caused great havoc to the community; crushing homes and other areas of great value and kidnapping a large number of people. None of the villagers knew what to do and, apparently, the demons had been too much for one of the slayers that the high command had previously sent there.
That was why this time they had decided to send a larger group of slayers and the insect Hashira, Shinobu had made sure to send people with more experience and incredible techniques to ensure that this time, the mission was a success. Among that group was her, Zenia who was there in the mansion, recovering from a nasty mission she had just finished. When she learned about the qualifications to go on the mission, she was relieved, as she was not one of those talented people and did not consider herself a "strong" or "talented" person in the sense that Shinobu was speaking off.
That was the reason why her shock (as well as her tears) had been immense when she ended up being selected for the mission. And her poor attempt to refuse had been nipped from the start with a wicked smirk of her superior that almost made her embarrass herself in front of her peers when she had been about to dampen her garments in the middle of the gathering.
So the blonde had to swallow her doubts and reply, as usual, take up her sword and join the group that was to carry out the mission.
On top of that, it was the middle of winter and there were regions where the snow was beginning to fall, so this was going to be more demanding than normal.
The way to the damn village was not too bad.
Zenia did not have a very good status among most of her fellow slayers.
Unfortunately, her blonde hair and deranged personality were highly known and everyone preferred to avoid her rather than deal with her which is why she had no great companions within the group.
However, Kanao always took the care to talk to her and spend time with her when they were together which is why they had spent most of their time traveling together. The brunette was also known to be unconventional, thanks to her famous coin, but Zenia had never been too bothered by it (who was she to judge others after all?) And they had always gotten along relatively fine in that regard. Oddly, Murata had also approached where they were and had spent the journey with them. Most of the time in silence and with a look that said he was exhausted of dealing with this, not too reassuring considering that the mission hadn't even begun.
However, the company was always appreciated.
Especially when it came to sharing food and body heat on cold nights.
Luckily, they were able to reach the place without complications, and before the great snowfalls dyed everything white. The settlement was exactly like millions of others that the blonde had been before and nothing seemed to make it notably distinctive except the view of the mountains and the trees and forests that traced it, where you could see the white of the snow and feel the icy breeze coming down from the top.
Zenia was not very keen to have to venture into these realms.
And as always, the powers that ruled fate did not seem to take her yearnings into account.
When the slayer crew, about ten people in total almost all in the same age range, the villagers came out to greet them with tear-filled eyes and arms so open they looked as if they were going to break. Apparently things had gotten really bad in the past few hours and none of the villagers knew very well how to handle the situation and were remarkably terrified. The number of people who had disappeared had grown considerably and they were all very scared and apprehensive of the possibility of being the next to be taken by the demon horde and probably killed.
The slayers, more than willing to show themselves in the eyes of the people, began to collect information before going to face the group of assailants. According to what they could find out, the demons were hiding in the forest that stretched along with the mountain range. It appeared that this forest was considered holy by the villagers since they believed that it was home to millions of spirits and deities that protected them in exchange for prayers and offerings. The presence of the demons seemed to indicate that their heavenly benefactors were angry with them or something of the sort since they could not comprehend why they had been discarded in this way. All the people who lived there seemed much more affected by the possibility of having been ignored by their deities than by the fact of being victims of demons.
None of those present had the courage to tell them that their gods most likely did not exist and they were simply victims of the schemes of the demons who were using their beliefs against them.
However, despite their obvious religious fanaticism, the villagers turned out to be a good source of information about the demons. Apparently they were an assemblage of three or four demons that had developed a kind of band or alliance with the intention of claiming this area as their hunting territory or something alike. Thanks to the information, they were also able to make a somewhat rudimentary map of the mountain area to have a minimal idea and not end up getting lost in the huge mountain range.
The group also took advantage of this opportunity to rest a bit from the long journey, regain strength, eat, and plan something. The village and its surroundings had not been inflicted by the snow yet, but it was more than likely that the more they climbed the mountain, the colder it was going to be until the proximity of snow was inevitable and that was something they should keep in mind. Kanao, for some reason (perhaps due to her connection with Shinobu), ended up being the unofficial leader and proposed that they split into two or three groups so that they could cover more ground and have more freedom when fighting.
Everyone accepted the idea and, after finishing their meal, put it into practice.
Zenia had ended up in a group with Kanao and Murata, as expected. The three slayers headed in a particular spot and began to wander, seeking for their target. As they had thought, this area had no snow, but Kanao said that she could see it in the distance and the best thing was to take advantage of the sun, not only because of the disadvantage that the demons had but also because of the warmth it was offering them. The other two were equally in agreement, which is why they moved forward trying to make the most of
The three in silence, the three alerts.
At first, nothing seemed out of place.
Kanao had told Zenia to try to find something using her ear while she tried the same using her incredible sight. However, none of them could detect anything out of the ordinary. Evidently, the demons were hidden deep in the forest and it was clear that they were not going to leave their cover unless it was inevitable, that indicated that they were much brighter than most of their compatriots and it was not something they could underestimate. It was more than obvious that they were going to have to reach them. So the three of them just had to move ahead trusting they could face whatever it was that was waiting for them.
The group soon reached the limits of the forest, marked by one of the several shrines to the supposed deities that, apparently, were scattered all over the place; creating a kind of entry to the forest, with several paths available to follow. The group of slayers took a moment to get a better look at the alleged shrine. It was not very huge, a simple booth with a medium-sized statue and a place to leave the offerings.
At first glance, it was easy to understand why the villagers had assumed that their gods had forsaken them.
The shrine was notably neglected, covered with twigs and trash. The surroundings looked abandoned and the interior was not much better, full of litter and rubbish. The statue was extremely dirty, covered in mold, twigs, and leaves, to the point that it was difficult to see what type of god it supposedly embodied. At least you could see that it was humanoid and appeared to be in a dance pose. The wood was faded and about to fall off as the weather hadn't treated it very fondly and it was more than obvious that no one had left an offering in that place for a long time.
The helpless and overlooked of the area seemed to stir something in Zenia because out of nowhere, she felt really outraged.
“The shame of these people is unbelievable! They demand to be protected and they don't bother doing the most modest obligation! I'm glad their deities have dropped them! Those ungrateful characters should reflect and repent of their sins!
The young woman continued to fume, speaking badly of all the villagers and how they did not earn any possible blessing from these deities, doing a very entertaining sight at the same time.
Zenia was quite an expressive person when it came to ranting, especially when she put herself in one of her "moods", all her sentences were highlighted by the gestures she made with her arms and hands, her face could make the most singular expressions and her voice could acquire the funniest tones one could imagine. It all depended on how passionate she could be about a particular issue.
So, except when she was really depressed, seeing her rant was quite a sight.
Her partners said nothing to her and simply let her air her grievances, knowing enough about her, since that way she would calm down much quicker. There appeared to be no danger nearby and taking a short pause was always cherished. However, the young woman defied their expectations when, practically out of nowhere, she began to fix the sacred shrine as best she could. Murata and Kanoe traded glances with each other, but neither knew very well what Zenia was up to with all this. What she was really doing seemed to be a complete waste of time, given the circumstances.
Despite that, none of them knew very well how to tell that to their comrade without offending her. The blonde could be really impulsive and quite stubborn when she wanted so it was very easy to make her furious and the two slayers did not want to risk losing the useful tool that was the fine ear of their ally thanks to one of her legendary tantrums. Dealing with the blonde required a high level of tact that neither of them had and they weren't quite sure they wanted to reach since none of them had intentions to become a close associate to Zenia after all this was over.
Anyway, Kanao decided to take charge of the situation, after consulting with her coin and asked the blonde what her intentions were.
"Considering how tough the mission would be, it wouldn't be much better to have some extra help," She answered as she continued what she was doing. Predictably her voice began to quiver and her eyes grew dank. "I don't want to die on this mountain so I need all the help I can! Understand my despair and help me a little, please! ”
However, the others declined and said it was best to move on.
The blonde predictably began to lament that no one ever supported her in her judgments and that she was reluctant to be punished for other people's sins and that everyone was frequently a pack of self-centered people. However, none of her words managed to convince her teammates to help her. Zenia, for some strange reason, had become fixed in the idea of finishing cleaning this spot (and that was close to been complete since she had not stopped her task during her tantrum) and had told them to continue without her and that she was going to follow them in a moment when she finished cleaning the statue with her handkerchief.
Murata and Kanao were not very inclined, but it was true that the blonde only had the statue left and it was not very likely that they would advance much in that stretch of time. Also, there was nothing threatening in the vicinity and they both knew that putting aside all her crying episodes, Zenia was really strong and more than capable when it came to fighting. Not surprisingly, Kanao had heard talks about turning her into a Hashira when she had more experience.
So they accepted and split.
Zenia could see how their rears walked away for a moment and then returned to concentrate on the task of finishing washing the statue with her handkerchief, wanting to complete the task as quickly as possible to be able to join her comrades and be able to do what they had come for. But for some peculiar reason, she felt that leaving this shrine in better condition was important.
Although she didn't know very well why that was.
Zenia often acted following her instincts and impulses, which did not always lead to the best outcomes, so she generally did not spend much time pondering the motivations for her actions. But it seemed that this time, there was something else behind her simple impulsiveness. She had not lied when she said she liked the extra help and her outrage with the villagers had been genuine. But there was something else, perhaps the simple desire to be able to focus her mind on something else, other than focusing on the mission and the likelihood of impending death. It would not be the first time that she attempted to conceal her qualms with much more somber issues like this.
Or perhaps...
Maybe...
Or perhaps ... it was that seeing something so neglected, so lacking in affection, so yearning for a simple piece of attention had touched her more than she was willing to admit.
It was no secret that after dying, her second greatest fear was being alone. Sad and abandoned with no one there to give her a little affection, a moment of love, a drop of warmth.
Just like this shrine.
Zenia was painfully conscious that there were many things she couldn't control, that she couldn't change no matter how hard she tried. In the same way that she had not been able to make her parents love her before leaving her discarded in the shelter, and in the same way that she had not been able to force anyone to marry her, she could not put pressure on the villagers to look after this place.
And that was life.
But there were things she could do, and Zenia had discovered that the only way to stay sane in this insane and angry world was to focus on those little details. There weren't too many, but the blonde felt that she couldn't go on without those moments, like being able to hear the rain hitting the ceiling when she couldn't sleep, enjoying a good meal, the feeling of hot water on her tired body when she could take a bath after a difficult mission. Those were the pleasures that formed the foundation of her life and sanity.
And now it was the satisfaction of being able to offer this little spot a bit of the care and attentiveness it so severely lacked. It was probably a waste of time since there was no deity in these mountains, but if something she had learned from her grandpa was that all action, however small, could always end up helping someone. And Zenia had learned that every kind deed always ended up coming back somehow. And the blonde was selfish enough to want to rack up all the good karma points she could.
Finished her task, the shrine was in much better shape. The blonde couldn't do anything about the wood or other details, but the place was now as clean as it could be and anybody could tell that the statue was about a young man dancing with a stick in one of his hands, so the young woman was quite satisfied with her work. But something was still missing so Zenia grabbed a rice ball that she had saved from her food and left it as an offering after saying a prayer.
After that, she ran to catch up with her comrades.
From that, the details eluded her mind. She wasn't sure how far they had come until they were ambushed by the group of demons and she had ended up separated from her companions. All she knew was that at one point Murata was trying to tell an apparently funny story and at another, Zenia had her face on the ground and was being attacked nonstop.
And the loss of details was not only related to a potential head injury.
To Zenia, fighting demons always seemed like a dream. When the blonde managed to overcome her growing anxiety and the great barrier that was her cowardice, she always went into a state where she tried to think as little as possible and let her body respond on its own. Considering that she could only use only one form of Thunder Breathing, she didn't have many options to start with so using that attack in pure instinct mode was the best strategy she had. So the details of the fights were something that always eluded her. Zenia generally felt that she woke up of this state when she could no longer hear the demons, with her body really injured, and with blood staining her sword. Chuntaro used to appear, the little traitor, to show her a place where she could rest before going to her next commission.
And the cycle was replicated with the next fight.
The only reason Zenia felt "awake" right now was that she had no choice.
Something else would be to deny reality.
Her assailant had her extremely overwhelmed and her fighting style didn't work with this particular demon. Apparently, this demon had the ability to turn the lumps and tumors that covered his body into minor versions of him, creating an army of his own. The downside to this technique was that the demon's appearance became increasingly grotesque and monstrous with the tumors and lumps becoming more prominent throughout his skin. Which gave him an extra advantage since his body had become extremely hard and difficult to hack. Zenia knew this because she had tried several times and had failed. And no matter how many of his troops she killed, there were always others to replace them. And no matter how fast she moved, she couldn't avoid them all.
Zenia was considering using her secret form, the one she had invented and vowed to only use against Kaikagu if they ever crossed paths when a monstrosity had caught her by surprise and broken her sword. From there to be stabbed with her own steel it had not to take too long. The blonde had tried to run away to see if she could be reunited with her comrades, but the snow and blood loss had made her progress really slow and she hadn't been able to advance much until she had been beset again.
She could not hear her comrades, the noises made by the monster army filled her ears and did not let her hear anything else.
Which led her to her current circumstances.
On the verge of death, coloring the snow with her blood and contemplating how beautiful the color red looked.
Zenia had spent so much time thinking about her own death, planning what her last moments were going to be, what her last words were going to be, to understand that none of that really mattered now that it was about to happen. All she really desired was that her body could be recovered so that her grandfather could give her a proper burial. Having dedicated her last thoughts to her grandpa, the only thing that had really gone according to her plan, she put herself in a position to make her last attack.
Breathing as deeply as she could, overlooking the burning and the pain, and gathering all her remaining strength, the blonde lunged forward.
"Thunder Breathing. First Form: Thunderclap and Flash ." The blonde said focusing all her strength on her legs and the air around her began to tremble, filling with the smell of ozone. “ Six-Fold.”
She knew she was defeated but she still had enough pride to take as many of those rascals as she could with her before it was too late, so she advanced against her enemies at the speed of thunder doing the familiar movements and feeling how her broken sword was still capable of taking lives.
And then...
And then...just came that moment that she always dreaded so much, that moment that her body simply gave up and resigned to the inescapable fate.
Zenia felt herself fall, but strangely instead of feeling the cold of the snow against her cheeks, she felt enveloped in a strange heat. With what little awareness she had left she opened her eyes.
And again, she could only see red.
"I really would like for you to stop harming my future wife."
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4x02 Chapter Fifty-Nine: Fast Times at Riverdale High
Senior year!
Just a mere glimpse at this shirt—what looks to be a sleeveless pink polo. Echoes of the sleeveless shirt she wore at Pop’s in her first (fully-clothed) scene in 101.
It’s possible Betty wore this skirt in 311, visiting Hal in prison, but it’s a little inconclusive. The platform pink Chucks are very familiar to us.
(What are they projecting here??)
Catch me lusting over this cropped sweater. The navy cuff detail is quite nice. Notice Betty takes her ponytail out, literally lets her hair down, to celebrate with friends and toast to their senior year.
And, you know, this. Everyone’s like awk, and I’m like, teenagers, Riverdale, etc, shrug.
(This is a Natori Cherry Blossom bra, we saw one in the flash forward in 322 in a different color.)
Not the first time we’ve seen Elizabeth in a Jughead Jones S-shirt.
Nor the first time she and Jug crashed out on a couch only to wake up in a tizzy.
The lines of this outfit remind me of her drag race look (206): high-waisted jeans, a nipped-in waist, a crop top. I honestly adore this outfit—the red, white, & blue stripe ribbed shirt, cropped, the Chucks, the dark wash jeans.
Gray envelope purse, first appeared on the scene in 219 and holding strong ever since.
Guess Backpack 2.0 is still around.
(Betty wore this collar in 209, Veronica wore it in 211, now we have completed the trifecta.)
Betty only rarely breaks out a new purse, so it’s always an occasion when she does.
Betty’s outfit and her blonde ponytail bring Bret Weston Wallis (l o l) to label her ‘very Sweet Valley High’—which for a brat like Bret, who participates in a salon discussion of Moby-Dick, is notably not high praise. Historically, Betty’s been underestimated by those who judge her visually. We know Betty isn’t a person to be trifled with; Bret’s sure to learn that in time.
A+ coordination of the polka dots with the overalls, Elizabeth.
Honestly, Betty’s read on this place isn’t wrong. I know prep schools, I went to one (albeit a Catholic one, which is a slightly different beast.) Additionally, Veronica states that there’s no school more ‘nihilistic and/or privileged’ than Stonewall. Things to remember...
There’s a lot to suss out about this storyline, and I’ve got a lot of thoughts on it already. But that’s Jug’s story; it’ll intersect heavily with Betty’s, given their relationship, so we’ll chat about it when it does.
Kevin, still drinking milk, bless.
This pink bomber (with a red stripe detail) first popped up in 305. Compare this Betty-confronts-Kevin-in-the-woods moment with the one we saw in 203 for an interesting, if difficult to parse, parallel.
Ah, yes. This dress is probably why I started this blog. (We’ve come so far, guys.)
This is lightyears away from season 1 Betty, but it does have all the signifiers that would suggest this is the same person, just one at a different point in their life. It’s a sporty polo dress, it’s preppy. It’s even a color (goldenrod, mustard yellow, etc) we saw Betty play with early on in the show’s run.
It’s in the details that we see growth. Her hair is down and tousled, casual, very different from the ponytail we used to see her in almost without fail. The ponytail hasn’t gone away (she wears it in this episode, frequently)—she’s just not as buttoned-up as she once was. Which, also: her cleavage is...glorious.
I think these are the blue velvet Mary Janes she first wore in 211.
Another crop top, and much bolder than what we usually see Betty in at school. I fully would have gotten detention for baring my stomach. Well—I would have gotten detention because I was out of uniform, but the cherry-on-top would have been the stomach-baring. The Sisters would have been scandalized (and my Sisters’ order was way more liberal than the Sisters of Quiet Mercy—stripped of their affiliation in Vatican II as they apparently were. But the Catholic Church has always historically tussled with the women who make up their orders. This is the strangest aside. )
Betty wore this skirt in 202 (giving Cheryl the shakedown) and then again in 316 (during that episode’s opening number.) The knit crop top evokes a sweater she wore briefly in 314, and yet another abstract animal-print motif sweater in 320.
Alexa play The Look of Love.
Pink sling-backs, how coordinated.
(You can tell it’s the same skirt from the center v-detail.)
(Defo FP’s kid.)
Okay, yes, this top is accidentally see-through. It happens to the best of us, and it certainly can happen on a television set with bright-ass lights. Whatever, still cute. Also, it’s a Natori Feathers bra (also here).
First saw this skirt in 202. Lotta repeat items and motifs in the ep, and yet it still feels fresh. There’s been growth.
And then there’s our flash forwards.
Everyone’s looking for Jughead in the woods, wearing these search party vests. Betty wore this zip-up in 316, while staking out the Farm (and also in 317 and 318, in a scene that bridges those two episodes.)
I wonder what kind of before/after vibes we’ll get in wardrobe with these flash forwards, if any. Season 4 is the first of these Outfit Watch posts I’m not doing retroactively, so it’s a new kind of experience. We’ll see how it plays out.
Summary: 9 different outfits—including one instance of sleeping in ur boy’s t-shirt, and one flash forward.
I Own This: Well, yes. I own that Natori Cherry Blossoms bra (in that Sea Spray color and 2 others.) (I also own the Feathers she wears with the accidentally see-through top.) (Wish I owned both of the stripe tops she wears here, love them.)
Is Betty a River Vixen??: Veronica and Cheryl certainly are (and a creepo tries to photograph V in the locker room post-practice), but Betty’s not in attendance.
That backpack?: RIP Backpack. You really served us well for 3 seasons. We’ll remember you. this is so sad alexa play sarah mclachlan. Backpack 2.0 reigns.
The Season 4 Crop Top Count: I’m not taking any chances here, because we get 3 in this episode alone.
Best outfit: For me it’s really a draw between the goldenrod polo dress and the first-day-of-school striped crop top & jeans.
gif via @fyeahriverdale
Honorable mention to Veronica’s bra, which my boobs wouldn’t tolerate but is indeed *chef’s kiss*
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Snowed In (a Stony college AU)
It has been literal years since Steve sat down and watched a single full episode of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, much less six in a row. Not that he's complaining: even if it wasn't a perfect, nostalgic way to spend the first snow day of the semester, he has Tony's head in his lap, Tony's hand curled around his knee drawing absent-minded patterns, and Tony's hair soft under his hand as he combs his fingers through it. Outside, the snow is falling fast and thick, showing no sign of stopping. On the coffee table they have hot chocolate with marshmallows, and Tony keeps reaching over to snag a soaking marshmallow from the surface of his drink, eating them one by one.
It's a sickeningly cute scene. They’re gross, and it's definitely nausea at this domesticity that has his throat feeling a little thick and his chest a little too full.
Tony wriggles a little, settling his head at a different angle on Steve's leg. That's all the warning he gets before Tony is tilting his head and nosing at the shape of Steve's cock through the thin fabric of his pajama pants.
"Tony!" He barely avoids kneeing Tony in the face in his surprise, but Tony nuzzles again and then turns over onto his back to grin up at Steve, somehow equal parts mischief and sweetness. "I'm definitely not saying no or anything-" Tony's smile widens a little at this, or maybe at the love in his voice. "-but what exactly is it about Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles that's turning you on?"
Tony flips over again, this time to face Steve, and his fingers slip under the hem of Steve's t-shirt, pushing it up a little and kissing at the skin he uncovers.
"The fight for truth and justice is a very passionate struggle," he says, and Steve cackles, his stomach shaking under Tony's mouth.
"Right," he says, smoothing back a piece of Tony's hair that's fallen in his eyes. "Okay. As long as you don't have a thing for anthropomorphic turtle vigilantes."
Tony pauses, like he's thinking about that. "Vigilantes? No," he says. “But a world with anthropomorphic turtles? I’d be all over that.” Steve laughs again, harder, his head lolling back against the sofa, and Tony looks up at him with an expression of mock irritation. "Stop laughing or I can't suck your dick," he says, hooking his fingers in the waistband of Steve's pajamas.
"Stop making me laugh! Tony, we can't do it bare-assed on the couch, people sit here,"
Tony heaves a sigh. "You're right," he says, but he keeps on kissing Steve's lower belly, now with an open mouth and a sloppiness that borders on playful but is also still traitorously hot. Steve takes a deep breath, looking around for something, anything.
"Here," he says, right as Tony's tongue dips into his belly button and his voice breaks just a little. He leans over, grabs the blanket slung over the back of the sofa, and Tony sits up enough to let him spread it over the cushion beneath.
"Off," Tony says, and starts tugging at his pants again before he can sit down. Steve manages not to trip over them as they fall to his ankles. It's a really good thing he gave up any sense of shame a long time ago with Tony, impossible not to, Tony's contagious that way because it's got to look a little undignified. But Tony is on him again the moment he settles back down. Tony smooths his hands up Steve's stomach--he's still wearing his shirt, he should fix that-- thumbs over his nipples, tongues his navel again until Steve tugs at his arms.
"Don't I get a little romance, first?" he asks, although his cock is already starting to stir. Tony hums an agreement and starts to slide up Steve's body, but he doesn't pull his head out of Steve's shirt to do it.
"Oh my god," Steve snorts, leaning his head back and wincing as Tony's head pops out of the neck of his t-shirt. He might be able to muster some annoyance if it wasn't an old shirt, already absurdly stretched out. The collar still cuts in at the back of his neck; Tony nips his chin. "Did you spike your hot chocolate?"
"No," Tony mumbles, against his mouth now. He nudges Steve's lips apart, licking just inside; he's wormed his hands up Steve's shirt too, and now his thumbs under Steve's jaw tilt his head the way Tony wants. Steve makes a soft muffled sound into his mouth, but he's only too happy to acquiesce. Tony's lips are the tiniest bit sticky from the marshmallows; Steve cleans away the sugar with little sucking kisses. Or possibly he's only spreading it around. He couldn't care less. Tony's pressing closer, and his skin is hot on Steve's bare chest, and then the soft flannel of Tony's pants brushes his cock and he surges up into the kiss. Tony breaks away with a little sigh, but when Steve tries to chase his mouth he shakes his head and starts to slip down, out of the poor abused shirt.
"Turn," he orders Steve, who obeys the gentle tugging at his knee and twists his body, bringing one leg up onto the sofa and leaving the other on the floor. Tony settles between them, lying on his belly and propping himself up on his elbows. The sofa’s just a little too short for this: he has to bend his knees, his socked feet up against the armrest.
"Why-" Steve starts to say, about to suggest making the trip to the bed if Tony wants to lie down, but he cuts off abruptly when Tony cups the side of Steve's cock in his palm and mouths at it, wet and hungry.
"I was comfy," Tony murmurs, and he's turned his head to lick down to the base so his breath is hot on Steve's balls. Steve just focuses on not squirming too much. Tony is being an unbearable tease, brushing feather-light touches everywhere but where he needs them, scattering kisses over his inner thighs and then up to his stomach again. Steve fumbles to pull his shirt off over his head, give Tony more access.
Somewhere in the back of his fogged-up mind, Steve realizes the TV is still on, because he hears a distant Cowabunga! and can't help but erupt into giggles, momentarily distracted from the subtle torture Tony is inflicting. Of course Tony chooses that moment to take him into his mouth, of course. Steve's laughter breaks off into a groan, and his hands clench in the blanket beneath him.
Tony hums around the head of his cock and Steve hisses out his name, watching the way his lips stretch and his eyelids flutter and takes hold of Steve's hand and pushes it into his hair.
"Oh, fuck," Steve says helplessly, stroking just behind Tony's ear. The hair is so silky here, downy-soft, and Tony makes another noise, encouraging. Steve doesn't pull, but keeps his grip firm, the way Tony likes, a steady tension at his scalp when he moves.
The thing is, he isn't doing a whole lot of moving. Or, he is, but not so much up and down: he tilts his head to get different angles, here and there, but what he's really doing is making out with Steve's dick, steadying it with one hand around the base. It's surreal, and obscene, and the very idea of it would be enough, but its the sight of it--his other hand still curled loosely around Steve's wrist, holding it to his hair; eyes closed, his dark lashes fanned out on his cheeks; his reddened lips sliding across the surface of Steve's cock, a slow slick drag-- that has Steve shuddering. Tony lifts his head for a moment, his hand dropping away from Steve's wrist to rest on his thigh.
"This is the laziest day I've had in months," he muses, a smile tugging at his lips. His voice is warm and satisfied, and Steve is kind of starting to ache but he can't even resent the interruption. Tony looks so content.
"You deserve it," Steve says. It sounds inane, but he doesn't know how to make his sincerity clearer, except to shift his hand in Tony's hair in a kind of petting motion. Tony arches up into it like a cat, and then his smile twists, gets a little bit of a wicked edge.
“I could be lazier,” he says, rather enigmatically. Steve blinks at him, opening his mouth to ask, when Tony's hand slides up his thigh and takes hold of his hip, pulling.
“Tones?” Steve asks, suddenly breathless. His cock jerks, though, and Tony snickers, which is sort of unfair, if Tony really just told him to do what Steve thinks he did. They’ve talked about it a little, before, but always in an abstract sort of way, and now Tony's mouth is right there, and Steve can hear his own pulse right now.
“C’mon,” Tony says, and presses another open-mouthed kiss to the side of Steve’s cock. “I’ll let you know. Three taps to the leg. I remember.” And then, because Steve is still staring mutely– “Rogers. You’re starting to make a guy feel unwelcome down here.”
“Sorry,” Steve finally gets out, a hoarse whisper. “Definitely not unwelcome.” He actually has to take a breath between the words. He works his hand deeper into Tony's hair, cradling his skull in his palm, and then touches the other to the side of Tony's face. “You’ll tell me?”
“Yes,” Tony assures him, and then presses his parted lips to the tip of Steve’s cock, his tongue flicking away the precum there, and looks up at Steve, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark with anticipation.
Steve rolls his hips upwards, slow, careful, and watches himself slip deeper into Tony's mouth. Tony lets out a tiny, pleased noise that makes his soft palate thrum against Steve’s cock, and Steve’s hands tighten in his hair, trying so hard to maintain these last shreds of self-control and not just thrust with abandon like he wants to so fucking bad. Instead he moves again, still careful but a little faster now, and watches Tony's face for any signs of regret. Tony's eyes are closed, though, and there’s no tension around them whatsoever - he looks blissed-out.
“Oh my god,” Steve manages, because he needs to let Tony know how good he is, how good he makes Steve feel, and real sentences are totally unthinkable right now. Tony's jaw works under his hand, his tongue flexing as Steve pulls back. He keeps thrusting up, steadily, and he does try to keep them uniform, but Tony's mouth is so hot, and the sounds of it, wet and obscene, are driving him crazy. Tony lets out a choked whimper when he goes a little too deep, throat convulsing, and Steve backs off with a chain of sorrysorryshitsorry, but Tony pets at his leg soothingly. He does not, once, lift his hand from Steve’s skin.
Steve pulls him off to let him breathe, asks if he’s okay, and Tony just nods. His jaw is slack, and he licks his lips as he catches his breath, but he seems uninterested in talking. He isn’t even meeting Steve’s eyes anymore, which would be worrisome except that he just seems to be trying so hard to get back to Steve’s cock, and he is – Steve suddenly notices – making occasional tiny movements with his hips against the sofa beneath him. He moans when Steve uses the hand in his hair to pull him close again; he moans louder when Steve thrusts, and a small part of Steve wants to drop his head back and shut his eyes to soak in the sensations, but he couldn’t look away from Tony right now if the building started to collapse. He can’t believe his goddamn luck, honestly, and he knows Tony won’t believe him but he says it anyway. “You look so good,” he murmurs, and Tony whines high up in his throat. “You look, you look incredible—”
Tony is still making a lot of noise, but there’s none of the anxiety he usually gets in his face when Steve tries to tell him this stuff, and that’s – that’s something to be examined later. He’s so receptive and sweet and Steve literally can’t believe this is happening: he’s lounging on his sofa, snowed in, an unintelligible racket of cartoons in the background, gently fucking Tony's mouth.
“So good,” he says again, because he can’t stop, not now he knows he has a free pass to tell Tony all the things he won’t usually hear. “How did I get here, how did I get you, you’re so gorgeous, Tony, you’re so good—”
Tony's hand tightens on his thigh at that, and he groans thickly. Steve loses his words, after that, has to just concentrate on control, even though Tony is taking everything so well, breathing deep through his nose and keeping his mouth so open, swallowing hard when Steve pulses on his tongue. Steve saves the last little bit of verbal capacity he has to stutter out, “I’m gonna come, I’m—” He drops his hands to Tony's shoulders, unwilling to give up contact but allowing him the freedom of pulling back– and he does, but god, not far. He doesn’t sit up or lean back, but keeps his face right there, fuck.
Steve watches in disbelief as Tony takes him in hand again, pressing the tip of his tongue under the head and then stroking hard and fast until Steve can’t hold himself together anymore. He comes, all across Tony's face and hair, and Tony shuts his eyes but doesn’t flinch.
“Oh,” Steve says, faintly, his voice a crackling mess. Tony is panting, dropping his head to nuzzle into Steve’s stomach, his hand shifting from Steve’s softening cock to spread over his ribs. “Tony?”
Tony hums, a noise that says nothing more than I’m conscious, or maybe even just I’m here.
“I feel like we should talk about that,” Steve says, putting his hand over Tony's. “In a good way. That was really good. But we should talk about it.”
Tony hums again. “Not now,” he sighs, and kisses Steve’s belly again.
“No,” Steve agrees. “Hey, if you come up here, we can take care of you, too, I can—”
Tony shakes his head against him. “Not yet,” he says, although his hips make another little shift against the sofa.
“Okay.” Steve runs his palm over Tony's hair, his heart swelling at the easy contentment in Tony's voice and the mindless way he keeps trying to squirm closer. “Not yet.”
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93. "You didn't just wake me up at 2 am because you were 'in the mood.'" Ineffable Husbands.
AO3 – Chapter 29/29 | Prompt Me!
Warnings for this fill: Basically smuts and Aziraphale being the hedonist he is, nothing to see here, carry on.
——
Crowley, in general, was not a light sleeper. When they’dbegun whatever this was between them, this culmination of a dance that had cometo mean courtship in all the important ways, he had merely dozed, always readyto snap awake. A wrong breath from Aziraphale, the crinkle of a fresh page,even a shift on the mattress that felt wrong was enough to rouse him.
It had been defensive, in the beginning.
Now, as Aziraphale slid into bed behind him, Crowley barelystirred. That had been a major victory on the angel’s part, finding a way tomake Crowley feel safe and wanted enough to sleep as deeply as he liked.
It hadn’t even been through any effort on his part; it hadmerely taken time.
The demon slept in as little as possible; it might be due toCrowley running hot or it might just be his natural proclivity to enjoy thefeel of the fabric against his vessel’s skin. His usual attire consisted ofsoft black cotton sleep pants and a broad smile if Aziraphale was joining him. Aziraphalenever did ask, simply enjoying the sight of Crowley sprawled out in bed, hishair like finely sheened copper wire against the crisp bedding. His vessel tookover in slumber, as vessels did, and his breathing was deep and even. Every sooften he snuffled in his sleep, and Aziraphale felt the corners of his mouthtilt up.
There was always, always affection for Crowley in him, deepand flowing from the heart of him. That hadn’t changed since they’d met, thoughthe forms it took had been different then. Now, it was love that he could admitto, holding it carefully against himself until the time had been right.
It was good. This was good.
He’d always been a hedonist, especially when it came toenjoying the world around him. It had been no different when Crowley had becomepart of that world, so long ago. Before, his enjoyment had been limited toglances and gazes during their furtive lunches or talks. Now, he had unfetteredaccess to just…enjoy the time spent with Crowley, and watching him at rest wasa particular joy that he indulged in, quite often.
Aziraphale had taken to sleeping at more regular intervals,but he’d never enjoyed it like he did his food. What he did enjoy wasthe sight of a shirtless Crowley, splayed out on his belly with his legstangled in the sheets. He took in the shape of the demon’s back, the rise andfall of his chest as he slumbered, the silken play of muscle beneath the paleskin.
Crowley was art, of the finest caliber. It was a wonderthere had been no paintings or sculptures of him that he’d been able to find.Perhaps, he thought, it was because Crowley was more solitary in nature. Whilehe’d been known to speak with and become friendly with any number of humanwriters, artists, and poets, Crowley preferred to keep his meddling to the bigpicture. He loved humans, as did Aziraphale, but in an abstract way.
He’d once gone on about the internet for an entire day,espousing the wonders of the thing. Never once did he really mention who’dcreated it or for what purpose. It was enough that it existed, like televisionor automobiles.
Now, though, the demon was at rest—one of his favoritethings. He’d never been awake before noon on a good day, and Aziraphaleunderstood that, in an abstract way; most of Crowley’s nefarious activitiestook place under cover of darkness, as cover of darkness was good for thosesorts of things. After the world hadn’t ended, Crowley had taken to longstretches of sleep during the night.
Aziraphale knew to let sleeping snakes lie, but he hadparticular plans for this serpent. So it was that after a long time gazing atthe fine muscle of Crowley’s bare back, admiring the way the red of his hairbecame fine and almost translucent at the nape of his neck…
Aziraphale’s lips were gentle, trailing against Crowley’sspine. The demon didn’t stir, merely sighing out softly in sleep, his eyelids fluttering.The angel tried again, mouthing lightly against Crowley’s warm skin. Thesensation was heady, as it always was—skin to skin contact was certainly a newthing for Aziraphale to indulge in, despite the rumors of a gentleman’s clubmaking him anything but gentlemanly. This was something he’d only ever wishedto share with the demon sleeping beside him.
Now that he could, he was determined to make up for losttime.
“Mmrph.” Crowley’s voice was heavy, drowsy. It was rusty,the sound of someone who was pulled from deep slumber. “Angel?”
It was a sweet sound, one that Aziraphale relished pullingfrom the demon. The softest, quietest question, answered with a hum fromAziraphale, his hands sliding along the skin of Crowley’s back. His lipstrailed up, against the nape of that beloved neck, watching the way goosefleshcrawled up Crowley’s spine at his caress.
Crowley gave the softest of moans. It was a sound Aziraphalewould never tire of hearing, the sweetness of it tinged in his own longing likea particularly good cake drenched in honey straight from the comb. He would supthem straight from Crowley’s lips forever if he got the chance—it was a particularlyfavorite sound of his, breathed against his ear, his neck, his back. His fingersmuffling them, his mouth drinking them down, his vessel feeling them vibrateagainst its chest.
Aziraphale hummed again, indulgent as he swept his handslightly down Crowley’s spine once more. It was a nice spine, he thought, justone too many vertebrae to make him entirely human, like those lovely goldeneyes of his. It was part of what made him Crowley, which made it all the more preciousto Aziraphale, more worthy of his attention.
“I know you didn’t wake me in the middle of the night—” Crowley’sbreathy words were cut off as Aziraphale pressed his lips against his spineonce more, the demon arching into him. “—just because you were in the mood.”
“Mm,” Aziraphale said. Words had always been Crowley’sstrong suit, his silver forked tongue catapulting them into this future withjust a few whispered words. Aziraphale was better with…well, motion. Constantlyin motion, constantly working against reaching out and touching, holding, caressing.
Now? He could do as he pleased, and what pleased him rightin this moment was to nip, just so, at Crowley’s shoulder blade, to feelthe demon jerk against him, hips rutting into the mattress as Aziraphalesoothed the bite with his tongue. He circled where the wing joints were,knowingly, as precise as if it were his own back he were touching, laving themwith kisses and nips and leaving Crowley a squirming mess beneath him, sinuousundulations against him as the demon tried to catch up to where Aziraphale alreadywas.
Black feathers shivered in the air between them, on the cuspof manifestation, and Aziraphale loved that, too. Sleek and lovely, held poisedas Crowley trembled on the precipice of fight or flight.
Breathtaking.
Crowley’s wings hadn’t been seen often in theirrelationship. He’d never felt the need to bring them out, never felt the urgeto stretch them and take flight. Pinions rustled in the air, a whisper of awhisper, like a secret heard from another room’s keyhole.
He showed them more often these days, simply becauseAziraphale had asked.
How lovely your wings are, my dear.
Such a pity I can never groom them for you like I ought.
Crowley had always loved to please him. It had just takenmuch longer for Aziraphale to come to terms with that in certain areas. Now?
Now, Aziraphale’s pleasure stemmed mostly from enjoying histime with the demon beneath his hands. In all areas of his life, where heshould have been all along. Dinner, walks in the park. The failed attempt at learningto dance together last week, the plans to try again the next. It was all here,breathing in the dark with him, his love for Crowley unfurling like a blanketand coating everything in his life, dipping it in gold where once it was pale andwan.
“I couldn’t resist, my dear,” he said, his voice husky. Hespoke the words against the long, beloved spine of his serpent. “You alwayswere excellent at temptation, I just don’t think you realize you’re doing it,half the time.”
Crowley’s voice was a strangled sob as Aziraphale’s wordspressed against his skin.
“Oh, I do love you,” Aziraphale sighed, sliding his handsforward, beneath Crowley and palmed against his chest, fingers tracing against belovedskin and imperfections that Crowley insisted were factory issue but Aziraphaleknew were marks of the demon settling into the vessel. Freckles and stretchmarks, old scars and new skin from shedding, all things that were quintessentiallyCrowley and thus precious. “Always.”
“Angel—” Crowley said, but it was lost in a garbled noise asAziraphale pressed them back to chest, nuzzling against the curve of Crowley’s ear.
“Yes?” Aziraphale said, his voice holding a husky note ofsmugness that was hard to hide, not when he knew exactly what was happening toCrowley now, the other’s thighs quivering as he resisted pushing back and againstthe angel, even as Aziraphale’s hands slid down his breastbone, across hisbelly. Teasing, loving, not quite possession and not quite absolution, but aheady and frankly blasphemous sensation that was freedom for them both in allthe ways that truly mattered.
They’d always existed best when treading the razor’s edge ofthe rules they were meant to follow, after all.
Crowley’s voice was quiet, seeming muffled in the dark. “Iwant to see you.”
“Of course,” Aziraphale said, ever indulgent.
Crowley shifted, Aziraphale drawing back just long enough sothat the demon could roll to his back, his eyes locked on the angel. He knewthey were, even in the blackness of the room, because Crowley’s stare had a weighthe’d never been able to shake, not that he wanted to remove it now. Aziraphaleran fingers through his own hair, leaving tiny points of light dancing in hiscurls, faerie fire that illuminated the room as softly as his feathers thatfluttered just out of view.
“Aziraphale,” Crowley said. The word was a prayer, a curse,benediction and damnation—it was terribly beautiful, falling fromCrowley’s mouth as such. The angel leaned in, supping the word from Crowley’slips, eager to breathe in the curse and breathe out a blessing.
Perfect harmony.
The angel straddled Crowley’s hips, knees pressed againsthim solidly as he beamed down at him.
“You are…” Crowley huffed a laugh, his eyes wide, luminousin Aziraphale’s radiance, pupils blown black with desire and not a little awe. “Didyou climb into bed naked?”
“Might’ve done,” Aziraphale admitted, still smug as he feltthe slide of Crowley’s palms against him, his skin prickling with that peculiarsense of reaching, as though he were trying to absorb more of Crowleyagainst him, clinging to him, each inch of his skin seeming jealous whenanother part of him got the pleasure of the demon’s touch.
“You’re going to discorporate me one of these days,” hesaid, chuckling as he kneaded Aziraphale’s thighs, thumbs turning deliciouscircles against the angel’s hipbones. Aziraphale gave a pleased, almost giddyroll of his hips, pulling a string of curses from Crowley’s beloved mouth. “Isaw your bare forearms in the 18th century and I almost didn’t recover.”
Aziraphale laughed, the sound making Crowley buck againsthim—how lovely—and merely leaned in to bite at Crowley’s jaw. “Flatterer.”
“I’d missed the sight of your wrists,” Crowley said, the wordsa breathy moan as Aziraphale nuzzled at the line of his throat.
“I’ve worn less,” Aziraphale said. He could feel the wayCrowley clutched at him, as though he were drowning and Aziraphale were air. Hebrushed his thumb across one of Crowley’s nipples, and it was like he’d toucheda live wire to Crowley’s spine, the demon jerking up to meet him.
“Not since Rome,” Crowley replied, his voice wrecked. Aziraphaleconceded that by settling back against the tops of Crowley’s thighs. Crowleyresponded beautifully, as he always did. He rolled his hips up and againstAziraphale, the motion merely a ghost of the things they’d experienced togetherand yet still enough to make Aziraphale feel a gnawing hunger in the pit of hisstomach.
He kissed Crowley then, the hunger manifesting in the bitehe left against Crowley’s lower lip.
“How is it I’m never sated with you?” Aziraphale asked. “Wecould do this for days—have done—and yet each time it’s—”
“—new, and different,” Crowley said, choking the words out,wrecked and wanting. “I don’t know, angel. I don’t—”
His sleep trousers were gone with a snap of Aziraphale’sfingers, cast aside into a corner of the room and away, freeing Crowley to theair and to Aziraphale’s greedy touch. Because it was greedy, what he felt forCrowley, each time they did this. It was his. It had always been his, eversince the Garden. He’d held this in his hands, cupped it close, kept the flamelit even in the deep watches of the night.
Alive. Here and warm and alive, with Crowley. This was whathe liked the best, breathing in love and exhaling Crowley’s name, for they wereone and the same for Aziraphale.
It was new, it was different, it was…good. It had alwaysbeen good, this thing between them.
Even without this, in spite of this, it was alwaysgood, what they had between them. No matter how they fought, no matter how theytried, they were always better, together.
Aziraphale’s breath shivered in the air as he sank down overCrowley’s blunt length, shuddering at the feeling of delicious fullness thatonly got better as they got more experienced at it. He shifted, adjusting, Crowley’sfingers on his hips near-gouging as he dug his nails in, and somehow that wasdelicious, too. Pleasure near turning to pain, burning through him and upsynapses that were never meant to fire this way, not for him.
And yet, here he was, starting to move in slow, shallow arcsas Crowley sobbed his name. It was enough to make him weep, but he didn’t, theemotion bubbling over into something deeper, a river that flowed through him andnurtured his heart—all for the being beneath him, for him to rest his wearybones on the grassy banks, sheltered.
“Oh, Crowley,” he whispered, for it was all he could manage,his wings covering them from view as though he’d felt the rain on the EasternWall once more. Shadowy feathers painted the wall behind him; below him Crowley’swings burst forth in answer, unfurling beneath them as the demon rose and fellwith Aziraphale’s steady, inexorable movements.
He was the drip of water against stone, the grit of seawaves crashing against cliffs. He couldn’t be stopped, couldn’t be reasonedwith, not here. This was his, this was Crowley’s, this was theirs, and it wouldalways be theirs, so long as his consciousness and Crowley’s existed, one soulpoured into two vessels.
He’d defied Heaven for this, thumbed his nose at Hell. Noone was going to take it from them.
Crowley cried out, Aziraphale dipping to catch him. Alwaysto catch him. Pulling him close and wrapping his wings about them, the angelpressed his lips to Crowley’s. Beloved. Always beloved.
His feathers rustled, warm and languid as he slowly tuckedthem out of the way, back into their pocket. Crowley did the same, with alittle groan. The mess was hardly an issue when one was ethereal, and hesnapped his fingers as he settled next to Crowley. They were freshly scrubbed,as though coming straight from a bath, a light and soapy scent in the air.
Crowley huffed a little laugh, golden eyes on Aziraphale.Oh, but he could drink in that adoring expression on Crowley’s face, like hecouldn’t believe he was here. It was endearing and heartbreaking in the samebreath and it was all for him. Aziraphale pressed his lips to Crowley’sknuckles.
“Remind me to have you wake me up like that more often,” hesaid, his voice a little hoarse.
“Of course,” Aziraphale said, feeling Crowley’s lips againsthis temple, where the little fairy firelights still danced like miniaturestars.
“You never did tell me what you woke me for,” Crowley said.
“I wanted to watch the sun rise with you,” Aziraphale said.He gestured at the window, the shade sliding up to let in the pink of themorning. “But I know how much you like your sleep, so I thought I’d make itworth your while.”
“Hm,” Crowley said, the sheets pooled around their waists asthe sun rose over Soho, pink and orange and limned in gold. “You could havejust asked.”
“We both know that’s not as fun,” Aziraphale said, primly.
Crowley’s laughter was quiet, but it filled Aziraphale tothe brim, and he poured the feeling back into the demon, kissing him soundly asdark turned into day.
#Good Omens#Ineffable Husbands#Crowley#Aziraphale#lywinis writes#je ne regrette rein#bearfeathers#lmao that gif borked my formatting but I love that stupid dork's slow grin
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Si-Fe-Ti-Ne or Ne-Fi-Te-Si? (non- stereotypical)
Hey mods!
I would like to ask an unusual question.
Could you please help me to determine if someone is an enfp or an isfj? I am astonishingly lost. Both personalities are perceiving dominants, so they prefer to collect information, and are therefore not quickly to judge or form long term decisions fast. Both are feelers, so they judge by a value system first. They both have F/T in the middle of their stack, so they back up their feelings with logic and switch between both easily and fast.
They both use Ne, so their ideas are multi-focused not single focused like Ni. They both use Si so their memories are self referencing and smells, touches, sounds, remind them of personal times. If the person is not well balanced they might get into a grip, so the isfj will act like Ne, and the enfp will act like a Si. But if they are balanced they won’t show the typical stereotypical behavior of their inferior function Ne/Si.
Looping they have SiTi and NeTe, which are different, one is extroverted and the other introverted, but both have a perceiving and a detached function operating, one would be more focused on understanding systems and the other on creating, but how can you know if the person is looping or if they are just using their entire stack?
To me those are the two more similar types and I just can’t determine which one fits accurately. I do know that Te is different than Ti and Fe is different than Fi, but together Fi/Te and Fe/Ti they seem the same somehow. I have read extensively about each function and each function in characters, but an isfj and a enfp both healthy are too similar in my mind.
Could you please contrast a 2w1 6w7 1w9 so/sx isfj and a 2w1 6w7 1w9 so/sx enfp? ( I know enneagram is not something we should use to compare types, but otherwise they would be too different)
I appreciate the help. I know it doesn’t make sense to mix the both of them up, but I am just stuck in it. Thanks.
ENFPs and ISFJs are really… not alike. At all. Their blind spots are way different. Even when healthy, you’re going to see the areas in which they make consistent mistakes and cause conflict with others.
In a nutshell, an ENFP reacts quickly in the moment, needing no down time to respond to things going on in their environment. They can come up with things on the fly, they have no trouble adjusting their plans at the last second (may even do so voluntarily), and they have excellent short-term foresight. By that, I mean their Ne/Te can see how doing THIS will play out and resolve THAT PROBLEM within a relatively short amount of time. Nip it right in the bud. And because they’re a high Intuitive, presuming they are healthy, it works, because the idea is “good.” The area in their life, however, that causes them the most frustration, anxiety, and even conflict lies with… Si. Details. They’re dreadful at it. Things like remembering people’s names, remembering details of things they have created, retaining information and, above all, route learning (so as to become an expert, and not just a “fill in the blanks and hope for the best” person) is hard for them. Where will they screw up at work? Details. Where will they screw up with friends? Details. What’s the biggest source of their frustration? Details. Their biggest single problem is rushing to implement their new ideas, without stopping to consider the plausibility or work involved – in other words, the details necessary to make it work.
Details are what the ISFJ excels at. No problem. They know how to memorize and learn. More than that, they have the patience to learn things properly. To spend hours and hours practicing their technique and honing their skills. It’s the difference between a Ne-dom who says, “I want to become an expert pianist,” and buys a keyboard, but finds the basic books they have to practice with boring and gives up after two weeks because they haven’t become an expert overnight (unrealistic Ne-dom expectation, accompanied by grand dreams of playing in front of a massive crowd and being marveled at), and the patient Si-dom who starts out with the beginner book, masters that, moves on to the next book, masters that, moves on to the next, masters that… and winds up a flawless pianist, because they did it right. They followed the tried-and-true method they knew would lead to success, if you followed each step. And they did each step. Over and over, until it comes second nature to them.
The Ne-dom has trouble finding the patience for that. An ENFP will only do it if it’s absolute what their Fi values and desires – if their lifelong dream is to become a pianist, they will learn, force themselves to take the “slow path” (unlike the speed train they’re usually on); but in general, slow and steady brings success route does not come naturally to them. So, they’ll be an expert, detailed pianist… and in all the rest of their life, back to half-assed fast.
No, where the ISFJ fails is in abstract concepts. Seeing what is possible with a positive attitude, and believing it can and will happen; being excited for it (instead of fearful). Inferior Ne misreads situations – badly. It attributes the wrong motives to things, because it’s out of touch with the environment. That “see the problem coming and head it off” that Ne/Te is so good at, inferior Ne can’t do. You will see the difference, because strong Ne resolves issues in the present and near future skillfully, whereas a low Ne’s hasty impulsive “fix” may worsen the problem and/or underestimate the severity of it. High Ne is better at accurately evaluating genuine threats; low Ne may choose the wrong threat to focus on, and miss the actual one, because of Si/Ne’s tendency to build toward something, rather than Ne/Si’s tendency to be “drifting” in possibilities.
And, of course, FiTe and FeTi’s methods differ. FiTe never mirrors people’s feelings and does not engage in messing with people for fun; sooner or later, you are going to see tert-Te come out and shove people out of the way to get something done, with an attitude of “either help or move.” FeTi does mirror people’s feelings, with the result that the FeTi can lose a sense of their own feelings and what they want, while being better at reading other people’s needs. Fe will try persuasion and organizing others to accomplish, at times (not always, sometimes ISFJs want to be left alone to work), but it’s focus is always on what others want, need, and how they’re feeling. Fi’s focus is always on being “true to myself” (but with a healthy Fi, “but also kind to YOU”).
A 2 fix isn’t going to magically make a Fi able to mirror people; they will simply do kind things for others, using their Te to accomplish it, and crave love. Think about Arwen in The Lord of the Rings. As a Fi, she wanted to keep social harmony with her loved ones. She tried to please her father by leaving Middle-earth – and then returned, because it wasn’t true to herself, to her Fi, to what she wanted. Despite being devoted to Aragorn, and a “helper” (2) who motivated, encouraged, and pushed him to be all he could be, she still felt a strong need to be true to herself. She helped, but it was what SHE thought he needed (Fi detachment from Other). Compare that to a 2 Fe, who will ACTUALLY FEEL what people need, and use that to give it to them.
Margaery Tyrell in Game of Thrones is a core 2 and a Fe. She knows what and how to appeal to others, how to seduce them, make them like her, how to smooth things over with them. It’s all about being whatever they need her to be, and in so doing, advancing her own cause (to become queen). But it’s still instant and fully aware of what they want; no guessing.
A 6 anywhere in a stack will make an intuitive more risk-prone than the stereotypes for their type; it will bring out more of a tendency to play it safe and even stay home / not go wandering in an ENFP, but their Si will STILL be awful. 6 doesn’t repair the speed train. They will still make it all up as they go along, and have unrealistic expectations for themselves, and make mistakes based in not thinking through the details. The 6 and Si-dom is pretty much stereotypical 6. Worst-case scenario prone. Risk-adverse. A fear of the unknown. But they will still be good at everything the ENFP isn’t, namely… details. Learning. And repeat, repeat, repeat to reach perfection. A 9 fix will further make the ENFP want to “suppress” their Fi, to get along; make them shut up to be liked and avoid conflict, but there will still be bursts of tert-Te bossiness and bluntness (control freak, and over-using Te, poorly – like a bull in a china shop) you’ll never find in an ISFJ.
Their flaws: the ENFP moves too fast, because they didn’t stop to collect details and everything they needed before they speculated; the ISFJ processes things more slowly and sometimes misses out, because it took them longer to reach a (more detail-accurate) conclusion than the ENFP (but the ENFP’s Ne might have been bang on, it’s just a vague / half-constructed argument).
- ENFP Mod
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in bloom - iv
Niall’s managed to change his outfit three times in a span of thirty minutes while Harry sits idly in the brown leather accent chair in the corner of Niall’s bedroom. He’s double tapping on different photos that fill his instagram feed when Niall expels a puff of warm air from his nose. Though it catches his attention, the lanky brunette never lifts his eyes from the blue light of his phone.
“Relax,” he says, thumb hovering over a photo of some words of affirmation typed on a pastel yellow background. “She’s seen yeh covered in your own sick. ‘s a noticeable improvement.”
Harry’s only jesting, but Niall hardly finds his humor comforting while his trembling fingers struggle to undo the top three buttons of his navy blue top. He has long since passed the nervous butterflies. In their place is a swarm of hummingbirds that somersault and kick at his sides. His heart rate feels as though it is climbing to match the rapid beat of their wings. It’s a nervousness that he has never felt before. At least not at the thought of a first date.
Well, he’s felt close to this feeling before. He tries not to think about that, though. Instead, his eyebrows furrow as he glares at the sliver of tanned skin and curly hair that peeks out from between unbuttoned fabric. His lips are pressed into a thin line as brushes an undone button. The white marbled plastic feels smooth against the pad of his thumb as he glances between it and Harry’s reflection in the full length mirror.
“Don’t think that she’ll think that I’m tryin’ too hard?” Niall asks, meeting Harry’s eyes when he glances up from his phone.
A dimple appears in Harry’s right cheek, accompanied by a genuine smile. He can see the worry lines deepen in Niall’s forehead. He stands to come up behind Niall. He looks comfortable in his loose yellow gym shorts and oversized Packer’s jersey. His eyes are half lidded with fatigue, but they’re soft and kind.
“I think she’d be worried if you weren’t trying hard,” Harry says, a ping from his phone following shortly after his words. He glances down to look at the source and claps a hand to Niall’s back with a quiet laugh. “Can’t worry ‘bout it too much now. She’s downstairs.”
Niall’s confused as to why she would text Harry that she’s arrived until he’s picking up his own phone. There’s a series of texts that are littered with playful emojis and capital letters. He breaks into a nervous smile before texting Levinia that he’s headed toward the elevator. (He’d typically take the stairs, but between nerves and a sore knee, he hardly wants to chance it).
The lift dings as it makes its descent to the first floor. It sticks on the second floor for just a moment too long, but with a few disconcerting noises he’s finally stepping foot into the foyer. He can see Levinia through the glass window that takes up three quarters of the door. She’s dressed in a black off the shoulder shirt that exposes her clavicles in a way that has Niall biting his lip at the thought of nipping at the taut skin there. Her hair is slicked back into a low bun and he’s happy to see even more of her face.
She looks beautiful. Though, Niall hardly thinks the word is enough. Ethereal. Breathtaking. None of the words seem to fit. Nothing encompasses the way she looks tonight or accurately describes the hitch in his breath. Not even how his eyes attempt to drink in every shadow, dip, and texture of her skin when he finally steps outside.
“Cat got your tongue?” Levinia observed, a playful smile lighting up the rest of her features.
She seems to be unphased by the entire situation. Her humor and wit as sharp as ever, and face free of any worry lines or blush. But, Levinia’s picking at the cuticle of her left thumb as the nerves rattle through her. The nail of her index finger makes a soft clicking noise that is lost in the sounds of the city.
Niall shakes his head with a scoff.
“Sorry I kept you waiting, love.” Niall apologizes, “I’ve been a nervous wreck.”
Niall recalls someone, years ago, telling him that the best way to shake the nerves was to just come right out and say it. And it does, just a little. It quiets the pounding of his heart in his ears, but hardly settles the fluttering deep in his tummy. He doesn’t mind that part as much, however. It feels nice to have such nervous excitement bubbling through his system, each swell and pop releasing more endorphins.
“It’s alright,” Levinia smiles, her tone sweet as heat blooms beneath her makeup. “There’s no need to be nervous. S’only me.”
Niall bites his tongue. Though he wants to tell her that being her is enough to rattle him to his core and turn him back into a blubbering school boy, he’s trying to save some face tonight. He doesn’t want Levinia to think that he’s just some sorry sod that can’t keep his cool around a girl. So, he offers a hand to her and really tries to be the perfect gentleman.
Helping her into his car. Pulling out her seat when they finally arrive at some slightly upscale restaurant that she’s chosen. Even splurges a little on a decade old bottle of red wine. He pays for everything, too, despite Levinia’s protests. They only compromise when Niall agrees to let her pay for the movie they’re going to see.
They agreed upon some action movie that Levinia’s interested in, but Niall only somewhat. Not because the plot is boring, but because he’s fascinated by the creature next to him. He’s committing each freckle of her profile to his memory. Connecting each one to create some type of abstract design and only sometimes losing his place when the screen darkens.
Levinia feels it, too. She can feel the way his blue eyes dance across her face while she watches a car fly into the air. The noise echoes in the near empty theatre. It’s only her, Niall, and the group of three teenagers that sit six or so rows in front of them. They’re boisterous and borderline distracting from the movie, but neither of them really seem to be paying any mind to the rowdy bunch.
She’s never been shy about wanting affection when she actually wants it. So, her nerves are just barely making her hands tremble as she reaches for Niall. She daintily plucks his hand from his thigh, index finger and thumb on either side of his wrist. Levinia brings it to lay flat on the armrest between them before resting her own hand on top. Her fingers look thin and delicate as she plays with Niall’s own thick digits. It’s an innocent gesture that reminds Niall just how soft Levinia can be when her guard isn’t up.
She mindlessly plays with his fingers as the movie continues to play. They both laugh at the appropriate times and Levinia scrunches up her nose at a particularly sad part of the movie. It’s all very...easy. There’s no inflated sense of romanticism or a need to be something they’re not. Authenticity in every sense of the word.
Real.
Tangible.
Simple.
Niall likes it this way. They’ve seen each other in the darkest of lights and when the light seems to light them from within. There’s no need to hide. No need to clean and polish any flaws away. They can just be whatever it is that they are.
Niall’s hoping that they’ll get to the point where a label has been placed upon their relationship. Not to signify ownership, no. The very thought is archaic. But, being able to introduce Levinia to his mother in a way that doesn’t just describe her as the woman who took pity on him months ago. The term that suggests that there is mutual desire and respect for one another.
He wants to be patient, though. It’s partially for his own selfish reasons. Niall isn’t quite ready to commit to the label yet. Because he can still feel a piece of his heart cave in every single time he thinks of that day. Even feels it swell sometimes when he thinks about the possibility of resurrecting the flame that despite being fed, burned out so quickly.
But, he’s trying to move on. He wants to move on. Believe him, he really does.
Yet, when he glances down at his phone when the credits begin to roll...why does his heart tighten with hope? Why does his stomach sink with guilt when he feels Levinia’s touch linger over his palm? And why is he making a piss poor excuse to head to the bathroom before the lights have even begun to light the theatre?
Perhaps because he’s delusional enough to think that a text from Penelope means that flame hasn’t completely burnt out.
#in bloom#my writing#niall horan x ofc#niall x ofc#niall horan fic#niall horan au#niall au#niall horan series#niall series#niall horan fanfiction
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Spontaneous Attraction Ch. 15
Pairings: Kyungsoo x You
Genre: Fluff/Angst/Smut | Ambiguous AU
Warnings: None
Word Count: 3k
Description: You start to understand his perspective more.
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 |
Throwing back the covers, you shivered at the cold. Before you could fully sit up large palms were on your waist, pulling you backwards. You landed with a huff, arms encircling your torso so you were trapped with Kyungsoo's chest on your back. The man behind you groaned tiredly and nuzzled his face in the nape of your neck. His breath cascaded down the curve there, tickling your skin. You felt the vibrations in his chest as he murmured in a small voice,
"Stay."
You chuckled under your breath at his cuteness.
"I have work. Did you not hear my alarm? You probably need to go, too."
"Just a little longer." You briefly wondered if you looked back if you would have found him pouting.
"Come on," you goaded, pushing on his arms. He tightened them and curled his legs closer to fit behind yours in defiance.
"I like holding you. Please?" You sighed.
"Only because you asked nicely." Lips brushed the back of your neck. You relaxed, enjoying the closeness.
"Do you feel okay? I was worried I was too rough last night." At his question you took the time to mentally scan yourself.
"My legs are a little sore, but I'm okay. I would've told you if it was too much."
"Good. That's good," he mumbled. Kyungsoo let one of his hands wander, skimming down your stomach. Fingers teased under the hem of your shirt.
"Your hands are cold," you smiled lazily. You braided your fingers with his on your hip.
"That's why I wanted you to stay a little longer," he replied.
"Sure it is." You guided your joined hands up your side to lay against your heated skin. His icy digits began to soak in the warmth. Another brush of lips made you shiver.
"I'm proud of you," he declared suddenly. You laughed, confused.
"What?"
"You were such a good girl last night." His voice had dropped an octave. It was breathy and seductive, luring you in like he'd cast a charm on you. You were entranced by how he went from pouty to provocative in no time flat. Your eyes drifted closed so his voice surrounded you and invaded every thought, solely focused on Kyungsoo. "You took everything I gave you. And so perfectly behaved, too." He placed a deliberate, slow kiss just above the collar of your shirt, tongue darting out to wet the skin. He blew lightly on it, causing it to prickle and a shudder crawled down your spine. "Why do you taste so good?" It wasn't meant to be answered. He sounded like he was talking more to himself than you. Tiny, exposed confessions rolling off his tongue after biting it for so long. Knowing it was safe. Knowing he could trust the soft words to float around in the early morning and not be judged or teased or rebuked. As if you ever would have, but the peek into his thoughts was fascinating. Months and you still could barely read what he was feeling unless he spoke it aloud. "You've driven me crazy since I woke up after my birthday and you served me breakfast. I couldn't understand why a woman who had no clue who I was took care of me like a close friend. You were patient and kind explaining everything to me. When you called me your favorite stranger I thought you couldn't possibly be more interesting. I had so many questions I wanted to ask to learn more about you. It was all so strange, but I didn't feel scared. I keep doing all these things--things I don't normally do." His no longer icy fingers drew random patterns on your side. Hard enough not to tickle, but light enough his nails didn't scrape. He never made big motions either so your hand stayed locked with his. "I gave my number to a stranger then set up a date before I even knew your name. I went on dates in public. I skipped out at work to see you. No matter what happens you keep finding ways to surprise me. I would dream up the next thing that would make me fall more for you during our breaks, but you always found something more creative when I saw you. Acting cute, being ridiculous, being funny, being you. There's not one set way to describe you. I was just pulled to you like a magnet. And then you said you loved me. You said it before and after you found out about my job without a shred of questioning. Like it was such an obvious, incontrovertible fact that always existed. I was so overwhelmed w-with these--these urges..." You remembered when you hosted his band members for dinner and he had followed you to the kitchen. How feverish his kisses felt on your throat, pressed up against the counter. How he kept his hand on your knee most of the night. How you caught him staring at you every now and then.
Kyungsoo shifted his hips behind you and you felt his growing arousal. His soft lips dragged across your skin and paused over your pulse. His mouth didn't move away from your throat to talk next, sending vibrations through you.
"I felt all these things that I tried to push down. I wanted so much to kiss you..." Another wet kiss followed by cool breath. With each added sentence you slipped further and further under his enchantment. Your breathing grew shallower, heat pooling between your legs. You were melting; pliant and responsive to his actions. "To touch you..." With a roll of his hips, he grinded into your backside. His accompanying throaty whine would have been almost inaudible if his lips weren't right next to your ear. "To taste you..." His tongue licked one line from the crook of your neck and shoulder to where he was before. Your body was buzzing, tingling with pleasure. "Sugar," he whispered with a small nip of teeth and roll of his hips. “To have you...” You grinded back as well. A shaky sigh passed over the slick trail he made, bringing on more shivers. "I'm sorry for teasing you so much these last few weeks. You kept your promises, but I wasn't making it easy. I just needed--" he paused, searching for the right way to phrase it. "I needed to be reminded of something." He chuckled lightly at some unknown joke. "I can't get enough of you now. Can I have you?"
"You already have me, idiot," you joked to lighten the serious mood. He smiled into your neck.
"Then let me phrase my question better." Kyungsoo tilted his head, hair falling to the side. "Can I fuck you against the shower wall?" You moaned happily at the idea, but reality was closing in.
"I don't know. I don't want to be late, and I definitely don't want to have to stop like yesterday."
"Then I'll just have to skip the teasing and go right to fucking you harder." Your breath hitched, eyes opening. You turned your head to see Kyungsoo watching you with heavily lidded eyes, biting the inside of his lip. He raised an eyebrow. He waited with bated breath for any sign you were agreeing. A devious smirk grew on your face.
"Only if I get to leave my own marks on you, too." He jumped away, sitting up, the sudden distance shaking the rest of the trance off. You chuckled at his panicky look. "I'll make sure it's where no one will see, relax." Kyungsoo sighed in relief and pushed his hand through his hair, getting caught halfway in tangles.
"Right, of course. Sorry," he said quickly. His other hand squeezed tighter around yours, pulling the braid of fingers from under your shirt. "Yeah, of course you can. It's only fair. But it has to be coverable by a t-shirt. We have a photoshoot tomorrow." The smirk widened to a smile.
"Then let me get an extra towel for you." Kyungsoo helped pull you up and got off the bed with you. You stumbled slightly on your feet, Kyungsoo catching you by your arm.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Just clumsy." He refused to let go of your hand while you picked out clothes and two fresh towels, but at least he offered to help carry. He observed your morning routine with a half smile. Like he was carrying a secret. Was he amused or just in a good mood? You were never sure.
After gathering what was necessary you dumped the change of clothes by the sink and hung the towels near the shower where you could reach them. Once you had the water heating up you turned to Kyungsoo whose eyes darted up to yours. He had been staring at your ass. You let it go, but laughed on the inside. He seemed almost obsessed with you being barely dressed. It wasn't the same look he would give you when you wore more revealing tops and his gaze would roam once in a while. Not quite as focused as the one he gave when you were totally naked like he was memorizing you. It was closer to the way he watched you yesterday morning; like he was thinking of the different ways to strip and fuck you using whatever stable enough surface was nearby. Maybe he liked the tease of having you covered just enough to be appropriate in front of others. Or maybe not appropriate, but things like lingerie that left that last little bit of someone to the imagination.
Either way, you weren't complaining. You were dating after all, and it made you feel sexy. Especially because his eyes were just naturally intense in normal situations. It made every glance more impactful. Some people say they're windows to the soul. Kyungsoo's eyes were more like canvases; painting his expression of feelings to reflect the situation around him. Reacting accordingly, thoughtfully. They colored his irises and crinkled at the corners. It was rarely a clear picture just like any artists work. Always left up to interpretation by the viewer. You'd spent more time than you would like to admit just watching his mind create new works. They would flicker and sparkle when he was excited, color popping off in changing bursts. You marveled at the strong saturation when he was enjoying food. Longer strokes with a richer pallete twirled around and danced to more abstract concepts and layered with other mediums whenever he talked about music. It was a complex gallery that continuously had you searching for the plaque that held a description. The only ones you'd found were obvious; an upturn of lips, raised eyebrows, a clenched fist, turning to hide his face. Things everyone did.
The one time you were caught trying to decipher his thoughts he had laughed at the confused, determined look on your face. You were walking with him in the park and decided to sit in the grass to rest a minute. Kyungsoo's gaze was fixed out on the long stretches of grass and trees and pathways watching the other people around you. With a hat and mask on you had to squint to glimpse at his eyes, but they were relaxed. Not shining, but not dull. Pastel smeared around to create a softening effect, never staying still as they darted around like he was seeing a whole different world from you. Your best guess was that he was daydreaming, but he could have just enjoyed being out in the sun. You hadn't realized how long you were staring, and suddenly his eyes morphed back to their normal paints, glancing your way, and laughter rang out from his mouth. His shoulders shook, corners of his eyes crinkling. The melodic sound warmed your cheeks and served to make you fall more for the--at that time--handsome stranger.
"What's so interesting? Is something on my face?" he asked good-naturedly. You snapped out of the memory. Kyungsoo was holding back his laughter in front of you in the bathroom.
"Sorry," you smiled and knew your face was red. "Just spaced out for a second. Let's get in." He released your hand. You reached for your shirt, but he stopped you and removed it himself. His smile sagged, eyebrows knitting together in worry. You looked sideways to your reflection in the mirror. A pattern of five small bruises laid out on your shoulder. You immediately knew if Kyungsoo put his hand there they would fit perfectly. The marks that had been purple were yellowing at the base of your neck and chest. The one he had made the night before stuck out on your skin next to the others. You turned your head and confirmed the same handprint bruises were on your hip where he gripped you, but lighter.
"You said you were okay," Kyungsoo muttered.
"I am," you insisted, not letting your grin fall. He licked his lips, but still looked concerned. With a few swift movements he had stripped the last of his clothes off and was pushing you backwards into the shower. The water hit his side and you visibly shivered at the chill of the tile meeting your back. Cupping your jaw on either side, his lips came forward and slid along yours. You opened to him without thought. The gentle, barely there way his hands fell to your shoulders and continued down your arms made you think he was afraid of breaking you. The shift was palpable. His fingers ghosted back up to hover around your biceps. His mouth dropped to your bruised shoulder and said hoarsely,
"I'm sorry for hurting you." Kyungsoo kissed the five fingerprint bruises. "I should've known I was holding you too hard." He liked marking you, but not causing pain it seemed. A strange juxtaposition. It was loving, but struck you as regret more than an apology. You pushed your fingers through his hair and pulled his head up to meet his gaze. Behind his sad eyes it looked like he was beating himself up over it. They weren't focused, dewy, and kept drifting to your shoulder.
The thought floated by in your mind that perhaps he was more scared of taking this step forward than he let on. It would be understandable. As far as you knew the last person he'd told he loved and was intimate with had completely screwed up how his brain handled relationships. That broken trust made people paranoid. It made them afraid. It made them question things they never would have in the past. You had been there for all of it with your best friend years ago. She looked at every new relationship--platonic or otherwise--with a newfound scrutiny. People weren't good until they screwed up anymore. They were unreliable and bound to turn on you until proven good. The worst was to see her self doubt eat at her. To see her unintentionally push others away so she wouldn't get hurt again. Was she being too clingy? Needy? Annoying? Passive? She cared so much about the smallest details. It broke your heart to watch, and it took you years of staying beside her to start building that trust in people back up. That no, it wasn't her fault and she wasn't going to end up living alone with only you forever. That she would find someone even more stubborn who won't give up on her.
So you resolved that you would be that person for Kyungsoo. Whatever his hang-ups. Whether he kept you at arms length for months or thought you were being too much. You weren't going to give up on him. Especially not after that confession that morning. He said he had been reminded of something, and that's what pushed him to do more than kiss you. Whatever that was, it gave him a reason to pull you closer past the doubt and trust you not to hurt him. Maybe that was why he was so worried; instead he had hurt you.
If Kyungsoo had been through anything similar than he hid it well during most moments. But that morning in the shower was not one of them. He was so frightened of screwing up. That you would abandon him because he thought he was being too...too what? Too possessive? That was ridiculous. You were a well kept secret from anyone outside his roommates and yours. The rare times you got alone with him you expected him to do things like this. It was natural to want to show physical affection, and you liked his method. The sentiment lingered on your skin for days after he was gone.
"Kyungsoo," you lilted. "I didn't say anything because I liked it. Don't worry over me."
"Are you sure? But the bruising..." His sentence faded into nothing.
"Don't ever hold back. That's what the safeword is for. I promise I like this. I really love this, in fact." He hummed dejectedly, searching your face for any sign of dishonesty. He didn't believe you yet. "It just shows me how much you want me to be yours." His dark brown eyes flickered to yours with a new sharpness. "And I love being yours, Kyungsoo." When he saw you weren't wavering he kissed you once shortly. Cautiously. When he pulled back you reached a hand to cup his face. He leaned into your palm like the night before, cheek burning. "I'm sorry to inform you that you're stuck with me. No exchanges or refunds." That earned you a lop-sided smile. The kind that starts with a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth, and when he can't hold it in it grows slowly. The kind that made Kyungsoo's whole being light up with a warm glow. The kind that made your heart beat flutter against your ribs. He covered your hand with his.
"Does that mean I'll have to put up with your bad jokes forever?" You echoed his grin and chuckled.
"Don't forget my crazy stories. You know something catches fire in all the good ones. At some point you're going to be part of that."
"Promise?" he replied softly.
"It's inevitable when you're so hot."
"And there's the humor."
"What can I say? I'm consistent." Kyungsoo sighed over-dramatically, shaking his head.
"What am I going to do with you?"
"I can think of a few suggestions."
#exo#exo fanfiction#exo scenario#exo scenarios#exo fluff#kyungsoo#kyungsoo x reader#kyungsoo fluff#do kyungsoo#kyungsoo fanfiction#d.o#fluff
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Prompt from the 100 ways to say I love you list: “Go back to sleep.” (Bonus if you did this in ATRIRAS universe because I am such a huge fan ;)
Funnily enough, this scene already exists in ch13 of rasd, but I wrote you another one because ily. This is also for @sonickedtrowel since I’m going to do angsty horrible things with your prompt
Go back to sleep
She talks in her sleep. For aslong as he can remember, he's watched over River as she slept. He’d sit up andlisten to her mumble about bullets and ballgowns and everything in between. Shemutters about anything from paradoxes to pastries, her incoherent ramblingsnever failing to captivate him.
When he was younger, he would tryto read his future in the way her eyes danced behind her lids. More often thannot, she would awake with a start, a gasp on her lips and fear hidden behindcalculating eyes. He always wondered what could scare her, this specter whohaunted him so. What did she dream of, this woman who so clearly read his everythought?
He dared to find out once, a longtime ago when he wore a different face. Even when he delved into her sleepingmind, he was never brave enough to dig deep. Fear of spoilers had always loomedlike a pit between them, her past, her thoughts, her secrets just an abyss he’dfall into and be consumed by.
Those fears can’t touch him now,not in the wake of everything they’ve been through. The future isn’t a chainthat holds him down. It’s a possibility that gives him wings. There's no morecause to run, no dark days to come hiding in her subconscious. Their tangledtime lines have been unraveled, and yet, there's still so much about her hecan't quite define.
River lies beside him on the bed,nestled between pillows and sheets. She's been dreaming contently for hours oreons, and his own eyes are just beginning to grow heavy when he hears a softmoan escape her lips. The sound of it jolts his body awake, his mind draggedback into focus. When his blinking eyes comes to, he notices her features haveslipped, her easy smile replaced by tight lips. Her brow has knit together, andhe finds the soft frown doesn’t suit at all.
His fingertips move of their ownaccord, brushing over her forehead until the lines have been smoothed away. Thesoft touch bids her lips to part, and the Doctor smiles to see the way herunease is undone by a simple caress of his fingers. Her reprieve lasts only aslong as his skin meets hers, because the moment he lowers his hand, herfeatures contort once again. A pained frown tugs at her sweet lips, and he'shelpless to stop the way his fingers gravitate to her temple once more.
Her mind calls to him like the sundoes to flower petals, and he finds himself pulled toward the warmth of hersubconscious. There's no spoilers to stop him now, and he’s suddenly overcomewith the need to come between her and whatever monsters cloud her dreams. His eyes fall shut as the window between themopens, a wave of adrenaline swallowing him whole. Her mind is a tapestry ofgreens and golds, of burnt ambers and freshly cut grass, of sunsets and spaceand shadows, of books and bright lights and the need for something blue.
She’s running from someone, ofcourse she is. His River is always knee deep in trouble, even in her dreams. Herhearts are pounding and something sharp and metallic licks at his mind. Fear,he realizes, and the Doctor's own oxygen freezes in his lungs. Without asecond thought, he presses ever so gently into her mind, projecting himselfinto her dream. Her thoughts are clearer now, the deeper he goes. It smellslike rain and mud and dust, and his hand covers hers, fingers entwining.River's breath hitches the moment he does, but she doesn't stir from herslumber. She grips him tight, like she dreams of their carefully claspedfingers whenever dangers nips at her heels, like his hand is a lifeline she'sreached for countless times before.
The shiver in her veins fades,replaced by the feel of something synthetic. It feels thick as cotton in hismouth, and ifdéjà vu had a taste, this would be it. It’s odd, to be an abstractthought tip-toeing in someone else’s subconscious. Even for a dream, it feelssurreal, somehow lacking, almost but not quite. River looks as real as ever,standing in a dress as white as the wedding gown she never got to wear. Shesmiles at him like all her Christmases have come at once, and he tries not tolet his own swelling joy bleed into her dreams. He tries to float among herthoughts even as his feet are planted firmly in her mind. Grass tickles betweenhis toes and the sight of a nearby lake nearly makes him choke. But River'spulse is steady, subdued, and he doesn’t understand why until he looks past herfor the first time.
A child with dark hair waves fromthe distance, and he knows now, why the air tastes like copper and dust andcomputer code. His fingers coil tight around River’s hand, pulling her towardhim, away from this place until her eyes can see nothing but him. There’s nopoint in dreaming about the past when they have so much left to discover. He takes control of the dream, pressingharder into her mind until their surroundings fade away. Greens and blues turnto smoke around them as he guides her into sweeter visions.
River’s eyes break from his totake in their new location. They’re standing on a crystallized ice cloud,ankle deep in ivory cotton and surrounded by black, star specked sky. And whenshe looks back to him, she smiles like she’s got a secret just begging to slipfrom her lips. Her arms fold around his neck and as his hands find her hips, hediscovers her dress has changed. It’s red and radiant and distracting, theneckline plunging in a way only her mind could conjure. He takes the firststep, or maybe she does, but the next thing he knows they're dancing, gliding,spinning, stirring up the clouds at their feet until wisps of fluffy whitefloat around them like bubbles before sailing off into black sky.
The air no longer tastessynthetic. It’s as fresh as a memory, as her perfume and ozone and the faintesthint of wine. Her laughter may as we’ll be music as he spins her out only topull her back in again. She twirls and the light from distant suns reflects offher hair like sprinkles of gold dust. River presses herself into him, her chestwarm against his, and it’s hard to believe that it’s nothing more than amirage.
“It’s very rude, you know,” Rivercoos, her words echoing in his mind, voice light as the clouds they stand on.
His palm finds her lower back,pulling her in closer, his own question floating into her subconscious. “Whatis?”
River smirks at him, coy and sweetand he’s so lost in the way the starlight catches on the apples of her cheeksit’s almost alarming when he hears her say, “Peeking into people’s dreams.”
The Doctor snaps his eyes open,finding River staring back at him. The smell of ozone vanishes like a clothripped from a table, cotton clouds replaced by satin sheets. The warmth oftheir bedroom is a blanket surrounding him, and on pain of death he’ll swearthat’s why his cheeks have gone red as he argues, “You’re not people.
“I’m half people,” River countersand the Doctor shrugs.
“Well it’s only half rude, then,isn’t it.”
Green eyes narrow as River stiflesa yawn, managing to glare at him all the while. It’s adorable and only slightlyterrifying and the Doctor bites back his own smile, eyes soft.
“I didn’t mean to wake you. Goback to sleep.”
“I’d rather be awake.” A devious twinkle sparks to life around heririses as River snakes one of her clever hands across the duvet. But the Doctoris faster, snatching the limb up before his wife can have her wicked way.
“I’ll bet you would,” he grins,pressing her knuckles to his lips. But as much as he’d like to tucker her outagain, “You need rest.”
“And you don’t?”
“Nope.”
His wife scoffs, rolling her eyes.“Hypocrite.”
“Harlot,” he grins back, andRiver’s eyes narrow once again, jaw clenching as she bites back another yawn.
He pulls her toward him then,tucking her into his side. River nuzzles into his chest with a tenderness she’dcut her own tongue off before ever admitting to, a sigh on her lips as shemutters, “You don’t have to do that.”
The Doctor presses his face intoher mass of hair, inhaling deep and delighting in the smell of honey and sweatand the faintest hint of smoke. “Do what?”
“Supervise my dreams.”
He does, in fact. He’s made apromise to himself, no more nightmares, not in this new life they’re building.If that means he has to stay awake forever to guarantee nightmares never stealher smiles and drag her to dark places, then so be it. But she’d never acceptsuch an answer, so instead the Doctor scoffs and says, “Who said anything aboutthat? Maybe I’m just nosy.”
River snorts, a puff of hot airagainst his chest. “No arguments here.”
“A first time for everything,” hemumbles back, words swallowed by her riotous curls.
Even as they bicker, his arms foldever tighter around her. It still doesn’t feel real, as if she’ll turn to smokeat any moment. He tells himself she won’t, the reminder that she's here to staya mantra in his head he plays on repeat. But nothing reassures him the wayRiver can. Her palm rests over his hearts like the sound of it is all thelullaby she’ll ever need to keep the nightmares at bay.
Stillness settles like a full moonon a cloudless night. River’s eyes have fallen shut again, her hearts a slowand steady rhythm, her voice already heavy with sleep. “Won’t you rest at all,darling?”
“Not tired,” he breathes, and whathe means is, he doesn’t want to miss this. He refuses to waste another momentwith her. He’d rather hold her and count the breathes she takes as her chestrises and falls. He’d rather study her face and the way she smiles as she sinksslowly into slumber.
“Join me in my dreams then,” Riverwhispers.
The invitation paints a smile onhis lips. Unable to deny her anything, he brings his hand up to cup her face,fingertips brushing her temple. Her mind sparks against his skin, and theDoctor takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with the smell of her shampoo.When he exhales, he’s back in the moonlight of her mind. River reaches for him,a tingle against his palm as he takes her hand in his and guides her into thesweetest of dreams.
(pick a prompt)
#ask#river song#drfic#doctor who#eleventh doctor#my fic#drabbles#for those that don't know rasd is a post library season 7 canon divergent series#this excerpt takes place between the two stories#Anonymous
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TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE AND SELF HARM
CHAPTER ONE
I can’t do this anymore.
I’m so tired. Nothing will ever get better. My life is pointless. Just pain and suffering.
I have to go now. They’ve came to take me away. They’re going to take the pain away.
I am so sorry. I love you very much.
****
‘We think you need to come in’. He looked at me from over his glasses, nose wrinkled in concern. They didn’t understand what they were doing. I was scared. I looked out of the window. The light was fractured, streaming through the glass. It was dancing on the floor and running up the chair. My eyes followed the light and shape of the chair, following the lines, leading me back to his face. He was looking at me. They were all looking at me.
It was my turn to speak. I didn’t know what to say. My finger repeatedly tapped on my arm rest as a response.
The man in the glasses crossed his legs and lent back in his chair, appearing to be nonchalant in an effort to make this easier. However this false nonchalance did not glide over the awkwardness or seriousness of my situation.
‘I don’t know’ I said. I hadn’t even intended to be alive let alone make decisions on my immediate future.
‘We think you need to come in. Treating you from home is not working. We feel you would be better here’ he repeated once more in cool composure but more as an instruction rather than an idea.
I understood what had led to me to this point. I had tried to take the microchip out of the back of my neck. I felt it writhe and buzz under my skin. I put my hand onto my top vertebra and ran my fingers over the metal disk stuck in between. The skin above was sore and rough, dozens of scratches in an effort to carve it out with as little mess as possible. The Doctors at the hospital didn’t even look at me. I told them to take it out but they said it wasn’t there and just sent me here. With a flick of my fingers I heard it ting. The sound rang through my ears. I had to get this out. I had to get out of here.
This room made me feel claustrophobic. Corner to corner I saw the walls pull slowly towards me, edges and shapes moving closer and closer. This room was bad news but I had sat in a room like this many times before. Different faces, different layout but the same situation.
I suddenly realised they were talking to each other and I wish I had been listening but I couldn’t stop tapping. Finger tapping on the chair, shoes against the floor, my foot beating to the sound of the earth and the world beating to the sound of me.
The three people staring at me had now turned into four.
‘Hello madeline, I am Debbie the ward manager’ she said stepping towards me, a fluorescent light crowning her head like a halo. Oh god is she one of them? Am I safe?
At that moment I realised my wrists were gently bleeding where I had been subconsciously nipping at the stitches.The sting brought everything came into focus and I surveyed the scene around me. Nothing was real. They were not real. Projected images. Images that didn’t quite fit the scene like a badly photoshopped holiday photograph.
I took a step back and took everything in further. They were all stood smiling at me. It seemed so unnatural. They might have not been real but the Angels were and still coming for me. We had to move.
I exited the room herded out by my entourage. The corridor opened up with beams of light, the path filled with angular colour leading to my dad sat in the foyer who was still clutching my handbag.
The woman was already further ahead and in conversation with him. He looked so sad. I didn’t want him to be sad. He’s too nice to be sad.
‘Can I go home and get some things? No one will know where my things are’ I asked
‘No’’ she replied ‘ you must come with us’
I looked back at him. He nodded his head. I understood he couldn’t help me now. I had no other options.
‘Okay’ I said as we continued on. I watched my dad grow smaller in the distance, handbag still clutched in one hand, waving a sad goodbye with the other.
We went through a set of double doors. Night time. Immediate darkness. I started to panic as it began to flood into my eyes. The Angles were coming for me now. I felt their eyes on me. In the distance I heard the chorus faintly echoing through the sky. If only didn’t have the microchip in my neck, if only someone had let me take it out. I froze in fear and felt one single tear fall over my cheek.
‘I can’t leave’’ I said ‘they’re going to come and kill me. It’s not safe the darkness is here’
She patted me on the shoulder. ‘Come on its not far’ she said and we continued on, my limbs heavy in fear.
We then through a another set of double doors before space extended out into me to form a courtyard and six perfectly space buildings spread out, glittering in the dark. Pathways splitting to reach each of the doors, like fingers extending from palm of a hand, lined with inspirational quotes engraved on the ground and dotted with topiary and abstract structures. I had reached the wards.
My panic was subdued by a sudden stillness. It was serene. Too calm, too quiet. In each building I could see dim lights with shadows drifting though the glow. This wasn’t a hospital. It was a village. It was a village for the mentally ill. Through the façade I could still sense it. Dystopia. It covered the traumatic reality of the patients, not out of distain or cruelty but as a distraction from the suffering.
We suddenly took a sharp right and marched towards the door of an oversized bungalow. This was to be my new home. I had only just moved home myself. There was so much movement in life, so much chaos, I couldn’t concentrate. Everything had just spiralled into one, melted into madness until i lost everything including myself. The only thing left was them. Them and the thought of what they would do when they found me.
We entered to be greeted by a reception, warm and white, nurses on the other side of the glass. The woman tapped on the glass and a nurse came to the locked door to let us in. I wanted to leave.
I walked in and was hit by a wall of sound. Colours entered my ears and I felt my hands tremble.
‘I will show you around’ she said and smiled as I heard the door clang and lock behind me. I noticed the rest of the party had left us somewhere along the way and now it was only me and her. It was then I looked further and found myself staring at four people in pyjamas staring at a tv that was crowned with books. I felt their eyes flicker towards me as I drifted past the TV set. Our pace quickened as we swooped through various doors, kitchen, laundry, private rooms, quiet rooms and through to the hall. It smelt like a hospital. Food and disinfectant.
‘Here is your room. You’re in room three’ she said.
The large pine door was already open for me. Once more my attention was taken away and was drawn to the sound of quiet footsteps and a door down the hall which had just been slammed shut.
I nodded my head and walked into room three. It was how I expected. How they always are. One single bed, a desk and a chair. The bathroom was ensuite consisting of a toilet and shower, the head of which flat against the wall. Nobody can hang themselves on that I thought.
‘We’re just checking your things and I’ll be back soon’ she said as she walked out the door and left me sat on the bed peering out into the hall. I could hear faint echos running through it. Chairs, footsteps and then shouting.
I felt I was being watched and realised the curtain was open. The darkness loomed through the window, monsters lurking within. I stood up, quickly drew the curtains and turned on all the lights. The light was good. They couldn’t get me in the light.
I sat back down on the bed in silence. A pause button. This is what this room is- a giant pause button to sleep in, a pause button on my life with no option to rewind or fast forward. I had no choice but to rest. However I did not want to pause my life at this moment. I want to go back.
At least I am alone. I should enjoy it while I can.
#BOOK#writing#storytelling#my story#mentally ill#mental health#mentalheathawareness#mentalhospital#psychosis#religious delusions#author#mybookfeatures#writer#books & libraries#novel
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Memorial Day || Wyony, 5.29
SUMMARY: Tony and Wyatt finally have their picnic. And another first.
@sirwyattsylvester
Wyatt led Tony into town, or at least the part park of it, out to where there was an open field that had some level ground for Wyatt to stretch the blanket out on. It was a lovely day and Wyatt was ready for the lazy companionship and get to know you game. "I hope this is good?" He looked over at Tony while he started to unfold the blanket, giving him a soft smile. He was endlessly grateful it was a holiday, since their Sunday had not quite gone as planned.
Tony. was glad their... disagreement the day before hadn't completely spoiled their plans. He was really looking forward to having this time with Wyatt, to getting to know him a little better. "This looks perfect," he agreed, that soft smile making his stomach flip. Once the blanket was unfolded, Tony set down the small basket with their food and drinks in it, passing Wyatt a bottle of water once they were both sitting. He pulled out the game, choosing a card at random. "Okay so... first question. If you could live in any state other than the one you live in now, which state would you choose?"
Wyatt took a seat beside him and took the water bottle with grateful thanks and another smile, cracking open the bottle and taking a sip, he listened to the question, raising an eyebrow as he thought about it. "I'm not sure... somewhere in New England, I'd think. New York or Connecticut maybe. What about you?" He tilted his head, interested, since yes, this was not something he'd ever think to ask
Tony. smiled lightly. "New England is beautiful, though technically, Sir, I don't think New York is part of New England," he pointed out with a cheeky little grin. "I think it would be nice to live there too. Or in the Pacific Northwest, like Washington state or Oregon. I like the rain and snow, and having seasons... the small town feel kind of thing."
Wyatt made a face over the correction but smiled shortly after. "Ugh, you're right. New England or New York." He listened to him talking about the Pacific Northwest. "Did you not have seasons in Washington D.C.? I suppose it wouldn't have anything near like a small town feel to it, though. Lima isn't too big, though." He shrugged, taking a sip of his water before he closed it and set it aside so he could shift down and lay his head in Tony's lap.
Tony. chuckled. "We did, Sir, but not too much of a winter. I think I'd like having more snow. It definitely didn't feel like a small town though. I like the idea of... quaint, I suppose," he mused. Smiling, he raked his fingers through Wyatt's hair, his other hand choosing a card. "If you could interview any three people on your own talk show, who would they be?"
Wyatt said, "Ahh," as he nodded his head slightly. "Snow is pretty to look at, not sure how fun it is to live in. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't get the experience. Quaint and with snow. Like a Thomas Kinkade painting," He teased Tony quietly before his eyes drifted shut at the calming feeling provided by the sub's fingers. The question had him furrowing his brow, opening his eyes and looking up at him. "Pass. Can you imagine me with a talk show? Gross."
Tony. shrugged lightly. "I think it would be nice, to live that kind of life. For a while, anyway. Maybe when I'm a little older, depending on where I wind up." He kept running his fingers through Wyatt's hair, chuckling "Are you saying you wouldn't want people listening to your voice while you talked about things you're passionate about?"
Wyatt had to bite his tongue to stop himself correcting Tony from saying "I" so singularly. He didn't know the future, he shouldn't make assumptions that Tony would wind up with him, no matter how much he wished for it. In the end, Tony would have to be completely content and happy saying yes to him. "You're right, nothing wrong with trying it." Scrunching up his nose, he looked at Tony, not wanting to shake his head lest he displaced his hand. "Well, but then I would have to let other people speak and talk about their responses. I don't know. Do you have an answer to this?"
Tony. would have loved to phrase the answer differently - loved to say we, where we would end up - but he was learning that no matter how he felt for Wyatt, he had to remember nothing was certain. He hummed in thought, and then shook his head. "I don't think so. I don't know if it would be so beneficial to have a medical show like that - it's kind of a visual thing." He teased one finger over Wyatt's cheek, down to touch his lip lightly, before he picked another card. "If you could invent a pair of glasses that would allow you to see abstract things, like someone's motives behind an action, what would you want to see most of all?"
Wyatt felt a small shiver crawl up his spine from Tony's touch on his cheek, then lightly nipped at his finger after it moved over his teeth. The second question had him furrowing his brow again, a little confused. "Uh... I'd.. want to see if someone was keeping something from me? Does that count?" He tilted his head, looking over Tony's face from this angle.
Tony. couldn't help but smile at the cute look on Wyatt's face, and he gently stroked over the furrow between his brows to smooth it out. "Mm, I think so. That's a rather abstract thing, not an actual physical thing. I think... I would like to see when the whole truth is being told. If people mean what they say when they're saying it, if that makes any sense."
Wyatt tried to figure out what Tony meant, and then tried to figure out the subtle differences between what he had said, but he thought he had it figured out. "Like... you think they're telling truth but you think they're omitting important information?" He searched his face with interest, reaching up his hand on the side that was closer to Tony's legs, putting his hand over his covered shin under the knee.
Tony. tilted his head, humming a bit. "Kind of... I suppose a better way of putting it is knowing the emotion behind what they're saying. To see if they're lying or being truthful. Like if someone says 'oh hey I love your shirt' but they don't really mean it, kind of thing," he tried to explain, his free hand waving a bit for emphasis.
Wyatt pursed his lips trying not to smile but ended up failing, chuckling. "Are you often worried if they actually love your shirt?" He teased him, eyes glinting with amusement as his hand curled over his shin, stroking the inner side lazily as he enjoyed using Tony as a pillow.
Tony. laughed as well, shaking his head, a pleased smile on his lips. "It is quite concerning, you know. What if it's actually an ugly shirt and I'm embarrassing myself wearing it? It's a crucial thing to know, Sir," he teased back, gently running his knuckles over the Dom's cheek.
Wyatt grinned at him with a faint shake of his head. "I promise to always tell you if I don't like your shirt. Or just take it off you as soon as possible." He gave him a wink before his eyes briefly slipped shut from the touch on his cheek, sighing with a kind of contentment.
Tony. crinkled his nose, laughing again. "I figured it would be that second option, Sir," he said with a grin. The look on Wyatt's face made Tony's heart flip, and he couldn't stop himself from leaning over to press a soft kiss to the Dom's lips.
Wyatt shrugged as innocently as possible, saying, "Well, maybe," but the wicked look in his eye definitely agreed with Tony's statement. The kiss did come as a surprise, but it was a very pleasant one. While he returned it, he lifted his other hand up to curl around the back of the submissive's neck, stroking it as he enjoyed the feel of the sun on them and Tony's lips. He was struggling to remember how he lived before he had them.
Tony. hummed happily when Wyatt reached up to cup his neck, kissing him slow and deep. The position, however, prevented him from staying there for long, and he pulled back with a reluctant little moan. "Mm... we shouldn't get distracted yet, Sir," he whispered, one hand moving to rest lightly on Wyatt's chest.
Wyatt lifted his chin slightly, trying to bring his mouth closer to Tony's, since the way he was kissing him was definitely sparking a need for more. Exhaling when Tony drew away, he opened his eyes. "You started it," He whispered back, a smile on his lips before he lightly scraped the back of his neck before bringing his hand back down. "Okay, what's the next one?"
Tony. huffed a soft laugh. "Details, Sir," he teased. A shiver tickled down his spine when he felt nails on his neck, and he just knew Wyatt had done that on purpose to get his mind focusing on something else. But he reached over, picking another card, determined to know more about him before they really got distracted. "Whenever you are having a bad day, what's the best thing you can do to cheer yourself up?"
Wyatt shook his head with a tsk. "The person to blame would say that." He rubbed Tony's leg, listening to the question and letting his mind drift to moments where he was having a bad day. "A book. Putting on Chopin or Liszt. Lying or sitting on the couch while doing one or the other." He hummed in thought before looking up at Tony, focusing on his face. "What about you?"
Tony. just smiled innocently, though they both knew he wasn't so. His fingers resumed stroking through dark locks, just loving the simple pleasure of being able to touch him like that. "Hmm. I go for a run, or, weirdly enough, do some kind of word or number game. Like a crossword, or Sudoku or something of the sort."
Wyatt wet his lips, squeezing Tony's leg. "I don't think that's weird. It's something you have to focus your attention on, eclipsing whatever made your day worse. Runs are also good, let's put that on my list too." He turned his head slightly, moving his other hand up again, this time to brush against Tony's clothed abs as he watched his own fingers move. "Now I have an image of us... spreading out a newspaper and drinking coffee and tea, respectively, doing a crossword together. Or me leaning over while you're doing Sudoku and nosily putting in my observations."
Tony. shivered again when fingers moved to his stomach, tracing his abs almost if by memory through his shirt. "We should start running together more, Sir," he suggested softly. The image made him smile, thinking of having that kind of a future with the handsome Dominant. "As long as you wouldn't mind getting poked every time you made an observation, Sir. I get very intense about my Sudokus," he teased.
Wyatt let out a brief, breathy chuckle. "That just sounds dangerous... like our level of sex outside would have a huge spike in activity," He murmured playfully, briefly letting his hand slide under his shirt even though he knew it was a terrible idea, since he was suppose to be good. "I could take it. You'd never poke me too hard." He smirked to himself at that thought and looked up at him.
Tony. blushed lightly, his stomach flexing when warm fingers slid under his shirt. "Would you have a problem with that, Sir? I seem to recall you rather enjoying sex outside," he murmured. "You never know. I could leave a bruise somewhere, so poke at your own risk," he said with a grin, tugging Wyatt's hair lightly, playfully.
Wyatt pretended to think about it for a moment as his fingers lightly scraped his abdomen. "Huh.... yeah, actually, you're right. So maybe it wouldn't be so bad." Licking his lips slowly while the idea was on his mind, he looked at him, his eyebrows raising at the tug on his hair, amused. "I do know. You're like a declawed kitten, totally unable to bruise me," He taunted him with a teasing tone in his voice. "Even if you somehow did, I'd just make you kiss it better. Many times."
Tony. knew well what Wyatt was doing, and he was powerless to resist it, even if he did want to keep playing their getting to know you game. "I didn't think so, Sir..." He gulped, watching the Dom's tongue move, wishing it was licking over his lips instead. He did pout though, hearing the comparison. "I'm much scarier than a... well, wait. I suppose I'm not. Kittens are probably more intimidating than me," he admitted with a sad sigh. "But at least that means I'm cute, Sir."
Wyatt chuckled, slowly pulling himself up to be sitting. "That was an invitation to prove me wrong but." He leaned in to kiss the pout. "You are fucking cute. And sexy.." The neck kiss was on his jaw, then his neck before he pulled away. "And you should read another card before I have you mewling like a kitten, too."
Tony. sucked in a breath through his nose when Wyatt's lips met his. Proving him wrong had been the last thing on his mind - especially now that he was getting kisses everywhere. Dark eyes blinked open, staring at Wyatt before he seemed to come back into himself. "Yes, Sir," he whispered, blushing. He reached over, picking a card as ordered. "If any of the national holidays should be celebrated twice a year, six months apart, which one would you want it to be?"
Wyatt searched Tony's face, smiling when he saw his eyes had to come back into focus. "Good boy," He murmured in reply, smiling at him, his hand passing through Tony's hair. At the question, he furrowed his brow in thought. "Uh... I'm not sure? They're all kind of evened out? Except for June and August not having much of anything. Unless you count father's day, which... well, I have to this year."
Tony. let out a shaky breath, wishing he wasn't so susceptible to Wyatt's seduction. He frowned slightly. "You do? Is... I didn't think he was in the picture, Sir," he said delicately.
Wyatt scrunched up his nose just slightly and shook his head. "Oh, no, no... I'm using it to make up for Mother's Day. Somehow, I spent the whole day with you and never remembered what holiday it was, and she was pretty pissed about it." He played with some of Tony's hair before picking up his water bottle and taking a sip. "I don't have a father. Biologically, sure, I have more than just Sylvester genes, but that's only because my mother couldn't will us into existence on her own, I'm sure."
Tony. felt his eyes widen. "Oh gosh, I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't mean to distract you from that." Well, hopefully Wyatt hadn't mentioned that to his mother, otherwise Tony had no chance in convincing the woman to like him... He chuckled and shook his head. "If anyone could will children into existence, it would be your mother, Sir."
Wyatt shook his head. "It's not your fault. I should have had like, neon colored announcements on my phone or on my calendar reminding me. Robin forgot as well. Though you are wonderfully distracting." He smiled at him and then chuckled quietly. "It's true. It's very true. But no, she picked out a sperm donor."
Tony. relaxed a bit, cheeks flushing lightly. "I don't do it on purpose," he mumbled, though he leaned into Wyatt as he spoke. "Well, then, it seems appropriate that she gets both, right? Since she raised you both by herself? I promise I won't distract you on Father's Day, Sir."
Wyatt reached around to stroke Tony's pink cheek, admiring him. "You don't have to do it on purpose for it to happen. You're just a natural." He took another sip of his water and nodded to Tony's words about the celebration days, screwing the cap back on his water. He stole another kiss from Tony before he settled his head back down in his lap and hummed. "Not until after, at least, no. I would like you to still be in my room while I'm taking her out for a meal. Maybe plugged up with one of those toys that can be remotely controlled from a mobile app... edging yourself every so often, so you're really raring to go, and then-... well, should I go on?"
Tony. leaned into the touch, his heart skipping a beat. "Maybe you're just naturally distracted by me, Sir," he commented. His fingers slid back into Wyatt's hair when the Dominant laid back down again, though with where his head was, he knew Wyatt would be able to feel any... interest on his part. Especially when Wyatt outlined his plans for that day. He sucked in a breath, his pants beginning to feel tighter than normal. "Mm... if you're ready for me to be mewling, Sir, I think you should," he murmured, color high in his cheeks, his eyes beginning to lose focus once more.
Wyatt nodded his head with a quiet hum. "Could be, yeah." He only noticed it after a little bit, a new pressure in Tony's pants, in his lap, one that had him smiling discreetly. "Well, then, then we couldn't just end it right there. I'll probably be a little stressed, and might need to put a cock ring on you and have you fuck me into relaxation. And then, that would be when I would string you up on my bed and we could find out if it's possible for you to cum without anyone stroking your cock... if not, well, then we'll have to see how well you beg." He drew one of Tony's hands down to him and kissed it as he looked up at him.
Tony. squirmed as subtly as he could under Wyatt's head, his heart pounding in his chest. The swelling in his pants only got worse as he thought about being inside Wyatt again, and he bit back a quiet moan at the thought of it. "I... I can beg well, Sir... I'll beg as much as you want," he whispered thickly, quickly losing focus of anything but the beautiful Dominant laying in his lap.
Wyatt smiled up at Tony like his answer definitely pleased, and he shifted his head just slightly so he could move a hand beside it and lazily rub him through his jeans. "How about another one of those cards, hmm?"
Tony. whimpered softly when Wyatt started touching him through his jeans. But, ever obedient, he reached over, picking another card. "If you had to wear a button with a maximum of six words on it describing your outlook on life, what would your button say?"
Wyatt kept up a steady, but lazy, rhythm of rubbing him through his clothes, listening to the question. Squinting in thought, he shook his head, turning his head and his hand to lightly push up his shirt. "Uhh... Wyatt Mason Sylvester. The. Best. Thing." He punctuated the pauses with soft licks against Tony's abdomen, knowing he was horribly breaking his own rules, but being able to feel how hard Tony was did not do well for his attention span.
Tony. laughed even through his soft litany of moans. Wyatt's touches were driving him insane, his body heating, arousal surging through him especially with the publicity of it all. "Mm well... that's a... good outlook, Sir," he whispered, tugging lightly at his dark hair.
Wyatt smiled at the sound of Tony's laugh and moans mingling together, nipping some of his skin. "I think it's a phrase you could get behind, too," He teased Tony before dipping his tongue briefly into his navel and moving his head back after another kiss to his warm skin. "Your turn. My very gorgeous, sexy boy..."
Tony. felt his breathing getting harder, his abs contracting under each brush of the Dom's lips and tongue on his skin. He swallowed hard, heartbeat pounding in his ears as he spoke. "I belong to... Wyatt Mason Sylvester," he finally said quietly, his voice warm and honest, though a bit nervous.
Wyatt hadn't expected something so soft or genuine, so it made him pause to hear Tony's words, a tightness starting in his chest. He looked over Tony's face before he pushed himself up to sit, his eyes clouded over with something, not entirely lust, something a lot more like awe. Like love. He reached up to cup the submissive's face and drew him in to kiss him, not rushed or rough, but still intense, with some pressure behind it, some meaning he struggled to find words for. After kissing him for a minute, he broke away to breathe and open his eyes, stroking his face. "Oh god, I want you. Not even just sexually, though god knows I am hard. I just want you. Want you with me, near me, belonging to me... and everyone to know it, see it." He softly pushed Tony back onto his back, crawling over him. "I guess this is a good place to show off you're mine, I'm yours." He leaned back down and in to kiss him again.
Tony. could barely suck in a breath at the sight of that look on Wyatt's face. The expression, the softness... it made his heart beat even harder, because it looked a lot like the thing he didn't think he could have with Wyatt. The thing he figured Wyatt would have with someone else, and Tony would have for him, and that would be enough. The look that was dangerous and thrilling all at once. He moaned helplessly against the tender kiss, his hands curling around Wyatt's shoulders, hugging him closer. "Yours... all yours, Sir," he whispered shakily, pulling Wyatt properly on top of him. "I am yours, and you... you are mine," he whispered in awe, the words muffled against Wyatt's lips, one leg curling around the Dom's hip.
Wyatt felt his own breath come out unevenly as he listened to Tony, leaning in to kiss him, letting him pull him down on him properly. He made a noise like a moan against his lips and rutted his hips against Tony's, giving them both friction for their constrained cocks, becoming almost breathless but not wanting to break away, not when he had such a desire to claim his lips.
Tony. was certain the Dominant could feel his heart pounding with how hard it was hammering against his ribcage. But it didn't matter, not when Wyatt was on top of him, kissing him like he was the last drink of water for miles in the desert. He kissed back just as desperately, his body completely pliant and willing for whatever Wyatt might want to do to him.
Wyatt sucked on Tony's lips, licked at his tongue and groaned against his lips, as he wished for the magical power of making their clothes go away and Tony to be prepped and ready whenever he wanted. Instead, he took his time reaching between them to undo both of their pants before he was rutting against him again, shoving up at Tony's shirt.
Tony. huffed out a little sigh of relief as the pressure on his cock was released when his pants were undone. He slid his hand down Wyatt's back to his hip, tucking his fingers inside of the waist of his pants. "May... I touch you S-sir?" he asked between kisses, wanting to wrap his hand around the Dom's thick cock.
Wyatt 's cock answered before he could, twitching in his pants, feeling like it was aching for some of Tony's attention. "Yeah," He breathed against Tony's lips, just remembering enough to murmur, "Good boy for asking," before kissing him again. He struggled with Tony's pants, pulling them down a little ways along with anything underneath, then broke from the kiss so he could suck on one of his own fingers, getting it slick with spit before he brought it down and around and then into Tony's hole.
Tony. breathed out a thanks, his hand shifting between them so he could pump Wyatt's thick cock slowly... as much as the constrained space would allow him. He lifted his hips as much as he could, spreading his legs slightly, a low moan rumbling in his throat as a finger sank into his ass. "Yes... p-please, Sir," he whispered tightly.
Wyatt felt Tony struggling with working within his pants and boxer briefs, the slow strokes a relief and torture at the same time. "Just push them off, il mio amore, I plan on getting naked with you anyway." He murmured. He didn't typically get very bare out in public, but he was certainly going to make an exception to fuck Tony on a picnic blanket out in the open. Humming in pleasure when he heard Tony's plea, he kissed on his jaw as he pumped the finger in and out of him, his cock twitching again in the submissive's hand.
Tony. felt his chest tighten again, hearing those words. But he released Wyatt's cock for a moment to shove his pants down, one hand going back to his length, the other shyly curling over the Dom's ass. "Mm... no one will doubt I'm yours, Sir... not like that," he mumbled, head tipped back for Wyatt's warm mouth.
Wyatt groaned at the return of Tony's hand, even additional hand, almost wanting to buck into his grip but he managed to contain himself, kissing down his throat. "And no one- will doubt- how much I - love being inside of you. How perfectly we fit together," He whispered the last part, scraping his teeth against his collarbone.
Tony. shuddered under him. "Please... Si-Sir," he whimpered out, not even caring that he was barely stretched and prepared for the Dom's cock. He needed Wyatt inside of him, desperately. "Please fuck me, Sir, please, need you," he breathed out.
Wyatt couldn't even think coherent thoughts, his body was just saying "need, need, need" and it was strong enough to take over. He just wanted him, so he was quickly shucking off the sub's pants quickly and spitting more on his finger before pushing it back into him. "I need you so badly too," He breathed, kissing up to his neck and back to hover over his face. "Right now?"
Tony. spread his legs wider once his pants were off, hips rocking down against Wyatt's finger. "Yes... now, please, Sir, please," he begged softly. The thought of protection, of more prep didn't even cross his mind - he just needed Wyatt so badly he could barely think.
Wyatt nodded, not even thinking of anything but how badly he wanted to fulfill that request. He kicked his own pants off and pressed one of Tony's legs up against the sub's chest and grasped the base of his own cock, above where the condom ring would be had he remembered it, pressing the head of his cock against the tight ring of muscles and groaning as he sunk into him. He was originally thinking Tony felt so much hotter because of how little prep they had had. "Oh god, you're so tight," He hissed out.
Tony. sucked in a breath, a little whimper spilling out of his throat when he felt Wyatt pushing into him. His toes curled as sensation burst through him, Wyatt's thick cock pushing into his barely stretched hole. "Oh S-sir... Sir, yes," he breathed, struggling to relax and let him in.
Wyatt was slow to push in, no matter how much he wanted it, trying to get Tony to relax and stretch around his cock, since he knew he could do him damage otherwise, and one desperate fuck surely wasn't worth it to put Tony out of commission while he healed up. "Your body feels- made for me," He whispered breathlessly, trying to push Tony's shirt up off him one handed, his cock pulsing in the tight heat.
Tony. arched slightly, scrabbling at his shirt to whip it over his head. He had no qualms about being nude in the middle of the park - not with Wyatt's cock sunk deep inside of his ass. "Mm, yours. All yours, Sir," he murmured back, licking his lips.
Wyatt paused to take his own shirt off, since he always thought it was a stupid look, pants but no shirt, and there was no part of his body he was ashamed of. Tossing it away on the blanket he leaned in to press a heated kiss to Tony's soft lips, moaning against them as he bottomed out into him with a low moan.
Tony. wrapped his arms around Wyatt, legs drawing up around the Dom's hips to open himself up even more. He moaned softly into Wyatt's mouth, his body finally relaxing as the whole of the Dom's cock pushed into him so perfectly. "So thick... so good," he breathed.
Wyatt groaned and sunk his teeth into Tony's lip for a moment as he felt his cock surrounded to the base by Tony's body. He pushed a hand into his hair and drew his hips back, starting to fuck into him steadily, though taking it slow at first since he didn't want to hurt him.
Tony. arched his head back, letting out a rather loud moan as Wyatt started to move inside of him. He could tell that people were watching, but he couldn't begin to care. Wyatt was the only one he cared about. Soft noises pushed from his throat with each thrust inside of him, muscles clutching around that thick cock buried deep in his body.
Wyatt pressed his forehead against the blanket next to Tony's head, his breath coming out shakily as his hips rocked, getting gradually faster and faster the more Tony's body stretched around him to allow it. He groaned out, not realizing just why this time felt so much better right at first, thinking it was from the emotionally charged desire, but he could swear Tony had never felt better, and that was saying something. He gasped, having to pause because he knew if he didn't he'd come way too soon, going back to a slow pace. "So- fucking good."
Tony. slid his hands over Wyatt's strong shoulders, one moving up into his thick, dark hair. A low whine pressed from his throat when Wyatt paused, his body trembling underneath the Dominant. "Don't... please, don't stop, Sir, please," he begged, nearly sobbing out the words in his need to have Wyatt moving inside of him.
Wyatt hearing Tony's words spoken like that, he shuddered and groaned, opening his eyes to look down at him before he brushed his lips against his. "I'm-.. I'm so close already- I won't last much longer if I-" He bucked his hips against him and ground them to try and let his body speak for him.
Tony. inhaled shakily, whining when Wyatt pushed hard inside of him. "I... please, Sir, I don't... please just don't stop," he repeated, not caring about his own pleasure, just needing the friction, needing Wyatt pounding into him.
Wyatt closed his eyes for a moment, his breath coming out heavy as he tried to do what Tony asked, without just exploding the way he wanted to, though he knew it couldn't be too far off. He dug his hands into Tony's thighs, pushing them both up more as he pulled back his hips and thrust them into him again, digging his knees into the blanket as he started to fuck into him, intoxicated by how good it felt. "Oh- fuck," he practically whined, pushing himself and bucking his hips forward as he tipped his head back, losing himself in it.
Tony. let out a shout as Wyatt pushed his legs up higher, fucking into him mercilessly once more. "Yes, Sir... oh god, yes," he whined out, clutching tightly to the blanket, his head pressed back into the grass under them. His thighs trembled under the rough thrusts deep inside of him, his own cock bouncing against his abs, muscles flexing around him again.
Wyatt was practically gasping for breaths at how good it felt, his hand wandering down like it had a mind of its own to wrap around Tony's cock and start stroking it, his voice sounding hoarse as he said, "I w-want you to come with me, I want to feel you-" His breath hitched, opening his eyes briefly to look at the sky above them and down at Tony's face as he pounded into him, almost dizzy from the feeling of his orgasm building.
Tony. cried out again when Wyatt's fingers wrapped around his cock, tugging at the blanket. "Yes... oh my god, yes, I w-will.. I'm cl..." He couldn't begin to finish those words, not with his breath stolen like it was.
Wyatt closed his eyes and dropped his head as he groaned loudly, his hips slapping into Tony's ass he started to cum hard, hot spurts bursting forth into Tony's body, and it wasn't until he realized the cum was actually making it easier for him to thrust that meant it had to be outside of a condom and he gasped quietly as he realized, his eyes hazy as they opened to look down at Tony.
Tony. was too far out of his head to realize how much different it felt when Wyatt came inside of him. All he knew was that it felt amazing, more amazing than usual, and he couldn't help but moan loudly and succumb to his own orgasm, spilling over Wyatt's hand and his stomach.
Wyatt shivered and stroked him until nothing else came out of Tony while he was still thrusting his hips to help along the sub's orgasm, and because it did feel so very good, even though he now knew the extra lubricant making it easier was his cum, painting Tony's walls. He knew there wasn't likely any way to keep Tony from realizing since he would inevitably feel the cum dripping out of his ass but right then, he decided to move his hand and collapse onto him, catching his breath.
Tony. gulped hard, weakly holding onto him, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Shifting slightly, his nose wrinkled when he felt things a little... slippery when he knew they hadn't used lube. His eyes widened. "I... we... we didn't..." He wasn't sure what Wyatt's reaction would be - Tony certainly wasn't opposed to not using condoms with Wyatt - so he just watched, nervous.
Wyatt turned his head to look at him and leaned in to nuzzle his neck apologetically. "I know... I'm sorry. I know "I just wanted you so badly," isn't a great excuse, but I was definitely letting my body make all the decision." He looked up at him again, brushing his nose against Tony's. "Forgive me?" He wasn't sure if telling Tony how good it had felt would make it any more acceptable, but he wished he knew what to say that might make Tony feel okay with it.
Tony. ran his fingers through Wyatt's hair slowly. "It's... we, um... we don't have to, if you don't want to," he said haltingly, not really sure how else to tell Wyatt that it felt amazing to have his cum dripping out of his ass.
Wyatt looked confused, since he had very little idea what Tony was trying to say with those broken up sentences. "If I don't want to what?" He shook his head and stroked Tony's cheek, trying to figure how either of those sentence starters could be something about forgiving him or even telling him it was fine.
Tony. blushed brightly. "We don't... have to use condoms, if you don't want to, Sir. It feels good. Without," he said softly, biting his bottom lip. "I've never done that before. Not used a condom. But I really like it. I like feeling um... feeling it drip out of me."
Wyatt searched Tony's face, trying to remember back to their conversation after prom. They definitely talked about going condomless, but it got referred to as a future thing, and now he wasn't sure why, if this was how Tony felt. He exhaled slowly and leaned down to kiss him a moment, then murmuring, "Neither have I... not used one, I mean... but shit, you felt so good... feel so good."
Tony. let out a nervous breath against Wyatt's lips, both hands tangling in his hair now. He wasn't sure the Dominant would agree, would like it - he knew it could get messy without - but hearing the confession made him shiver. "So do you, Sir," he whispered.
Wyatt wet his lips and pressed them to Tony's another moment, slowly rolling his hips forward to emphasize the point, of how good it felt. "If- if you're really okay with it. I do want to take you like this again. And I've definitely always wanted to see it dripping out of you."
Tony. moaned faintly at the movement of Wyatt's hips, that slowly softening length moving easily inside of him. "I'm very okay with it. I um... I don't want to with anyone but you though, Sir."
Wyatt lifted his head again to look at him, shaking his head and reaching up to stroke Tony's jaw. "No, no, not allowed with anyone else. And I won't either, because I wouldn't dare risk giving you anything bad." He kissed his forehead.
Tony. felt his eyes flutter shut at the kiss to his forehead, a smile tugging his lips. "On that note, Sir, maybe we should wait to do it again and get tested? Just to be on the safe side?" It was the responsible thing to do, right? He didn't think Wyatt would give him anything, of course, but it would be good to know both of them were clean.
Wyatt nodded softly at the suggestion, opening his eyes and looking down at him. "Yeah, that- that was definitely the original plan. We should still do that." He smiled softly, then groaned a little as he pulled back, moving up a little so he actually could see some of his cum around Tony's fucked open hole, humming his approval.
Tony. opened his mouth to agree, but he could only whimper as Wyatt moved again, feeling more of his release drip out around his used rim. "E-enjoying the view, Sir?" he asked, rubbing his hands over Wyatt's toned arms.
Wyatt briefly looked up and back down, the smile spreading on his face as he reached down, slowly circling the seed around the puckered ridges before he inhaled, snapping out of it. "Very much. Hmmm... do you mind if I-?" He didn't properly finish the question before he leaned down and in, cleaning up his cum off of Tony with languid licks.
Tony. blushed again, seeing the smile on his Dom's face and feeling the slick sensation of his fingers on his aching hole. "If you - oh... oh, Sir," he moaned softly, his eyes sliding shut, both hands tangling again in Wyatt's hair as he licked him clean. "Oh my god, Sir, no... no I don't mind," he whispered, lips curled in a smile, the words practically laughed out with how good it fel.t
Wyatt made a noise of pleasure before he exhaled and lifted his head up after he cleaned him off, crawling slowly back up. "Definitely been wanting to do that for a while, too," He murmured, leaning in to graze his slightly cum covered lips against Tony's.
Tony. eagerly leaned up to kiss Wyatt's mouth when he could, not even minding the mess, the taste of his kiss making the sub shiver. "Me too," he admitted, stroking Wyatt's cheek slowly. "Or having you put a plug in me after you cum inside me."
Wyatt groaned from his words. "Ahh, fuck... yes, yes, definitely that." He bit down on his own lip as the image in his head made him shiver and look over Tony's body slowly before smiling at him. "Maybe we should actually have a picnic now. We're doing this again when we get back to my room, though."
Tony. liked how Wyatt's eyes moved over his body, the look in them making him shiver in delight. He laughed and nodded, sitting up a bit. "Maybe we should, yeah. And get dressed, that might be a good idea," he said. Tony stole another kiss from Wyatt's lips and nodded. "Again. And maybe again... and again."
Wyatt smirked, shaking his head a little. "You're right, clothes on would be a good idea." He sat back, rummaging for something to wipe himself off with and ending up using a bit of the blanket. "We'll- uh, we'll just need to watch this." He smiled sheepishly before returning the stolen kiss and inhaling, slowly nodding his agreement, his eyes betraying his excitement over the idea. "That sounds about right."
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Inevitability
by prairiecrow
Summary
Reflection. Resistance. Regret.
Notes
Takes place shortly before the S2 episode "Tribunal".
Miles Edward O'Brien had never been a man who suffered fools gladly, regardless of their bluster in public life or the number of Starfleet pips on their collars. He'd had plenty of practice from an early age in dealing with his Uncle Matthew, who'd lacked the good sense God had seen fit to give a mushroom, and as he'd gotten older his verbal scraps with his mother's brother had worsened to the point where nobody on that side of the family would invite them to the same dinners anymore. No, he certainly wasn't one to hesitate to call a spade a bloody shovel, but he also knew when it was in his best interests to keep his mouth shut.
And thus it came to pass that when he'd made the acquaintance of Lieutenant Julian Bashir, Chief Medical Officer of Deep Space Nine and so wet behind the ears that he left a trail on the ground wherever he walked, Miles had pasted a tight little smile on his face and confined his responses to "Yes, sir" and "No, sir" as much as he possibly could. Watching the long-limbed gack swan around as if he were God's own gift to the service, Miles had found his initial intuition that the man was a right fool amply confirmed and vowed to stay as far away from him as their positions on DS9's senior staff would permit. He had troubles enough in his life without letting a jammy client like that get within shouting distance of himself or his family.
To be sure, Bashir was an absolute genius when it came to anything medical, and his pursuit of Jadzia Dax provided plenty of amusement for the rest of the senior staff over drinks in Quark's. He was a lot like a puppy, they all agreed: friendly enough, and always upbeat, but prone to throw himself at things willy-nilly and slobber all over them in his happy enthusiasm. There were the makings of a good officer there if he'd just learn from experience, although the vote was divided over whether he was capable of absorbing that kind of education in the long run. Miles, with the example of Uncle Matt in mind, was among the less sanguine.
But there was no questioning Bashir's bravery and ability to think quickly under fire, as was demonstrated when he saved three ambassadors from a fiery death in a blocked corridor of the station. Nor could it be denied that he genuinely cared for the patients he treated, and was so kind-hearted that he'd go out of his way to help anyone in need who caught his attention, as Jadzia affirmed he'd done when he started seeing Garak, the Cardassian tailor and undercover spy, for lunch on a weekly basis. She was of the opinion he'd seen a loneliness in Garak that he was seeking to alleviate; Miles's opinion, that he was just mesmerized by the Cardie's aura of danger and mystery, was less charitable to Bashir but, he felt, far more realistic. By then he'd gotten to know Bashir a little better — been on a mission to Bajor with him, in fact, and spent several days in his company — and…
Well. Miles knew about fools, but he also knew a thing or two about puppies. His youngest aunt on his father's side had gotten one when Miles was sixteen during a summer he'd spent at their country house, and he clearly remembered its yelping and its bumbling attempts to lick faces and its ability to find and chew to pieces any shoe within a kilometre's radius… but he also remembered that after a while he'd held out his arms when it came running, and laughed while it wriggled ecstatically and slopped its warm pink tongue all over his lips and cheeks. It took a man of exceptionally hard heart to resist puppy ways, and in that respect Bashir was equally difficult to keep at a suitable distance. In time Miles found himself cautiously happy to see the doctor when they chanced to meet in a corridor or on the Promenade, and more and more often he found himself roped into coffee with the enthusiastic young man, watching all the different emotions chase themselves across his lean brown face and curious in spite of himself to see just where they were going to lead next.
He started to look round every corner for the puppy, and realized that he'd reached a point of no return when Bashir invited himself to enjoy Miles's carefully constructed racquetball court — and Miles didn't thrown him out on his ear. When had this lanky, grinning boy become his friend? He was at a loss to understand it, but he couldn't deny it either, especially after they'd faced death together at the hands of the T'lani and the Kelleruns and barely escaped with their lives. Their conversations during that little adventure fully revealed to him that there was a fine lad inside the gormless exterior, and a bold and surprisingly thoughtful mind beneath the irritating surface habits — and above all, an earnest young man who considered them friends already.
When a child comes right up to you and puts his hand in yours, how do you shove him away and tell him to be off somewhere else, where somebody actually cares about him? Miles O'Brien certainly couldn't, not only because Julian was really quite appealing once you got past all the flash, but also because there was someone else waiting to drink up all that extra time and attention.
Miles knew as much about snakes as he did about puppies — more, in fact, because he'd killed plenty of them in his time and he'd seen them inject their venom into scores of good men and women. Catching sight of Julian strolling down the Promenade with Garak, or seeing the two of them arguing over one of their lunches, Miles didn't miss the undercurrent behind the Cardie's smile, the flicker of a forked tongue and the unblinking gaze of a cobra swaying seductively in front of its prey. Nor did he miss the point of Garak's interest in Julian: sure, some of it was political, keeping a channel open to Starfleet through its most naive officer on site, but the part that revealed itself in teasing smiles and long smouldering glances was anything but abstract in nature.
He wants him, Miles would think, watching Julian's answering smile and wondering if the boy understood even half of the game he was playing, and reflecting that someone should give him a good stiff lecture on the dangers of tickling a rattlesnake under the chin.
He wants him. That was undeniable. Even Quark had set up a betting pool based on when Garak would make his move, or (much less likely) when Julian would make his. What Miles wished he could deny was that as time went on, the outcome of the pool mattered more and more on a personal level: not just because he thought it would be spectacularly bad news for Julian if he took up with a Cardassian spy and he didn't want to see his friend get hurt, but because more and more often catching sight of the two of them and the secret smiles they shared was prompting an ugly niggle of emotion deep in Mile's breast, a shudder of hot feeling that he wanted to crush but couldn't seem to no matter how hard he tried. He didn't think that Julian was sleeping with Garak, but the prospect that he one day might was…
Miles didn't want it to matter. He told himself over and over again that it didn't matter, that Julian was a big boy and that if he went off into a rhapsodic litany of Garak's finer points every time the subject came up it was no skin off of Miles's nose. He told himself, mean-spiritedly, that maybe a good solid bite was just what Julian needed to wake him up to realities of a universe where not everybody wanted to be his friend.
Trouble was, men like Garak never simply bit. They kissed, and licked, and nipped in a way that sent hot and cold shivers down the spine, and you never noticed the tiny doses of poison until it was too late.
But Miles couldn't talk about that with Julian. It wasn't his place, and increasingly the subject simply hit too close to home for comfort. What was he supposed to say? Stop seeing Garak, because I'm uncomfortable just thinking about the two of you sitting so close together, looking into each other's eyes and forgetting about everybody else? The subtextual whisper, When I want you to be looking at me that way instead, mercifully didn't make it to the surface very often, but when it did he felt miserable about it for hours afterwards.
He couldn't talk about it, so he didn't, even when Julian went haring off to Cardassian space in pursuit of a retired spymaster and every alarm in Miles's head went off at once, because risking torture and death that way wasn't something one usually did for a guy he had lunch with once a week. He didn't say anything when Julian came back and saved Garak's life, and he didn't say anything the week after when he saw them at lunch and also saw the air between them burn with subliminal radiance, practically incandescent with promise and meaning.
The dread in his heart coalesced into dark certainty and unspeakable grief, because clearly Garak had finally gotten what he desired — and he, Miles O'Brien, happily married to a wonderful woman and father to a darling daughter, had lost something he never should have wanted in the first place.
And fool that he was, he could only watch silently while it tore him relentlessly to pieces.
THE END
#this was a really well-written story#ds9 fic#not mine#bashir x obrien#julian x miles#have some angst
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