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inkykeiji · 4 years

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i can take you there but baby you won’t make it back

character: dabi | todoroki touya

notes: stepcest (kind of—ur parents aren’t married yet) with dabi-as-touya x a very naïve and inexperienced reader, normal!AU (no quirks, dabi also has tattoos over his scarred + fully healed skin), university!reader, implied yakuza!dabi, excessive use of the words niichan and good, praise kink, fingering, face fucking, title credit = save that shit by lil peep lmao uhhhh yeah i hc dabi as a very intelligent and perceptive individual soooo i feel like he’d be a master at reading a person & their emotions and then adapting his manipulation techniques

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), noncon/dubcon, slight somnophilia, emotional manipulation, toxic relationship, size difference, slight degradation, mentions of drug use

words: 7.1k

part 2.1 | part 2.2

synopsis:

“You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, when you lay awake in your bed, you’ll feel ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Your dad’s been dating Rei for a while—nearly a year, now—when things begin to get serious, and he proposes to her.

She accepts, so it’s not exactly a surprise when she suggests you guys move in with her—she’s got more than enough space, she tells you, it’s just her and her son in that big old house—and your dad seems pretty thrilled about it. This was the next step before marriage, after all.

You like Rei well enough, she’s always been nothing but sweet to you, and anyway, your father’s relationship really isn’t any of your business or concern.

It isn’t that you don’t want to move in with her—her house is in a better part of the neighborhood, a standard detached upper-middle class home, and just a short walk from a bus stop that’ll take you directly to university, which you start in a week.

It’s just…You’re a little apprehensive.

You know she has kids. She mentions them in passing every once in a while, but you can’t for the life of you remember their names, or their ages, or how many of them there are. You know they don’t all live with her, that her relationship with her ex-husband is complicated and rocky at best.

But you’re still surprised to hear that only one of them, her eldest, lives with her. She tells you he’s five years older than you are, that he’s a clever, smart boy, going off on a tangent about how disappointed she is that he didn’t go to university, because ‘he would’ve done so well—he could’ve shone so brightly.’ Something about the way she says that, the way her voice sounds almost sad, makes anxiety turn to lead in your stomach. She talks about him as if he’s already a lost cause, but he’s only in his mid-twenties, isn’t he?

You understand the moment you see him. The man standing in front of you as you shift from foot to foot unsurely in the foyer of this unfamiliar house is about as far from what you anticipated as he could possibly be.

He’s tall, skin pale as moonlight, with jet black hair and the most stunning blue eyes you’ve ever seen. But that isn’t what captivates you. It isn’t the lip ring curled around his bottom lip snuggly, and it isn’t the tongue piercing you’re about to find out he’s hiding in his mouth, either.

Every inch of the exposed skin of his arms is covered in intricate, seamlessly flowing tattoos—or, for a moment, you thought it was tattoos, plural. Upon closer inspection, you realize that each arm is actually covered in one giant tattoo, giving a new definition to the term ‘sleeve’. It’s all black ink, not a splash of colour anywhere, depicting an extremely detailed and anatomically correct mechanical arm, complete with what would’ve been joints, ligaments and bones in the form of wires and steel.

The tattoos extend onto the tops of his hands, made to look as if surgical staples are peeling his skin back to reveal the robot beneath. This same tattoo continues up his neck, along his jaw and onto his cheeks, all the way to his bottom lip, spreading across his entire face and disappearing into his hairline and onto his ears. Finally, there’s a small portion of the tattoo underneath his eyes, the surgical staples lining the edges of the face tattoos, too.

It startles you—you’re not necessarily scared, you just…weren’t expecting that. But there’s no denying the rush of breath that involuntarily escapes your lips as your eyes search his face, raking over his body in a brazen way that should make you feel shameful, travelling back up to find him smirking smugly at you, raising an eyebrow as your eyes meet again.

The look in his eyes tells you he knows, knows what you’re thinking about, knows how undeniably attracted you are to him, and scalding heat floods your cheeks.

He chuckles a little, which does nothing but add insult to injury, and sharp anger slices through your chest at the way that you stomach absolutely drops at his gravelly voice. You can’t believe yourself, can’t believe your body is reacting and responding so readily to this man—this stranger.

He introduces himself as Touya, in that rough, deep voice that forces a jolt of electricity to run through your veins. You idly wonder what your name would sound like on his tongue, how it might sound if his voice dropped to a growl, find yourself stuck thinking about this for the rest of the night.

✰ ✰ ✰

To your disappointment, and as much as you are unabashedly interested in him, you don’t interact much with Touya for your first few weeks in the house—in fact, you barely see him at all.

This only piques your curiosity about him more, finding that you’re unable to tear your eyes from him on the rare occasion that you are in a room together. He catches you staring every single time, and he has the audacity to chuckle to himself and shake his head when his gaze meets yours, your eyes quickly darting away and cheeks burning at his laugh.

You begin gathering little tidbits of information about him, purely sourced from interactions you witness in the house, desperately praying for something that’ll give you an opportunity to start a conversation with him.

Your efforts prove fruitless when, almost a month and a half since you moved in, you’ve still only spoken a handful of words to him. You do learn a bit about him through observing, though.

You discover that he’s a smoker, which really doesn’t come as a shock at all. Marlboro’s are his favourite, and he’s always got a pack in his back pocket or rolled up in the short sleeve of his t-shirt. He must have them imported—Marlboro’s are incredibly rare to find all the way in Japan.

Touya must have a lot of things imported.

You find out that every other Thursday, Touya discreetly stuffs an absurdly large wad of cash—all composed of ten-thousand-yen bills—into his mom’s hands, forcing her fingers to curl around it. She fights him on it, every time, but he’s firm and adamant that she take it. It always ends with Rei giving him a small, watery smile, Touya pressing a kiss against the side of her head and murmuring that he loves her.

After you witness this interaction for the first time, you begin to notice that, while the house looks relatively normal on the outside, it is stuffed full of luxury on the inside. Flat-screen TVs each complete with full entertainment systems, state of the art appliances that are somehow up to date with all of the latest trends (including a smart fridge—absolutely ridiculous), custom made furniture, ornate rugs, a housekeeper that drops by every Sunday…

You have no idea what he does for work, but you think you’ve got at least some sort of idea when you catch him one night, just past 2AM, exiting his room and using a thumb to brush excess white powder off his nose. His eyes catch yours, pupils blown and shining in the low light, and he smiles darkly at you, winking once as he walks away.

You don’t ask—no one ever does.

You don’t ask about the crimson splattered on the toe of his boot, or why he sometimes smells metallic, like copper, the strong scent wafting after him and invading the halls as he stalks leisurely toward the bathroom. You don’t ask why he leaves the house at odd hours in the night, and you definitely don’t ask about the soft clinking and clicking you hear through the thin walls every so often while he cleans his gun at 3AM.

You’re not sure if it’s really any of your business, anyway. So you stay quiet, and continue to wait.

The opportunity finally comes one Wednesday in October, two weeks before Halloween, when you’re in the kitchen after school busy fixing yourself an afternoon snack. Touya comes home uncharacteristically early—you rarely see him before 10PM, so his entrance scares you, and you jump a little.

“Sorry,” he murmurs as he passes by behind you, just an inch too close, just enough so you can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, shaking your head a little and trying in vain to stop your hands from trembling as you spread peanut butter across a piece of bread.

You can feel his eyes on you, and it makes you nervous, makes your skin crawl in a way you’ve never felt before. He laughs a little at your struggling, leaning against the counter next to you and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You don’t have to be so nervous around me, y’know,” he says with a smirk, eyes glittering at the way your lips part in surprise, your breath stuttering a little. “I’m your niichan after all, aren’t I?”

You hadn’t even considered using the honorific until he himself uses it.

Your hands freeze, hovering over your plate, and you look over at him slowly. “You…Want me to call you that?”

“You can, if you’d like,” he says smoothly, nonchalantly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It makes no difference to him, he tells you, but when he finally looks back at you, you think you can see it in his eyes—a sharp, small glimmer of…of something. Something that makes your stomach twist in a way you can’t decide if you like or not.

But this is it, you think, this is your opening to finally begin talking to him.

So you do. And the smirk he gives you the first time you address him by the honorific, voice quivering slightly as you ask him where Rei normally keeps the blender, is nothing short of predatory.

“It’s on the top shelf. It’s too high for you, though,” he says, voice so sickly sweet it almost sounds mocking. “Let niichan get it for you,”

It isn’t, but you let him get it for you anyway.

And he knows—knows he’s got you the moment you gasp at the honorific leaving his lips, trying to hide it behind your hand, nodding quickly and squeaking out a thank you.

It starts after that. He begins playing with you; a sick, perverse game of cat and mouse, hunter and hunted, and you play your part perfectly.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, if you said it didn’t send wicked sparks of excitement shooting up your spine and an intense fluttering in your stomach.

And it starts slow. It starts with gentle pet names—honey, sweetheart, princess—and fingertips trailing down your arm as he passes you. It starts with a large hand placed on the small of your back, guiding you—out of the house and into his car, out of the kitchen and into the living room, out of the hallway and into his bedroom—and with little pecks on your lips stolen when no one’s watching, quick kisses that leave you feeling exhilarated despite their chastity.

Suddenly, he’s home a hell of a lot more. He’s sitting too close to you on the couch while you curl up with a textbook, his thigh pressed against you and flesh burning hot through his black jeans. He’s joining the family dinner a few times a week, idly hooking and unhooking his ankle with yours beneath the table while smirking at you from across it.

Suddenly, he’s asking you if you need a ride to school, or if you need someone to pick you up. You don’t, you tell him, the bus is just fine, but he insists. It’s what niichans do, he says. He wants to take care of you, he says.

Who are you to deny him that, really?

✰ ✰ ✰

The first time you experience Touya angry is about a month after the inciting incident, when he catches you walking home with a few of your university friends.

He had texted you earlier that day, telling you that he—very regretfully, he said—would be unable to pick you up from school this afternoon because ‘something had come up’.

You didn’t question what it was—you knew he’d lie even if you did. So you accepted it obediently, reassured him that it was fine, that you’d find another way home.

You’re pretty sure if you had told him that you didn’t have any extra change on you for the bus suddenly whatever important thing that had ‘come up’ which so desperately needed his attention wouldn’t be so urgent anymore. But you didn’t want to be a bother, or inconvenience him, so you say nothing.

Two friends decide they’ll accompany you on your walk home, so you aren’t lonely, they claim. Normally, the walk from campus to your house is about thirty minutes, but that day it takes you nearly an hour, wasting time goofing around and walking slowly as you talk idly.

Touya’s already pissed that it’s taken you so long to arrive home, that you’ve ignored all of his extremely considerate texts asking if you’re alright, but when he sees you squished between two boys, giggling as the three of you stumble up your driveway—he’s fucking fuming.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks, voice calm and monotonous, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Your head snaps up—you swear he wasn’t there just a second ago—blood running cold.

His stance is relaxed, arms crossed loosely over his chest, lazily raising an eyebrow as your wide eyes meet his. Technically, the only indication that he’s furious is the blazing blue fire in his eyes, but your friends can read the tension in the air surrounding him, shuffling a little closer to you. This minuscule action does not go unnoticed by Touya, sharp jaw clenching once.

“You had niichan worried,”

You’re frozen a few feet away from the porch, unable to find your voice, to move your legs, to breathe at all.

“I didn’t know you had an older brother,”

Your eyes do not leave Touya’s as you speak, the words hoarse. “Oh, we’re—”

“Yeah,” Touya bites, irritation finally bleeding into his voice. “She does,” his eyes float back to yours. “Come here, princess,”

Your body snaps into action, moving automatically before you can even comprehend it, allowing Touya to tuck you into his side the moment you reach him.

Your hands are shaking, but you have no control over them as your fingers curl in his white t-shirt, clinging to him. To your surprise, the arm around your shoulders hugs you closer in response, thumb caressing you.

“Thanks for making sure she got home safely,” he tosses over his shoulder, managing to make the simple sentence sound like an insult, tone bordering on patronizing, while he turns on his heel, marching you both inside.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you’re rushing to say the moment the front door shuts behind you two, Touya’s arm still wrapped firmly around you.

He looks down at you coldly. “Don’t you dare pull shit like that again,” he tells you, eerily calm voice forcing spikes of icy dread up your spine. He pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in as his eyes bore into yours. “You had me worried sick,” he breathes out then, squeezing you again. You’re surprised in the sudden change of tone, feeling your chest swell at the thought of him fretting over you, a small smile gracing your lips.

“I…I did?”

Touya’s eyebrows furrow, as if he’s offended at your questioning, mood morphing in the span of a second. “Of course you fucking did,” he spits like you’re stupid, arm dropping. “Do you ever check your phone?”

“Wh-What?”

Touya rolls his eyes. “Check your phone,” he calls out airily as he begins walking into the kitchen, shaking his head a little, disappointment rolling off him in waves.

Hastily fishing your phone out of your bag, you’re astonished to see eight texts from him and three missed calls. You scroll through the texts quickly, each one making you feel more nauseous than the next. ‘Is everything okay? You should’ve been home by now’; ‘Please answer me, princess, you’re making your niichan nervous’; ‘Where are you? Answer my fucking calls already’. Guilt turns sour in your mouth and you hurry after him.

“I-I really am s-so sorry,” you force the words out, unsure as to why there are suddenly tears stinging your eyes. He isn’t even doing anything—his back is facing you as he nonchalantly begins brewing a pot of coffee.

But the thought of him being upset with you, of losing his approval, sends a sharp pain searing through your chest.

“Are you?” he asks, and although his voice holds no malice in it, it causes your whole body to stutter with a harsh breath.

“Yes,” you whimper out, latching onto his arm and tugging in an attempt to draw his eyes to yours, to see how regretful you are, the remorse written across your face. “I should’ve…That was so careless and inconsiderate of me,”

“It was,” he agrees simply, voice still light, as if he’s discussing something as mundane as the weather. “But you’ll never do it again, right?”

“Right,” you agree readily, breathing out the word before you even realize what you’re agreeing to.

“Tell niichan you’ll never worry him like that again,” he finally looks over at you.

“I-I’ll never worry you like that again, niichan, I pr-promise,”

His eyes hold yours for what feels like eons, before he finally twists his arm out of your grasp, instead wrapping it around you and tugging you against his body. You stay staring up at him, eyes wide and obedient, breath bated as you wait for your next order, so pliant and ready to serve him.

“Good,” he whispers, eyes finally softening, and you feel like you can breathe properly again. His free hand cups your face, thumb running along your lips, then your chin, then your jaw. “You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, you’ll lay awake in your bed, feeling ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

✰ ✰ ✰

He begins to trust you more. You meet his friends, each one terrifying in their own right. Jin is alright, although his brain is fried from drugs, and he talks to and contradicts himself a lot, earning the nickname Twice from Tomura.

Tomura horrifies you to your very core—a tall, lanky man with sunken red eyes and sickly pale skin who looks like he’s one bad day away from death—and Touya tells you very sternly to stay away from him.

A university student not unlike yourself, Keigo is your favourite. Keigo is the most normal, with his wild blonde hair and enticing gold eyes that always look like they’re playfully holding the secrets of the universe just out of your grasp.

Keigo’s brain is always going a hundred miles a minute, although you’d never guess it with his trademark lazy drawl, speaking as if he hasn’t got a care in the world. But he can always keep a conversation going, knows exactly what to say to avoid awkward silences or lulls in the discussion, and you appreciate that. You think he’s so cool—he has so much knowledge about the oddest things, everything and anything, ‘a walking encyclopedia’, Tomura calls it, and it fascinates you to no end.

It’s the speed, Touya tells you one night while you’re laying on the couch, your body on top of his, the pads of his fingers dragging down your back in rhythmic strokes. Speed is Keigo’s drug of choice, you find out. Speed is the reason why Keigo knows as much as he does.

“Sometimes he doesn’t sleep for days,” Touya says. “That’s how he has all the time to memorize everything he knows—though that big overactive brain of his plays a part in it, too,”

The thought inexplicably makes your heart sink in your chest, and you don’t say anything else. If Touya notices your shift in mood, he doesn’t mention it. You idly wonder what Touya’s drug of choice is, but you’re too scared of the answer to ask.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s only a few nights later when you wake with a violent jolt, breathing laboured as you absentmindedly press your palm to your chest, trying in vain to calm your racing heart.

A nightmare.

You sit in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of your own harsh breaths echoing off the walls and debating what to do next. A minute later, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, wincing when your bare feet touch the cold hardwood, and pad down the hallway.

You try to trick yourself into believing that you aren’t using this purely as an excuse to spend the night with him. It really was so scary, you reason with yourself, it really has made you all shaken up…

Who are you kidding? You didn’t even attempt to go back to sleep.

You’ve been in his room plenty of times now—sitting daintily on his bed as he introduces you to new music, new movies, new books. Stuff that reminds him of you, he says, stuff that he thought you might be interested in. You’re grateful for it; there are so many things you’ve learned in the short time you’ve known him.

That isn’t all, though. There’s no denying the warmth that spreads through your body, that tiny excited flutter in your chest, when he calls your name and interlaces your fingers, leading you toward his room and telling you he’s got something to show you.

Yes, you’ve been in his room plenty of times now. But this is the first time you spend the night in his bed.

He’s still up, soft golden light leaking from under his closed bedroom door. Your hand quivers a little as you lift it to rap your knuckles against the wood. He appears in the doorway a moment later, leaning against the frame in a black t-shirt that looks like it’s a size or two too small for him, riding up to reveal a teasing sliver of milky skin, tips of his hipbones jutting out from the waistband of his plaid pajama pants.

“Princess? What is it?”

You didn’t realize you were staring, and you jump a little at his gravelly voice.

“Oh. I, um—Well, I just…had a nightmare a-and I can’t sleep,”

You can barely look him in the eyes as you say it, your cheeks burning. You both know it’s a lie.

But he plays along.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, drawing you into his arms, into his room, into his bed.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs as he turns on his side to face you, propping his head up with a hand. “Poor thing. Was it a bad one?”

Your mouth feels like its been stuffed with cotton, rendering you incapable of speech, tongue dry and sluggish. You nod in response, heat seeping into your cheeks again at just how loudly your heart is thumping while you roll onto your side. There’s only a few inches of space between your bodies now, his hot breath fanning across your face as he speaks again.

“Do you want niichan to help you forget about it?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, and you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes searching his. Your thighs squeeze together at the way his voice has dropped an octave, low and husky, familiar heat pooling in the depths of your belly. He waits patiently, lifting a hand to caress your cheek, then runs his fingertips down your bare arm, goosebumps following.

Finally, you nod. You think you see the corners of his lips quirk up into the slightest hint of a smirk, but you blink, and it’s gone.

“Here,” he whispers, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. Hand cupping your jaw, he tilts your face up and slots his mouth against yours.

You’ve kissed before, of course—in his bed, in yours, on the living room couch, on the kitchen counter with his hips shoved between your thighs—but this…this feels different.

These are kisses with intent, with purpose, with a goal in mind. These are kisses that keep you distracted—slow, soft, messy with saliva—as his hand slips down your body and between your thighs.

Your gasp breaks the kiss, wide eyes blinking up at him then fluttering shut as he brushes a knuckle against your clit. He hushes you, nimble fingers spreading your folds before he drags them up your slit, huffing out a laugh at how wet you already are.

“Were you thinking about something naughty before?” he gasps mockingly, sliding the pads of his fingers back down as he speaks.

His hand withdraws from your shorts and he orders you to lift your hips, tugging the waistband down your thighs. You squirm a little, forcing them further down your legs until you free yourself of them completely, eyes gazing up at him again, awaiting your next command.

Legs part dutifully as his hand travels back down to the apex of your thighs, pushing a finger into your soaking pussy.

It’s slow at first, thrusting leisurely with his middle finger a few times and loosening you up a little before adding his ring finger. Sapphire eyes watch his motions, captivated by how your eager little cunt sucks his fingers in selfishly.

“Look at that, huh?” he breathes, looking down at you. “Such a pretty little pussy you’ve got,”

You open your bleary eyes to peer at yourself, mesmerized by the way his fingers are pumping in and out of you, glistening in the dim light of his bedroom. He curls his fingers and you inhale sharply, hips twitching toward his palm.

“Oh?” he chuckles darkly, knuckles nudging the spot again. “Did niichan find something, baby?”

You don’t know, you’re not sure, you try to tell him, but all you can seem to manage is pathetic little whines while you nod your head.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he’s asking as the pads of his fingers tap against that spot, your entire body jolting.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper out, a little breathlessly. “But it’s never felt like this,”

“Aw, baby,” he coos, and it’s so condescending. “Then you weren’t doing it right, sweetheart,”

He quickens his pace, chuckles at the way you try to desperately fuck yourself on his fingers at such an awkward angle.

“Poor little thing, can’t even get herself off properly,” he tsks. “You need your niichan to do it for you, don’t you?”

Soft whines spill from your throat as you nod eagerly, your stomach coiling tightly.

“One day,” he breathes, curling his fingers with a vengeance this time, your hips rolling up off the mattress. “When we have the time, I’ll teach you how to make yourself feel so good,”

He’s talking too much. You want to tell him this, tell him to shut the hell up, but every time you try to speak he presses the heel of his palm to your clit and grinds against it, effectively scattering all of your thoughts, soft mewls of niichan the only sound escaping your lips.

Can’t deny his voice is fucking hot though, a form of foreplay all on its own.

And he knows this, can read you like a goddamn book, especially when he’s got his fingers two knuckles deep inside of you. He can feel it, he tells you. You don’t even need to speak; he can feel your thoughts when his voice drops an octave and your cute little hole flutters, when he chuckles and your pussy clenches around his fingers—a slut for his voice, aren’t you?

“Pretty baby, you can’t do anything but nod dumbly, can you? Been fucked stupid by my fingers alone, huh?”

Your head barely moves, lost all control of your body by this point, only able to whimper in response.

“Gonna come all over my fingers, pretty girl?” the knuckle of his thumb begins grazing your clit in quick strokes. “C’mon, make a mess for niichan,”

And it’s pathetic, how quickly your body obeys. Your pussy squeezes once, twice, three times and you’re gushing all over his fingers, juices collecting in his palm, running down his wrist. You’re embarrassed—you’ve never cum that much before, have you?

Breathing still ragged, you nuzzle into his sheets, partially hiding your face from him. Nothing could hide the involuntary grin that forms on your lips, though. Arms snake under your boneless body, tugging a bit.

“Oh no, baby, we aren’t done yet,” Touya’s saying while he hoists you up, letting you lean heavily against him.

Head tilting in confusion, your glazed eyes find his. “Wh-What?”

He looks down at his lap and your gaze follows, a tiny whimper slipping past your lips at the bulge straining against his pants. “Doesn’t niichan deserve a nice reward for helping you forget that scary dream?”

Eyes darting back to his, you nod slowly, whispering out, “Yes. But—But…” But you’re hesitant; you’ve never done anything like this before. Shaking hands reach for the waistband of his pants, beginning to pull them down but freezing when the head of his cock peeks out.

Touya sighs. “Come on, you wanna be a good girl for niichan, don’t you?”

Of course. Of courses you do.

Then he wants you to touch him, he says. He’ll help you; he promises.

“But you gotta get it wet first,”

You ask how, and he laughs at you. “With your tongue, stupid,” he tells you.

He instructs you to kneel on the floor and you comply immediately, trembling legs folding beneath your body as you situate yourself between his knees. He inches forward on the bed a little, shuffling himself to the edge and caging you between his thighs. Bringing his cock close to your mouth, he taps the head against your closed lips.

They part instantly, obediently, his eyes flashing with something sinister as you take the head into your mouth and suck hesitantly, big eyes staring up at him waiting for approval.

He curses, his hips twitching ever so slightly, skin stretched taut over bony knuckles as a hand forms a fist in the sheets. Starting with kitten licks at first, the tip of your tongue barely touches him, tracing veins, then begins to gain more confidence as he groans a little, telling you what to you, that you’re doing good, so good for him.

Watching him through thick lashes, you have the audacity to look bashful as your tongue laves around the shaft, drenching it in saliva. A hand tangles in your hair and yanks, pulling you off his cock when he decides it’s sufficiently wet enough. Long fingers encircle your wrist, bringing your hand to form a fist around him.

“Like this,” he says, jerking your hand up and down.

You’re terrible at it, movements awkward and uncoordinated, but in that moment he doesn’t really care. He’s irritated a little, wondering out loud how anyone can be bad at handjobs while a large hand wraps around yours and forces you to speed up. Bad? Your heart sinks at the small three letter word, a hard lump forming in your throat, looking as though you may start crying.

But he cums quickly after that, ropes of searing hot white painting your cheeks and face. You watch him the entire time, panting a little, lips parted slightly and your tongue darts out to lick them, tasting him.

He laughs at your bitter reaction, and it’s such a patronizing sound.

“Don’t worry,” he says, collecting the cum off your face and forcing his fingers into your mouth. “Someday I’ll stuff your throat full of it.”

✰ ✰ ✰

You can no longer mention needing—no, wanting—anything around him anymore, because within the next few days it’s sitting pretty and perfect on your bed, propped up against your lace trimmed pillows.

He’s so good to you; you should be grateful you have such a generous niichan, one who eats you out and spoils you with gifts. You’re so spoiled.

And he tells you this, in the dead of night when you wake to find him shoving his cock into you, snarling a little at your soft whines of protest.

“Don’t be a brat,” he warns. Just be a good girl and take his cock. He does so much for you, can’t you be good for him?

Yes, yes, you want to be good for him, you want to be the best for him.

By this point you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up in the middle of the night with his head between your thighs, prepping you to take him.

“Stay sleeping, baby,” he’ll tell you, words whispered into your hair as his cockhead nudges against your hole.

As if you could ever stay sleeping when only a few minutes later he’s pounding you into oblivion, large hand clasped over your mouth so tightly his blunt nails are digging into your cheek, so hard that it’s yanking your head back, neck beginning to ache.

He tells you to be quiet, “You don’t want anyone to hear, do you? Then we’d have to stop, and you don’t want that, right, sweetheart?”

You don’t, you whimper. Of course you don’t—you want whatever he wants, you want to be his perfect little baby, you want to be told how good you take his cock, the praise mumbled against your skin in a low, strained voice right before he fills you with cum.

✰ ✰ ✰

He disappears for a few days near the end of December. You have no idea where, Touya answering your curious texts with playful quips at first before he grows tired of it and tells you to stop fucking asking.

But eventually, he returns.

The front door slams shut and your body flinches with a jolt of excitement. Adrenaline spikes your blood when you hear his heavy boots colliding with the hardwood, getting louder, louder, louder…

He passes right by you, not glancing at you at all. Moments later, the sound of water hitting the tiled shower wall echoes down the hallway.

And you wait. Patiently, you wait, like the good little girl you are, not daring to move a muscle. Eventually he re-emerges, hair still damp, a few strands sticking to his neck.

With a groan, he collapses on the couch next to you, flopping his head into your lap and gazing up at you with glazed, blown sapphire eyes.

“You’re high,” you say softly, not accusatory, just an observation. He giggles a little.

“So what if I am?”

“What did you take?”

“Oh,” he gasps mockingly. “Oh no, baby, I can’t tell you that,”

Why? The question is burning on the tip of your tongue, and you can tell that he’s anticipating that to be your next response, but you bite down on your bottom lip, holding it in. You know his answer already, can practically hear his patronizing voice—Because good baby sisters aren’t supposed to know about stuff like this.

“Can I try some?” you ask instead.

All of the mirth fades from his eyes in an instant, and he moves in a flash despite his inebriated state, so quick you can barely tell what’s happening. His large hand wraps around your bicep in a bruising grasp, pulling you towards him as he sits up, his face an inch away from yours.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he spits, cobalt eyes blazing and voice rumbling against your chest. “And if I so much as catch wind that you’re using, have a mere feeling that you’ve tried it—even just once—I’ll slaughter you and the fucker you got it from. Do you understand me?”

Surprised tears spring into your eyes and you nod jerkily, body beginning to tremble as your breath gets caught in your throat. You want to tell him that you didn’t mean it, honest, you promise!; that you were just kidding around, you swear!, but you can’t, voice mangling itself with the hitched little breaths on the back of your tongue.

He growls at your silence, his grip around your arm tightening and you cry out, terrified that he might actually crush the bone with his bare hand.

“Say, yes Touya, I understand,”

“Y-Yes Touya, I understand,” you manage to stutter out, voice returning only at the command of a direct order, tears spilling over and rolling down your cheeks in pairs. His eyes search your face for a moment, his features contorted in fury, before he sneers at you, squeezing your arm once then roughly letting go, shoving you away from him.

You fall backward against the arm of the couch, heart thumping so vigorously you’re sure he can hear it. He groans, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, exasperated.

“Fuck,” he sighs, eyes opening to glare at the ceiling. “You’ve ruined my high,”

You stare at him, breath coming out in uneven huffs, clinging to the couch.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, terrified to move lest you upset him more.

He’s silent for a moment, still staring up, until he lolls his head to the side, glancing at you through the corner of his eye. A small smirk spreads across his face.

“C’mere,” he says, nodding his head a little in indication.

“Wh-What?”

“C’mere,” he repeats. “Come make it up to me,”

Your body’s moving before you’ve given it permission to, crawling into his lap obediently, thighs on either side of his hips. His smirk widens, and you love it—you love how much control he has over you without even trying, you love the way a quiet whimper slips through your lips as his large hands begin kneading your flesh, running up your legs and grabbing your ass.

Lips trail up the column of your neck, and you tilt your head back, a silent plea for more. You can feel the way his lips curl into a grin against your skin, nipping at it a second later.

“So, how you gonna make it up to me? Huh?” he shifts his hips under you, pressing his hard cock into your clothed core. You whine a little, grinding against him.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” you breathe out while sharp teeth mar your collarbone.

“The hell you waiting for? Show me,”

You begin sliding down his body and he pushes on your shoulders, forcing you to your knees between his spread thighs. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, gaping pupils outlined by a thin ring of blue.

Holding his gaze, you lean forward with your pretty little tongue hanging out and begin licking along the straining bulge, tracing it slowly, the denim rough against your sensitive muscle. You relent though, lapping at his clothed cock in slow, long strokes, and his jeans are just thin enough for you to feel him pulse in response.

A giggle bubbles up past your lips, muffled by the denim, already beginning to feel heady as you pull simple reactions from him. Your mouth forms a cute little ‘o’ and you suck on him the best you can through his jeans, drooling all over his lap and soaking through the material.

The hand in your hair tightens into a fist, yanking hard and pulling your mouth away. “Stop fucking teasing,” he warns, a hint of something ominous in his voice.

You obey, because you always obey, tiny fingers working to quickly unbuckle his belt, pop the button, yank down the zipper. He aids you, lifting his hips and allowing you to tug his jeans down his thighs enough for his cock to spring out.

His own hand wraps around the shaft, you pausing mid-action as you reach for it.

“Open,” he demands, your dutiful lips parting immediately, letting him push his cock into the warm, wet cavern.

He sets a brutal, punishing pace from the start, refusing to give you a single moment to adjust. His other hand fists in your hair, forcing you to stay still as he rams his cock down your throat.

Reflexive tears burn your eyes, blurring your vision. You blink quickly to clear them, desperate to watch him, to catalogue all of his micro-expressions and the sound of his voice as he grunts out your name, to burn it into your mind, etch it into your very soul.

Touya’s head falls back against the couch, Adams apple bobbling with his rough whimpers, long neck and sharp collarbone on full display. If your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, you’d love to lick up his smooth skin, to trace the dips of his collarbone with your tongue and sign your name in brilliant splotches of blue and purple.

You’re gagging around his cock now, starting to feel lightheaded and struggling to inhale enough oxygen. The ache in your jaw is beginning to spread, but you ignore it, stretching your mouth open wider, to take more, to be good for him, to make him proud. It’s worth it for the hoarse, throaty moans you’re pulling from him, to hear your name shuddered out, followed by a breathy, “Fuck,”

He forces hot cum down your throat a moment later, and you choke on it, sputtering around his cock, throat spasming as it tries to force the foreign object out. He won’t let it, though. He holds your head in place, nose pressed against his pubic bone, and you can do nothing but take it, like a good little girl, like he tells you to.

But it’s all worth it. It’s all worth it, to hear his broken whines like that, to have him look down at you and pull your hair and tell you you’re good, so good for him.

And you’re sobbing by the end of it, gasping for air the moment he lets go of you, wheezing violently as your head collapses against his thigh.

“Did I—” you cough, voice raspy from having your throat fucked raw, “—Did I make it up to you, niichan?” you gaze up at him, eyelashes spiky with residual water. You’re the perfect picture of obedience, strands of hair stuck to your face where your salty tears have dried and swollen lips gleaming with saliva as you watch him with glittering eyes, waiting desperately for his praise.

He looks down at you, eyes devious and diabolical, chest heaving a little. “Of course you did,” he tells you, corners of his lips tugging up into a sharp smirk as you melt into him. “You always do, don’t you?”

#todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya #dabi x reader #dabi smut #touya x reader #dabi may be a scumbag but he loves his momma #tomura baby i’m so sorry #promise u don’t horrify me at all oof #pls come horrify me more #christ if dabi isn’t touya we’re all gonna look like goddamn fools #a buncha clowns #anyway this is my first time posting something like this #n i haven’t written smut in an extremely long time #so pls be nice #actually u should always be nice #so pls be extra nice #no one beta’d this so there’s a good chance i’ll come back to it n revise it or whatever idk i’m just sick of looking at it rn #the ‘he talks too much’ is inspired by ch 271 w hawks where he’s all ‘he’ll keep talking’#dabi shut the fuck up challenge #prone to monologuing this boy is #also sorry abt the crazy sentences with a thousand commas #apparently now i’m oscar wilde w these run on sentences #idk i still kinda like em tho #i like oscar #tw pseudo-incest #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw emotional manipulation #tw somnophilia #tw drugs

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youreyeslookliketheocean · 3 years

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youreyeslookliketheocean’s DSMP Fic Recs!!

Figured it was about time for one of these... :)

Mostly SBI-centric because they’re my favorite dynamic. I’ll probably add to this list as time goes on, and I also want to go back through my ao3 history and find some lesser-known fics I really enjoyed to rec them all. But for now...

* oneshot ** unfinished work

** the lights go out (my heart goes still) by curseworm

With his old home unwelcoming and his new one gone, Tommy is alone. After hours of staggering through the freezing snow, he finds a cabin.

Technoblade’s cabin.

He hides himself away in the deepest corner he can find, taking only what he needs to survive, wasting away in the cold and the dark. He’s petrified at the thought of being found out, terrified of what he thinks Techno would do to him.

When Techno finds his injured teenage brother huddled in a filthy little cave beneath his basement, the rage he feels is immeasurable. The voices demand blood, and blood he will give them. Dream won’t be getting away with this one.

(On the other side of the world, in a country that floats on a man-made lake, Philza gets himself in a bit of a pickle.)

** The hearth down under by Crystalquill

A tiny change gives Tommy the courage to flee to the Nether instead of the cold tundra, finding an unlikely ally in the midst of a fiery hellscape.

But tiny changes can alter the course of history. The SMP will never be the same.

(Lots of cool Nether worldbuilding in this one!!)

to be a wanderer, wandering by hydrangeasheart

Tommy's feet drag in the snow.

It's so, so cold. He's so cold. His toes are freezing. His exposed shins feel like they’ve been cut open-- even the one that’s bandaged. His wings have gone numb, which is almost, almost good, because now he can’t feel the shifting, broken bones inside of the left one, just under feathers and muscle.

He doesn’t know why he’s still walking.

Or, Tommy leaves the exploded ruins of Logstedshire behind, and walks until he finds somewhere safe.

And things keep going from there.

(A canon-divergent AU, splitting off somewhere around when Tommy started hiding out below Techno's house.)

that’s, like, a hundred miles by No_one_you_know (and then “as long as i’m here”, and “he’s my brother, i just raise him”)

Dream would kill him. Dream was going to kill him- he was going to- no, he wouldn’t. Dream was his friend- friends don’t hit each other- Dream was supposed to take care of him- Dream /was/ taking care of him.

It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. He couldn’t clear his thoughts as he stumbled to the family computer, pulling up a tab on google and frantically typing the name into the search bar.

The words Technoblade Watson stared back at him, the little black bar at the end of the letters blinking slowly, mocking him.

Why, of all people, did it have to be Technoblade?

in short: the one where dream sucks as a parental figure, tommy runs away, and visits his least favorite family member technoblade.

passerine by thcscus(blujamas)

Do I really need to put the summary here? Pretty much everyone knows this fic. Also, though, if you enjoy this one you should totally read thcscus’ connected fic, “shrike”!! It’s only at 2 chapters right now but it’s already really good and has this dark, foresty aesthetic I love...

not with a bang but with a whimper by dip_dyed_ghost

He knows Tubbo doesn’t care about him anymore. He knows that. He’s been shown that. But it doesn’t stop Tommy from caring about him. He brushes the pads of his fingers over the compass’s glass and wonders how he’s doing, if he’s tired of it all yet, if he needs help. He watches the way it points strongly in the direction over the ocean. He hopes he’s alright.

Even after everything, he hopes he’s alright.

During his exile, Tommy finds a drugged and hurt Tubbo on his doorstep. He can’t not help him.

(This one has a neat take on potions, in my opinion. Also it’s only 4 chapters so it’s a quick read!)

take this compass, follow it home by lightning_anon

Tommy's a fuck up, he can't pay attention, and never sits still. He taps his hands, pushes people away, and has never had a best friend. He's a screwed up, forgotten kid lost in the foster system. He's also just been placed with a new family. Tommy knows how this goes, he never ends up staying long. After all, no one wants a fuck up like him.

Why would this house be any different?

Or: the obligatory sleepy bois foster fic, but with a focus on the neurodivergent kids that inevitably get lost in the system.

(Genuinely want to see more books like this in original fiction. It’s part of what inspired my newest og wip, “To Build a Home.” So sweet and I feel like I had my eyes opened to some neurodivergent tendencies I never knew existed. I read this in a day and can’t rec it enough.)

bloodlines by youreyeslookliketheocean

Tommy’s an orphan on the run from his previous guardian. Philza’s a king who prides himself on keeping his kingdom in an era of peace. Wilbur’s the crown prince, and Techno’s right beside him as his adopted brother. When Phil’s kingdom of Pogtopia is threatened by the bloodvines—a strange, brainwashing plant infecting many of the surrounding kingdoms—the four must work together to keep the kingdom, and their family, safe. --- A royal au sbi fic... + the bloodvines, for spice.

(Yes I’m self-promoting. But, in my defense, I’m very proud of it. If you checked it out it would mean the world to me :’))

Heat Waves by tbhyourelame

Dream has always held a gentle admiration for George, but when their nuanced friendship trickles into his sleeping mind, he awakens to a new world of conflicting emotions and longing. Lost in the midst of a heat wave, he continuously listens to a song that works itself in to the very core of his heartache. Floridian nights, unsent messages, spiraling infatuation, and terrible, terrible weather.

Another fic I think pretty much everyone knows about. Listen, listen... I was once an idiot who said “Oh no, I’ll never read Heat Waves. It’s irl, not characters, and it’s probably cringe”... No. I was so wrong. This fic is wonderfully written, with a pretty quick moving plot and great characterizations. You do need an ao3 account to access it, though. Just to let you know. (Also read “Helium”, unfinished and hasn’t updated in awhile, but it’s the continuation).

Guitar Strings and Keyrings are What it Takes to Build a Home by Anonymous

Techno was adopted by Phil when he was 12 years old.

He'd been enjoying his morning before Phil came to him asking if he would mind them taking in another kid. Against his better judgement, Techno agrees and ends up with two new foster brothers who he was determined to not get attached to, no matter what.

Tommyinnit’s unbeatable method of avoiding sudden death by eneliii

“I uh,” Tommy starts, not knowing how to break this to the hero lightly. He hates to be the bearer of bad news. “I think your powers are broken? It’s not a bad thing of course, but like, I swear you tried to mind control me and it like, totally failed. Which is fine, honestly, don’t feel insecure. Everyone’s power stop working sometimes… I think.”

Sheesh, this is very awkward. Why is no one else talking? Why is Philza looking at him like he grew three heads? Why is the Blade staring at him so intensely? Why is Willow still frozen?

“Did I, did I hit a nerve? Yikes,” Tommy hisses, “Well um,” He steps back, bracing his legs and bending his knees, “This was like super fun, but I’m - I’mma head out.”

or,

in which Tommy manages to annoy the hell out of Phil, Techno and Wilbur by being both impossible to catch and irritatingly endearing.

or or,

a crack fic where Tommy is a vigilante and Phil, Techno and Wilbur are the heroes hunting him down.

(Feel like I am obligated to say how incredibly funny this fic is. Seriously. I have a distinct memory of sitting on my neighborhood park’s swing, giggling hysterically, while reading this. Well...until the end... but we won’t get into that...)

** bones in the ocean by bunflower

“Your reputation precedes you, y’know.”

“Does it, now?” Philza watches him coyly from where he’s now leaning against the wall, arms folded around his chains and gaze half-lidded, his lips curled in an arrogant, cat-like smirk.

“The Angel of Death, the ferryman of the Styx, the terror of the western seas. One of the most feared captains ever to sail, and yet, I have to wonder… how did a man like you end up all on his own? We searched the area where you were found—not another soul in sight. So,” He fixes him with a long look, allowing the silence to hover like a dark cloud, the words rolling off of his tongue with all the venom and smugness he can muster, “—tell me, Philza. Where is your crew?”

OR: Technoblade is a naval captain, and Phil his unwilling prisoner. Somehow, they manage to come out of it as friends in the end.

(Is this fic considered popular like passerine/Heat Waves now? Cause I feel like it’s reputation precedes itself, at this point... Pirate au.)

****

Okay! That’s it for now. Like I said, though, I want to add to this over time and also dig back for some older things I’ve read. Also, if you have any recs feel free to send them in! I’m about to go back to school and therefore might not have time for reading fun stuff, but whenever I get the chance I’d love to check them out!!!

Happy Reading!!

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blouisparadise · 3 years

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Upon request, here is a rec list of bottom Louis fics where Harry radiates sex appeal. We hope you enjoy this fics! If you find our rec lists useful, please support them by liking the post and reblogging it to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Gimme Gimme | Mature | 5957 words

He dragged himself to his bedroom and flopped down face-first onto the bed, groaning, and started thinking about that new neighbor. Maybe this was his chance. Maybe this was the time for him to actually try and find a love interest that lasted longer than 2 weeks. He rolled over and sat up on the bed, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked out the window.

And what he saw was probably the most amazing thing on the planet.

Walking into his new neighbor’s house was a man in a suit, carrying a briefcase while his Porsche sat in the driveway.

2) Under the Vanilla Sky | Explicit | 8006 words

Who the hell wears a hat like that on a yacht? That's one of the things Louis thinks when he sees Harry from across the deck of the most expensive, ridiculous boat he's ever been on. He also thinks he'd like to get closer. Just to see what's under those aviators. Just to verify that, yes, in fact, those white swim trunks might be a little see-through when wet. Just to see if someone could really be that hot in real life. On a yacht. In the Caribbean sea just off the coast of St. Barts.

Here's what really happened on that yacht.

3) Sweet Like Cherry Vodka | Not Rated | 8039 words

When he exits the building he instantly sees him. He’s leaning against his white Mercedes Benz convertible. The car makes him look more expensive. Of course, the navy blue suit that fits tightly around his broad shoulders — making Louis want to fall to his knees, mind you — also helps to get the message across. He looks up from his phone, his sleek black aviators block Louis from seeing his dark eyes.

When Louis knows Harry's watching him he smiles. A grin grows on Harry’s mouth, his strong jaw moves cockily while he chews his gum. How does someone make chewing gum so hot?

“Need a ride sweetheart?” Harry calls to him, the statement adds to his cocky demeanor.

“You know I do, silly.” Louis laughs at how ridiculous the older man can be.

4) You And I ‘Till The Day We Die | Explicit | 10807 words

Prompt 124: A fic inspired by Groupie Love by Lana Del Rey, where Harry is a Rockstar and Louis is his cute little boyfriend who tries to hide himself in the middle of the crowd. (Preferably set in the 80s)

5) Guns N Roses | Mature | 14069 words

Harry's an assassin, Louis is a government agent. They hate each other but not really.

6) My English Love Affair | Explicit | 19198 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

The thing about sleeping with a member of a famous indie band is that the inevitability of having a song written about you is most likely a hundred percent. The second thing is that in the end, nobody's supposed to find out it's about you.

The one where Harry writes a song about his English love affair and Louis sleeps with someone in White Eskimo and all he gets is a stupid song written about him.

7) The Way The Storm Blows | Explicit | 21649 words

Louis doesn’t have a habit of thinking about Harry’s dick.

That would be weird, seeing as they’re best mates, and they share a flat, and they’ve spent holidays at each other’s family homes. Their friendship hasn’t ever risen to a point where Louis should want to see his mate’s dick, and he’s happy to keep it that way.

Except, all that Louis can think about is exactly that. The size of it. The shape. The amount of people it’s been in.

Maybe it’s the tequila talking, or the fact that Louis’ just recently walked in to an eyeful of Harry taking turns on some slags that he’s never seen before, but. Louis’ mind can’t stop obsessing over the idea.

8) Even The Best Laid Plans | Explicit | 25190 words

Louis wants to have sex with someone and decides Harry is the perfect alpha for the job.

9) A Trail Of Honey Through It All | Explicit | 27086 words

The boy in front of him, well really, the man in front of him, was like something out of a confusing wet dream. Built, tall, tan and muscular, his skin glistened with sweat after a long day of working outdoors with his hands. He was wearing a cut up old American football shirt, the bottom hem was torn and the sleeves were cut off to the point where the t-shirt was really just a loose tank top. The shorts he had on had clearly been full length jeans at one point, and were now just crudely cut off above the knee. His white socks were pulled up too high on his calves, and the brown work boots he had on were old as fuck, the leather peeling along the edges of the soles. Curly brown hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards snapback, and there was a smudge of grease wiped along his brow bone. The smattering of hair along his jaw proved that he hadn’t shaved in a week or two, the hair growing in thicker across his upper lip and around his chin. His sinfully bowed mouth was pink and plump, and Louis was suddenly hyper-focused on the way that he chewed at the toothpick stuck between his lips. He looked like he needed a shower. Louis wanted to lick him.

10) Carnelian | Explicit | 30631 words

Louis finds himself donating blood to the most beautiful being he's ever seen.

11) Take My Pure (And Wash It All Away ‘Til I’m Cured) | Explicit | 40629 words

They're all 19. Louis is a twink, Harry is a frat boy hunk. Harry for some reason wants his makeup done for pride, and Louis is just trying so very hard to stay clear of all alleged fuckboys this year.

12) In The Still Of The Night | Explicit | 68568 words

The Dirty Dancing AU where Louis is a feisty omega who wants to change the world, Harry is an alpha from the wrong side of the tracks, and nobody puts Louis in a corner.

13) Waiting On You | Explicit | 76576 words

“Vampires,” Louis says with disgust, glaring over at the vampire who is noisily slurping from the woman’s neck nearby.

Zayn gives the neat fang marks on Louis’ neck a meaningful look.

“Can’t live with them, can’t live without them,” Louis finishes, ignoring Zayn when he rolls his eyes.

Louis takes a long sip of his milkshake, presses his fingers against the marks on his neck, and definitely doesn’t think about the vampire who left them there.

14) Your Name is Tattooed on My Heart | Explicit | 86809 words

Note: This fic has mentions of top Louis.

Louis is ready to find the love of his life, but first he has to stop falling for the punk rocker next door.

15) Beyond The Point Of Weird | Mature | 108331 words

Louis meets Harry one night and well... Of course things lead from one thing to another. How could Louis not be interested in having a go at the ex-Rockstar who'd starred in his first wet dream?

When Harry asks him to pretend to be his boyfriend to help him clear up his image, Louis agrees because why the fuck not. Yet it kind of feels like the only 'fake' part of their relationship is the title they chose for it... And then it gets confusing.

Louis' pretty sure he walked right into a trap - one he's not quite sure he wants to escape.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#fic recs #bottom louis #top harry #sex appeal #blp fic recs #blp #larry

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accioxreparo · 4 years

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ink stains

synopsis: soulmate au in which every mark that appears on your body also appears on your soulmate’s body including, as you discover one day, drawings. Needless to say you’re determined to make your soulmate smile, even if you haven’t found them yet.

pairing: George Weasley x ravenclaw!reader

warnings: none

a/n: Hi I’m late to the party but @thoseofgreatambition is doing a soulmate theme night and I’m a ho for soumate au’s so hopefully mine is decent enough lol also I may or may not be writing one for fred too but it’s taking me ages so

tagging: @the-hufflepuff-of-221b

~~~~~~

When you were six years old you woke up one morning to dark stains splattered all over your face and arms. You were confused and quickly grew panicked, absolutely positive that you had contracted Dragon Pox overnight. It had taken an hour for your dad to calm you down enough so he could explain with a small grin that your soulmate must’ve spilled an inkwell on themselves.

“What do you mean?” You had asked with wide, curious eyes.

“Well,” Your dad had reached for the bedside table and picked up a quil. “Everybody has a soulmate, Y/N. One day you start being able to see the marks that appear on your soulmate's body, permanent or temporary. For you, that day happens to be today.” He dipped the quil in a well filled with bright blue ink and handed it to you. “Why don’t you give it a try? Write your soulmate a message.”

“What if they don’t write back?” You had frowned then, suddenly worrying that maybe this mystery person on the other end would want nothing to do with you.

“Well that’s okay,” Your dad had been quick to reassure you. “They might not be able to see the marks yet. But one day they will and I just know they’ll be ecstatic to know you’re here.”

After that day there was a constant stream of doodles all over you. Vines snaking up your ankle. Twisting patterns winding around your fingers. Planets and stars littering your collarbone area. Stripes of random colors all over your palms as you mixed new colors. The most detailed pictures were always on your left arm though, that was where you practiced new drawings.

Occasionally you wrote a message but mostly you drew. Then one day you bought a book about charms to cast on drawings in Flourish and Blotts and you begged your dad every chance you got to cast them for you. After that at least a few pictures were always moving up and down your body.

When you got your very own wand at the age of eleven they were the first spells you practiced. By the end of your first year at Hogwarts you had mastered the whole book. Since then there was always a constant supply of different colored inks in your bag and pockets. The array of multicolored moving pictures that changed every day was your one connection to your soulmate.

They had yet to write back.

It had been ages since you first found your connection to your soulmate. You’d dealt with scars and bruises and occasional scribbled reminders but never once had you ever received even an acknowledgment of anybody seeing your drawings.

You tried not to let it bother you, you really did. But it seemed like every single person around you had known their soulmate for years, in one way or another. Some days the smile you wore wasn’t quite genuine, the longing you felt growing a little deeper at times, but never once did you fail to decorate your limbs with gentle reminders that you were there for your soulmate to find on themselves.

Not until that day. You were set to leave for school the next morning and your father had taken the week off of work to see you off. The two of you, your older brother, and your younger sister were probably too focused on the quidditch match you had going against each other in the backyard of your house. So much so that the bludger hit your way completely blindsided you.

The match ended with panicked shouts, a trip to St. Mungos, and your left arm wrapped tightly in cloth bandages as it rested in a sling while your bones healed.

It was only when you were sitting in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express that the strangest thing happened. Words scrawled in letters that weren’t your own had appeared on your right arm.

Nothing new today?

As you stared at the writing with wide eyes, more words appeared underneath those.

I’m sure this is bending the rules but I had to know. Something’s wrong isn’t it?

Frantically you dumped out the contents of your bag, scattering them all over the floor of the compartment. You dug around the mess you had made until you found a self-inking quil. Just as you were about to write your response you caught sight of the bandages on your arm and gave a defeated sigh.

“Would you like some help?”

You looked up and saw Luna, a friend of yours a couple years below you, watching you with an amused smile. The two of you would always sit up late in the common room together, swapping theories and stories about anything and everything.

“If you don’t mind,” You gave her a sheepish look and she only smiled before moving to sit next to you.

“What would you like me to write?” Luna asked as she took the quil out of your hand. You smiled and told her, watching as she took your arm and wrote out your words for you.

What makes you think something is wrong?

It was seconds later when you received your response.

Not once in the six years since I’ve been able to see your drawings have you let a day pass where you don’t add new ones. What’s wrong?

A smile graced your face and Luna was kind enough to help you continue the conversation happening on your arm.

I’m fine. Just a Quidditch injury. I’ll have the bandages removed by tonight, don’t worry.

Take your time. I don’t want you to hurt longer than you have to, love.

You were sure it was cheating, talking to your soulmate by writing messages on your arm. But if whatever soulmate forces were out there didn’t want you to talk to them then there shouldn’t have been such a simple loophole.

That’s what comforted you late that night, now gently scrawling messy words quickly on your arm that had been broken only the day before. Never before had you been more thankful for Skele-Gro.

Can I ask you something?

The print you wrote with was small on purpose, trying to keep as much room available as possible. It didn’t stop you, however, from doodling new little pictures on the back of your hand.

Go for it.

Why haven’t you ever said anything before? Why now?

You stared at the words you had written for a few moments before sighing and heading to the bathroom that was connected to your room. Only after staring at the words covering both arms now for a minute or two did you start washing away the ink you had put there.

For a minute you thought that you shouldn’t have asked. You stood in silence, watching as the remainder of the ink, the part written in your soulmates handwriting, was slowly washed away leaving only faint ink stains. Then to your relief a response came after it was all gone.

I was worried. And let’s just say I’m not as artistic as you are, my talents lie in other places.

For a second the writing stopped but then more words appeared, quicker than they had before.

Also I may have missed seeing you draw new pictures for me a little too much.

You beamed at the words and walked back to your bed. After the curtains were pulled around it you lit the end of your wand and picked up your quil again.

Do you like them? The pictures.

The response was almost immediate.

I love them.

***

“Miss Y/L/N.”

You jumped in your seat at the sound of a voice calling your name. Slowly you looked up from where you were taking notes on nonverbal spells. Professor Flitwick stood only a few feet away with an exasperated look on his face. Meanwhile both of the Weasley twins sat at their desk looking quite satisfied with whatever they had just done.

You’d been correct to assume they were behind whatever loud noise had been going on only minutes before. The desk the twins were sitting at was now charred and the other Gryffindors surrounding them were chatting excitedly about whatever it was you missed while your nose was buried in your charms book.

Neither Fred or George Weasley missed the fact that you were trying and failing to keep back an amused smile.

“You’ll be getting a new partner to do your project with,” Professor Flitwick lifted his wand and with a single flick a bag and a pile of unused textbooks was flying across the room and into the empty space next to you. “Mr. Weasley.”

Both boys stood at the same time wearing matching smirks and chorused, “Yes, Professor?”

You covered your mouth with your hand to stifle your laugh when Professor Flitwick sighed and shook his head upon realizing that he really should have seen that coming. “Mr. George Weasley. Come meet your new partner.”

Oddly enough said person didn’t look disappointed by the new assignment at all. Instead he grinned as he approached you, sliding into the chair beside you easily.

You could count the number of times you had spoken to George Weasley on one hand. The first time had been during potions when he’d asked to borrow some foxglove for a pompion potion. It wasn’t the potion you’d been assigned to brew but you hadn’t questioned it. The second time he’d walked up to you and your friends after a quidditch match to congratulate Ravenclaw on their victory against Slytherin despite the fact that none of you were on the team. And the third time was only a few weeks before when he asked to borrow a spare quil in transfiguration.

You doubted he remembered any of that though.

“So partner,” George leaned on the desk, head resting on one of his hands as he looked at you. “What do you know about,” He reached over to look at the piece of parchment you’d been taking your notes on. “Nonverbal spells? That’s our topic?”

“It is,” You nodded and reached for your notes, hoping he wouldn’t flip over the parchment to see the drawings you’d absentmindedly doodled during the lecture. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” George’s smile turned softer then as he stared at you, a fact which you noticed. You turned away quickly as you felt your face burn, hoping silently that it wasn’t too noticeable. “On the contrary. From what I hear you’ve already mastered a few nonverbal spells yourself Y/N, dearest.”

You froze then, not sure which revelation surprised you more. The fact that apparently you had developed a reputation without you knowing or the fact that George Weasley of all people knew your name.

You tried your hardest to fight the temptation to ask how he knew you and why.

“Class is almost over,” Your words came out rushed and a little too loud to sound natural. It wasn’t a complete lie. In just ten minutes you’d all be dismissed and that was hardly enough time to make even a small dent into your project. “We should meet sometime before our next class to get started if we want to have it done by the due date.”

“You’re so...ravenclaw,” George spoke after a few moments. When you looked at him again he was still giving you that same soft smile, a different sort of glint in his eyes than the one you were used to seeing every now and then.

For a second your thoughts drifted to the words scrawled on your right arm and the pictures on your left. They were covered up by the sleeves of your sweater as they usually were but you could picture the words you and your soulmate had written to each other earlier that day clearly.

“Is that a bad thing?” You found yourself asking, for some strange reason not being able to bring yourself to pull away from George’s gaze.

“No,” He shook his head gently almost immediately. “It’s perfect.”

***

You had to give credit where credit was due. When it came down to it, George Weasley could in fact step up to the plate.

Even now, an early Sunday morning the day after a trip to Hogsmeade, he sat right in front of you.

You knew for a fact he had been up late the previous night causing his usual mischief alongside his brother. One of the Ravenclaw prefects had been patrolling the halls and you overheard him complaining about having to send the twins back to their dorm for the fourth day in a row when he entered the common room.

It had made you smile.

You’d spent at least a couple hours each day alongside George for the past two and a half weeks. Some of that time had indeed been spent on your project but you found it easier to talk to him than you thought it would be. You couldn’t even begin to count the variety of tales he told you just to hear you laugh.

That, however, meant that the two of you had developed a tendency to avoid your work resulting in you being behind. The next day the two of you would have to present in front of the class. You had already gotten away with postponing the presentation twice.

The first time you had told Professor Flitwick that you needed more time to gather as much information as the topic deserved. The second time George had eaten one of the products he had told you he was working on, one he called a nosebleed nougat. It had worked like a charm and the moment you left the classroom with him he ate another candy and it stopped.

It was the only reason the two of you had woken up at that godforsaken hour of the morning on a Sunday. There was simply no other option now.

“I think all of our research is done and I can write up some notes for us to remember during the presentation,” You reached for another roll of parchment from your bag to do just that before dipping your quil in an inkwell filled with bright blue ink. “But we still need to practice some nonverbal spells for the practical demonstration. What do you think we should -”

It wasn’t until you looked away from the pile of books in front of you and at George that you realized he had dozed off. His head was resting on his arms which were crossed on the desk in front of him and he looked almost peaceful for once.

The corner of a piece of parchment was sticking out from under one of his arms and suddenly you couldn’t help yourself. Slowly you leaned forward until you could reach the parchment and you began to sketch a field of flowers on the paper in various ink colors.

You didn’t notice your own smile as you did so.

Then the end of your quil brushed across George’s face and he almost immediately bolted up in his seat. After rubbing the sleep out of his eyes once more he looked over only to find you biting your bottom lip to keep from laughing.

“You look suspicious,” George narrowed his eyes at you playfully when he saw the look on your face, still not noticing the addition to his parchment.

“Do I?” You smiled then as you leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms in front of you.

“You do,” He leaned forward on the desk again and the grin you’d come to see on a regular basis returned. “May I ask why?”

“No reason at all. I’m just excited to learn some nonverbal spells is all,” You laughed as you stood from your seat, squinting a little at the late morning sun shining through the windows. “Speaking of, I’m gonna go search for some books a friend of mine recommended with some spells we could use.”

“Do we not have enough of those here?” George said as he glanced at the pile of no less than seven books, none of which he could remember anything about.

“Those are all on history and theory. We need something on practical application.”

“Right,” George let out a sigh as he reached for one of the unopened books. “You’re lucky I like you. I can’t remember the last time I did this much reading for a project.”

You hummed and then shook your head, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Don’t I feel honored.”

“Just get on with it,” George glanced up from the pages of the book he’d been flipping through and at you again, this time with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Faster we finish with this, the sooner we can sneak into the kitchens for a late breakfast.”

You were quick to agree. George watched as you disappeared behind one of the bookshelves. It was only when he was sure you were gone that he rolled up the sleeve of his sweater and reached for a quil, quickly scribbling a message to his soulmate on his right arm.

When he was done writing the message he caught sight of the flowers that you had drawn on the corner of his parchment and he grinned. Almost absentmindedly he started drawing flowers around your own, albeit a little simpler than the designs you had made. It took a minute for his eyes to widen, quil falling out of his hand, realizing that the flowers you had drawn on the paper he had already seen dozens of times before. In fact, a variation of them sat on his left arm now.

***

Finally four hours later you and George sat in the kitchens which you’d found surprisingly empty. Breakfast and lunch had come and gone and the two of you had gladly accepted a variety of foods from a couple of the house elves.

You were completely oblivious to the way George was studying you closely, trying as hard as he could to see if he was right.

“Puddlemere United,” He said when he caught sight of the patch sewn onto the jacket you were wearing. “I take it you’re a fan?”

“I sort of have to be,” You laughed a little when you saw the confused look flash on George’s face. “My dad is Puddlemere’s captain.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not, promise,” You smiled as you shook your head. Without hesitation you pulled off your jacket, flipping it around so the back was visible, and pointed to a navy blue crest with the Puddlemere United logo and the word ‘captain’ across it in bold, golden letters. “Has been for a few years now and here’s your proof.”

But when you looked at George he wasn’t looking at the jacket at all. Instead he was staring at the variety of words and pictures covering your arms. You could see his eyes darting back and forth and quickly pulled your arm away and under the table.

“Wait,” He reached across the table and took your hand in his, slowly turning your arm around so he could see all every single stroke of ink. You could only watch as he gently traced the designs with his free hand.

The moment was soft, intimate in the purest way. You swore you could hear your own heart thumping louder each second that passed. It reached its peak when George placed your arm on the table in front of the two of you only to pull off the sweater he’d been wearing. It was then that the breath you were holding in left you.

Every single ink stain on your arms was perfectly reflected on his. Now that you looked closer you wondered how you hadn’t recognized his handwriting right away, you’d spent the last few months writing back and forth after all. You’d been so focused on the drawings and the writing that you hadn’t noticed what, or rather who was right in front of you.

“I knew it was you, you know.”

Your laugh was light when you finally dared to look at George once more. He was looking at you with pure and utter adoration and you were positive you wore the same expression. “Did you now?”

“I did,” George grinned as he took your hand again, more confident than he had previously been. “Remember our first year when I asked you for that foxglove? I was supposed to nick it from one of the shelves but you had your sleeves rolled up and I swore I saw the edge of the stars you had drawn earlier that day. I went to get a closer look but they were covered again.”

“And I suppose it was the same thing in transfiguration a month ago?” You shook your head with an amused smile as you thought back to the encounter. It all seemed so obvious now.

“It was. Same thing with the quidditch match a few years ago too,” He leaned forward as if what he were about to tell you were a secret. Suddenly it was like he couldn’t let you go, not that he’d ever want to now that he’d finally found you. “What made me almost certain though was the little drawing you left on my parchment earlier. I knew I’d seen those before.”

“Well I suppose it’s a good thing you’ve kept your eyes open unlike me apparently,” You were beaming as you glanced down at the matching pictures present on both of you. “What do we do now?”

“I’m glad you asked,” George immediately stood, pulling you up with him. He grabbed hold of your jacket still sitting on the table and started pulling you out of the kitchens. “Now that we’ve found each other we’re going to make up for lost time.”

“By doing what exactly?” You asked, eyebrows raised questioningly and a slight smirk on your face.

“Head out of the gutter, love,” George laughed as the two of you walked back up the stairs still hand in hand. He looked down at you with a wild grin on his face. “We’re going on our first date if you’re up for it.”

You agreed instantly and happily followed to wherever it was George would take you, just as you knew you always would from that moment on.

#the ending is eh but i love soulmates #hp fanfic #harry potter imagine #harry potter one shot #george weasley x reader #george weasley #george wealsey imagine #george weasley x y/n #soulmate au #george weasley fanfiction #c: george weasley #my stuff #my fics

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spideymarvelws · 3 years

Text

Ready Or Not

Prince!Tom Holland x Fem!Reader

Main Masterlist / Add Yourself To My Taglists

A/n : I like royal aus leave me alone

Summary : With the plan in action to finally take down the king, you and Tom have a final talk before the battle for freedom, not before he has a vivid nightmare leaving him questioning if everything is really worth it to save his people.

Warnings : cursing, descriptions of blood, death (animals and people), violence, floof and angst

Word Count : 4.2k

...

“Again,”

“But father-”

“I said again.”

Tom took a deep breath, rolling his shoulder muscle before loading his bow with an arrow, raising it up and drawing it back. He didn't want to release it, he already killed so many harmless animals that his father just left to rot, not even taking it in to use as food for the kingdom.

Sure, the rest of the animals of the forest would have a field day with the meat, but what was the point when they had the power to do it themselves? Maybe it was just the sick smile on his father’s face when he walked up to the dead corpse, kicking its limp body in victory. He could still feel the bile in his stomach threatening to rise when every arrow hit, killing the helpless animals.

“Shoot it Thomas,” His father whispered faintly in his ears, a harsh hand falling on his shoulder, “Shoot it in the heart,”

Tom held his breath, aiming the arrow at the animal before finally releasing, flinching at the sound of arrowhead puncturing the flesh. He looked down at the ground in shame, not wanting to see the dead animal bleeding out on the floor.

“Good job,” his father said, patting his shoulder, “She’s going to enjoy the pain,”

Tom grew confused at his fathers words, usually he wouldn't question his outlandish comments but the exhaustion creeping up his back took away the filter keeping his thoughts to himself, “I don’t know about that father,” he scoffed, ready to move on the next victim if that meant getting back to the castle early.

“Shame really, she was a beautiful one,” he continued, ignoring his son’s words, “But that’s what you get when you come into the wrong territory,”

Tom rolled his eyes, “Pretty sure we’re the ones who invaded them,”

“Still, I'm still powerful enough to let you do the work for me,” he cackled, “Powerful enough to make you kill your own friend or was she more than that?” he said slowly, his voice becoming dangerously low,“Y/h/c hair, y/e/c eyes and a spirit that lead to her demise,” his voice started to echo, “By your own hand,”

Tom’s eyes shot open, he looked back at his father before looking at the clearing where he shot the deer. Instead of the bleeding out animal he expected, he saw you, on your knees with an arrow sticking straight out of your chest.

“No,” he uttered, dropping his weapon and running to you, sliding to his knees as your body fell, limp in his arms.

“No, no, no,” he repeated, holding you close to his chest. The arrow melted away, leaving a hole in the middle of your body.

“If only you didn’t bring her into this,” his fathers voice continued to boom in the back of his mind as he shakily put his hand on your cheek, drips of water falling from his eyes and on to your skin, “If only you were not foolish enough to defy me!”

Tom tried his best to block out his father's voice, which was much easier than he expected when he looked down at your face. Blood seeping out of your nose with your eyes wide and blown without movement and your skin becoming dull and cold to the touch. He didn't care that the red liquid stained his clothes or his father’s hurtful words, all he cared about in that moment was you.

He clenched his eyelids together, “This isn't real, this isn't real,” he said to himself, rocking your body back and forth in his arms as he held you impossibly closer, “This- this isn't real,”

“Is...it?” you croaked, coughing up a wad of blood from your mouth, “Is- Is this not reality?”

“It can’t be,” he cried softly, shakily wiping the blood dripping down from your nose, “I won’t allow it,”

“B-but you d-did,” you began coughing again, “I’m dead,” your voice trailed off, “I’m dead because of-” you paused, your lip quivering, “because of you,”

Your head drifted to the side, your eyes becoming empty with no movement. Tom couldn't breath, his mind too busy trying to process your still body in his arms, your skin blotched with blood and the words that just spilled from your mouth. He sat in silence, completely in shock as the warm touch from your skin was replaced with the coldness of the snow falling from the sky.

“Don’t worry Tommy,” his father sneered, a hand falling on his shoulder just like moments ago, “She won’t be going alone,”

Tom raised his head, suddenly he wasn't in a dense forest but a large plain, bodies splayed all along the dry grass. They continued on for as long as he could see, disappearing into the distance. The ones closest to him he recognized, close colleagues and friends part of the rebellion, the same people he convinced years ago to join his cause having the same fate as you. When he looked back at your face, it was replaced with a dirty skull, the rest of your body just a pile of bones.

He pushed away the skeleton, crawling backwards when his father began walking over the corpses, kicking them aside like pebbles on a sidewalk.

“I thought I taught you well, I thought you were ready to be the future king,” His father made large steps towards him, his stance looming over him, growing and growing with each one. His boots hitting the floor shook the ground beneath him, keeping him stuck to the floor and unable to stand.

Soon his back hit the trunk of a tree, stopping him in his tracks as his father came closer and closer.

“All these men, they could've been safe, alive with their families,” he chuckled, “But now there dead, dead because of you,”

Suddenly his father grew, his gold tunic stretching, tearing off his chest as his skin morphed into a black mush. His eyes turned sharp and red, glowing as the wind began to blow harshly, taking away some of the black liquid, only for it to grow back, patching the menacing monster his father turned into.

But before it could swallow him whole, he shot up in his bed drowning in sweat.

His hand slapped to his chest as he steadied his breathing, the other supporting himself on his makeshift mattress of leaves and scraps of cloth. He quickly took off his shirt, throwing it off to the side as he bursted out of the tent, stumbling to the ocean.

As he reached the sand, he fell to his knees, his hands reaching for the water and splashing it on his face in a desperate attempt to rid his eyes of what he just saw, what he just lived through. But washing his face alone wasn't enough, your blood didn't just hit his face but his body, his clothes. He stood up shakily, walking slowly into the cold water.

As cold as your skin when you died in his arms.

He shivered at the thought, continuing to submerge himself in the ocean, feeling more and more at peace with each step. He walked until he was fully under, his body moving with the waves of the water, cleansing him from the night.

But his father’s sick smile haunted him, even in the tranquility.

It was the same smile he’d seen since he was little. He remembered his first memory of it, when he was only four standing out on the balcony as he watched him raise the taxes in the kingdom after the beheading of a guard who was conspiring against him.

His young brain didn’t comprehend what happened that day, but the days to come definitely showed the effects his father had on the people. He never traveled to the village often, but when he did he always managed to keep his head down, shame and guilt filling his mind at the clothes and jewels weighed down in his body when everyone else wore musty brown potato sacks.

The differences only became worse when he grew older, resenting his father more and more as he noticed the gap between him and his people, the rich and poor. He only ever kept the men who were useful to him, pushing everyone else aside as casualties of his power.

The last straw was when he was fourteen, when his father brutally murdered a man right in front of his family for not lowering the price of his wine. He ran into the woods that night, looking for an escape. But the shadows of the trees and rustle of the small animals made him even more scared and lost.

But that was when he found you running through the trees, giggling with a bunny in your arms. You spotted him cowering in the bush, offering your hand and your new pet as comfort. You were an orphan, a free spirit roaming the woods with the animals as your only friends. Later on he learned that you had a mentor who taught you your skills in swordsmanship only to lose a fight protecting you against his father’s guards.

You resented him at first upon seeing the emblem of the kingdom sewn into his clothes, but he gained your trust by ripping off the patch and stomping on it with his boots, offering you his companionship.

From there you two were inseparable, he snuck out to meet you almost every night either to talk, to train or to just stroll around, enjoying each other's presence. Sure, he had multiple friends back in the castle, he had his brothers who also joined him for the rebellion, but the bond he made with you was different to anything he’s ever had before.

You were the first person he went to when he started to conspire against his father. You were the person who helped him through it, who taught him things he never knew. You were his first everything, his first fight, his first loss, his first win, his first kiss and his first love.

He couldn’t lose you, anybody but you.

And seeing you, the blood, the look, the words spilling from your mouth. He couldn't help but think it wouldn't be just a dream, that his father would get to him, would change him back to the life of a royal and make him betray the only people he was able to call home.

He wasn’t ready to face his father, no matter how many times he told himself that he was just a person, in his eyes he was the black void he saw in his dreams. A monster that couldn't be defeated.

Before he could think further, his breath caught up to him making him choke.

He gasped as his face broke the water, flailing around his arms to stay up float. He didn't know how long he had been underwater, but it gave him enough time to come up with three conclusions;

That this rebelion wasn't going to work.

The fear of his father never left.

And he was going to loose you because he was to idiotic to keep you out of his father’s wrath.

He decided to lay in the water until the sun rose and his skin became wrinkly.

...

“They’re going to set up soldiers all around the walls, our objective is to break in without being detected,” your voice boomed through the cave, concentrating on the map drawn into the brown sand, “We have people on the inside prepared to give us armor and all the materials we need,” you looked up to the people around you, “I need everyone else on the outside, even with our intel, we don’t know what the king might have up his sleeve,”

Tom watched from the corner as everyone nodded their heads. He could see almost every emotion passing through their minds, fear, confusion, regret, determination. But it was too late for them too back out now despite whatever they may be thinking, it was too late for anyone. The plans have already been set, years of preparation for tomorrow couldn't go to waste.

“Any questions?” You leaned back on the rock you sat on, looking around at the people surrounding you. Nobody dared to say anything, only looking around to there fellow pairs, silently communicating with each other, “Great,” you took the silence as a yes, “get some rest everyone,” You looked up to him with a tired smile, “You’re going to need it,”

Tom looked on as everyone dispersed, walking with one another to their respective tents and beds for the night. Usually he would stay behind with you near the fire until it went out, talking about whatever came to mind. But this time he couldn't find the heart to approach you, images of his dream flashing through his mind every time he caught a glimpse of your face illuminated by the flames.

Images of your bloody face, the harsh words seeping out of your mouth along with his father’s words jabing at his chest, making it hurt more and more with every passing second.

To the point where he couldn't handle standing in your presence much longer.

He walked out of the cave, not caring for the people he bumped into on the way out. He could feel the weight on his chest leave as soon as he caught a glimpse of the sun leaving from behind the ocean.

Despite the pressing times, the location of your lookout was beautiful. A cliff located on the outskirts of the kingdom, near the waters where the docks were only a short trip away. Sure, it was risky to set up so close to the castle, but you insisted solely because of the view.

“Shouldn't you be sleeping with everyone else?” You said from behind him, your footsteps crunching the dry grass beneath it.

“I could say the same for you,” he replied, keeping his gaze on the sea, he knew that he couldn't face you yet, but he didn't have the heart to walk away from a conversation, “You out of all of us need it,”

“We all need it Tommy,” You sighed, waking up beside him with your arms crossed, “Tomorrow is-,”

“-a very important day, I know,” he nodded his head playfully, “You’ve said it to me hundreds of times today Y/n/n, I’m surprised you didn't include it in your little speech,”

“Did you not like it?” You teased, “I thought it was quite good,”

“I’ve heard it so many times i’ve become numb to it at this point so I can't really say,” he chuckled, dropping his head to the floor, “But for your ego, it was amazing,”

“Thank you,” you said smugly, “You would have done well to you know, instead of brooding in the corner,”

“Your the spokesman here, not me,” he grinned, “I’m the one who has to safe your ass when it goes poorly,”

“I’m sorry, was i not the one who had to teach you how to hold a fucking sword properly?”

“I’m good with a sword!”

“Against a hundred men?”

“Well-,” he cut himself off, thinking of the odds in the situation. He had skill, but he was no wear as agile with a sword as you were. That, and bows weren't made for close combat.

“Thought so,” you smirked when he kept silent, pulling out a blade from your belt and twirling it around in the moonlight. You jotted it in his direction, giggling as he flinched away from the weapon, “Seems all of my training has been for nothing,”

“I’m not scared of the blade, I’m scared of you there’s a difference,”

“Then I take that back, I’m doing my job just fine,” you smiled, putting away your weapon,“Look, I have the sword and you have the arrows,” you shrugged, nudging his side with your elbow, “We make the perfect team,”

“Yeah,” he sighed, looking off at the sea, “Perfect team,”

You bit your lip, looking off into the distance with him. Tom was never one to express his emotions often, he always kept up his reputation of being a stone cold leader. But in your eyes, he was as easy to read as a children's book. You knew when he was holding back, the stiffness in his posture, his subtle lean away from you. You knew that if you leaned in to take his hand in comfort, he would deny it.

Even this morning, you noticed his hesitation to approach you with his usual hug, instead he gave you a half hearted smile before taking his horse for a ride in the nearby field. He didn't come back till sun set, waiting till the meeting to even be in the same room as you. You were surprised he didn't walk away when you approached him by the cliff, but you were grateful that he didn't.

“Everything alright?” you started, looking at him in hopes that he would make eye contact.

“You already know the answer to that Y/n,” he sighed, passing his hand over his face.

You nodded, pushing your hands into the pockets of your pants, “Well, are you going to tell me about it or just stand around stand around like a little gremlin,” you tried to make a joke but it fell flat.

Tom opened and closed his mouth, his face twisted from worry to anger to sadness. It was hard to keep up with only the side profile you saw.

“I had a dream,” he finally mumbled, letting out a deep sigh, “Well, more like nightmare,”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I-” he ran his hand through his hair, “I don't know?” he paused, “I guess, I’m just having second thoughts about this, about all of this, ”

Your first instinct was to drill him about what he was thinking, that second guessing himself the night before you stormed the castle was stupid, irresponsible and a risk to the whole operation. But this wasn't some random person part of your people, this was Tom, your best friend, alliance and closest person you had.

“What happened?” you whispered, wanting nothing more to take his hand and pull him in a hug, “Tommy-”

“It was about you,” he finally turned to face you, his eyes red, ready to burst into tears, “It was about you, and my father and everyone who walking into this fucking mass suicide,”

You stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.

“There were bodies Y/n, bodies of everyone and my dad he- he-,”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he took his face in your hands, rubbing the tears that began to spill from his eyes.

“I just don’t understand,” he shook his head, “Why can’t we just leave, build a new life away from everything,”

“We can’t leave everyone behind,” you said softly.

“They have a choice whether they want to stay or not in the kingdom! Why should we risk our lives for there's!”

“You and I both know that they don’t have a choice Tom, not when your father is in rule,”

He sighed, licking his chapped lips, “I know, I know,” he put his hands on top of yours, “I just wish there was another way,”

“Me too Tommy,” You pulled him into a hug, his face burying itself in the crook of your neck, “But the way that I think it, if everything happens the way it’s supposed to, we could finally have the freedom we deserve. We just need to hang in there, you need to hang in there, okay?”

“I will,” he mumbled into your shoulder, “I’m just-” his breath hitched, “I’m scared of my father Y/n, I’m scared of what he’s capable of,”

“But we’re capable of more,” you pulled back, whipping the excess tears from his eyes, “We’ve been planning this for years Tommy, for years we’ve stood on the sideline watching as he terrorized the people of his kingdom, the kingdom that is rightfully yours,” you smiled, “If anything, he should be more scared of you,”

Tom scoffed, “I fine that hard to believe,”

“Well it’s true,” his hands moved to your waist, squeezing gently as you continued, “You’re no longer that scared little boy from years ago Tom. You’ve grown so much in not only your skills but your leadership. All these people have stuck with you because they believe in you, you made them believe that a life of freedom is worth fighting for,”

“That wasn't all me-”

“Tom, you convinced me that our freedom was worth fighting for, you’re the reason I’m here,” you brought your forehead against his, “You’re a natural born leader Tommy, and I have no doubt in my mind that when you face your father all fear will go away and turn into the righteous leader your made to be,”

Tom looked at you with glistening eyes, his lips slightly parted as he took in your words, “Do you really think so?”

“I know so,” you whispered.

“Y/n, I-”

“You don’t need to say anything,” you smiled, “I just- I just wanted you to know that,” you chuckled awkwardly, releasing how close the both of you had gotten.

You moved to pull away but his hands on your hips kept you still, pulling you even closer against his chest, his breath hot against your face.

You’ve always had those feelings about Tom, the butterflies flying in your stomach every time you talked. Your words became short when he looked into your eyes with his deep brown orbs.

But you always pushed it aside, for the country, for your people and the fear that he wouldn't feel the same.

“When- when this is all over,” he started quietly, “I’m not taking the crown Y/n, I can’t after everything we’ve been through, you know this,” he sighed, “I’m suppose to tell you this after the rebellion but, I found a cottage in the woods near the rivers, spent time cleaning it and i’m planning on living there for a while, at least after Harry takes my place on the throne,” he held his breath, “And I want you to come with me,”

You stood speechless at his suggestion. To be honest, you didn't know what you were doing after the rebellion was over. For most of your life you were so focussed on the outcomes of tomorrow that you never spent the time wondering what might happen after.

But one thing you knew for sure was that you weren't leaving your people, were ever they resided, you would stay with them. And that included Tom.

You were shaken out of thought when he stepped back, taking your silence as a nice way of telling him no. Before you could say anything though, he started rambling.

“You don’t have to of course, I’m sure you probably have your own plans after everything but I just thought I’d let you know,” he scratched the back of his neck, laughing off his nervousness and the rejection.

“How close is the cottage to the kingdom?” you asked, taking his hand to keep him from backing away any further.

“On horseback, maybe an hour ride?” he said.

You smiled, looking down before looking back up at him. You pulled him back against your chest, throwing your arms around his shoulders, “That sounds reasonable,” you giggled at his shocked face, “As long as were close by, I don’t see the issue with it,”

Tom let out a breathy laugh, wrapping his hands around your waist and hugging you tightly. He lifted you up in the air, spinning you around as you both erupted in giggles. All thought of war and fighting left your minds when he settled you back down, keeping eye contact as he smiled wider than you’ve ever seen.

WIthout thinking, you pushed your lips against his, immediately regretting it when he froze. But before you could pull away, he relaxed, pulling you closer and molding his lips with yours.

His lips were rougher than you imagined, dry against your skin but you could have cared less. Your fingers moved to tangle themselves in his dirty locks, smiling when he groaned into your mouth as you tugged on the strands, deepening the kiss. He passed his tongue on your bottom lip, asking for access which you granted, letting him explore your mouth for as long as he pleased. When he finally pulled away, he took your bottom lip between his teeth, pulling it gently.

“I’ve been waiting so long to do that,” he grinned, going back in to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“Took you long enough,” you giggled, nuzzling your cheek against his chest as you hugged him tightly, not wanting to let go.

Tom only tightened his arms, keeping you as close as possible. He didn’t know what the future held, he didn’t know if you’d both survive the fight tomorrow. But the one thing he knew was that right then, in that moment, he had everything he needed right in his arms.

And maybe, just maybe, things would be alright.

“We’re going to get through this Tom,” you mumbled.

“We are,” he said, resting his cheek on the top of your head, “We will, all of us will,”

...

Permanent Taglist : @jadegill @joyleenl @sarcastic-sunset-7 @wakeupandsmellthelavender @kaithezaftig @theliterarymess @thirstiestpotato @i-love-superhero

Tom Holland Taglist : @dummiesshort @seutarose @thenoddingbunny-blog @lovewolfspirit @cebaratn16 @lanceyfancypants @clara-licht

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #prince!tom #prince!tom holland #prince!tom holland x reader #royal!au #tom holland angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland x fem!reader

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sushiburritonoms · 3 years

Text

I've been having terrible writer's block lately, not enjoying anything I've written, not getting anywhere with WIPs. Poor @darkisrising and @bronze-lorica have had to talk me off edges lately (thanks guys you're the best!). I think I finally have a chapter 3 for Sacred Texts but I'm sitting on it for a while to see if that's the direction I really want to go. I'm soooo sorry for the delay.

In the meantime I was looking through my notes for The Father the Son and the Exile and I found a bunch of scenes I wrote and abandoned as the fic moved in different directions. I figured I'd post some of them because they'll never see the light of day otherwise and because I have nothing else to offer right now.

Originally in Exile, Din and Luke were supposed to make it to Tython. I had them meeting up with Han AND Leia on the planet Ajan Kloss (its the planet Luke and Leia train on in TROS). Its interesting looking back at this, Din and Luke have a different dynamic since I wrote this a long time ago back in March when the story was going in a different direction (I also wrote an homage to one of Writer Owl's fics in the dialogue). I enjoy playful Luke, I don't really write him that often and that's a real shame. Anyways here's wonder wall, enjoy!

Ajan Kloss was a swampy humid hellhole of a planet that no rational, sentient being should visit, let alone enjoy. Of course that meant that Grogu and Luke were comfortable in the sticky humid environment. In fact there was a rare smile stretched across Luke's face and he sounded almost nostalgic as he talked around their campfire.

“There’s a certain type of moss that grows on the trees here that’s edible.”

Din refused to look up at Luke from where he was cleaning their meal. “I’m not drinking any tea you make out of it.”

“It’s more of a garnish?”

Din sighed. “Don’t touch my fish.” He forcefully stuck a stick lengthwise through the fish as an emphasis.

“Grogu should really have more vegetation in his diet. Master Yoda used to eat plants.”

Din snorted. “You’re welcome to try.” It wasn’t like the kid never ate vegetables but they were always fried and covered in spices. That probably wasn’t what Luke was getting at.

“Maybe later. He did eat two whole frogs.” Luke edged himself closer to the fire. “Maybe after this we could swing by Dagobah. You know, assuming we’re not about to trigger some sort of sneak attack or trap. There are tubers I could dig up for him that Master Yoda ate, plus I could pick up more gnarltree bark.”

Din blinked and raised his head up to properly look at Luke. He knew what Luke was doing. He was trying to distract himself with thoughts of the future. It was a tactic Din often used himself--strategize every possible outcome in the hopes the future won’t be as terrifying as it feels.

On the one hand, he was amused and touched by Luke’s continued fixation on Grogu’s eating habits, even if it was hypocritical of Luke given his own poor diet. It reminded Din of some of the older members of the Covert that used to watch Din when he was little. They always used to harass him to eat everything offered to him and gave him sharp nudges when he tried to skip directly to the occasional sweet treat left out for all the foundlings to share. It was very Mandalorian of Skywalker and it felt good. Familiar.

On the other hand, Din really, really didn’t want any more tree bark in the Wayfinder. So Din didn’t really know what to say.

“Hold this.” Din shoved a fish skewer into Luke’s hand. Yeah that worked.

Luke took the skewer with a hint of a smile. “Master Yoda used to eat certain mushrooms too, I think I can safely identify them. Or maybe I could put together an aquarium in the Wayfinder and we could take more frogs with us. I bet I can repurpose one of the smaller cloning cylinders I have in the back and add a filtration system...”

Din shuddered at the thought of living with a cloning vat filled with frogs and the likelihood of frogs, moss and tree bark for dinner several nights a week. Just no. “This is why our people are ancient enemies,” he shuddered. “You live like animals.”

There was silence. Too long of a silence. Din looked up.

Luke was staring at him with a shocked look on his face. “Our people are ancient enemies?” He whispered.

Ah kriff. Din winced. “So I’ve heard.”

“....Oh.” Luke looked crushed. “Nobody told--well. There’s a lot nobody told me,” he sighed. “About being a Jedi.”

Damn damn damn. Din wanted to throw his hands up in the sky.

“I guess that makes sense,” Luke mumbled. He was fiddling with the fish skewer in his hands. “All the other Mandalorians I’ve ever met have tried to capture or kill me. I thought it was just the Bounty…”

“I’m not like other Mandalorians.” Din interrupted, desperate to turn the conversation. It was technically true, probably just not in a way that helped their relationship. Er--their partnership? Their--whatever this was.

“I mean I like you…”

Din froze. What.

“You’re really good at fishing and Grogu loves you. I’d hate to have to kill you.”

Din’s heart restarted in his chest again. Was Luke...messing with him? “You wouldn’t leave a mark.”

Luke blinked up at him innocently and fluttered his damn eyelashes. “I could totally kill you in your sleep.”

The little shit! “I’ll poison your tea.”

“It’s pretty much already poison. I’m immune.”

Heh, true. “Your fish then.”

“I’ll just go grab a frog.”

“You’re staying here and eating my damn fish!”

Luke burst out into sudden loud laughter. It was like a sudden fierce rainstorm in the way it showered over the camp. It startled Grogu, who had been ignoring both of them in favor of playing with some shiny rocks nearby. He tilted his head and then matched Luke’s laughter with a baby chuckle of his own.

“Sorry! I think it's just my nerves talking but that just sounded wrong and so funny--”

Din just shook his head. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out what had set Luke off but he didn’t care. “Crazy Jedi.”

“Trigger happy Mandalorian.” Luke gave him a giant smile. “Hurry up and finish this.” He gave Din back the fish skewer and chuckled again. Despite his comment about his nerves, Luke’s shoulders were relaxed and his legs were spread out comfortably by the fire. Din could stare at his lopsided smile all evening, especially as the sun set and the fire highlighted the delight in his eyes. The sun shone through the lighter parts of Luke’s shaggy long hair. It was now untied from the neat bun it had started in and looked soft and golden in the light.

Stars above help him. Luke was beautiful. Din was tired of denying the thought. He wanted to touch Luke’s face with his bare hands, run his fingers through his hair and that was terrifying. He hadn’t wanted to take off his armor for anyone, besides Grogu, in ages. Maybe with Omera...but this was much different. The feelings he’d had for her were a momentary weakness compared to the colossally bad idea this was to develop an attraction for this damaged Jedi. Din had no idea what tomorrow was going to bring. Even if nothing happened, there was the uncertainty of the next day and the next to worry about. Luke was a marked man and every day there was a chance something could take him out. Take him away. The thought burned in him like a chemical fire inside a reactor. Caged deep inside of him, destructive it released, and burning with an intensity greater than Din could stand.

This was why he never got involved with people before he found Grogu. He didn’t know what to do with the intensity of his feelings and how to fit them into his unpredictable life.

“Din?” Luke’s smile fell slightly. “You ok?”

“..Yeah.” Din did what he always did. He pushed his feelings away and tried to focus on the present. What had they been talking about? Food. He sat and thought for a moment. Maybe...

“I have a contact on Tatooine, from a rural town few people have heard of. Mos Epsa.”

“Mos Eps--I thought that was wiped from the planet years ago.” Luke looked impressed.

“It’s still there.” Din handed Luke a cooked fish skewer and settled back with his own. “We could go there, for a while. We’d be safe. I’m assuming we can both eat Tatooine food.”

Luke picked at his fish. “I do miss blue milk.”

Good. “I’ll add it to the list.”

Luke chuckled. “You have a list?”

“Of safe planets we can stop at. We should have alternatives to the drop pods and not be reliant on the New Republic. My list is probably different from yours so we have more options.” Din stabbed his fish a little harder with his skewer to make his opinion of Luke’s employers known.

The smile on Luke’s face got impossibly wider. “That makes sense...Thank you.”

Din grunted. The smile on Luke’s face was too distracting. Instead he looked down at his food. Oh. Right. Damn.

Luke made the exact realization at the same time. “Sorry! I forgot, I can go back to the ship--”

“Shut up and sit down, Jetti.” Din shook his head. He only hesitated for a half second before he reached up to his helmet and unlatched it. He opened it wide enough to take a bite.

“Or you could do that. Of course.” Luke babbled. He turned his head so he wasn’t looking at Din. Which was sweet. But also meant he wasn’t looking at his food.

“Eat.” Din growled. “All of it.” How was it this hard to feed a grown adult? Grogu gave him less trouble. Gods help Skywalker, Din was about to channel some of the fiercest warriors he knew to get him to eat more.

Luke gave him a mock solute. “Yes sir.”

Din began to reach for his sidearm.

Luke responded with a rather unnecessarily dainty bite of fish.

Din began to unhook his blaster.

Luke nibbled at one edge of a fin.

The blaster powered up.

Luke kriffing licked his fish.

“That’s disgusting.” Din gave up. He couldn’t help it--he chuckled as he powered down his blaster.

“Yeah it is,” Luke stuck his tongue out. “Fish is gross.”

“I thought you said you’d eat anything.”

“I do. I don’t have to like it. I didn’t grow up eating fish, it’s both slimy and spikey at the same time.”

“You eat frogs.”

“You can eat a small frog in one bite! I’ve gotten fish bones stuck in my throat.”

“You’re not supposed to eat the bones.”

“Nobody told me that the first time. What part of ‘raised on a desert planet’ does no one understand?”

“You’re an idiot.”

Luke sat back. “I’m done now, mom. May I go now?”

Din sighed. “No.” He held out another fish skewer.

“You got to be kidding me.”

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

“How hard is the har--YIKES! NO! LETGO! ARGHHH!!!!!”

‘Yup’, Din thought to himself as he held the struggling, still too skinny, Jedi in a headlock. He had it bad and he was going to regret this.

Tomorrow. He’ll regret it tomorrow.

“DJARIN LET ME GO NOW OR YOU’RE GOING IN THE SWAMP!”

Here’s hoping the desert boy could swim.

#Still bummed I never used any of this #Luke the frog eater #lives on a diet of moss leaves and swamp dew #Luke was actually less damaged in this version wtf sb #I made it gayer but also angstier #I miss the exile universe so much #may the writers block end and the words flow soon #have i posted this already?#I feel like I have argh idk #I still like it #The Father the Son and the Exile #sb fics

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utterlyinevitable · 3 years

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loved the new hc on Ethan proposal

BUT WHWRE WAS ETHANS PROPOSAL?!?!!

gimme that proposal PUH leaseeeeee

Shout out to @aylaramseycarrera for writing 90% of the bones of this HC bc I’m incapable of writing pure fluff 😘💖

Ethan’s Romantic Proposal

Follow up to this HC.

He spent months liaising with a jeweler for the perfect bespoke ring that encompasses their relationship and all of his unwavering feelings for MC. Ever since he picked it up, he kept it hidden deep in his pocket so she couldn’t accidentally find it.

He spent weeks planning his perfect proposal.

But it didn’t happen.

MC came home from her week away with Sienna two days early. Sienna was called back for one of her pediatric patients, and neither girl had the heart to ask the hospital to reassign the case.

It was downpouring on their drive back. Thunder, lightening and torrential rain.

One of those ominous sky type of storms in grays and purples that look like it could swallow you up.

They made it back to Edenbrook just as the storm started to settle.

The girls split into different directions - Sienna to her patient and MC to surprise Ethan.

He was at the board mulling over some x-rays, completely absorbed in the work. MC tiptoed in unnoticed.

She placed her soft hands over his eyes; “Surprise,” she whispered in his ear. “What’re you doing back so soon?” “Missed you too, babe,” MC rolled her eyes.

Ethan turned around and kissed her sweetly. Of course he missed her. He just thought he’d have a few more days to himself.

He asked her how the drive was and they talked about the weather before moving towards the large windows.

The rain had stopped and the sky was turning all shades of pink and gold.

It was absolutely stunning.

She turned towards Ethan, “Up for a break?” “What’d you have in mind?” “Could go for a better view.”

So they make their way up to the roof of Edenbrook and watch the sky change from post storm to sunset colors. The sky melts into the ground, making it look as if the colors of the rainbow were dripping down into the earth.

They just sit down against the brick of the building with her head on his shoulder and his arms wrapped around her. They talk in soft whispers as to not disturb the peace they’ve found.

And then Ethan starts talking and reminiscing.

He doesn’t notice he’s babbling, trailing off on a tangent that’s subtly hinting at things he’d hope to say in his proposal speech.

He’s cut off when MC adds; “I’d love to spend my whole life with you.”

She nuzzles closer into him and Ethan presses a kiss to her hair.

As he’s inhaling the sweet scent of mandarin oranges of her shampoo, their entire relationship flashes before his eyes.

Every single moment. Every milestone. All of it happened here. At Edenbrook.

There was no better time than now.

A few peaceful moments pass.

Ethan’s heart begins to beat rapidly. He’s thankful MC is laying against his right side and couldn’t properly feel the forceful thumps.

A deep inhale.

And cleansing exhale.

He tightens his arms around her and rests his head against hers so that his lips are just above her ear. The scent of her perfume strong and comforting, encouraging him.

The words are soft and tender, just for her; “I’d love to spend my who life with you as my wife.”

The words hang there.

Ethan thinks maybe she zoned out and didn’t hear him.

MC is stunned - she hadn’t moved a muscle.

So Ethan pulls away to dig into his pocket, hoping to try again.

She’s cold without his embrace - the light wind bringing her to her senses. She turns her head to him slightly.

He has a small black box in his large, calloused hand.

And BOOM, MC realizes he was serious.

Her eyes flit from the box, to Ethan’s eyes, and back again and again. Neither said a word as she short circuited.

Then all Ethan did was open the box.

Everything in MC’s body stopped working, her eyes glued to the delicate ring.

Ethan’s heart was beating in his chest, threatening to break free. He wasn’t sure if this is how proposals were meant to go and he’s pretty sure he fucked this up. He failed at giving her the proposal she deserved.

MC’s breathing was shallow as she inspected the ring from her place at his side.

30 seconds after laying eyes on the piece, MC started crying.

Ugly crying.

To the point where Ethan closed the box and shoved it back in his pocket so both his hands could be on her, soothing her.

He’s holding her. Rubbing her back. Calming her down.

Once she’s calmer and the sobs turned to a slow trickle, he tilts her chin up so their eyes connect.

Her mascara is running, her eyes are bloodshot, there’s a little bubble of snot at the edge of her nostril. And she’s still so radiantly beautiful.

Finally, Ethan asks; “Marry me, MC?”

And again her heart stops.

In the clear blue of his eyes she sees it all. She recalls everything. Their whole relationship.

First patient. The butterflies of their first kiss. Naveen’s case. Mrs. Martinez and the opera. All their breakups. The gala and their first date. Her almost death. The feeling of home when they’re wrapped in each other’s arms. The effortlessness of the first “I love you”.

He’s looking at her so intently. Trying to diagnose her reaction and anticipate her answer.

But she’s a blank slate.

And Ethan looks older and older with every small crease of worry popping up on his features with every second she doesn’t answer. Every second she doesn’t say ‘yes’.

She reaches out and cups his face between her petite hands.

Their eyes are locked, imploring.

Her lips part to speak and Ethan’s breathing slows further.

He watches intently as her lips and tongue move in tandem. It’s almost like a silent film - he’s trying to work out what’s going on.

She shakes her head once.

And doesn’t say yes.

Ethan’s heart stops beating.

He knew he should have waited. Should have stuck to the plan. This was a stupid idea. He didn’t calculate all the risks. Good thing they’re sitting by the door otherwise he’d jump off the ledge.

But then she kisses him.

Her lips are soft and light, and tender and loving against his immobile mouth.

He wants to succumb to her. To wash away the last twenty minutes. Pretend it never happened.

But he can feel her smile against his lips.

And he knows.

Now its Ethan’s turn to cry. The tears run down his cheeks and onto hers.

Her arms slide to wrap around his neck and she pulls herself flush against him.

His eyes are closed, relishing in the feeling he knows so well and never wants to go without.

She pulls away just enough to whisper.

“Yes.”

#mc played a sick joke on him #NOT the time for games mc #but also she's been holding onto this payback since he rejected her at Donahue's #how's it feel ramsbo??#open heart #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey #open heart hc #open heart headcanons #hc?#ramseysheart #asked

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penbalfour · 3 years

Photo

Chapter One (x)

“Lower your swords,” Queen Eloana commanded, her hair shining a glossy onyx in the sun as she sank onto one knee. The raw emotion pouring out of her seeped into the temple floors of the Chamber of Nyktos, bitter and hot, tasting of anguish and a helpless sort of anger. It stretched out toward me, needling my skin and brushing against this…primal thing inside me. “And bow before the…before the last descendent of the most ancient ones. She who carries the blood of the King of Gods within her. Bow before your new Queen.”

The blood of the King of Gods? Your new Queen? None of that made sense. Not her words or when she had removed her crown.

A too-thin breath scorched my throat as I looked at the man standing beside the Queen of Atlantia. The crown was still upon the King’s golden-haired head, but the bones had remained a bleached white. Nothing like the gleaming, gilded one the Queen had placed at the feet of the statue of Nyktos. My gaze skipped over the terrible, broken things scattered about the once pristine, white floors. I’d done that to them, adding their blood to what had fallen from the sky, filling the thin fissures in the marble. I didn’t look at that or anyone else—every part of my being focused on him.

He remained on one knee, staring up at me from between the vee of the swords he’d crossed over his chest. His damp hair, blue-black in the Atlantian sunlight, curled against the sandy-hued skin of his forehead. Red streaked those high, angular cheekbones, the proud curve of his jaw, and ran down lips that had once shattered my heart. Lips that had pieced those broken shards back together with the truth. Bright, golden eyes locked with mine, and even bowed before me, so motionless I wasn’t sure he breathed, he still reminded me of one of the wild and strikingly beautiful cave cats I’d once seen caged in Queen Ileana’s palace as a child.

He had been many things to me. A stranger in a dimly lit room who’d been my first kiss. A guard who had sworn to lay down his life for mine. A friend who had looked beyond the veil of the Maiden to truly see me underneath, who’d handed me a sword to protect myself instead of forcing me into a gilded cage. A legend cloaked in darkness and nightmares that had plotted to betray me. A Prince of a kingdom believed to have been lost to time and war, who had suffered unimaginable horrors and yet managed to find the pieces of who he used to be. A brother who would do anything, commit any deed to save his family. His people. A man who bared his soul and stripped open his heart to me—and only me.

My first.

My guard.

My friend.

My betrayer.

My partner.

My husband.

My heartmate.

My everything.

Casteel Da’Neer bowed before me and stared up at me as if I were the only person in the entire kingdom. I didn’t need to concentrate like before to know what he was feeling. Everything he felt was wide-open to me. His emotions were a kaleidoscope of ever-shifting tastes—cool and tart, heavy and spicy, and sweet like chocolate-dipped berries. Those unyieldingly firm and unrelentingly tender lips parted, revealing just the hint of sharp fangs.

“My Queen,” he breathed, and those two smoky words soothed my skin. The lilt of his voice quelled the ancient thing inside me that wanted to take the anger and the fear radiating from all the others and twist it, turn it back, truly give them something to fear, and add to the shattered things thrown about the floor. One side of his lips curled up, and a deep dimple appeared in his right cheek.

Dizzy with relief at the sight of that infuriatingly stupid—and adorable—dimple, my entire body shuddered. I feared that when he saw what I’d done, he’d be afraid. And I couldn’t blame him for that. What I’d done should terrify anyone, but not Casteel. The heat that turned his eyes the color of warmed honey told me that fear was very much the furthest thing from his mind. Which was also a little disturbing. But he was the Dark One, whether he liked being called that or not.

Some of the shock faded, and the pounding adrenaline eased. And when it left, I realized I hurt. My shoulder and the side of my head throbbed. The left side of my face felt puffy, and that had nothing to do with the old scars there. A dull ache pulsed in my legs and arms, and my body felt funny, as if my knees were weakening. I swayed in the warm, salty breeze—

Casteel rose quickly, and I shouldn’t have been surprised by how fast he moved, but I still was. In a heartbeat, he’d gone from kneeling to standing, a foot closer to me, and several things happened at once.

The men and women behind Casteel’s parents, the ones wearing the same white tunics and loose pants of those lying on the floor, also moved. Light reflected off the golden armbands adorning their biceps as they lifted their swords, shifting closer to Casteel’s parents, protecting them. Some reached for crossbows strapped to their backs. They had to be guards of some sort.

A sudden growl of warning came from the largest wolven I’d ever seen. Kieran and Vonetta’s father stood to my right. Jasper had officiated the marriage between Casteel and me in Spessa’s End. He’d been there when Nyktos showed his approval by briefly turning day to night. But now, the steel-hued wolven’s lips peeled back, baring teeth that could tear through flesh and break bone. He was loyal to Casteel, and yet instinct told me that it wasn’t just the guards he warned.

Another snarl came from my left. In the shadows of the blood tree that had sprouted from where my blood had fallen and grown to a massive height within seconds, a fawn-colored wolven crept into my line of sight, head dipped low, and wintery blue eyes iridescent. Kieran. He stared down Casteel. I didn’t understand why either of them would behave this way toward the Prince, but especially Kieran. He had been bonded to Casteel from birth, meant to obey and protect him at all costs. But he was more than a bonded wolven to Casteel. They were brothers, if not by blood then by friendship, and I knew they loved each other.

Right now, nothing about the way Kieran’s ears were pinned back was loving.

Unease skipped its way through me as Kieran sank down, the sleek muscles of his legs tensing as he prepared to attack…Casteel.

My stomach plummeted. This wasn’t right. None of this was right. “No,” I rasped, my voice hoarse and barely recognizable, even to my ears.

Kieran didn’t appear to hear me or care. If he had been acting normally, I would’ve just assumed he was attempting to ignore me, but this was different. He was different. His eyes were brighter than I ever remembered seeing, and they weren’t right because they…they weren’t just blue now. His pupils glowed silvery-white, an aura that seeped out in wispy tendrils across the blue. My head jerked to Jasper. His eyes had changed, too. I’d seen that strange light before. It had been what my skin had done when I healed Beckett’s broken legs—the same silvery glow that had radiated from me minutes earlier.

Icy bursts of surprise raced through Casteel as he eyed the wolven, and then I felt…relief radiate from him.

“You all knew.” Casteel’s voice filled with awe, something no one standing behind him felt. Even the easy grin was absent from the auburn-haired Atlantian. Emil looked at us with wide eyes, broadcasting a healthy dose of fear, as did Naill, who had always appeared utterly unfazed by everything—even when he’d been outnumbered in battle.

Casteel slowly sheathed his swords at his sides. Hands empty, he kept them down. “You all knew something was happening to her. That’s why….” He trailed off, his jaw hardening.

Several of the guards moved to the front of the King and Queen, surrounding them fully—

A shock of white fur shot forward. Delano tucked his tail back as he pawed at the marble. He lifted his head and howled. The eerie yet beautiful sound raised the tiny hairs all over my body.

Off in the distance, the faint sounds of yips and barks answered, growing louder with each second. The leaves on the tall, cone-shaped trees separating the temple from Saion’s Cove trembled as a rolling rumble echoed from the ground below. Blue-and-yellow-winged birds took flight from the trees, scattering to the sky.

“Godsdamn.” Emil turned to the temple steps. He reached for the swords at his sides. “They’re summoning the whole damn city.”

“It’s her.” The deep scar slicing across the older wolven’s forehead stood out starkly. Potent disbelief rolled off Alastir as he stood just outside the circle of guards who’d formed around Casteel’s parents.

“It is not her,” Casteel shot back.

“But it is,” King Valyn confirmed as he stared at me from a face that Casteel’s would one day become. “They’re responding to her. That’s why the ones on the road with us shifted without warning. She called them to her.”

“I…I didn’t call anyone,” I told Casteel, voice cracking.

“I know.” Casteel’s tone softened as his eyes locked with mine.

“But she did,” his mother insisted. “You might not realize it, but you did summon them.”

My eyes darted to her, and I felt my chest wrench. She was everything I’d imagined Casteel’s mother to be. Stunning. Regal. Powerful. Calm now, even as she remained on one knee, even when she had first seen me and demanded of her son—What have you’ve done? What have you brought back? I flinched, fearing those words would stay with me long after today.

Casteel’s features sharpened as golden eyes swept over my face. “If the idiots behind me actually laid down their swords instead of lifting them against my wife, we wouldn’t have an entire colony of wolven about to descend on us,” he bit out. “They are only reacting to the threat.”

“You’re right,” his father agreed as he gently guided his wife to her feet. Blood soaked the knee and the hem of her lilac gown. “But ask yourself why your bonded wolven is guarding someone other than you.”

“I really could care less at the moment,” Casteel responded as the sound of hundreds—if not more—of paws pounding the earth grew even closer. He couldn’t be serious. He had to care, because that was a damn good question.

“You need to care,” his mother cautioned, a thin quiver in her otherwise steady voice. “The bonds have broken.”

The bonds? Hands trembling, my wide eyes shot to the temple steps, to where Emil slowly backed away. Naill had his swords in his hands now.

“She’s right,” Alastir uttered, the skin around his mouth appearing even whiter. “I can… I can feel it—the Primal notam. Her mark. Good gods.” His voice trembled as he stumbled back, nearly stepping on the crown. “They’ve all broken.”

I had no idea what a notam was, but through the confusion and the blossoming panic, there was something odd about what Alastir had stated. If it was true, then why wasn’t he in his wolven form? Was it because he’d already broken his wolven bond with the former King of Atlantia all those years ago?

“Look at their eyes,” the Queen ordered softly, pointing out what I’d seen. “I know you don’t understand. There are things you never needed to learn, Hawke.” Her voice cracked then, thickened at the use of his nickname—a name I’d once believed to be nothing more than a lie. “But what you need to know now is that they no longer serve the Elemental bloodline. You are not safe. Please,” she begged. “Please. Listen to me, Hawke.”

“How?” I croaked. “How could the bond break?”

“That doesn’t matter right now.” The amber of Casteel’s eyes was nearly luminous. “You’re bleeding,” he said as if that were the most important issue at hand.

But it wasn’t. “How?” I repeated.

“It’s what you are.” Eloana’s left hand balled into the skirt of her gown. “You have the blood of a god in you—”

“I’m mortal,” I told her.

A thick lock of dark hair tumbled from her knot as she shook her head. “Yes, you are mortal, but you are descended from a deity—the children of the gods. All it takes is a drop of god’s blood—” She swallowed thickly. “You may have more than just a drop, but what is in your blood, what is in you, supersedes any oath the wolven have taken.”

I remembered then what Kieran had told me in New Haven about the wolven. The gods had given the once-wild kiyou wolves mortal form to serve as guides and protectors to the children of the gods—the deities. Something else Kieran had shared then explained the Queen’s reaction.

My gaze shot to the crown lying near Nyktos’ feet. A drop of deity blood usurped any claim to the Atlantian throne.

Oh, gods, there was a good chance I really might pass out. And how embarrassing would that be?

Eloana’s gaze shifted to her son’s rigid back. “You go near her? Right now? They will see you as a threat to her. They will rip you apart.”

My heart lurched to a panicked stop. Casteel looked as if he might do just that. Behind me, one of the smaller wolven lurched forward, barking and snapping at the air.

Every muscle in my body tensed. “Casteel—”

“It’s okay.” Casteel’s eyes never left mine. “No one is going to harm Poppy. I will not allow that.” His chest rose with a deep, heavy breath. “And you know that, right?”

I nodded as each breath came too fast, too shallowly. It was the only thing I understood at the moment.

“Everything’s all right. They’re just protecting you.” Casteel smiled for me then, but it was tense and tight. He looked to my left, at Kieran. “I don’t know everything that is going on right now, but you—all of you—want to keep her safe. And I’m all about that. You know I would never hurt her. I would tear out my own heart before I did that. She’s injured. I need to make sure she’s okay, and nothing is going to stop me from doing that.” He didn’t blink as he held Kieran’s stare, as the rolling thunder of the other wolven reached the temple steps. “Not even you. Any of you. I will destroy every single one of you who stands between her and me.”

Kieran’s growl deepened, and an emotion I’d never felt from him before poured into me. It was like anger, but older. And it felt like that buzz in my blood had. Ancient. Primal.

And in an instant, I could see it all playing out in my mind as if it were happening before me. Kieran would attack. Or maybe it would be Jasper. I’d seen what kind of damage a wolven could inflict, but Casteel wouldn’t go down easily. He would do just as he’d promised. He’d tear through all that stood between him and me. Wolven would die, and if he harmed Kieran—if he did worse than that, the wolven’s blood wouldn’t just be on Casteel’s hands. It would mark his soul till the day he died.

A wave of wolven crested the temple’s stairs, both small and large, in so many different colors. Their arrival brought terrifying knowledge. Casteel was incredibly strong and unbelievably fast. He would take down many. But he would fall with them.

He would die.

Casteel would die because of me—because I called to these wolven and didn’t know how to make it stop. My heart thumped erratically. A wolven near the steps stalked Emil as he continued backing up. Another tracked Naill as he spoke softly to the wolven, attempting to reason with the creature. The others had zeroed in on the guards surrounding the King and Queen, and a few…. Oh, gods, several of them crept up behind Casteel. This had slipped into chaos, the wolven beyond control of any of them…

I sucked in a sharp breath as my mind raced, breaking free of the pain and turbulence. Something had happened within me to make that drop of god’s blood break the bonds. I superseded their previous oaths, and that had…it had to mean that they now obeyed me.

“Stop,” I ordered as Kieran snapped at Casteel, whose own lips were now peeled back. “Kieran! Stop! You will not hurt Casteel.” My voice rose as a soft hum returned to my blood. “All of you will stop. Now! None of you will attack.”

It was like a switch had been thrown in the wolven’s minds. One second they were all poised to attack, and then they were sinking onto their bellies, lowering their heads between their front paws. I could still feel their anger, the old power, but it had lessened already, was fading in steady waves.

Emil lowered his sword. “That…that was timely. Thank you for that.”

A ragged breath left me as a tremor traveled up and down my arms. I almost couldn’t believe it’d worked as I scanned the temple, seeing all the wolven lying down. My entire being wanted to rebel against further confirmation of what the Queen had claimed, but gods, there was only so much I could deny. Throat dry, I looked at Casteel.

He stared at me, his eyes wide once more. I couldn’t breathe enough. My heart wouldn’t slow enough for me to make sense of what he was feeling.

“He will not hurt me. You all know that,” I said, my voice shaking as I looked at Jasper and then Kieran. “You told me that he was the only person in both kingdoms that I was safe with. That hasn’t changed.”

Kieran’s ears twitched, and then he rose, backing up. He turned, nudging my hand with his nose.

“Thank you,” I whispered, briefly closing my eyes.

“Just so you know,” Casteel murmured, thick lashes lowered halfway, “what you just did? Said? It has me feeling all kinds of wildly inappropriate things at the moment.”

A weak, shaky laugh left me. “There’s something so wrong with you.”

“I know.” The left side of his lips curved, and his dimple appeared. “But you love that about me.”

I did. Gods, I really did.

Jasper shook out his fur as his large head swung from me to Casteel. He turned sideways, making a rough, huffing sound as he did. The other wolven moved then, coming out from behind the blood tree. I watched them trot past me—past Casteel and the others—ears perked and tails wagging as they joined the wolven descending the steps and left the temple. Only Jasper, his son, and Delano remained, and the feeling of chaotic tension lifted.

A thick lock of dark hair fell over Casteel’s forehead. “You were glowing silver again. When you ordered the wolven to stop,” he told me. “Not a lot, not like before, but you looked like spun moonlight.”

Had I been? I glanced down at my hands. They looked normal. “I…I don’t know what’s happening,” I whispered, my legs shaking. “I don’t know what’s going on.” I lifted my eyes to his and watched him take a step forward, and then another. There were no snarls of warning. Nothing. My throat started to burn. I could feel it—tears creeping into my eyes. I couldn’t cry. I wouldn’t. Everything had already turned into enough of a mess without me sobbing hysterically. But I was so tired. I hurt, and it went beyond the physical.

When I first stepped into this temple and looked out over the clear waters of the Seas of Saion, I’d felt like I was home. And I knew things would be hard. Proving our union was real wouldn’t be nearly as difficult as gaining the acceptance of Casteel’s parents and that of his kingdom. We still needed to find his brother, Prince Malik. And mine. We had to deal with the Ascended Queen and King. Nothing about our future would be easy, but I had hope.

Now, I felt foolish. So naïve. The older wolven in Spessa’s End, the one I’d helped heal after the battle, had warned me about the people of Atlantia. They did not choose you. And I now doubted they ever would.

I drew in a stuttering breath and whispered, “I didn’t want any of this.”

Tension bracketed Casteel’s mouth. “I know.” His voice was rough, but his touch was gentle as he placed his palm over the cheek that didn’t feel swollen. He lowered his forehead to mine, and the shock of awareness his flesh against mine brought was there, rippling through me as he slid his hand into the tangled mess of my hair. “I know, Princess,” he whispered, and I squeezed my eyes shut against a stronger rush of tears. “It’s okay. It will all be okay. I promise you that.”

I nodded, even though I knew it wasn’t something he could guarantee. Not anymore. I forced myself to swallow the knot of emotion that rose.

Casteel kissed my blood-streaked brow and then lifted his head. “Emil? Can you retrieve clothing from Delano’s and Kieran’s horses so they can shift and not scar anyone?”

“I’ll be more than happy to do that,” the Atlantian answered.

I almost laughed. “I think their nakedness will be the least scarring thing to happen today.”

Casteel said nothing as he touched my cheek again, gently tilting my head to the side. His gaze then dropped to several of the rocks still littering the ground at my feet. A muscle popped along his jaw. His eyes lifted to mine, and I saw his pupils were dilated, only a thin strip of amber visible. “They tried to stone you?”

I heard a soft gasp I thought had come from his mother, but I didn’t look. I didn’t want to see their faces. I didn’t want to know what they felt right now. “They accused me of working with the Ascended, and they called me a Soul Eater. I told them I wasn’t. I tried to talk to them.” Words spilled out in a rush as I lifted my hands to touch him, but I stopped. I didn’t know what my touch would do. Hell, I didn’t even know what I would do without touching someone. “I tried to reason with them, but they started throwing stones. I told them to stop. I said it was enough, and…I don’t know what I did—” I started to look over his shoulder, but Casteel seemed to know what it was I searched for. He stopped me. “I didn’t mean to kill them.”

“You were defending yourself.” His pupils constricted as he caught my stare. “You did what you had to do. You were defending yourself—”

“But I didn’t touch them, Casteel,” I whispered. “It was like in Spessa’s End, during the battle. Remember the soldiers who surrounded us? When they fell, I felt something in me. I felt that again here. It was like something inside me knew what to do. I took their anger and I—I did exactly what a Soul Eater would do. I took it from them and then gave it back.”

“You are not a Soul Eater,” Queen Eloana said from somewhere not too far away. “The moment the eather in your blood became visible, those who attacked you should’ve known exactly what you were. What you are.”

“Eather?”

“It’s what some would call magic,” Casteel answered, shifting his stance as if he were blocking his mother from me. “You’ve seen it before.”

“The mist?”

He nodded. “It’s the essence of the gods, what’s in their blood, what gives them their abilities and the power to create all that they have. No one really calls it that anymore, not since the gods went to sleep, and the deities died off.” His eyes searched mine. “I should have known. Gods, I should’ve seen it…”

“You can say that now,” his mother spoke. “But why would you have even thought that this would be a possibility? No one would’ve expected this.”

“Except for you,” Casteel said. And he was right. She’d known, without a doubt. And, granted, I had been glowing upon her arrival, but she’d known with unquestioned certainty.

“I can explain,” she said as Emil appeared, carrying two saddlebags. He gave all of us a wide berth as he dropped them near Jasper and then backed away.

“Apparently, a lot needs to be explained,” Casteel remarked coolly. “But it will have to wait.” His gaze touched on my left cheek, and that muscle throbbed along his jaw again. “I need to get you somewhere safe where I can…. Where I can take care of you.”

“You can take her to your old rooms at my place,” Jasper announced, startling me. I hadn’t even heard him shift. I started to look over at him but saw skin as he reached for the saddlebag.

“That will do.” Casteel took what appeared to be a pair of breeches from Jasper. “Thank you.”

“Will it be safe for you there?” I asked, and a wry grin tugged at Casteel’s lips.

“He’ll be safe there,” Kieran answered.

So shocked by the sound of Kieran’s voice, I turned. And didn’t stop. There was a whole lot of tawny skin on display, but he stood there like he wasn’t naked in front of all who remained. For once, I really had no problem ignoring the fact that he was nude. I looked at his eyes. They were normal—a vivid, striking blue without the silvery-white aura. “You were going to attack Casteel.”

Kieran nodded as he took the pants from Casteel.

“He most definitely was,” Casteel confirmed.

I looked back at my husband. “And you threatened to destroy him.”

The dimple in his left cheek appeared again. “I did.”

“Why are you smiling? That isn’t something that should make you smile.” I stared at him, stupid tears burning my eyes. I didn’t care that we had an audience. “That can never happen again. Do you hear me?” I twisted to Kieran, who arched a brow as he pulled his breeches up over his lean hips. “Do you both hear me? I won’t allow it. I won’t—”

“Shh.” Casteel’s light touch to my cheek drew my gaze back to his as he stepped into me. He was close enough that his chest brushed mine with each breath. “It won’t happen again, Poppy.” His thumb quickly swiped under my left eye. “Right?”

“Right.” Kieran cleared his throat. “I don’t…” He fell quiet.

His father didn’t. “As long as the Prince doesn’t give any of us a reason to behave differently, we will protect him as fiercely as we will protect you.”

We. As in the entirety of the wolven race. That’s what Alastir had meant when he’d said that all the bonds had broken. I had a lot of questions, but I plopped my head on Casteel’s chest. It didn’t feel that great, sending a flare of pain across my head. I didn’t care because when I inhaled, all I smelled was lush spice and pine. Casteel carefully folded an arm around my upper back, and I thought… I thought I felt him shudder against me.

“Wait,” Kieran said. “Where is Beckett? He was with you when you walked off.”

Casteel drew back slightly. “That’s right. He offered to show you the temple.” His eyes narrowed as he stared down at me. “He led you here.”

A wave of goosebumps pimpled my skin. Beckett. Pressure clamped down on my chest, squeezing tightly as I thought of the young wolven who’d spent the vast majority of the trip here chasing butterflies. I still couldn’t believe that he had led me here, knowing what awaited. But I remembered the bitter taste of his fear that day in Spessa’s End. He’d been terrified of me.

Or had he been terrified of something else?

His emotions had been all over the place. He’d gone from being normal around me, happy and grinning, to suddenly afraid and anxious, as he had been when he brought me up here.

“He disappeared before the others showed up,” I told Casteel. “I don’t know where he went.”

“Find Beckett,” he ordered, and Delano, still in his wolven form, tilted his head. “Naill? Emil? Go with him. Make sure Beckett is brought to me alive.”

Both Atlantians nodded and bowed. Nothing about Casteel’s tone suggested that the alive part was a good thing. “He’s just a kid.” I watched Delano rush off, quickly disappearing with Naill and Emil. “He was scared. And now that I think about it—”

“Poppy.” Casteel placed the tips of his fingers against my cheek, just below a spot that ached. He dipped his head, brushing his lips over the cut. “I have two things to say. If Beckett had anything to do with this, I don’t care what or who he is, and I sure as fuck don’t care about what he was feeling.” His voice rose until all who remained at the temple could hear him, including his parents.

“A move against my wife is a proclamation of war against me. Their fate is already sealed. And, secondly?” He lowered his head even farther. This time, his lips brushed over mine in a featherlight kiss. I could barely feel it, but it somehow still managed to twist my insides into knots. He then lifted his head, and I saw it in his features—the stark stillness of a predator locking onto its prey. I’d seen it before, right before he’d torn out Landell’s heart back in New Haven.

Casteel turned his head to the side, looking at the only wolven who remained, now standing on two legs. “You.”

#casteel da'neer #hawke flynn #poppy balfour #penellaphe balfour #cas x poppy #hawke x poppy #the crown of gilded bones #blood and ash series #jennifer l armentrout #TCOGB

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lovelyirony · 4 years

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Title: I wish i could forget you

Tony Stark was not supposed to be in the car when Howard and Maria Stark attended a Christmas holiday party for another company. In fact, Hydra had wanted him to stay home.

Unfortunately, Tony had ticked off Howard a bit too much, and so here he was in a tuxedo that was a bit too big, uncomfortably shiny shoes, and a temper that was close to blowing.

Thank god they were almost home.

When a car crashes, one almost can’t believe it. Tony can see the outside blurring, and he can hear glass crunching, and he hears things that he really doesn’t want to hear. He is fairly sure that Maria screamed.

A metal arm.

Huh.

Well, not the most typical. He also doesn’t think that the man knows he’s here.

Howard and Maria Stark are killed. Tony feels like shit because he couldn’t do anything. His forehead is bleeding and he didn’t want to move out of fear for himself, which seems selfish, but also maybe a survival instinct?

God, his bow-tie is still constricting air flow.

Once the man turns, Tony realizes that he wasn’t the target. They probably had no idea he was in the car, whoever “they” were.

He gets out of the car. The car door creaks, and the man whips around.

His eyes widen.

“You--what?”

The voice is surprisingly American.

Surprisingly? He’s not sure why it’s surprising, it’s not like an American can’t kill just look at history, but still, Kind of surprising.

"What, wasn’t supposed to be here?” Tony rasps out. He realizes now that he’s basically sent himself a death sentence as the man surges forward.

“What are you doing here?”

His eyes are piercing. Also very, very familiar with some photographs that Peggy has on her mantle and her desk.

James “Bucky” Barnes. Son of a bitch.

“What are you doing alive?” Tony asks. “I thought you were lost in a ravine in Europe somewhere.”

“What--huh?”

“Ravine. In Europe. You know who you are, right? Is this some kind of sick...what did they do to you?”

“I do not know what you are talking about.”

His eyes get cold again.

“Who are you?”

“I am the Asset.”

It is now that Tony realizes that every single shitty sci-fi book is probably right, and his disdain of “wacky science” and “magic” have all been for nothing, because here is Bucky Barnes, who apparently has no idea who he is.

Then Tony gets knocked on his ass. His body slams against the icy road, and Barnes is rushing towards a motorcycle.

And he’s alone. He can’t breathe, all the wind knocked out of his chest. He thinks he broke a couple of ribs.

No one believes him. At all. SHIELD brushes it aside.

“There’s no way Barnes could be alive. You were probably just seeing things,” they tell him. “Would you like us to find you a therapist?”

“No,” Tony says, and they ask why. He laughs, sipping on his water. “SHIELD has so much loyalty to itself, I’m afraid I’d be compromised.”

“Therapists aren’t supposed to divulge any information,” Nick Fury adds carefully. “And we’re a secret-keeping bunch. Nothing goes out that comes in.”

“Unless, of course, it’s necessary,” Tony drawls, staring at Fury. God, the leather outfit...that’s weird. “Then I’m out in the open, Nicky. And what fun is that unless I get to show off an outfit in full-coverage?”

“...I’ll have an agent escort you home. We’ll have guards overnight.”

“Don’t bother.”

“And why is that? Think you can handle it by yourself?”

“Fury, my family has made a career out of thinking a lot of things. You’re not being as detrimental as you think.”

He finger-waves, grinning and winking at agents on the way out.

Now comes paranoia. This is welcome, actually, because it’s allowing him to work up new security measures and hack into various security cameras around the world to see if he can find Barnes.

It’s like he’s a ghost. And fuck, maybe Fury was right. Tony doesn’t like that, but that may be it.

Merry fucking Christmas.

Years go by, and Tony keeps a tiny ear to any news about mysterious deaths that can’t be explained. A man that glows in lamp-light, has no identity. He’s not sure if it could be Barnes. God knows he’s no longer seventeen, and Barnes--it if it was Barnes--would be way older. He should’ve been an old man in 1991, but he wasn’t.

It kind of reminds him of the conspiracy theory that Walt Disney was kept cryogenically frozen, which is just ridiculous, because as far as he’s concerned, you’d need a bit more to you than just regular skin and bones.

And this is where it hits him.

Barnes was experimented on when he was captured by Hydra. Peggy told him that Rogers told her that he was repeating his dog tag number over and over, as if someone was trying to take him over.

Yeah, you’d need a bit more.

Like a fucking super soldier serum.

This then delves into Tony realizing that if Barnes is flash-frozen, then...well, could Rogers have survived? He always thought his dad was crazy, but a broken clock is right twice a week or however the hell that saying goes. He never used it, he wasn’t a broken clock.

(He was broken, but he’s not going to compare himself to a clock. Perhaps Model-T.)

They find Rogers. Tony realizes Howard did his math completely wrong for years, and probably never let anyone look at it because he was a World Super Genius. And a Colossal Dick.

Steve Rogers is one tough cookie to crack. Tony chips off some of the ice and puts it in a glass of scotch.

“Do you really think that’s the most appropriate thing to do?” Phil Coulson asks.

He’s shocked, but mainly because Tony has seen his Cap collection, and that man has so many limited edition cards and lunchboxes that it’s a bit crazy. But at least he knows how to decorate with it and not have it look like an absolute nutjob swept into his house and did it all in red-white-and-blue.

“Phil, my darling, when have I ever done anything the appropriate way?” Tony asks. He stares at the face that’s emerging out of the ice. “Besides, what else are you going to do with this ice, hm? Besides melt it all off?”

Steve is a miracle. Every scientist on earth wants to poke and prod at him.

Tony breaks him out of SHIELD in a week, because he swears to shit if one more scientist asks to take blood samples “to see how going under Arctic temperatures affects the bloodstream” (and also take DNA for cloning) he’s going to lose it.

Fury yells at him for two hours.

Steve flips Fury off from the couch, where he’s been channel-surfing for the better part of three hours.

“You’ve already corrupted him,” Fury scowls. “Rogers, we need to talk--”

“He’s retired,” Tony says.

(Steve is not, technically. Hasn’t said anything. But Tony is putting him on mandatory retirement for at least a year.)

“What’s...what the ever-loving fuck is that?” Steve asks.

An infomercial. For an automated chair. Mostly used for old people.

Tony grins.

“You wanna see how fast I can launch you out of one?”

“I’m going to say yes. Professionally.”

Ten miles an hour, and Steve goes flying across the room into a pile of pillows.

It’s not the end-all solution. God knows Steve calls him “Howard” and asks where a lot of nasty food is, and sometimes can’t tell the difference between what his brain is seeing and what is actually there.

But Tony gets him help. And Steve goes to art school.

It’s all very funny, actually. Steve rants about “modern art” and how “if he could kill any concept it would be abstract expressionism, what the fuck.”

Tony buys and then donates a Rothko in his honor.

Steve fumes, but finds it hilarious.

Then, there’s the attack on New York.

Norse god of mischief decides to end New York, blah blah blah.

Captain America reappears, everyone loses their shit, and Tony almost dies.

Then he gets four other roomies besides Steve, and he has to make a chore chart. Ugh.

Barnes reappears in France. Tony gets a fairly good image, and Natasha stills.

“You know about Winter Soldier?”

“Barnes? Yeah.”

“You know who he is?”

“James Barnes. At least, I think. He tried to kill me, wasn’t very successful at it.”

Steve overhears.

This leads to a chain of events that ends in Steve not coming to family dinner because he’d rather sit in his room and listen to Green Day or Glenn Miller or whatever the hell gets him even more upset.

“Listen, Steve, I’m sorry. But up until this picture? I was only about sixty percent sure I wasn’t full of beans.”

“Why is that the phrase you use?”

“What, full of beans? Bruce says I have to work on my cursing. Apparently, children are impressionable. Who knew?”

It’s not a total success. Steve still doesn’t like that Tony didn’t outright tell him, but Tony isn’t going to tell Steve that he has the mental stability of a single cashew.

So begins the hunt for Barnes. Which actually isn’t too bad.

He’s in DC. Not for any political clean-up, unfortunately. He’s trying to kill Fury. Tony doesn’t know why, at least until he looks up Pierce, who’s technically, mostly retired from SHIELD.

And yet still uses most resources that technically? He needs more than one authorization from multiple people.

God, people are getting bad at covering their tracks. Used to be harder to catch and see if someone was doing dirty deals.

(Okay, not like he can talk because Obie was...well, no use in discussing that now. He needs to focus.)

Nat and Steve are bad at lying. This kind of surprises him, because Steve is usually a successful liar. He’s convinced Clint that it’s not him who keeps eating his peanut-butter-fudge ice cream, but Thor.

And Natasha used to be Natalie Rushman. Then again, Tony was poisoned during that one, so that might just be on him.

Helicarriers go in the water.

Tony’s working on making sure most of the information doesn’t reach the general public, although he can’t stop it all.

Barnes falls off the face of the earth, and Steve wants to go on another treasure hunt.

“Let him come to us, or figure himself out.”

“This isn’t a college kid going backpacking in Europe for a year,” Nat snaps. “He’s...you know who he is, who he was, and what he can do.”

“Counterpoint: we don’t know if he secretly really wanted to see traditional decoration of Ukrainian Easter eggs,” Tony says. “God knows that I want to learn more about that.”

“Is everything a joke to you?”

"Only on federally mandated holidays,” Tony says with a shrug. “But let him be. Steve, it’s one thing that he didn’t kill you. It’s another thing that he hauled you up from the Potomac. I’m not sure I would’ve done that because who goes up alone to a helicarrier?”

“Historically nobody,” Natasha says. “Most people don’t have any helicarriers.”

“God, this situation sucks,” Tony says. “What if. We potentially. Ignore all of it and have spinach and artichoke dip? Hm?”

“With toasted bread?”

“I’m not an animal, Steve.”

“Your penchant for four a.m. coffee while you don’t realize you’re singing songs from the seventies says otherwise,” he responds.

“Well well well, if it isn’t the punishment of you getting the aux taken away for a week,” Tony taunts.

“Oh, come on!” Steve whines.

“Nope, just you having to listen to more of Bruce’s questionable tastes.”

“Fuck.”

Barnes comes stateside. The only reason Tony knows this is because Jarvis says that he may have spotted Barnes, but he’s not sure.

“J, you’re the most advanced system in the world, not to mention my son, and you like to hack into the Pentagon for funsies.”

“All of that could not have prepared me for this.”

Barnes is wearing a neon green tank top that is advertising Coco Beach in Florida.

“Can I laugh? Or is that sad?”

“Multitask, Sir.”

“Oh, true.”

Barnes is not in New York. Tony has to near-about put an electric fence around the whole state so that Steve doesn’t go on a road trip.

Hell, Tony doesn’t even trust him to go to coffee alone, but that’s a bit much.

“We have to wait,” Tony says.

Sam Wilson is a godsend. Also the funniest man Tony knows.

He is also emotionally healthy and very perceptive, so he has been noticing that Tony is nervous.

Because how do you face the man who killed your parents? Technically?

“Are you talking to your therapist?” Sam asks. “Just thinking you should.”

“Sam, we’re working on my issues from 2007. Believe it or not, it will be taking a full year.”

“I don’t like that I can never tell if you’re serious.”

“I know you remember the tabloids from 2007, I wrote a mesh vest. Clearly, I need so much help.”

Sam snorts.

“Maybe. Hey, I’ll catch you later. Clint and I are gonna go try and find some questionable shirts to crop.”

“Did his little protege convince you? Bishop, right?”

“Kate, yeah. She’s convinced our public image will go viral or something. Good luck with helping Steve and Nat with your super-soldier hunt.”

“Thanks. Let me know if you find a shirt with my face on it. I want it.”

Sam snorts.

“Will do.”

Bucky Barnes comes to New York in early May. The springtime is slowly but surely fading off, sun approaching more and more. Tony is enjoying coffee on a veranda, and then suddenly his waiter is nowhere to be found and he’s not entirely sure if his visitor takes credit or debit.

“Can I help you?”

“Maybe. Depends on if you’re gonna kill me or not.”

“I think Steve would be a bit broken up about it.”

“Do you care what he thinks?”

“On this situation? Yes. When it comes to culinary choices? No.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face. Tony’s trying extremely hard not to remember shattered glass and a motorcycle on ice.

“Can we, uh, table this conversation? For later. Espresso and all that, plus the added bonus of our shared history, so...”

“Shared history?”

“You don’t remember?” Tony asks. Bucky shakes his head. “Ah. Then this is truly a comedy of errors. Maybe. Um. Listen, I, uh...I gotta go. You need to talk to Nat or Steve or hell, maybe even Thor. Is Thor a good option?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Barnes, I can’t exactly face you right now.”

And then he jumps off a balcony.

A fucking balcony.

Jesus H. Christ, his therapist is gonna be so excited for their next session.

The suit wraps itself around him, and he can finally breathe, and he’s thinking about calling Pepper and see if she would like to schedule him a vacation for maybe anywhere but New York and Iowa.

“Why not Iowa?” Pepper asks. “They have good antique stores. I’ve gotten quite a few good finds for clothes.”

“I can do shopping retail literally anywhere else, absolutely not.”

“Spoilsport. Steve know you’re leaving?”

“I didn’t even really tell Steve what happened with my parents.”

“Oh, your therapist called. She sounded concerned, but also intrigued.”

“It’s because Sally almost became an employee of NASA and still has a soft spot for aerodynamics.”

“What exactly did you do when faced with Barnes?”

“Check the front tabloid page tomorrow, just tell everyone I’m out of town.”

“Got it. And Tony?”

Her voice is soft.

“Yes, dear?”

He can feel her rolling her eyes. Affectionately, of course, but rolling all the same.

“Be safe, and come back. You know Rhodey and I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

A week is spent in Malibu. He really is thinking about selling this place. But for now, it suffices.

Steve texts him.

bucky’s back. holy shit

be back in a week. radio silence.

got it. no more messages from me. thor tells me to tell you that he broke the sink

:((((

And that’s it. He’s sitting in the house for a week, has already called Sally once and explained how his suit works, and then listened to her talk about how “his reliance on the suit to help him escape unfavorable situations is not exactly the healthiest but also none of my clients have had to face someone who is of weird standing.”

It’s no secret that Tony doesn’t like Howard Stark. Who would’ve liked that sorry excuse for a father, a man who was so cold-hearted the Arctic looked like a tropical paradise?

Maria was...Maria was different.

She wasn’t a good mother. No, she was never a good mother. But she tried, and she didn’t deserve her fate.

And then there was the question of Bucky Barnes. Who wasn’t Bucky when he was there, but still so damn recognizable.

It’s kind of like when there’s a movie about a famous person, and another person plays them. Like Tom Hanks, essentially. Bucky played whoever the fuck they get Tom Hanks to play and it’s similar: you see the resemblance, but it’s not it.

So yeah.

There’s also the little tidbit that things get complicated when you involve personal feelings and rationality, and really? Tony misses New York. A lot. And he’s not going to let someone else overtake his life just because he’s uncomfortable.

So he flies back to New York.

He’s in a bad way, Barnes is.

“He remembered you,” Steve says. “What he did.”

“Ah, there’s that.”

“He doesn’t have to be here,” Natasha says. “I have a couple of SHIELD safe houses to choose from.”

“None would be adequate to house something like me,” comes the response.

Barnes looks remarkably shitty, as if he hasn’t slept in eighty years. And maybe he hasn’t.

“Jail would be more fitting.”

Tony rolls his eyes.

“You are literally the most dramatic person ever, and Bruce threatened to take over the government because Thor ate the last croissant. Put those on the grocery list, Steve

“We’re not gonna throw you in jail,” he continues on. “Not because you happened to be used as a goddamned Swiss army knife. I have issues, sure, but I’m not going to be going all Hannibal Lecter or whatever.”

“Who the hell is that?”

“Cannibal. I realized that that’s a terrible comparison, please forgive me.”

“Why a cannibal?”

“Couldn’t think of anything else but Anthony Hopkins, the actor. My mistake. Point is, we’re gonna have to go through some channels, and I’m introducing you to BARF, as well as a new person who’s gonna rock your world.”

“I’m pretty much well-acquainted with vomit.”

“No, not that,” Tony says. “Although we can cover that through my 2005 edition of partying if we really wanna dig up some old magazine interviews. No, I’m introducing you to something that’s going to change your life.”

After that, Tony doesn’t have much to do with Bucky’s life.

He serves as a permanent guilt trip, nothing says “well, shit” much like being a permanent guilt trip.

Sally tells him that they should talk it out. Do all that “and how do you feel?” questioning that makes his skin crawl and his eyes ascend to the ceiling.

I mean yeah, they share a living space. Tony has seen Bucky laugh and smile with Sam, talk with Bruce about a really interesting article about regeneration of plant cells or whatever, and Bucky enjoys videochatting with Wakandan royalty.

(It also helps that Shuri is blunt as ever, but so blisteringly smart. He’s reading her paper on regeneration of nanotechnology, and it just...it’s the Pieta of research, that paper.)

But he never speaks to Bucky. Well, he does. But it’s more along the lines of “hey Barnes” and “how are you?” which aren’t exactly the Most Thought Provoking Statements Ever Made.

Summer comes swiftly, and about near with a vengeance. Tony’s dealing with a heat wave and trying to figure out if going outside is even worth it, and then he and Bucky are alone in the kitchen.

Tony was debating getting a couple of popsicles from the freezer. Bucky is considering sabotaging Clint’s smoothie that was supposed to be special for tonight, but that he’ll most likely forget.

“Hey,” Bucky says. “Um, can we talk?”

Shit.

He’s been avoiding this, officially, for a month. Potentially more if you’re going to count a few choice events that have been brought up by his psyche.

“Sure thing, buttercup. What are we talking about. Economy, world crises, the great debate on financial advice?”

“Isn’t the third thing just the economy?”

“We can break it down over coffee.”

“Mm, maybe another time. No, I’m talking about us. About how I--I kind of ruined your life.”

Tony blinks.

“You didn’t ruin my life. If my life was ruined you’d be hit with so many lawsuits that I could make the rest of your life look like the third circle of Hell, or wherever it is that people go nowadays in Dante’s eyes. No, you didn’t ruin my life.”

“I still killed your parents.”

“If you hadn’t, someone else would’ve. Believe me, there were about fifteen others in line. Sometimes, myself included.”

“You can’t not take me seriously,” Bucky stresses. “I still did a terrible thing. I just want to make sure you know that you’re being too kind.”

“I most certainly am not,” Tony says. “Being too kind would have me feeding you grapes.”

Bucky’s face blanks.

“Don’t. I...I don’t wanna take advantage of your hospitality. I don’t want to remind you of what happened.”

“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t wanted,” Tony says. “Believe me. And if you want to leave, you’re free to leave. I don’t want to make you feel like you need to stay here.”

“I...I want to make it up to you.”

“Then use BARF and review it,” Tony says. “I’m serious. I need user feedback, and you’re the best candidate for it. Also, please try to convince Steve to wear neon yellow. I just want to see if he’ll do it.”

Steve wears neon yellow. Tony laughs so hard he cries.

Bucky smiles.

It’s a nice smile, really. It’s wide and happy and wow. That’s all worth it.

And then BARF. Bucky just gives user feedback, nothing else. Tony doesn’t want to know anything else, but they start talking more.

Tony finds out that Bucky’s been doing crosswords to catch up on current events, and he’s bought taped recordings of World Series games.

He loves antique stores. He visits them and brings home little trinkets that he remembers in his own house, or what he remembered. He watched old commercials from the fifties and sixties, laughed as he remembered the Sears catalogs that would come in the mail.

“Me an’ my sisters would beg my mom for new clothes from the catalog, and she never would. Always sewed our pants and skirts so damn well, I probably could’ve used them for the next ten years.”

Tony laughs.

“Well, I can’t promise I can sew. But I could give you some armor that could last you twenty years, if you want. Steve told me you’re thinking about doing some distance missions.”

“Just observation, no armor required.”

“Sometimes it’s the simple missions that get the worst hits,” Tony says. “Believe me, I know how it goes. So, do you want some armor?”

Bucky smiles.

“Sure.”

“I’ll need feedback.”

“I’ll give it all I’ve got.”

Bucky is a goddamned dream to design for. He knows exactly what he needs, what areas are most likely to be pierced, and also has a flair for the dramatic: he requests an Iron Man helmet be embroidered on the back.

“You’re really just trying to be sweet on me, aren’t you?” Tony teases.

“My master plan to gain your fortune,” Bucky teases right back. “I’ll waste it all on champagne pools and the worst-looking but most expensive shoes I can find.”

Tony laughs.

“Sugar, that’d be incredible if you could spend all of my money on that. I’d commend you.”

Bucky smiles, and it shouldn’t be as nice of a smile as it is, but here Tony is with his opinions and his concerning thought that maybe he wants to see more of Bucky.

In the morning, there begins a routine. Tony is always up at eight o’clock. It’s a rare lull in Avenger-morning-routines: Nat, Steve, and Bruce are all done, and Thor and Clint won’t be in until ten o’clock at the earliest.

(What can he say? Thor’s a god and Clint...well. He needs a lot of beauty sleep.)

Tony makes coffee, and Bucky makes them both breakfast. Says that officially, it’s to test and make sure that his prosthetic is still performing under optimal conditions.

(They both know that’s not it.)

Tony always says he pours too much water, makes enough for two cups.

Steve calls them out on it.

“You two are being weird,” he says. “And not like Thor and Bruce trying to reenact that one show about ghosts and unsolved things.”

“That’s their form of courtship, don’t be fucking rude,” Clint remarks. Natasha snorts.

“What, us being weird?” Tony asks, pouring a bit more coffee into Bucky’s mug. He always uses too much creamer and then won’t finish his coffee unless there’s more. “Why do you say that?”

“It’s because you both do couple shit,” Bruce says, breezing into the kitchen. “Also, Steve, lovely to see that you have volunteered to be the next guest on Avengers: Unsolved. We’re planning on using you as a guilt-trip in order to access files about aliens.”

“Truth will be found!” Thor adds. “But also, yes. Bucky, I thought you were taking him on a date to the art museum on Saturday.”

Bucky turns red. So does Tony. It really is quite inconvenient.

“I mean, we could go on a date there,” Tony says. “If you’re okay with that.”

“You’re doing this in public?” Natasha asks, eyebrows raised. “Hm. Would not have called that.”

“You owe me fifteen dollars,” Bucky says. “Not you Tony, quit looking at me like that. Yes, it will be a date on Saturday, I’ll wear a nice shirt. Nat said that I couldn’t do anything that surprised her.”

“Technically, Tony surprised me.”

“I thought dates were mutual events, hm? Fifteen dollars. I’ll use it to buy the best bouquet in New York.”

“The best bouquet costs over a thousand dollars,” Thor answers.

“Not questioning how you know that, but I’m scared of you,” Bucky says. “Then I will get the best fifteen-dollar-bouquet in New York.”

Tony snorts, smiling.

“I guess I’ll spray a bit of my perfume on my pillow then, soldier.”

“I’ll pick you up at noon sharp,” Bucky says, grinning. He finishes his coffee. “We’ll make fun of Steve’s art exhibit together.”

#lovelyirony writes #holy shit this was longer than expected #thank you to angel for this inspiration #winteriron #avengers as a family #personally i like the fact that thor and bruce are doing avengers unsolved and have to force different avengers on #natasha romanoff #bruce banner #thor #bucky barnes #tony stark #howard stark #maria stark #sally the therapist

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jinxofthecipher · 3 years

Text

Headcanon/Scene, Part 1:

When Deidara was first told that Tobi was to be his new official partner, he was, of course, appalled. They wanted him to be paired with such an artless weakling?? It was ludacrious! If anyone else had dared suggest such a thing . . . well they’d be missing a few limbs and knowing what true art was; but it came from Pain-sama himself and he was rather hard to say ‘no’ too.

So the blonde accepted, although it came with a good deal of grumbling that were all ignored. Course the complaining didn’t stop there, it followed Deidara all the way to his meeting with Kakuzu who was to stitch the artist’s arms back on.

“I don’t get it,” he huffed as Kakuzu picked up an arm and positioned it below Deidara’s stump of an elbow, “why is he even in the organization!? He’s useless and annoying as hell, hm.”

The older shinobi sighed, some of his tendrils slithering out and Deidara didn’t wince as it stabbed through his skin, reattatching one pull at a time. “Not as annoying as Hidan.”

“Hey!! You fucker! I’m literally in the next room over!!”

“Just stating facts, you egotistical brat.”

Rolling his eyes, Deidara continued, “yeah, Hidan’s annoying “fuck you blondie!!” but at least he’s competent. Tobi’s not.”

Left arm thoroughly stitched, Kakuzu gave a firm squeeze around the stitches, making sure it was completely attatched. Pleased, he went to work on the next. “Pain-sama wouldn’t make a mistake. He picked Tobi for a reason we’re not aware of yet, and may never know. It was inevitable either way, given Tobi has been hanging around since before I joined.”

“See! You said it yourself Kakuzu! ‘He doesn’t make mistakes!’ So-”

“You were picked by chance, Hidan. Everyone else was carefully chosen. Now: Shut. Up. Or I’ll kill you.”

A loud groan follows his threat, “yeah, yeah, whatever, old man.” Deidara raises an eyebrow at the fond tone.

“And if he gets too annoying, Deidara, then you can always kill him,” the older shinobi adds as the arm is sewn back on just as efficiently as the last.

That has the artist snorting, shaking his head with a grin, “already ahead of you on that. Gotta test his abilities some way or another and if he can’t survive that . . . well, I’ll be needing a new partner again.” He looks down at his newly attatched arms, wiggling the fingers. The mouths on his palms open. On command one smiles and the other’s tongue pokes out to lick at the lips, “Nice work, Kakuzu. They’re good as new!”

Kakuzu hums, “Just don’t go too crazy right out the gate. They’re too new. You might end up ripping 'em off and if either gets too ruined it’ll take much longer.”

“Yeah, ‘be careful, don’t go nuts,’ got it.” He hops off the table, “I’ll be careful. Good luck with the partner . . .” He eyes the open doorway were he can hear the jashinist grumbling, “Give up on killing him yet?”

Kakuzu shrugs, “I’ll keep him.”

“HA! Knew you liked me, Kuzu!!”

The older shinobi only sighs and Deidara can’t help the smile he gets as he leaves. Those two somehow found even ground but his partner? Nah. No way.

He’s sure that Tobi isn’t all that strong, even if Pain-sama seeminly doesn’t make mistakes. And apparently Tobi’s been around the organization for a long time now (Deidara knew well enough that Kakuzu had been picked very early on so for Tobi to have been there before him . . . something to note, that’s for sure) however he hadn’t ever been chosen. Pain-sama had come and chosen Deidara well before accepting Tobi officially in. That spoke louder then anything.

Tobi had been a last resort. But why? If the Akatsuki only accepted S-rank shinobi, why wait so long to recruit Tobi if he apparently was s-ranked? It just didn’t add up.

Course, then they trained and Deidara was even more confused. He had hit the idiot with everything he had (not his Ace, but still) and Tobi had skipped away from the smoking craters like a child on Christmas. Just . . . how?? Deidara didn’t get it, what the hell was he? At the end of the battle he had flown down, irked and angry.

“You have to tell me what your jutsu it, Tobi! We can’t work together if we don’t know the in’s and out’s of each other’s abilities!”

“But senpai, all it is is dodging! I’m veryyyyy slippery~” He had giggled, placing a hand over the bottom of his mask, as if to cover his giggles.

“That doesn’t answer any of my questions!”

And Tobi never answered any of them. And it only lead Deidara to be more and more suspicious. An idiot with capabilities of dodging any attack? Why. Wasn’t. He. Picked. Before. Now? The question always seemed to come up, more so when Tobi was being an idiot which was always. True, he wasn’t vastly intelligent or even all that cruel, hell there were times that Deidara was sure Tobi didn’t have an evil bone in his body. But that only brought up more questions that ran into more walls then answers. It got to the point where it would be easier to believe that Tobi was related somehow to Pain-sama and was waved in out of pity then anything else. That obviously wasn’t the answer but still.

Whether he had answers or not, Deidara kept an eye on him and while at first he hated doing so (the idiot was annoying as hell, just as he’d predicted), it became easier and easier and they naturally fell into step with one another. So easily that Deidara found himself surprised one day when Tobi did something annoying and he responed with his usual annoyance but found himself feeling . . . fond? (of course Deidara still whole-heartedly disagrees whenever Hidan brings any of it up. They’re NOT on the same page and he DOESN’T like when Tobi asks for a random hug during missions or when he asks for art demonstrations!). But either way, he’ll continue to be wary because as easy as it is to believe Tobi’s a moron, Deidara knows better to underestimate him even if he sometimes forgets cause Tobi’s eagerly listening to his art rants or has the artist actually laughing to the point of tears.

Part 2: https://jinxofthecipher.tumblr.com/post/639612985196920832/scene-part-2-it-all-starts-with-a-small-box-of

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hellowkatey · 3 years

Text

Febuwhump Day 23

Prompt: “Don’t look”

Warnings: graphic descriptions of violence/slave torture

Read on AO3

Oya Manda

While the tally marks on Rex's armor are for his kills, the ones he now marks on the side of his boot are for the days that have passed since he and General Kenobi were taken to Kadavo. Crossing the other four marks with a shaky diagonal line to signify the end of the fifth day isn't as satisfying as another enemy out of the way. He sighs as he sets down the little piece of graphite, letting his head hit the back of the bunk heavily like he's too exhausted to hold it up himself.

Kadavo is a new type of hell. He thought cadet training was hard work but this... this is torture. The older troopers like to whisper about their "slavery to the Republic", but those cushy Captains and Commanders haven't been here. The clones might as well be house pets of the Republic compared to the horrors he's seen at the Zygerrian market.

There is a heavy sigh in the bunk below him, and the clunk of a body falling onto the hard surface all at once. General Kenobi. Rex hasn't seen him all day, so he peers over the side at his Jedi General.

To say General Kenobi looks worse for wear would be a compliment. The man's robes have been all but shredded by the number of whips and beatings he's taken. They're basically red at this point too, caked into his skin by the dried blood. Though Rex hasn't exactly had it easy either, he certainly hasn't gotten the treatment of a Jedi in slave captivity. Slowly, painfully, General Kenobi rolls over, his eyes meeting Rex's in the dim light.

"Hello, Rex," he says softly. He half-expects him to ask him how he's doing, but then again, the general hasn't asked that in two days. It only prompts the same question in return, which he suspects Kenobi doesn't want to answer either.

"General. Where'd they have you today?"

"Rocks," he shifts his body so he's lying on his back, arms folded behind his head as a pillow. "You?"

"Digging."

"Hm." His eyes are already fluttering closed. Manual labor for fourteen hours a day will do that to a person. The draw of sleep is also tugging at the clone captain. He takes one last look at Kenobi.

"Night, sir."

The general in return just hums something incoherent, and Rex lays back on his own bunk.

He's on digging again the next day. Separated from General Kenobi once again. They lead him with a group of Togrutas to their site, and by the crack of a whip slicing through the air, they begin their day. Rex has learned the drill by now: stay quiet, keep working, and keep your head down. He hasn't had a bad beating since the second day with this tactic, and he'd like to stay in as few pieces as possible if he's going to be in fighting shape when they're rescued.

If we ever get rescued.

He pauses, the negative thought settling in and sending a chill down his spine. No, we will get rescued. They will come for us.

Rex knows this. Their mission is to save the Togrutas, and by association, him and the general. But he can see the five tally marks on his boot from where he stands, and he can't deny that it's been a long time since they were taken.

"Back to work!" a Zygerrian guard growls, and Rex raises his eyes to see if he's talking to him-- he is, but as Rex shoves his shovel into the gravel ground, a young girl catches his eye. The Togruta is also assigned to digging duty, but she hardly looks older than the commander! In fact, she looks quite like the commander, her montrals also blue and white, though a darker blue, and her white facial markings make up the majority of her face. What really gets him is when she looks up, obviously feeling someone's eyes on her, and stares at him with these big, round blue eyes. She just... reminds him so much of Tano it brings a knot to his stomach.

Seeing her in that getup at the market was... sickening enough. Through the war, Rex and the others have all but adopted the kid as their own, and to see her playing the part of the slave made his blood boil. Especially since he was playing the part of a slaver.

But to see an actual young Togruta that looks remarkably like their own Jedi... it's too much to take. All he can think about is if that were Tano, and it makes him eager to add more tally marks to his helmet.

"I said," a booming voice cuts through his remembrance of Ahsoka Tano, "back to work!" The crack of a whip snaps crisply in the air and Rex watches the girl flinch. He gets back to digging, but the anger builds in his belly. What is a kid doing out here in the first place?

By lunchtime, which of course, isn't actually lunch for the slaves but for the guards, Rex has ended up next to the Togruta girl as those between them were sent elsewhere. When Rex is confident the guards are too occupied with their food, he leans over slowly.

"Hey kid," he says softly. Even with his care to not startle her, she jumps at the sound of his voice. "You doing alright?"

She peers up at him with hesitant eyes but seeing he too is bound by a collar just as her she nods. "As good as I can."

"Tired?"

"My legs..." she winces. "Exhausted."

He nods, noticing the shake in her thin legs.

"Pick up less gravel in your shovel. I'll be sure to make up for it for you. Just concentrate on staying upright." he says, giving her a sympathetic nod. He isn't sure if she knows this yet, but the guards are not kind to those who collapse of exhaustion. They act as though flogging is a replacement for proper food and rest.

She looks at him uneasily, but nods. "Thank you. I will try."

They continue to work in silence. She does, indeed, pick up smaller loads, and Rex tries to move a little quicker and pick up a little more. He himself has been keeping a steady pace, and the mission of helping her is enough to bring his energy up again.

"What is your name?" he asks after a while. "Mine is Rex."

"Arshee."

"That's a pretty name. How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

She looks much younger, but it could be the sunken cheeks and thin frame.

Rex glances at the guards, who are dealing with someone on the other side of their workspace, and he leans in again. "We're going to get you out of here, Arshee. Help is coming."

"When?" she asks, as though being told help is on the way is something she hears on the daily.

"I-- I don't-- soon."

Arshee just nods, the points of her montrals sagging as she puts her head down to concentrate on digging. Rex sighs. He just wanted to give her hope, but it seems this is no place for that sort of thing.

Then two hours later, despite her best efforts, Arshee's body starts to shake, and she collapses to the ground. Her shovel has not yet toppled over when the guards have grabbed her by the biceps and hoisted her to her knees.

"No, please!" she bellows in terror. "I just fell!"

"You'll learn to rest on the job," one says, twirling around his whip as it powers up. It happens so fast, Rex hardly has time to react to what is happening. He stops working to stare at them in horror as the first lash from the electro-whip makes sickening contact with her back, wrapping around to jab into her ribs. The sight makes him queasy and immeasurably angry. Before he can think it through, he reverses his grip on the shovel, and when the slaver raises his arm to hit her again, Rex jumps between them, pointing his shovel at his face.

"Enough," he says. "She's a kid."

"She's our property."

"Well... so am I."

The Zygerrian's face goes from mild pleasure to a large, sinister smile ear-to-ear.

"Looks like we got ourselves a hero."

He hears a dull thud and the sound of crawling across gravel. Rex can see Arshee sitting on the ground with her arms wrapped around her torso out of his peripheral, her eyes wide with horror. Once again, he sees the commander in her place. Rex is ready to accept the fate of this if it means she will be spared.

The slave driver raises his whip, the string crackling with extra power, and Rex looks over his shoulder at the young Togruta girl.

"Don't look," he whispers, and then he feels the whip snap into his skin, sending searing, white-hot pain through every part of him. The electricity comes next, making every muscle in his body spasm and seize until they feel like they're melting off his bones entirely. There are only a couple seconds between each whip-- a few moments to recover before the progression repeats. His nerves are so strung out, he hardly realizes they have turned him around to work on slashing across his back.

In one of the lulls, he looks over where Arshee landed. Thankfully, she listened to him and is staring off in the opposite direction. He can see the tears dripping from her chin, her arms wrapped so tightly around her midsection it's like she's the only thing holding herself together.

She probably feels guilty that I've taken her beating... and maybe that is the case. But Rex would much rather her be upset with guilt than crying over the pain of torture. He will be sure to reassure her of this when he has the chance.

Rex grits his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut, and he rides out continued assault.

Now Rex is the one that looks worse for wear. As he drags himself back to his bunk, his body still buzzing from the electric shocks, he finds Kenobi sitting on the edge of the bunks already, watching his slow approach. He has a new black eye today, still bright red in some places so it must be fairly recent.

"Rex..." the general says in concerned awe as he sits down next to him. He has no energy to hoist himself up into his own bunk yet. Even sitting, his body sways, and Kenobi puts a stabilizing hand on his back.

"You mind?" Rex asks, holding out the small piece of graphite and stiffly raising his food. General Kenobi eyes the graphite and then his boot before taking it from his hand.

"They'll come," Kenobi says quietly as he places a new tally next to his group of five.

But even the Jedi, ever optimistic, doesn't sound entirely convinced of his own words.

#febuwhump #febuwhump2021 #febuwhumpday23 #don't look #kadavo #zygerria #rex #obi-wan kenobi #im very shocked this is my first kadavo fic #but hey at least i gave obi a little bit of a break

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jostepherjoestar · 3 years

Note

After seeing tha La Squadra ask with the yakuza games I was wondering how the group would react if the yakuza La Squadra member had a few of their old yakuza friends visit Italy and their the characters from the yakuza games (let’s just say it’s in the same universe)

🐉 Former Yakuza La Squadra member gets a visit from Kiryu & Majima🐉 (multiple asks in one) (2,1k)

sfw // gn reader (reader is the former yakuza member)

After discovering Majima and Kiryu shared a mutual friend that had moved to Italy and joined a gang there, they were curious to know how they were faring, deciding on a whim to pay them a visit. Their old pal had left quite the impression on the two men back when they were part of the yakuza.

Set in an AU where the Yakuza in-game happenings and JJBA events take place in the same universe, the game does not exist, it’s just real life for the characters and La Squadra’s newest recruit that used to be in the Yakuza happened to be friends with Kiryu and Majima back in the day.

(Btw my interpretation of Majima when he’s alone with Kiryu is that he mostly drops his act and since he’s in a new country he is a little more timid towards strangers, don’t get me wrong, he will still start shit but maybe not as quick.)

It was a bright and sunny day, the sweet spring wind still holding some winter chill as it blew through your hair. You were sat on the bench across from the safe house, arms spread wide on the backrest, cigarette dangling on your lips while you basked in the warmth of sunshine. You quite enjoyed sitting like this, making it an uninviting scene for passersby or your teammates, not wanting anyone near you so you could relax in peace. Of course still on guard, never truly letting it down, there’s enough people out there that have a bone to pick with Passione, especially your division. You took another long drag of the cigarette, the overwhelming smoke entering your lungs like ashy clouds. But as you heard some rustling you reached over to grab the smoking bud and pressed it into the ground with your foot. There was something suspicious going on, you felt like you were being watched. You casually peered through half closed eyes at the building in front of you, no one had been staring through the windows. No, it felt like it came from a different direction. Lazily you stood up, stretching your core, twisting your middle from side to side while letting your arms get some movement, readying your body for possible combat. As you turned, you saw a trashcan wiggle in your peripheral. The movements looked very unusual, was there a cat stuck in it? But the can was placed so precisely on the corner of an alley, someone could easily be standing right around the bend to surprise-attack you. Picking up a rock and throwing it right at the middle of the can, even making an indent, you felt a bit idiotic for doing it. But still there was no further movement or sound. You were still curious so you without much thinking you crept closer. If it was an animal in need you’d feel bad to have left it to suffer.

As you stepped nearer, now in front of the dented can, having full vision of the alley you were met with someone you didn’t suspect in the slightest. “Kiryu-san?” You questioned, face frozen in shock. “Wh-what are you doing here? Am I dreaming?” you asked while rubbing your eyes, maybe if you rubbed them hard enough you’d wake up. The large man’s furrowed eyebrows softened as he was met with your familiar form. A small smile formed on his lips but he stayed quiet for some reason, opting to kick the trashcan in front of him instead. It burst open, the lid sent flying further into the alley as you both ducked for cover. “What the fuck Kiryu-chan?! I told you I got this!” Majima’s figure popped out, the snakeskin jacket crumpled from what looked like sitting in the confined space for far too long. You couldn’t believe your eyes, you’re sure your mouth was hanging open with eyes wider than a deer in headlights, like your brain had crashed and burned. “Ya went and ruined the surprise Kiryu-chan! And ya went and broke Oushi-chan as well.” The one eyed man gestured angrily while complaining, he’d planned out the perfect way to surprise you: to shock and fight you. But the only thing that snapped you out of your stupor was that stupid nickname, Oushi-chan. He basically called you a bull, giving you the nickname after you’d stormed angrily down the stairs of the Tojo Clan head office after a particularly frustrating meeting and nearly threw Majima down the stairs as you raced on by. “Stop calling me that! And what in the name of all that is sacred are you doing in Italy?” You hushed your yells as to not alert the entire neighbourhood of their arrival, helping the older man out of the trashcan. “We’d thought it was nice to come and visit you, see what you’ve been up to.” Kiryu calmly explained. “And calling was too expensive? You guys really scared the shit out of me!” Still filled with disbelief at their sudden appearance, but glad to see those familiar faces again. You did miss them too, the short time you shared with them still being remembered fondly. “Glad to see ya haven’t changed, ya did get an Italian accent though.” Majima playfully jabbed as he slung his arm around your shoulders. “Oh you’re one to talk about accents old man.” You prodded back as you pushed his arm off in annoyance, not taking any of the man’s teasing that easily. “Before you ask how we found you, I’ll explain.” Kiryu’s voice was still as deep as you remembered, telling you how they knew you were in Naples and even knew of Passione, it was just a matter of time until someone pointed you out (after some mild intimidation). Not that it was hard to spot you among the Italian men in your team. Hard for these two to talk, back in Tokyo you’d spot that grey suit and angry scowl from a mile away. And let’s not even pretend that Majima’s no-shirt-tacky-jacket-leather-pants look was any less eye catching. You huffed out a laugh, the shock of seeing these two finally wearing off as they started asking questions about how you’ve been and how work is. Happily chatting on the bench you were previously lounging on.

“So… what’s the nature of yer squad exactly? I mean ya look meaner than before, if that was even an option.” The one eyed man jested in a hushed voice, sure that it was a sensitive topic. “Well I like to think we’re the cleanup crew, bringing a bit more harmony to this field of work.” Ignoring his comment about your looks, sure that they helped you in this line of business. “That’s one way to phrase it.” Kiryu huffed out a chuckle, leaning his hands on his knees as he looked at you with a sympathetic smile. He admired your fervour, it was one of the reasons he was so fond of you. After hearing how you stood up against Majima and he didn’t slice you to bits, he was impressed at how you persuaded Majima to settle it through a game of hanafuda. The stoic man knew you liked to be alone, being used to it himself or rather preferring it somewhat over putting his loved ones in danger. He actually asked you to join his family if he ever became patriarch of his own one, he put a lot of trust in you.

After some more catching up you decided that perhaps you should show them around the house and introduce them to your teammates. Knowing how much they loved hearing your stories about your time in the yakuza, they’d surely appreciate to meet your old pals. You stepped in with the two men in tow, stopping in the entry way to hand your friends some slippers, it was a habit you never let go since moving here and you’d even convinced the rest of your house mates to go along with it. “Hey guys, I have some friends I’d like you to meet! Please don’t be weird!” You yelled loudly enough for the entire house to hear, even your capo on the top floor would be able to. Formaggio, Prosciutto and Pesci sauntered out of the living room, looking quite bored before noticing your two friends. Now they seemed interested. “So who’s the eye-patch guy and mister giant?” Formaggio joked as he elbowed Prosciutto who tutted his colleague for touching his suit. “Well these two gentlemen are my friends from Japan… from the yakuza…” it was so awkward to add that they were also involved in such things. You were pretty sure Kiryu was nearing his end run with the organisation anyway. “Oh and they do not understand a single word you’re saying, I’ll translate and yes I will filter out your jokes Formaggio.” You said in a serious tone. The two men behind you stood awkwardly awaiting any signal from you, Majima eyeing your teammates up and down, trying to get a good impression of them. Pesci seemed scared by the men but trying his best not to show it, only shaking a little. Majima thought him a perfect target to tease, holding himself back from his usual persona. “Prosciutto. Pesci. Formaggio.” Your blond colleague introduced them curtly, hands still in his pockets. Kiryu understood the introductions and gave a little nod, Majima followed with a grunt. “This is Majima-san and Kiryu-san.” The mingling of Italian and Japanese still being something you were trying to get used to, only having been able to speak Italian since you arrived. You led the men into the sitting room, the three colleagues retreating back to their card game while you and the other two sat down on the couches. Your colleagues weren’t really that interested it seemed or maybe just unsure of them for now. As you excused yourself to get some drinks for your guests, you were a little worried to leave them by themselves, you knew they could handle themselves physically, but it was more the communication part that you were worried about. You returned with a couple of glasses filled with juice as you saw Melone had slinked inside the living room, gently placing himself on the one seater next to the couch. “So who are these guys?” He asked curiously while leering, perhaps making Kiryu blush a little since Melone kept staring at him. You quickly introduced them to him and shushed him out of your seat, instead he sat on the armrests of the chair. Majima sat up a little, not really liking the looks of the purple haired one. “Is he always like that?” he asked, being a little weirded out. “Yes, yes he is.” You replied with a sigh as your teammate kept staring with a grin on his face, happy to just quietly observe.

You nearly sprung out of your chair when Risotto entered the doorway, feeling like you’d overstepped by bringing in your friends. Majima cocked an eyebrow at your behaviour, not knowing what superior could make you act like that. That was until he turned around as well. “Risotto I-, excuse me for bringing them in but they came all the way from Japan to check up on me.” You pleaded in a hurry as your capo took in the people in the room. “Don’t worry.” He said while giving a nod to the guests while taking them in, having a bit of a stare off with Majima or more like Majima didn’t want to lose eye contact. He felt an innate need to fight Risotto, not because he wanted to hurt him, he just wanted to see what the large man was made off. Risotto reminded Majima of his dear friend next to him. “I’ll be going back to work but please treat their guests nicely.” Risotto aimed his comment at the other men in the room, seeing them not really interact with the guests just yet. You sunk back down in your chair and sighed in relief. “He’s got ya whipped Oushi-chan.” Majima joked as he saw your cheeks get a little flushed.

Slowly but surely with lots of hard work the men actually started talking (with your help translating), Kiryu was still a bit demure but you didn’t expect him to be otherwise, respecting his usual style. After a while Prosciutto even invited them to play a round of cards, all sat around the table while he dealt them. A simple game of blackjack. You actually quite enjoyed the intermingling of your past and present, happy to know there were still people looking out for you back home. Not even sure if you were still allowed to call it home, having perhaps found a new one.

And yes Melone did ask to fight Majima, who quickly agreed since he thought the lithe man was weird and needed some readjusting. Of course Majima won, you sternly asked Melone not to use his stand. The whole thing was quite amusing actually, even Kiryu seemed to enjoy it.

#cozy ask #jjba au #jjba x reader #jjba fic #jjba x y/n #la squadra x reader #risotto x reader #prosciutto x reader #pesci x reader #formaggio x reader #melone x reader #yakuza

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fereldenturnip · 3 years

Text

But Don’t You Ever Let Me Go (3)

Primo Nizzuto/Majid Zamari Sugar Daddy Fic

Part 3/ ?

(Parts 1, 2)

Plus @ournextdoorneighbor has done several arts for #TrustTheWolf! Go check that AMAZING stuff out! :D

Majid wakes up at 10:58 am, completely well-rested. The evidence of his stale pleasure is glued to his body hair. The odd prickling promptly jump-starts his brain straight into freak-out mode.

The car ride. Primo’s dulcet tones. The smell of him on his skin. The pleasure of release after so long without.

Majid leaps out of bed.

Last night was a mistake. A weakness. One Majid is embarrassed to have committed in the first place.

What’s shocked him most is the ferocity of his swift libido. Majid’s had fantasies before, lurid wet dreams inspired by exaggerated magazine spreads. Hot chicks in nothing but lingerie and ‘come hither’ stares. He used to go through bottles of lotion and boxes of tissues like crazy before he finally started having sex for real.

Sex with women.

Because Majid likes women. He isn’t gay!

…Or, is he?

Fuck! Majid squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t know anymore! That tame, midnight fantasy was nothing at all compared to all his previous raunchy escapades, but it was also the most intense orgasm of his life. Primo’s very masculine body, his very manly voice, his very alpha-male presence awakens a dark need inside Majid. Hell, it knocked him unconscious for hours after emptying his balls all over himself.

Still, Majid is confused.

It’s the weekend. He’s off from work and that means no surprise visits from certain Mafia Dons. Hopefully. Just thinking about Primo overwhelms Majid and sends him into a wild frenzy around his flat. He spends most of his afternoon laundering his bed sheets and clothes, cleaning himself thoroughly in the shower…and then scrubbing down the tiles when he strokes out another Primo-induced orgasm.

It’s absurd, but Majid suspects one look at him and Primo will know his shame. His cock gives a valiant twitch at that.

Is this real life? Is Majid going to spend the rest of the weekend wanking off to Primo? He groans, flopping down on his springy mattress and hanging his head.

What exactly is it about Primo that awakens Majid’s sexual urges when nothing else has? Objectively speaking, Primo is a handsome-looking older man. Any fool with eyes, gay or straight, can see that plain as day. After the first few encounters with the man, Majid scoured old newspaper clippings from decades past. Desperate to understand the gravitas behind the notorious Primo Nizzuto.

Gone is the ridiculous pornstache and bell-bottoms of his youth, exchanged for modern (albeit still flamboyant) facial hair and fashion. The floppy hair and thick thighs remain, plus the addition of one pierced ear that came about during the 80’s. In fact, Majid once spent an entire lunch captivated by a single teardrop-shaped pearl earring that swayed in time with Primo’s conversation.

He appears to have aged like a fine wine, hale and healthy, time only adding to his magnetic elegance. All that country air and good food is a testament to the wonders of Italian longevity.

Add to that his influential power--and Majid isn’t that dumb not to notice the excited thrill he feels whenever Primo exercises said power on Majid’s behalf. Small, insignificant Majid, a real nobody that Primo pulls out all the stops for. Majid likes people watching? With a wave of his hand, Primo gets them a table with a stunning view for lunch. The gallery too crowded for Majid? One word and suddenly it’s just the two of them gazing at dusty old paintings. Primo could have literally anyone in the world, but instead he chooses to fill his days with Majid.

It’s hot.

It wasn’t like this with Hakan, who pranced around pretending to be his mentor so long as Majid continued making him money. Who coddled him while simultaneously collaring him.

Yeah, but Hakan didn’t want to fuck your brains out, either.

Oh, he knows exactly what Primo wants. Who he wants. Question is, is Majid willing to give it to him?

Primo is sexually charged and aimed at Majid, ready to fire whenever he’s given permission. That the ball is even in existence and firmly in Majid’s court is pleasantly reassuring. Despite all his carnal hunger, Primo will wait patiently for his enthusiastic consent. In some small measure, Majid can exert his own special power over the man. That in and of itself is attractive.

It’s exhilarating and dramatic, daunting and intimidating. Has Majid been playing it straight this whole time because it was expected of him?

Living in Italy only makes it easier to remove himself from the trappings of his old life and examine the bigger picture. For the first time, he’s outside of the rigid confines of tradition that mandated he be hard-boiled and repressed. Finally, Majid can breathe easy and freely explore what makes his cock throb without shame. Try as he might to abhor this “perverted” behavior, Majid not-so-secretly delights from the adventures, the conversations…the pampering. Maybe it’s alright to admit kneeling, crawling, and kissing Primo’s signet ring is exactly what he desires.

However, if Majid capitulates to Primo’s wants and needs, what’s in store for him when he inevitably fucks up? What security is there that he won’t end up beaten into another bloody pulp, or worse--dead? Honestly, it’s the punishment that scares Majid more than the sex. He’s racked with crippling anxiety--pins and needles in his fingers and toes, air freezing inside his lungs, the memory of bone splintering while someone he trusted sits indifferent to his suffering.

Surviving Hakan? Pure dumb luck. Surviving Primo? Not likely. Every moment spent with Primo is like lighting a matchstick around a puddle of gasoline. One wrong move and everything goes up in flames. Every nerve in his body is telling him to run, far away from Primo Nizzuto’s reach.

Everytime he gets the itch to move, those damn captivating green eyes lure him right back again.

You’re an idiot, Zamari.

++++

“Boss wants you to have this,” the man in the dark suit says.

It’s sunny as shit outside, enough that Majid squints an eye trying to adjust after spending so long in the auto shop. There’s a backdrop of power tools and air compressors whirring away behind him. In front, the Suit wears a thick pair of nondescript sunglasses over a neutral expression. He wiggles the package again.

Majid scrunches his face at the square box. It’s expertly wrapped in crimson paper that looks quite supple and expensive. It’s…a gift. A bloody gift, given the colour. Gulping, Majid wipes his hands off on a rag and clumsily accepts it. Suit goes absolutely nowhere, merely crosses his hands and waits patiently. Primo must have ordered him to witness Majid’s reaction and report back to him. Shit, Majid’s face burns hot and it isn’t from the sun.

The wrapping is just as buttery-soft as expected. It calms his initial, childlike instinct to rip and tear it open. Inside is a black box embossed with pale gold letters.

BVLGARI.

Majid’s eyes widen comically. He stares at the box, then at Suit.

Silence. Not even a shrug or head-tilt to acknowledge Majid’s turmoil. Nothing. Perfect, civil obedience. With his heart thumping loudly in his ears, Majid is almost envious of his observer’s detachment. His thumb edges the corners of the box and he immediately likens his situation to Pandora. What fresh hell is he inviting into this world by opening Primo’s gift? Just sign here on the bottom line...

Nestled on a cushion of creamy velvet is an all-black watch. The straps are a liquidy-soft metal of intertwining onyx teeth. The wide crystal face is ringed in matte black lettering (and fuck, it’s an actual Bvlgari) and tiny yellow-gold dials. Three perfect subdials catch a sunbeam and flare molten and golden, like miniature full moons in the midnight sky.

Woof!

His brown eyes light up and dance at the superb craftsmanship. It’s edgy but sleek, confident and dangerous--whoever wears it will surely strike an intimidating figure.

Oh, who is he kidding? Majid is totally going to wear this. Already his wrist is heavy and itching with anticipation. It’s absolutely perfect and exactly to Majid’s tastes. It’s as if Primo saw inside his soul and plucked out all his wants and desires just to hand them back on a silver platter. A plume of heat rushes down his spine to settle in his extremities.

Shivering, Majid reassembles the box and stares at the expectant Suit. He’s almost tempted to pass it back, refuse this precious (ludicrously expensive) gift, if only to gauge his reaction. The Suit wouldn’t mind, but he’d still have to deliver the news to the benevolent gifter. It’s already been well-established that Primo brushes off rejection like water off a duck. Or, in his case, a black swan. His first proffered gift was an entire damn vineyard. Dozens of meals and car rides later, a four-figure watch is innocent.

His fingers trace the embossed logo. It’s such a thoughtful gift, too.

“Please give Signor Nizzuto my sincerest,” apologies, “thanks.” Fuck.

Suit nods stiffly, pivots on one polished heel, and returns to his nondescript car.

Majid escapes the hot air outside and returns to the auto shop. The gift is tenderly tucked inside his personal locker, with the lock pulled twice just to verify it is indeed fastened. The rest of his work day is spent in a complete daze. Everything blends together--Majid can’t count how many car batteries and broken tail lights he replaces, his mind and eyes skittering back to bore holes into his locker.

When he greets Primo outside his apartment for their usual Tuesday night dinner, Majid is clean of grease and clothed in his best black attire. There’s been an effort to tame his growing curls and trim his short beard. He looks handsome.

The sallow streetlamp outside casts him all in shadow. Somewhere a dog barks.

This time, when the chauffeur opens the backseat door he lets Primo exit and meet Majid in the crisp night air. The two of them stand silently across from each other, only a scant few feet apart. Primo is dressed in a close-fitting red suit so dark it might as well be black.

Beware, the devil wears red…

Unabashed green eyes soak in his appearance, slow and sultry over all his edges and curves. Majid holds himself still, blazer tucked in the crook of his left arm. The purposeful posture highlights the gleaming watch adorning Majid’s wrist. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

Primo blinks once, tongue blatantly stroking along his bottom lip, “Do you like it, my boy?”

His husky words are a temptation, promising notes ringing in the air between them. Shuddering madly and unable to speak, all Majid does is nod. A smile carves its way onto Primo’s face, chiseling dimples in his cheeks. Those eyes of his are electric. He takes a step closer, bringing a cloud of that damn cologne with him--Majid inhales sharply--then promptly backing off to the side. A playful little dance that leaves Majid absolutely reeling. One gentlemanly sweep of his hand, Primo beckons him towards the belly of the rumbling car.

…So tempt away, devil, Majid thinks carelessly and ducks inside.

#my fic #trust fx #wolf 2013 #Trust the Wolf #primo x majid #primo/majid #primo nizzuto #majid zamari #But don't you ever let me go

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asunshinepuff · 3 years

Text

Secrets of the Darkened Seas

🧜🏻‍♀️ Hello! Welcome to chapter two! Please please please give a like and follow to my co-author and best friend Luna ( @epithymiahua ) because this story would not be where it’s at without her help!

She’s incredible and deserves so much credit for working on this alongside me cause she works so hard. And I feel horrible that she isn’t getting the credit deserves. Especially since this chapter includes her own oc! All credit for his creation goes to her because she’s worked so hard to create him!

As always, a reminder that there is some lore included within this, however it will be explained over time so no worries. There’s no mention of lore for right now.

The Included lore on different types of merfolk will be taken from the book “The Secret World of Mermaids” by Francine Rose. I will not take credit for it’s writing. It’s a childhood book of mine that I adore dearly and sincerely think you should all check out!

Also! Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list so that you don’t miss a new chapter!

Anyways, that’s about it. I hope you enjoy! 🧜🏻‍♀️

Chapter 2: The Dragon’s Pearl

The man and the young boy made their way to the far side of the docks, the sun was beginning to make it’s descent to the sea. The water rippled below the hull of ships, anchors being lowered or weighing anchors to begin their sails back at sea. Some of the townspeople were making their trek home. Quinn and Remus approach the ship that Remus had seen earlier in the day from a distance.

But up close, it was truly a sight to behold. The masts that were open, were a starking white, the wooden haul a rich brown mahogany, spotless with not a barnacle in sight. The railings were painted gold like the sun, freshly polished and not a splinter out of place. The bow had a golden nautical figurehead of a creature that Remus had never seen before. With a long serpentine body fully covered in scales, and large horns protruding from its head. A white spherical object clutched in one of its clawed hands. It’s jaws open as if to strike.

Remus’ eyes widened as he gazed upon the ship he had studied earlier. Glancing at Quinn, he couldn’t help but ask, “How has no one tried to steal this ship?”

Quinn chuckles, “Oh they’ve tried, but never got very far. My brother, the captain, is a force of his own that is not to be reckoned with.” He says with a smile. At Remus’ growing concerned face he quickly adds on, “Don’t worry. He might seem a bit… well, rather cold at first. To put it lightly. But he’s not a bad man.”

“How far have they gotten?”

Quinn muses for a moment in silence, as they make their way up the loading dock to the ship’s deck, thinking of the many times pirates - including the Blacks - have tried to take over the ship. “Never past deck.” He smiles at the crewmen preparing to sail as he stands in the middle of all their work. “Anyone seen the Captain?”

“Last we saw him, he threw Ethan overboard.” A sailor responded courtly. He was dressed in black pants and boots, a white shirt, and a gold sash around his waist.

Quinn looks to the sailor in bewilderment, “Again? What is that, the fifth time now?”

“Seventh actually, Ethan told the joke about the donkey.”

“I told him not to do that.” He shakes his head with an exasperated sigh. “Never learns does he?”

A young man with short curly dark brown hair, brown eyes, tanned skin was soaked to the bone in water as he marched back up to the ship. He looks to Quinn.

“Don’t look at me like that, I told you not to tell that joke. You’ve brought this upon yourself.” The young man rubs his necks as he walks below deck to change. Quinn shakes his head before he turns to Remus as he claps his hands and rubs them together. “It’s harmless really.” The man groans in pain, as if to contradict Quinn. “Eh, mostly.”

Remus watches the man in pain walk below the deck with widened eyes. He looks back to Quinn and the sailor, “Does that happen often?”

Quinn tilts his head back and forth with his arms crossed, “I’d like to tell you no, to ease you, but that’d be a lie. It happens on more than one occasion, though less often than you’d think.” He chuckles under his breath, “Now come along. I think it’s time to introduce you.” He then turns behind him and just smiles. “Hello, Min-Jun.”

Remus turns to follow, and nearly jumps in surprise. Lo and behold, said Captain was standing right behind them. The Captain was a tall young Asian man, around the age of twenty-one, with an expressionless face, had short straight black hair with part bangs, fair skin, and dark eyes. He was dressed in a well-tailored black coat with a dark forest green vest on top of a white shirt, black pants, and boots. At his hip was a wide sword with a dark forest green sheath with gold accents.

“Quinn.” He says in a deep monotone. His posture was as straight at a board, his hand at his side, his left hand on the hilt of his sword. His gaze lowers to the boy beside Quinn, narrowing a fraction before he looks to Quinn. “You were at the Taverns again weren’t you?”

“I will neither confirm nor deny.”

“So that’s a yes.” A brow rises ever so slightly before it’s gone in the blink of an eye. The captain turned his head slightly to look over the boy. “Apologies for any idiotic schemes my First mate may have dragged you into. He is not the brightest, but his heart is in the right place. Usually. He has the unfortunate ailment of defying gravity. I once caught him upside down on the masts so there’s that.”

“And who put me there Min-Jun? Cause it certainly wasn’t me. I may do many schemes you might consider idiotic-”

“Because they are.” His head leans to look at Quinn in a bored expression but his eyes held amusement.

Quinn raises his eyebrows, giving a pointed look before continuing, “But I wouldn’t do that out of my own volition!’

The captain simply looks away, fully content to ignore the auburn-haired man. “I am Min-Jun Hua. The crew calls me Captain Hua. What is your name?” He looks back towards Remus.

Remus was silent during the whole exchange, internally studying the interaction closely. He was uncertain whether the Captain and First Mate actually got along or if they hated each other, however, he caught the amusement in his eyes within their banter. They did get along. It was as if they were teasing each other. Maybe they actually did consider each other siblings. He noted with his own amusement now that his initial caution has about this new Captain has diminished. They’re so very different. How did they become companions?

“My name is Remus Lupin, Captain,” Remus replies with a curt nod, as he was trying to contain his nerves and seem content in the situation. He was uncertain if it was effective or not, but he seemed to take comfort in the fact that Quinn was so relaxed with the man.

Captain Hua says nothing for a long while as he stares silently at Remus. Completely motionless for what seemed to Remus, eternity, before the Asian finally looked like he took a breath. The Captain turned his gaze to his First mate. “He’ll be under your care for the meantime. Have him bathed, dressed, and fed before you send him to bed for the night. Tomorrow he can begin.” The captain says nothing more before he looks to Remus once again. “Welcome aboard the Dragon’s Pearl.” He gives a curt nod to Remus before he walks away to resume his duties.

Remus lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding before looking to Quinn in surprise, “Why didn’t he ask any questions? Wouldn’t he want to know more about me before deciding to let me aboard?”

Quinn merely shakes his head before looking to Remus, “The Captain is an incredibly loyal soul, he respects privacy. If you wish to talk about your past then he will listen, and he will never mention it again without your approval.” He says with a smile. “He cares, deeply. He’d rather have you upon this ship then let you be on your own. That’s what happened to Ethan as well, he’s actually not that much older than you, Remus. He’s turning seventeen next moon.” Looking to the ship, he runs a hand upon the railing gently before continuing. “This old vessel has seen many stray boys board her, and she’s seen many of them become family. The captain only asks for loyalty, truthfulness, bravery, and devotion to family.”

Remus smiles, comforted by his words. There was always more than meets the eye. He looks around the ship in surprise, “This ship looks brand new. How long has it been sailing waters?”

“Quite a long time. Practically hundreds of years. It’s been passed down through the generations of his family.”

“That’s incredible.”

“It is.” Quinn remarks with a nod in agreement, before looking back to the boy, “Now, we’ll be embarking at dusk. You want to watch the ship be put to sea?”

The two got situated at a good viewing point for the departure after taking care of duties below deck. It felt rather strange, yet refreshing to Remus to dawn a new set of clothes. Yet his scarf stayed tied around his waist, as usual, at least he could take some part of familiarity with him. The Captain began to call out orders to the crew before he took his place behind the keel, the crew lowered the masts, catching the wind. The colors were hanged, where Remus could see the emblem on the masts and flag of the ship. A gold circle and in the center was the same creature that Remus had seen on the bow of the ship, but from the side. Only without the sphere.

What sort of creature was that? Remus couldn’t help but wonder in curiosity as he watched the emblem upon the masts and flag of the ship.

“It’s a dragon. An eastern dragon.” Quinn says in reply, with a smirk upon his face as he looked to the boy. It seems Remus accidentally spoke aloud, and for once, he was alright with that.

A loud shout echoed from a grumbling man who was making his way to The Dragon’s Pearl loading dock. Remus flinched as he recognized the voice of the drunken man from earlier, while Quinn moved defensively to shield the fourteen-year-old from sight.

“I know he’s up there! Where is he?!” The slurred words from the drunk captain all but screech out. The hooked nose man stumbled his way on board, his eyes locked onto the auburn-haired man who stood defensively in front of the former deck boy. “You!”

“Me,” Quinn answered easily with a faint smirk.

“Where’s that deck boy!?” The drunk captain practically roared into Quinn’s face. To which Quinn’s nose simply twitched at the smell of alcohol that reeked off the man.

“Behind me, though I doubt you’d be able to grab him.”

“Where’s your captin’, I ought to have a word with him. You goin’ ‘round stealin’ deck boys, ought to be ‘shamed of yeself.” The man nearly tumbled over.

“Not stealing when he willingly came aboard. If anyone’s to be ashamed it’s you for your actions.” He retorts with a roll of his eyes then simply tilts his head, “You sure you want to have a word with my captain? You can hardly hold a proper conversation in your state. He won’t take too kindly to that factor.”

“I wan’ see yer captin!”

Quinn doesn’t respond for a moment, only looks behind the drunken captain with a bored look upon his face. “Turn around mate.”

“Wha’?” The drunk captain frowns with his mouth hanging open before he turns, nearly falling down when he sees someone standing behind him. Remus couldn’t help but hold a snicker back from behind Quinn as the drunk man flinched at the mere sight of the tall and sober captain.

Captain Hua looked down at the drunk captain with an emotionless stare but his eyes held a look that screamed ‘How dare you bring your drunken arse onto my pristine and clean ship.’

“You wished to speak to me?” Was the leveled voice of Captain Hua.

“A-aye.”

“You are not qualified to speak to me.”

The drunk captain staggered at the impassive tone. His face grew red. “Ye think you’re bet’er than me?”

“To ask that question offends me.” Captain Hua raised a brow.

“Where’s ye captin’s hat?”

“I don’t need one, I do not need to parade my status on my own ship, nor to ensure the respect of my own crew. They know who I am.” The Captain looked to his First mate. “Please escort this, man back to his ship.” Calling the drunk captain a man was incredibly respectful. Remus thought, truly Captain Hua had a class that was, unfortunately, being wasted upon this drunkard. But then again, Captain Hua didn’t acknowledge him as a Captain either.

“That’d be Captain Barclay ta ye.” He shrugs the hand that grips his arm.

“No. I think the Captain is right. Mr. Barclay.” Quinn contradicts with a smile, “Now, allow me to escort you back to your ship. I’m sure you embark soon.”

“Not without that boy.” The drunk captain glared at the boy.

Captain Hua looked at the drunkard, then at the boy. “First Mate Sandoval, please step aside.” The drunk captain’s eyes widen at the title.

Quinn ignores the surprised look upon the drunkard’s face and instead looks to Remus. Giving him a small smile of comfort and a look that says ‘Trust us. You’ll be alright.’ Then looks back to his Captain, and with a nod, he steps aside.

Captain Hua looked to the drunk man. “You can take this child to your ship, if you answer one question. If you answer correctly, you’re free to take him. If not,” His dark eyes narrowed, his left hand gripped the hilt of his sword, this sword was red compared to the first one Remus had seen. It was sheathed in a red case with gold accents. A strong pulse emitted from the sword as the pulse rippled through the ship. The ropes freed themselves from their knots, moving very much like serpents slithering up trees.

The crew has stopped working and watched openly. “I will throw you overboard.”

The drunk man didn’t notice the pulse of gold energy, nor did he notice the ropes begin to move on their own. Remus’ young eyes watched in amazement at Captain Hua, who’s sheer presence became overpowering, his aura seeming to infect the ship. Stupidly, the drunkard agreed.

“What is the child’s name?”

“...” The drunkard frowned, Remus could practically see the mental strain on the man’s face. His brain was too far gone from the rum. “... Bernard.”

Captain Hua did not look impressed. Not at all. He simply raised a brow before he looked to Remus to correct the man’s answer.

Remus simply smiles and shakes his head. “Wrong.”

What happened next happened rather quickly, it was really a blur to be completely honest. Captain Hua wordlessly grabbed the drunkard by the collar of his shirt, lifted him off the ground and proceeded to walk, not in any hurry, effortlessly to the side of the ship, and threw the man overboard with ease. Remus’ jaw dropped a bit.

“Why didn’t you just use the ropes?” Remus couldn’t help but ask in curiosity.

Captain Hua merely gazed down at the swimming crewmembers from the drunk captain’s ship who threw themselves overboard to ensure the man didn’t drown. “And deprive myself of the pleasure of doing it myself? Never.” Captain Hua’s stoic face gave a smirk in delight. “I would never disgrace The Dragon’s Pearl to so much as even touch that drunk. It was painful to watch an alcoholic parade around with a captain’s hat and acting like a child throwing a temper tantrum.”

“... How did you know he didn’t know my name?”

Captain Hua looked down at Remus. “I have two answers. One; most people who make port hardly ever ask for a deck-boys name.” The captain began to walk away from the railing, Remus followed. “Two; even if by the off chance he did know your name, he would not have the sentimentality, nor the intellectual capacity to remember your name, especially while drunk.” He turned to look at Remus. “I would not have made that wager had I believed for a second he would be able to say your name. Not when he preferred to think with an organ that he did not have instead of his brain. Not to mention your name is unusual. I am not one to gamble. Especially with someone’s life.”

Remus pauses for a moment taking in the Captain’s words, before asking the question he was truly reluctant to hear. “... What if he did say my name?”

Captain Hua looked at Remus for a long time before he looked away to the setting sun. “Then he would have won.” Captain Hua looked back to Remus. “It may seem cruel, but I will not lie to you, Remus. I do not break my word.” Captain Hua looked to the sunset once more. “I would have just challenged him to a duel if that was the case. The man couldn’t even walk straight let alone hold a sword.” Without another word, he walked away.

Remus stood silently as he watched the Captain walk away, and looked out to the sunset once he was out of view. There was no relief of tension like he had initially anticipated when he first heard the words of the wager, as if he already knew he was safe. How exactly he determined that conclusion, he had no clue. But in his heart, he knew that was the case.

He watched the shoreline of the port town he had always known, grow smaller and smaller with every glide of the ship, until it vanished from view- it was the start of a new life. A new chapter. Like each morning rise and evening set of the sun upon the sea.

Tag List: (Let me know if you wish to be added!)

@whataboutmyfries

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #remus x sirius #quinn sandoval #captain hua #min-jun hua #asunshinepuff oc #epithymiahuaoc #our ocs #pirate captian #pirate and mermaid au #cw drunken #secrets of the darkened seas

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dweetwise · 3 years

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yes hello, i’m back on my riconti bullshit again, this time with a cute prompt fill from @dailyau by @hcpelesshcney about fire alarms and sharing a blanket ❤️

i’m also trying something new with splitting a fic into chapters!

ship: felix x ace warnings: briefly mentioned internalized homophobia word count: 3700

[next]

Where there’s smoke, there’s fire (part 1)

It's surprising just how scattered the human brain becomes during a crisis.

When Felix was woken from his restless sleep in the hotel bed by a blaring fire alarm, he'd bolted out of the bed and scrambled out into the hallway without second thought. He'd probably even left the door to his room wide open, with his wallet, passport, phone and laptop all neatly arranged on the desk for anyone to walk by and steal.

And now he's standing in the parking lot in the chilly late summer night, dressed in nothing but his pajama pants and a t-shirt. His socks were drenched as soon as he stepped outside, running straight into a puddle while hurrying to get away from the potential fire.

At least he's not alone in the stressful predicament. There's plenty of other people around, looking just as lost and dazed as him, having been forced to evacuate the hotel in the middle of the night. Most have been sensible enough to bring their jackets and shoes, a couple of kids even huddling beneath a hotel duvet.

And since there's no sign of a fire or even any smoke, Felix feels like an idiot for not having the foresight to bring something to warm him up.

The firefighters have just arrived at the scene and are preparing to search the building for the source of the alarm. Felix tries not to shiver even more as he relents to the fact that they're still going to be stuck out there for quite some time.

The crowd in the parking lot is loud, families and partners gossiping amongst themselves, some people even arguing with the staff members about ruining their vacation. Felix wishes they'd just shut up, more than happy to forget this ever happened if he'd just get to curl back under the warm covers of his bed instead of freezing out here.

This trip just kept getting worse. Not only had he been forced to come on only a day's notice, taking over Lauren's business trip across the Atlantic when she'd unexpectedly caught a cold. He’d also had to take a shitty flight route with two extra stops, and his last flight had been no less than six hours late.

When he’d finally arrived at the hotel and started trying to sleep off the massive jet lag after barely getting any sleep on the plane, he'd been rudely awakened by an emergency. And now, to add insult to injury, he’s gone from the threat of burning to death to freezing to death.

“Hey,” a voice says from right beside him, making Felix jolt in surprise over being distracted from his internal pity party.

He sees a man standing next to him, wrapped in a hotel-issued blanket, looking up at him with curious brown eyes and a pleasant smile.

Felix racks his brain for if he knows this man or not, but draws up a blank, the tiredness and cold making his thoughts feel sluggish. The man is shorter than Felix and looks a little older, if the laugh lines and grey hair are anything to go by.

“You look cold,” the man says. “Wanna share my blanket?”

As the man lifts the fabric just the slightest bit in invitation, mortification hits Felix. Not only is his shivering noticeable enough to warrant someone taking pity on him, he's being offered physical contact from a stranger.

Isn't it a weird thing to offer, especially to another man? Does he somehow know that Felix is gay? Is he making fun of him? Or is it just an American thing? Wouldn't it be weirder for Felix not to accept, since the man has noticed how much he’s freezing?

“Alright,” the man says when Felix isn't replying, lowering the bedding in surrender. “My bad, I just thought—"”

“Yes,” Felix says, interrupting him.

“Uh…” the man says, understandably confused by Felix's social awkwardness.

“Yes, I want to sh-share,” Felix says, another full-body shiver wracking his body.

“Oh! Sure,” the man grins happily, and then he's suddenly very close, shoulder bumping against Felix's chest, and a corner of the blanket is thrown haphazardously over Felix's shoulder.

“T-thank you,” Felix stammers, both from the nerves and the cold, grabbing the soft cotton fabric and pulling it tighter against himself.

And causing the stranger to stumble even closer from the momentum.

“Sure, don't mention it,” the man grins, like he's not now pressed against a stranger's side from shoulder to hip.

Embarrassed as Felix feels, both the blanket and the person attached to it are warm. Felix has to stop himself from sighing blissfully as the other's body heat starts to warm him up, slowly working away at the chill in his bones.

“Well, since we're gonna be stuck here for a while,” the man muses. “My name's Ace.”

“F-F-Felix,” Felix manages through clattering teeth.

“I'd shake your hand, but I think we're past that stage already,” Ace jokes, and then offers a pleased grin as Felix huffs out a surprised laugh through his nose. “In any case, it’s nice to meet you, Felix,” the man looks up at him and smiles, and Felix's poor, gay heart skips a beat.

Yeah, this is definitely preferable to freezing to death.

“I wonder how long they'll take to find the cause this time,” Ace starts conversationally, while pulling out his phone from the nest of blankets. He sets to what looks like writing a text to someone, not seeming the least bit bothered by their predicament.

“You don't seem very nervous,” Felix observes.

“Not my first rodeo,” Ace looks up and grins. “Probably someone just smoked inside and tripped the alarm. Happens a lot in hotels.”

“D-d-do you travel? A lot?” Felix asks, partly do distract himself from the cold while he gets his body heat up, partly to divert Ace’s attention from his phone.

“You could say that,” Ace says. “What about you? Here on business?”

“Yes,” Felix says, with no small amount of annoyance over being reminded he still has work tomorrow. “Thankfully my meeting isn't until the afternoon.”

“Glad you can get your beauty sleep,” Ace says.

“And hopefully get rid of the jet lag,” Felix comments with a tired sigh.

Ace hums in acknowledgement before going back to his phone message. Felix tries not to take it personally; he knows he's not that interesting to talk to.

Ace is so warm, and it's a little awkward being pressed this close, but embarrassingly enough, Felix finds himself drifting even closer. Ace smells like whiskey and cheap cologne, but somehow, it's oddly comforting. He'd probably been drinking last night—well, technically tonight. Thankfully, he doesn't seem drunk, as Felix doubts he would have had the patience to deal with alcohol-induced rambling.

“Whiskey man, I see,” Felix comments. When Ace looks up from his phone in surprise, Felix realize how weird it is for him to admit to smelling the man.

“I reek that bad, huh?” Ace grins, taking the comment in stride.

“I didn't mean—” Felix flounders to explain.

Damnit, he should just give up on trying to make conversation.

“Wow, lighten up,” Ace says and elbows him playfully under the blanket, adding even more physical contact to their already borderline inappropriate situation.

Felix tries to ignore the fluttering in his gut when he feels Ace's hairy forearm brush against his own. This is more physical contact than he's gotten from another man… probably ever.

“Yeah, I had a few drinks earlier. I'm more of a wine man, but…” Ace seems to ponder. “Sometimes, you've got to try new things.”

Like huddling under a blanket with an attractive stranger, Felix considers.

Suddenly, he almost regrets the blanket blocking his view from seeing more of the man. His body feels firm against Felix's, and his shoulders look defined, though that could just be an illusion from the thick fabric covering them.

“What’s your poison?” Ace asks, following Felix's awkward silence.

“I don't drink much,” Felix lies, like he hasn’t been going through his father’s old liquor collection at an alarming rate for the past year or so. “Uhm… whiskey, I guess. And bourbon.”

He could really, really go for either one right now. Not only would the drinks warm him up, they'd also make him act like an actual human being instead of the stiff robot impression he's currently doing.

“Huh,” Ace comments.

“What?” Felix asks, trying not to get defensive.

“Nothing! I would have pegged you as a beer guy, is all,” Ace muses. “Maybe that's just the accent, though.”

“Sorry,” Felix apologizes. Now hyperaware of his bad pronunciation and extremely German accent, he tries to bury his face deeper into the blanket in embarrassment.

“Naw, hey, come on,” Ace turns toward him as much as the cramped space allows him to. “Your English is amazing! The accent only adds charm.”

Felix looks at Ace's encouraging smile and tries not to think too much about their thighs now pressing together. Ace is clearly waiting for him to say something, but all Felix can focus on is his warm body and striking features.

“Where are you from?” Felix asks instead, trying to place the hint of an accent he thinks he hears.

“Huh. Good catch,” Ace smiles, seeming surprised. “Guess!”

Felix flushes and looks at Ace's eagerly grinning face. It's nighttime, but Ace's skin seems darker than his own, and his features look Mediterranean, reminding Felix of countless business trips to Spain. But the accent…

“Italy?” Felix suggests, and Ace's smile somehow widens even further.

“Close!” Ace says. “Argentina.”

“Ehm…” Felix furrows his brow in confusion, thinking that surely, being a whole continent and world sea off doesn't exactly count as "close".

“My family hails from Italy, and it's my native language,” Ace explains. “So it was a really good guess!”

“Thank you…?” Felix says awkwardly.

“I'd ask what you were doing when the alarm went off, but…” Ace pauses, glancing up at his disheveled hair. “From your outfit choice and the bedhead, I'd put 50 bucks on 'sleeping'."

“You'd be correct,” Felix murmurs, self-consciously poking his hand out from under the blanket to run through his tousled hair. “I'm not very interesting.”

“I think I'll be the judge of that," Ace grins. “If, uh… you don't mind chatting to pass the time?”

“Not at all,” Felix says, hoping he doesn't sound too eager, happy Ace deems him interesting enough to talk to instead of whoever he was texting earlier.

They spend some twenty minutes chatting about mostly insignificant things. But as much as Felix usually hates small talk, he now welcomes it, because Ace is asking him interesting questions instead of just talking about the weather. He appears to genuinely care about Felix's story, and Felix might end up sharing a little too much, from the work stress and business trip he didn't even want to come to, all the way to his relationship that ended a few weeks ago.

Ace seems friendly and pleasant, taking Felix's awkward pauses and nervousness in stride, filling in the silences with stories of his own. Felix hears a lot about the different places he's traveled to, along with some hotel horror stories that make him feel much better about the current fire alarm situation. He manages a few laughs, some merely polite, but some genuinely amused at Ace's over-the-top storytelling.

Eventually, Ace's phone beeps again and he excuses himself and engrosses himself momentarily in the screen, and this time, Felix welcomes the brief break in socializing.

He realizes just how nice this is. It feels like a stroke of luck that only a few short weeks after ending his relationship with his ex-girlfriend and coming out in the process, he'd meet a handsome stranger this eager to cuddle up to him.

Not cuddle up—share a blanket, Felix mentally berates himself.

He glances at Ace out of the corner of his eye, seeing his side profile illuminated by the dim glow from the phone screen. Felix never really considered what his type would be, apart from the all-encompassing "men" that he'd only recently come to accept about himself. But taking in Ace's defined features and the smile that seems to be a permanent part of his face, he's starting to get an idea.

Quickly looking away before Ace catches him staring, Felix suddenly feels almost too warm. He shouldn't get ahead of himself; even though It feels like Ace is being a little too friendly, he hasn't actually made a move, seeming happy just with chatting to kill time.

Felix briefly toys with the idea of placing his hand on Ace's hip in a loose embrace, just to test the waters. He'd never be that brave, but if he was, he'd at least know for sure, even if it would probably end in Ace being disgusted and kicking him out of the blanket cocoon.

But… maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d smile even wider and return the gesture, just as eager as Felix to get even closer. Felix would wrap his arms around him, and they'd stand there cuddling and sharing even more body heat, maybe even kissing—

Shit. This is exactly what his therapist said he shouldn't do, the term "excessive daydreaming" flashing in his mind.

“Sorry,” Ace is saying, turning back to face him and pocketing the phone, completely oblivious to Felix's internal dilemma. “Where were we?”

“I, uh,” Felix stammers.

Was just thinking about kissing you.

“Did I tell you about the time a bunch of college kids decided to set off fireworks in the hotel room next to mine?” Ace offers, saving Felix from floundering for a topic.

“What—why would they…?” Felix asks.

“Well, I'd just gotten back from this extravagant New Years party—” Ace excitedly starts telling yet another story, and Felix keenly starts listening in.

Ace seems to be completely in his element, getting lost in talking about just how fancy the party was, followed by a dramatic retelling of some very incredulously sounding explosions that turned out to be fireworks. Felix keeps listening raptly, not entirely sure about the accuracy of the story, but enjoying seeing the other so happy. The blanket occasionally shifts as Ace tries to gesture with his hands to add to the narration, only to remember that he can't, looking sheepish every time.

Felix has never met someone with such effortless charisma. Ace's voice is rich and pleasant, and Felix briefly zones out while he imagines it talking him to sleep.

It's stupid, and he knows it. He's only known the man for half an hour, and even "knowing" him is pushing it. Felix is only in the country for two more days, and he’s very aware that pursuing anything would be pointless.

But he also knows that given the chance, he wouldn't say no to seeing Ace again. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, the narrowly averted emergency, or simply being far away from home and realizing nobody would ever find out. Either way, he’s feeling more adventurous than usual, the adrenaline in his veins and butterflies in his gut keeping his tired body on high alert.

Too bad he's deathly afraid of rejection and would never dare to ask if the other is interested.

Suddenly, there's the screech of a PA system, and Ace stops mid-sentence, both of them turning to look at a firefighter speaking into a megaphone.

“The fire has been extinguished and the building is now safe. Please return to your rooms,” the fireman announces.

The horde of people immediately start flocking towards the hotel entrance at the same time, creating an annoyed crowd of freezing, grumpy people and managing to clog the entryway immediately.

“I wonder what the cause was,” Felix ponders out loud, not making an effort to move toward the commotion and get stuck between the shoving, complaining people.

“Who cares? We get to not freeze our asses off anymore!” Ace exclaims gleefully.

And Felix realizes they no longer have a reason to stay huddled up together. Reluctantly slipping away from under the blanket, he feels a disappointed pang in his chest over how happy Ace sounds to get rid of him.

“Thank you for lending your blanket,” Felix says, handing his side of the fabric back over to Ace and trying not to shiver as the cold of the night hits his warm skin.

“My pleasure! Thanks for keeping me warm!” Ace quips cheerfully, wrapping the item tighter around himself.

“Ehm… you as well,” Felix says, looking away so Ace doesn't see his face heating up.

“Come on, let's get you inside!” Ace prompts, and then he leans into Felix and shoves him lightly with a blanket-clad shoulder.

It's clearly in an intent to encourage Felix to move, but it still makes newfound hope blossom in his chest. They’re no longer forced to tolerate each other if they don't want to freeze, but Ace still seems far from repulsed by him.

“Right,” Felix says, starting the short trek to the hotel entrance that has thankfully cleared up from people.

“So…” Ace drawls, easily falling into step next to him. “Can I have your number?”

Felix glances at him and blinks in confusion. Is… is Ace asking him out? Or just being polite? Is he going to ask to be added on Facebook too, like all the weird colleagues Felix has met on business trips once and then never heard from again?

“For...?” Felix manages to ask when they arrive at the entrance, reaching for the door and holding it open for the man.

“Just wondering if you wanted to grab some drinks while you're still in town,” Ace says when he slips past Felix into the building. “I wouldn't mind getting to know you better,” Ace adds, looking him up and down with a smile that is definitely not just friendly.

Heat rises up Felix's neck from more than just the warm air of the hotel lobby. Clearly, he wasn’t the only one sensing the tension between them.

“Maybe,” Felix says, trying and probably failing to not seem way too enthusiastic.

“Oh?” Ace says, quirking an eyebrow. And then he's shrugging off the blanket, revealing a rolled-up, button-up shirt and—

Fuck. Broad shoulders and a lean build, that sure as hell doesn't make Felix's predicament any easier.

Felix definitely stares longer than appropriate while they continue walking to the elevator, Ace thankfully too busy with bunching up the blanket to notice his ogling.

“What…" Felix starts, making Ace look at him, cocking his head. "Uhm. What's with the sudden interest?”

“I mean,” Ace says, shooting him pointed look. “I was interested ever since I saw you there, shivering in your ridiculously tight T-shirt,” he winks.

Felix realizes that the shirt probably leaves a lot less to the imagination than the suits and blazers he always wears. He lifts a hand to his arm in a self-conscious manner, making an attempt to cover himself.

“But I didn't wanna freak you out,” Ace adds, giving a one-shoulder shrug. “Would have been pretty awkward if you said no, considering you were kinda stuck with me for a bit.”

That's… oddly sweet, and very much appreciated. Felix would probably have imploded on himself from embarrassment if Ace would have been this forward from the start.

“Thank you,” Felix says.

“No worries,” Ace grins, pushing the button to order the elevator. “So? Are you freaked out?”

Felix considers the question for a moment, only arriving at variations of "no", "I'm leaving in two days" and "help you're really hot but I've never been with a guy and don't know what to do".

“I think the word is…” Felix pauses in thought, trying to ignore his brain screaming insecurities at him. “'Intrigued'.”

Proud of managing to be smooth for once in his life, the ding of the elevator arriving is almost lost on Felix, because he's so focused on Ace's now downright lecherous grin.

But he obediently steps into the elevator, not wanting to keep the few hotel customers still lingering behind them.

“What's you floor, gorgeous?” Ace asks with a flirtatious smile, after pressing the number four.

Wow. How the hell did Felix ever manage to think he was just being friendly?

“Three,” Felix says.

“Looks like you're under me,” Ace flirts while pushing the button for him, making Felix choke on his own spit from the suggestive comment, embarrassed yet curious.

And then Ace clears his throat and averts his eyes as a woman and her daughter walk into the elevator with them.

They stand awkwardly next to each other as the elevator doors slide close. Felix’s thoughts are a mess of excitement, nervousness and embarrassment, not sure what to do in this situation.

He discreetly glances at Ace—

And the other catches him looking.

Felix's heart skips a beat as Ace's lips spread into a lazy grin, eyes shimmering with unspoken promise.

He wonders what it would be like to wipe that grin off the smug man's face. Felix imagines pushing Ace up against the elevator wall, picturing how the other’s eyes would go wide, maybe he'd even gasp, taken off guard at Felix's sudden boldness. Maybe he wouldn't have time to say anything, because Felix would capture his lips in a passionate kiss, and Ace would groan and drop the blanket to tangle his hands in Felix's hair—

DING!

Felix is rudely snapped out of his daydream by the elevator arriving on his floor. He realizes he's been spacing out while staring at Ace's face, and the smirk is gone from the man's lips, but his eyes are somehow even more intense.

“Good night,” Felix offers stiffly, forcing himself to break the eye contact before he gets lost in his own head again.

He takes a step out of the elevator, mentally scolding himself when he notices his racing heart and heavy breathing, getting himself worked up over a dumb fantasy.

Tomorrow, he promises himself when the elevator doors start sliding shut behind him. Tomorrow, he’d go out with Ace and could maybe, hopefully psyche himself up enough to make a move. He'd just text the man in the morning—

Except they never exchanged numbers.

Shit!

#riconti #felix richter #ace visconti #dbd fanfic #dweetwrites #dbd #dead by daylight #prompt #felix x ace

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