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fawnprincessblog · 3 months

Text

𝒫𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝒾𝒸𝓮

type: smut (bill kaulitz 2010 × fem reader)

includes : d0m!bill, fingers in reader's mouth. uh,blurb please! : bill preps you so you can give him a sweet blowjob.

bambi's note! : hey loves, i'm really sorry i haven't been able to post the stories i have written for all your request. my days have been really difficult, and im trying to find the time to finish what i was requested...i really hope u guys understand...for now, pls accept this short story i wrote a while back :/

You've never attempted to suck Bill off before. You knew your throat was small, and you knew you were inexperienced. You were liable to choke on the slightest things that triggered your gag reflex, and you feared leaving Bill displeased with your inability to suck him off, since it would be undeniably embarrassing. Though, Bill craved to feel your warm mouth around his length, and he was determined to teach the slow way before pushing you the hard way.

"Open your mouth, Engel," Bill said. "I'm going to teach you how to please me tonight."

It was a quiet night. Seated on the bed you and Bill shared, you were looking at him, dumbfounded. He was face to face with you, his fingers stroking your hair softly as he encouraged you to open your mouth for him so he could teach you how to suck him off. He had been eager this whole time, wanting to get you to do something you weren't able to do, especially since you were weak. Normal sex had become monotonous for him, and he ached to feel something else; something much more pleasurable.

"I said, open your mouth," he repeated, irritation lacing his tone. "I want to see that pretty little mouth of yours." You feared choking on his huge size, and you didn't know what he was trying to do to you. Bill got frustrated easily, and he liked you obeying his words, which you weren't doing.

His thumb stroked your lower lip, as if he were observing it. "I want you to practice," Bill said, his tone becoming impatient with your behaviour. Reluctantly, you slowly part your lips, opening your mouth for him finally.

"Good girl," he said softly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Bill then placed two fingers at your lips, slipping them straight into your mouth. Slowly, he started massaging your tongue and the roof of your mouth. He used his other hand to tug on your hair, forcing your head back slightly. You whimper at the feeling, confused with why he did this in the first place. Though, you took his fingers obediently with no attempt to pull away.

"That's it," he said, pleased with the way you were cooperating. With Bill, you are invariably submissive. Everything he said was to be obeyed, and you loved receiving all the little praises after you had done something that visibly made him happy. It pleased you to hear him appreciate your efforts, even if it was a painful or unpleasing one.

"You'll learn to love this," he said in a low tone, his fingers moving in sync with the rhythm of his words. His thumb brushed against your lower lip, teasing you leisurely. "And when I say you'll please me, you'll know exactly what I mean."

You could feel him massaging your tongue and the roof of your mouth with a little more roughness to it now. It was like he was checking and prepping you to fit his size. Whimpers and soft whines left your lips as he continued to finger your mouth, your breath quickening the more he did it. Strangely, you liked it.

"Close your eyes," Bill ordered, his two fingers still stuffed in your mouth. Obediently, you close your eyes, wondering what he wanted you to do next. "Now imagine my cock in your mouth. Suck on it like you want to taste all of me," he then added, which surprised you a little. You weren't sure how to imagine something you haven't done before.

You re-open your eyes, meeting Bill's face in front of you once more. You looked at him pathetically and shook your head, trying to tell him you didn't know how to imagine such a thing. Though Bill wasn't going to let that happen, so he leaned his face in closer to yours. "I'll help you," he whispered, starting to thrust his fingers in and out of your mouth again, your saliva coating them. The feeling was a little unusual, but you did what you were supposed to. Closing your eyes slowly, you began to suck on his fingers while he moved them in and out of your mouth.

"There you go," he murmured, pleased to feel your warm, wet mouth envelop his fingers. "My cock is so thick and hard. Just like you like it," he whispered, using words to help you imagine a different situation. Just the thought of it aroused you. His words made you needy, and you knew how badly you were needing it now. "Now, try to take them deeper," he instructed, his fingers pushing further into your mouth. His other free hand gently massaged your neck as if he were helping your throat warm up, guiding your movements.

"Mmf—" you whimpered, feeling his fingers invade deeper into your mouth. Bill took your noises of slight discomfort as improvement of your throat warming up to something that was trying to hit your gag reflex. He liked the sight of you sucking on his fingers; it only fuelled his desire and lust to escalate things much faster now. "That's right, sweetheart, just like you love it."

You continue to suck on his fingers, as if a baby would with a pacifier. "Good girl, Engel," he breathed, the thumb of his free hand running across your soft cheek. "You're a natural." His fingers pumped in and out of your mouth a little harsher now, eliciting a soft moan from you. The more he praised your movements, the more it pleased you. You liked hearing him say good things about you so much.

"Now, if you please me like this, I'll fuck you so good later," he whispered, feeling you suck harder onto his fingers. These words increased the arousal you were feeling. A few more pumps and soft words, and Bill pulled his fingers out from your mouth, a string of saliva connecting from your lips to his fingers. You whine softly at the lost of contact. "That's enough, sweetheart," he says, sucking your saliva off of his fingers.

Bill then got up, unzipping his pants. "Now get on your knees properly. It's time for the real deal."

glossary corner!! : Engel (angel, in German.)

#tokio hotel #love #boyfriend #bill kaulitz #smut #tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz smut #tokio hotel x reader #bill kaulitz smut #tom kaulitz x reader

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duskamethyst · 3 years

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love.

a/n: happy valentines day! have this spicy content for now but if you’re looking for high-cocky bastard-suna, this ain’t it. sorry.

word count: 2.3k

genre: smut, nsfw, fluff

warnings: soft dom, orgasm denial

pairing: pro!suna x f!reader

summary: suna got you a gift for your anniversary. wonder why he likes it so much..

“hm? a bracelet?” you take out the shiny jewelry out from the crimson box, inspecting it in your hands. there’s a letter ‘R’ that gleams with its rhinestones and a bell that chimes as you jiggle it.

“close,” your boyfriend smiles when he catches the fascinated look on your face. “it’s an anklet.”

suna takes the ornament from you and drops down to his knees to fasten it around your ankle. he takes a good look at it, pondering briefly over how he made a good choice to get it for you as an anniversary gift.

you look over your ankle intriguingly, shaking it slightly to hear the bell ring in response.

“it’s so pretty!” you beam excitedly and kiss him in thanks as he raises back up on his feet. “then you have to put on the perfume i gave you too.”

suna raises an eyebrow, “perfume?”

“shit–” your hand flies over to cover your mouth instantly by reflex and you shake your head. “i didn’t say that.”

your boyfriend laughs as he takes the nicely wrapped present and shakes it in a feigned attempt to figure the not-so-mysterious content, “gee, i wonder what it could be.”

“oh, i don’t know. guess you have to find out.” you reply in the same sardonic tone, suppressing giggles as you watch him rip off the paper unceremoniously.

suna blinks once, twice at the box and glances at you before looking back at the box that is engraved with a name that he’s aware to be high end. he’s not very materialistic but he knows for sure that it costs more than you can afford for yourself and the thought of you forking out so much money on it makes his heart swell.

“well?” you grin sheepishly as you wait for him to say something.

“babe, this is..” he sighs, brushing a hand through his brown locks. “how did you even–”

“don’t mind that! put it on!” you chide.

suna shakes his head and chuckles as he opens the packaging to pull out the expensive bottle. he takes off the lid and takes a whiff of the manly scent, yet has no idea what the contents are. he guess he should wear it often if you like the scent so much, especially since you’re the one who chose it for him. he sprays the cologne on his wrist and rubs it with the other before applying it on the back of his ears.

you don’t remember how many bottles it took to find the one that you absolutely would like on him but you know you’ve made the right choice when the aroma has proven to suit his character very well; sexy and alluring.

“you smell so fucking good.” you sigh in content as the scent begins to fill your senses.

“is this your way of saying that i always stink?” he forces an offended frown but the slight upturn at the corner of his lips tells you it's only superficial.

“yeah, you reek. especially after your practice.” you tease before suna envelops you into a warm hug.

“but i won’t wear it to practice.” he mutters as he caresses your hair gently. “it’s a waste if the guys are the only ones who are going to smell it.”

“that’s fine. you can always wear it around me.”

suna pulls away to look at you, blankly staring at you with his dark and narrow eyes. “and, you shouldn’t be giving me expensive stuff. i won’t even mind if you didn’t get me anything. you’re more than enough for me.”

“but–”

“no buts.” he places a small kiss on your lips. “still, thank you for this.”

you smile and counter back with a kiss, “happy anniversary, rin. i love you.”

“i love you, too.” he taps your nose with his finger before picking you up off your feet and cradling you in his arms, making you squeal in surprise. “now that we’re done with that, time to put that to the test.”

“put what to the test?” you look up at him with curiosity as he carries you towards your shared room, leaving the empty plates of your homemade dinner behind.

“why do you think i got you something with a bell on it?” he grins slyly before throwing you on the bed and causing the bell around your ankle to chime from the result of the impact.

warmth creeps up to your cheeks as you put one and one together, “you wouldn’t..”

“oh, yes i will.” suna climbs on top of you, pale yellow irises swirling like flames as he gazes deeply into your eyes before leaning down to slip his tongue past the barrier of your lips in an amorous kiss. your hands find their way to his nape, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss.

suna swallows down your moans as he hastily works on taking off all his lower garments and grinds his erection against your sex, soothing the throb that he has been keeping inside his pants the moment he put on the ornament around your ankle since his mind just kept on wandering at the thought of how he has been wanting to put it on to good use.

he breaks the kiss to plant wet, soft kisses down your throat, suckling and nibbling on the sensitive skin that he knows will have you whining underneath him while his large, calloused hands massages your mounds through the flimsy dress.

“you’re so pretty,” he whispers against the crook of your neck as tugs down the straps off your shoulders and lets it fall on your arms. “i love you so much.”

with a little maneuvering of your arms, you manage to slip out from the band and allow suna to pull down the dress completely. your nipples harden from the cold air yet they find heat once he wraps his lips around one, tongue dancing and circling around the erected tit while he tweaks the other between his thumb and index finger that sends jolt of sensations down to your bundle of nerves.

your lips part in soft, heavy pants while your fingers seek refuge in his dark hair by tugging it lightly before he pulls away with an audible pop to suck on the other. his hand trails down on your inner thigh, drawing circles with his fingertips on the erogenous zone and purposely avoiding from tracing closer to your heated core.

“rin.” you whine while the bell resounds from underneath as you part your legs wider and buck your hips reflexively.

“hmm?” narrow, hooded eyes look up at you mischievously from below. suna unlatches his mouth, watching as the nipple perks up harder and becomes more swollen from his ministrations. “you’re ready for me, aren’t you?”

you feel your cheeks warm up, “i don’t know, why don’t you get down and see for yourself?”

“whatever you say, princess.” he chuckles and shifts downwards until his head is settled in the space between your thighs.

“shit, you’re really a mess down here.” he muses, thumb grazing against the dark patch that has formed on the thin fabric. “all from me just sucking your tits?”

suna tugs the sodden garment down, tongue darting out to sweep his bottom lip as his eyes dissolve into red of passion and lust. it’s more intense than you imagined, but an impassioned loop twists in your stomach as you study his next, calculated step.

shivers of pleasure rushes throughout your body the moment you feel his warm tongue flattening against your wet slits. with skills and practiced strokes, his tongue laps off your slick greedily before teasing and sucking on the throbbing clit. your toes curl and the bell rings as you attempt to close your legs together, but suna spreads them apart from crushing his head.

his lustful gaze fixes up at you, observing every twitch of pleasure and the way your lips part in soft, needy whimpers. you gasp at the abrupt intrusion of his long and slender fingers, yet you gladly welcome him as the muscles clench to keep him within.

“does it feel good?” he whispers, kissing the soft skin of your fleshy thigh when he notices your legs tremble.

“s-so good, rin.” you mewl, nails digging into the sheets while the fabric crumples in your fists as you find purchase. his fingers curl and drag against the spongy walls, making you keen in excitement that your hips begin to pump desperately to match his rhythm.

“you’re so needy.” a sense of pride soars in his chest, conscious of how much your pleasure lies in him and only him. he continues rubbing and digging, somewhat in search of something; certainly the spot that he’s aware that’ll make you beg for him hopelessly. and when he finds it, he doesn’t miss the way you tense up and giving him the drive to stroke the same spot mercilessly.

“shit– right there!” you look like you’d almost cry. the way your hips are jerking uncontrollably is telling him that you’re going to break soon and before that happens, suna draws away his fingers and you immediately throw a scowl his way.

“what?” his voice is taunting and he wears a smirk of a victor which makes you all the more frustrated.

you huff, “so mean. on our anniversary night, too.”

suna lifts himself off you to get out of his shirt. no matter how much you’ve seen him bare and naked, your eyes always marvel over his toned chest and chiseled abs; those he gained along by being a professional athlete since a couple of years ago. you lick your lips to return moisture on dry skin as you watch him pump his throbbing cock in front of you while he puts on an expression of bold seduction.

“you don’t have to look so scared. you wanted to cum so bad, didn’t you?” he sneers, obviously confident over how thick his cock is and how it can stretch your tiny little hole so good.

you roll your eyes playfully, retorting in a snarky tone, “oh, i’m so scared. please don’t put that thing inside me!”

his lips curl into an amusing smile, finding it endearing how you played along with his pretense. “don’t worry, i’ll treat my princess very gently.”

suna leans down to lick a fat strip of your essence and mixes with his saliva before propping up on his knees and dragging your body closer to him by the waist. he carefully throws the leg adorned with his gift on his shoulder and kisses on the side of your knee before fixing his dark gaze downwards, where he slowly guides and observes the way his cockhead slowly disappears into your dripping entrance.

a low grunt rumbles in his chest as the walls suck him in deeper, clamping around him like a vice and refusing to let go as he continues to bury his cock deeper inside your pussy. your eyes flutter close, lips part slightly as you revel the way he stretches you while the veins and ridges brush against your muscles deliciously.

“so good for me, princess.” he praises with a sharp breath, having you completely filled to the brim before he finally snaps his hips and making your body jolt in return. his pace is unforgiving and with the angle he has set you in, his tip keeps on pounding against your cervix.

the slapping of your skins fills the cold air, mingling with the sounds of your moans and the erratic chimes from your bell that he was so eager about. an unknowing grin etches on your lover’s lips as every jingle that fills his ear fuels up his ego and he finds himself to pound into you faster while the sounds behind him follow in accordance.

“hah– rin– so deep!” your orgasm is quick to build up from the prior interruption, the muscles in your stomach begins to tighten and your legs quiver.

“you hear that, baby? the bell telling you how hard i’m fucking you right now.“ he rams his cock senselessly to make the bell jingle wilder in a way to prove his point.

“rin– i–”

“baby wanna cum?” he coos, smirking down at you as the image of your writhing body ingrains in his mind.

you nod your head affirmatively, face contorting in one that expresses bliss as your mind swirls with excessive gratification. yet your eyes snap open as soon as you feel a sharp sting on your thigh.

he releases the pliant skin from between his teeth, “use your words, princess.”

“please–” you let out a broken cry. “wanna cum–” your toes curl with anticipation as you will yourself from coming undone before you are granted to do so.

“that’s– fuck– better.” he grunts, thrusts turning sporadic as you begin to squeeze and clamp down on him. “then cum, baby. you deserve it.”

suna brings up his thumb to your aching bud, generously pressing tight circles in order to push you over the edge and a wave of pleasure washes throughout your body as you moan his name in a chant. your pussy gushes around his cock, which makes it all more stimulating for the male and he pounces harder through your high in pursuit of his own orgasm while the noisy rings from the bell soon becomes white noise.

“that’s it– you feel so fucking good.” he feels his balls tightening before his cock twitches and he bites roughly on your leg as he shoots warm load inside your tight cunt. you squeal from the pain, wiggling your leg away and he completely lets go.

he chuckles lightly and gently rubs the dents on your skin, “sorry.”

once he’s sure he has emptied, he pulls out his softening cock and finds his place next to your warm body. you turn to face your lover and he gladly welcomes you into his warm embrace.

“i love you.” he whispers, pushing aside the damp and matted hair from your face to place a soft kiss on your forehead.

you hum in content, vision darkening as he continues to play with your hair soothingly while the sound of his heartbeat sings you a lullaby. “i love you, too.”

#suna #suna rintaro #rintaro suna #suna rintarou #rintarou suna #haikyuu suna #suna smut #suna fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu smut #haikyuu fanfic #suna fanfic #r; writes

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comfortbucky · 3 years

Note

I asked for the doctor!bucky andd you don't have to write but I forgot to ask... He is like a really busy doctor and it surprises the female reader that he is going to do her stitches... Wanda is his assistant. He has to give you a pain numbing shot in your cut and he comforts you when you scream and writh in pain... Thanks xxx

𝗻𝘂𝗺𝗯 ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚ ⋆ ⋆｡˚

pairing: doctor!bucky x fem!reader

warnings: descriptions of bloody injuries, medical settings, stitches, needles

A/N: omg i’ve never written for doctor!bucky before so i’m excited hehe :) thank u for ur request! // i changed around who was administering the numbing agent and doing the stitches btw i hope u don't mind, just made more sense in my head for bucky to be able to comfort her if his hands are free!

hope u enjoy! <3 sorry if this isn't that good asjdfhaldf

Y/L/N = your last name

also let me just indulge myself and sprinkle some of my own experiences in this bc a couple months ago i literally slammed my head into a wall and cut my eyelid😃nothing bad enough to get stitches but i do have a scar💗

word count: 2k

my masterlist!

completed requests!

“Y/N! Come quick!”

Y/N was digging through her dresser for a sweater when her roommate, Darcy, called out for her. She lifted her head up and spun it without thinking, completely forgetting that her dresser was situated in the corner of her room, slamming her head into the wall.

Her ears started to ring and she bent over in laughter, her natural response to pain, as tears threatened to fall down her face.

“Y/N?” Darcy was met by silence, Y/N struggling to respond, her body overcome with laughter so hard she was inaudible. Concerned that Y/N had knocked herself out cold, Darcy peeked her head around the corner of Y/N’s doorway, to find her hurled over, a hand over her left eye, drops of crimson blood on the ground.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” Y/N lifted her head, calming down from her fit of laughter, and nodded.

“Yeah, of course, this would happen to me,” she replied chuckling, taking a tissue from Darcy to put pressure on her cut.

Carefully making her way to a mirror, Y/N grabbed her phone on the way. She stared at her reflection and slowly removed the tissue from her face to examine the extent of her injury. It was steadily bleeding, most likely a bad sign. Y/N placed her tissue back over her cut and reached for her phone and Facetimed her friend Matt, an EMT.

“Hello- What the fuck happened to you?”

“Hi Matt,” she replied, shooting him a grin through the screen. “Slammed my head against the wall, by accident.”

“I would hope so,” he sighed. “Let me guess, you’re wondering whether you should go to the ER or not?”

“You know me so well, Matty.”

“Has it stopped bleeding?” Y/N removed the tissue and felt a warm liquid trail down the side of her face.

“No.”

“Go to the ER, please.” She groaned.

If there was one place in the world she despised, it was a hospital. But Y/N knew she wouldn’t be able to convince either of her friends otherwise, and dragged her feet as she reluctantly followed Darcy to her car.

It was a normal night in the ER, which meant a fury of organized chaos. Bucky found himself needed in 6 places, all at the same time. But this was an environment that he had become accustomed to, almost finding comfort in the madness of it all. Although the ER was bustling with patients, there weren’t any injuries that were very severe, mostly just broken bones and lacerations. Simple enough to the point where Bucky felt like he was operating on autopilot mode. Going through the motions of whatever task he needed to do, but not anything more than that. He felt numb. For the last several years of his life, the hospital was all that he knew. Bucky kept himself busy with work, leaving him with only a small social circle and his cat, Alpine. It was enough for him, but he never really felt complete. Which is why he threw himself into his work, drowning out his inner thoughts about a missing piece he never thought he’d find.

“Dr. Barnes, paging Dr. Barnes to bed 25.”

Bucky took a quick sip of his coffee and sighed before heading off to see his next patient. Wanda appeared from around the corner and started walking with him.

“This one’s a simple laceration, just might need stitches.” Bucky nodded in response to her, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

She was one of the select few who he considered a friend. Which was a little odd considering he was an attending and she was only a resident. But she was a good student, a fast learner, and one of the only residents he was ever willing to work with. He took her under his wing, fostering a friendship by spending time together in his office, reviewing various medical cases and files.

“Alright, you up to do them?”

Wanda came to a halt, Bucky taking a couple steps before looking back at her, tilting his head, waiting for a response.

“Y-Yeah, yes!” She stammered. “T-thank you, Dr. Barnes.” He nodded his head and turned back around to continue walking, Wanda close behind.

Y/N was sat on the edge of the bed, one hand holding a blood-soaked tissue over her left eye. Her leg was bouncing, a nervous tic she had developed from a young age. The adrenaline had worn off, forcing her to feel a throbbing pain, her eyes brimming with tears. She avoided crying in front of people whenever possible, so as soon as Darcy left to grab some coffee and snacks from the cafeteria, she let the floodgates open. The sound of footsteps approaching made her freeze and she used her sleeves to sloppily wipe away the tears that were streaming down her face.

“Ms. Y/L/N?”

A firm, but somehow also gentle, voice called out to her before the curtain was pulled open to reveal a tall man with dark brown hair, a stubbly beard, and stunningly blue eyes standing next to a woman with blazing red hair and contrasting green eyes. Y/N’s gaze was immediately fixated on the man’s eyes, unable to look away for a moment, before she realized she was staring. She quickly looked down and cleared her throat.

“Y/N, you can just call me Y/N.”

The man nodded and set down his clipboard at the end of the bed before speaking.

“I’m Dr. Barnes and this is Dr. Maximoff.” The woman gave a slight wave as she began charting on a computer. “Can I take a look at your eye?”

Y/N nodded, feeling her anxiety rise as the doctor pulled some gloves on and approached her.

He pulled over a stool to sit on and carefully removed the tissue that Y/N had been holding in place to assess the injury. While Bucky looked at her cut, he stole a glance to study the rest of her face. He couldn't help but take note of the pained look on her face, her eyes still watery and her button nose red from crying. It was the first time in a long time that he felt a twinge of pain while looking at someone's injury, that he felt practically anything at all during a shift. She felt his warm breaths on her face for a moment before he pulled away and replaced her bloody tissue with some gauze.

“Do you mind if she takes a look as well?” Y/N nodded again. Bucky got up from the stool, allowing Wanda to take his spot and assess her eye.

“So it looks like you just need 2 or 3 stitches, very simple procedure.”

Y/N felt her entire body tense up at Wanda's conclusion. She could barely stand sitting in a hospital bed alone and now she was about to get poked and prodded with needles. Bucky noticed and attempted to ease her worries.

"We'll administer a numbing agent, so you won't feel any pain, just pressure at the site."

She looked up at Bucky, who had a kind, tired expression on his face. It looked like he was having a long night and she didn't want to make his job any more difficult than it probably already was. Y/N gave him a small nod and Wanda started to gather the necessary supplies.

She laid back in bed with Wanda and Bucky sitting next to each other on her left. Her hands were folded on her stomach, eyes shut.

"You're gonna feel a slight pinch, okay?" She nodded and bit her lip to try and distract herself.

Wanda proceeded to administer the numbing shot and Y/N squeezed her hands tight, whimpering in pain. Bucky observed the pained expression on her face and placed a hand on her forearm, reflexively rubbing his thumb in small circles. When Wanda pulled the needle out, Y/N slowly fluttered her eyes open and was greeted by Bucky's warm smile. A blush crept to her cheeks and she turned her attention to the ceiling. Immediately, Bucky realized how unprofessional his action was and removed his hand. He had no idea what had come over him, but he'd never felt so drawn to someone like this before.

"Now I'm going to do the stitches, okay? You should just feel a slight pressure." Just as before, Y/N shut her eyes after Wanda spoke and gripped her hands tight. She felt the pressure that Wanda was talking about and couldn't help but squirm at the feeling. Another wave of anxiety rushed over her and she felt herself start to hyperventilate.

Wanda removed the needle and quickly turned to Bucky, a panicked look on her face. He gave her a reassuring look before speaking softly.

"Y/N? Do you think you could hold still for just a little longer?" She opened her eyes, brimming with tears.

"Sorry, I just, I hate needles." Y/N fiddled with her hands as she kept her gaze up, trying to avoid the tears from escaping. Bucky felt his heart sink in his chest at the sight.

"What do you think would help you relax?"

Thoughts ran through her head as she tried to find a solution to relieve her anxiety. Y/N thought back to when she was young and chuckled, remembering a stuffed whale that she got at an aquarium, that went everywhere with her.

"This is stupid but, when I was a kid, I would carry around this stuffed animal around and it helped to hold it whenever I had to get shots."

Bucky thought for a moment and ran a hand through his hair, wondering if he was going to regret the words about to leave his mouth.

"You could hold my hand."

Y/N and Wanda both looked at him with surprised expressions, regret instantly hitting him.

"If you're comfortable with it," he quickly clarified. Y/N felt the corner of her mouth curve into a smile as she nodded.

She laid back down and Bucky took her hand in his. The instant transfer of heat soothed Y/N and she shut her eyes to allow Wanda to get to work.

When she felt the pressure on her eye again, her hand automatically gripped Bucky's tighter, and he squeezed it back to help calm her. Y/N focused on the callousness of his hands, how his hand seemed to fit into hers perfectly. Suddenly, she was thinking about his eyes again, those glimmering blue eyes. Blue was always a calming color for her, reminiscent of her trip to the aquarium where she got her beloved stuffed whale. As she felt Bucky's thumb gently rub the top of her hand, she realized that her whale could never provide as much comfort as he did.

Bucky felt a sense of pride as he watched the tension in Y/N's face disappear. Suddenly, he found his eyes wandering, looking at the loose strands of hair on the right side of her face, the rosiness of her cheeks, how she glowed. His heart started to palpate and Bucky realized a flame had kindled inside him. He was feeling again.

"All done!" Wanda chirped, stepping aside to let Bucky check her work. He smiled at her patted her on the back with his free hand.

"You did good." Wanda beamed and thanked him, walking away to complete her charting.

Y/N's eyes fluttered open, still feeling the warmth of Bucky's hand in hers. He greeted her with a tender smile and slowly helped her up, placing his other hand on the small of her back.

"See? Wasn't that bad after all," he grinned, releasing her hand. Y/N's smile faltered, missing his touch, and nodded.

"Thank you, Dr. Barnes."

"Bucky," he stated. She raised an eyebrow. "Call me Bucky."

The pair stared at each other in silence, enjoying each other's presence before the PA system snapped them both out of their trance.

"Dr. Barnes, paging Dr. Barnes to bed 16."

Bucky sighed, slowly getting up from his seat.

"Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Y/N."

"You too, Bucky."

He turned around and was about to pull the curtain open when he paused, turning back around to face Y/N, scratching the back of his head. It took one look at her face and Bucky knew he didn't want to let her go just yet.

"Would you like to get coffee sometime?" She beamed up at him and Bucky felt his knees go weak.

"I would like that very much." He chuckled in disbelief and smiled.

Bucky had finally found his missing piece.

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stolen-pen-name23 · 3 years

Note

Hi! Could you do 7 or 21 of the angst prompts for Obi Wan and Ahsoka please?

Hi! Thank you for the prompt (from these prompts)!! And yes, I can do both actually! Here ya go:

---

“You are so stupid.”

The words are dry — at least, Ahsoka hopes they are dry enough to hide the very real fear lingering behind them.

“Thanks,” Obi-Wan says between clenched teeth, obviously not hearing the full emotion behind Ahsoka’s sentiment. He is sitting across from her in the co-pilot’s chair — a bundle of bloodstained robes and tightened shoulders as he breathes through the pain. She shoots him another glare while she digs through the medkit, searching for a set of tweezers.

“Going after a bounty hunter who was carrying a slugthrower,” Ahsoka mutters. “What were you thinking?”

“Well, I—”

“No, don’t answer that,” Ahsoka says, raising her hand. “I already have the answer. You weren’t thinking.”

“Now hold on,” Obi-Wan pants. “We couldn’t let them capture the senator now, could we? We had a mission.”

“Yeah, and you made me stay behind and guard the other senators.”

“It was a very important task,” he says defensively.

“You made me their babysitter because you knew that going after Bane was dangerous. You knew and you went anyway.”

“To be fair,” Obi-Wan says, “he’s never used slugthrowers before.”

“And so what? You didn’t think he’d actually use it on you?”

“I was cautiously optimistic.”

“Look where that got you,” Ahsoka says, shaking her head. She continues rifling through the medkit until she finally finds a set of tweezers and a small scalpel. Obi-Wan eyes both items warily.

“I need to get a better look at the wound before I do anything,” Ahsoka says, trying to keep him calm, despite her current anger at him.

“Alright,” he nods, looking like he’s trying to reassure himself.

Ahsoka cuts through the fabric of his tunics and his undershirts and pulls them away. Underneath, a circular wound mars Obi-Wan’s skin. His muscles are tight, instinctively clenching in a vain attempt to ward off the pain.

“Hmmm.”

“What?” Obi-Wan asks.

“I have good news and bad news.”

“Do share.”

“The bad news is the bullet didn’t go all the way through. The good news is that it looks like it didn’t go too deep, so it shouldn’t be too hard for me to get it out. I won’t be needing this.” She sets the scalpel aside.

“Well, as long as there’s good news,” Obi-Wan sighs. “Though I suppose there was never a silver lining without a dark cloud behind it.”

“No, I suppose not,” Ahsoka says, offering him a sympathetic smile. “I need to get this out. You’ll get an infection if I don’t.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan says, resigned. “Let’s just get on with it then.”

Ahsoka takes a deep breath and relies on the Force to steady her hand. She presses the tweezers into the wound. A harsh breath escapes Obi-Wan’s lips, but he does not cry out. Ahsoka takes that as a sign to keep going. She pinches the bullet between the tweezers, but she slips and digs the metal deeper into the torn-up flesh.

Obi-Wan gasps and pulls away from Ahsoka.

“Sorry!” Ahsoka exclaims.

“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan pants, blinking back tears that had pooled in his eyes on reflex. “Just keep going.”

Ahsoka nods and goes back in with the tweezers, but Obi-Wan flinches back. Ahsoka tries again, and he recoils to the side.

“Stop that. Hold still,” Ahsoka says, exasperated.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m just not used to this kind of wound”

“Yeah well… that’s what happens when you go after a bounty hunter who is openly wielding a slugthrower.”

“Alright, I get it,” Obi-Wan says, deflating slightly.

“I don’t think you do,” Ahsoka grimaces. “Now for real this time. Stay still.”

Obi-Wan nods tightly, while Ahsoka hones back in on the wound. She gets the tweezers around the bullet once more, and this time, they don’t slip. Slowly, she maneuvers the bullet out of Obi-Wan’s flesh until it clatters on the floor with a metallic ringing sound.

Ahsoka stares, frozen in place as the wound bleeds openly. Obi-Wan’s blood runs down his side now that there is no bullet to dam up its path.

“Oh,” Ahsoka says dumbly. “I always forget that slugthrower wounds don’t cauterize.”

“Yes, well, they don’t,” Obi-Wan says. Ahsoka glares at him. “Go get a needle and thread, I’ll put pressure on it.”

Ahsoka hands him a semi-clean rag and he presses it to his stomach. His breaths become a little more ragged.

“Hang in there Master,” Ahsoka says as she finds a sewing kit. She measures out a length of thread and cuts it. The eye of the needle is tiny and she struggles to get the thread to go through it.

“Maybe we should have prepared the needle before we took out the bullet,” Obi-Wan observes dryly.

“Why didn’t you tell me to do that?” Ahsoka asks, her voice going higher in pitch as she desperately tries to thread the needle.

“I was preoccupied, you know, with being shot.”

“That is your own kriffing fault and you know it,” Ahsoka retaliates.

Ahsoka calls on the Force to steady her hand once again. Finally, the thread obeys her commands and pushes through the eye of the needle. With deft fingers, she ties it off.

“Ready?”

From his tight nod, it is clear that Obi-Wan is not ready, but he knows as well as she does that there is little time for hesitation.

“Alright,” Ahsoka says, trying to keep her voice sure and even. “I’ll be quick.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan says.

Ahsoka is true to her word. She finishes the stitches in a manner of a few minutes. By the end of it, Obi-Wan is pale and sweating, but gratitude shines in his eyes.

“Done,” Ahsoka says after she ties off the end of the thread.

“Thank you Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan says. “I’ll be sure to come to you the next time I’m shot.”

“You’re impossible. Absolutely impossible. You know that right?”

“Well, Anakin is actually—”

“I’m not talking about Anakin, I’m talking about you,” Ahsoka huffs, suddenly feeling irked by Obi-Wan’s casualness. Now that he has been stitched back together, she has time to feel the anger starting to flood her bloodstream.

“Ahsoka…”

“Everyone thinks Anakin is the reckless one, and maybe he is, but when he’s not around to be the reckless one… Well, it’s like you don’t care if you live or you die.”

Obi-Wan looks down at his bloodstained hands. “Of course I care.”

She stops messing with the medkit and looks Obi-Wan dead in the eyes. “Then why are you always so reckless huh? Do you ever think about what would happen if something happened to you?”

“Life would go on without me, Ahsoka. If it’s the will of the Force…”

“Do not bring ‘the will of the Force’ into this. I’m talking about when you pull stunts like this.”

Obi-Wan is silent — the smooth-talking negotiator finally at a loss for words.

“Master,” Ahsoka says quietly. “If you died… I would be devastated.”

“Ahsoka…”

She doesn’t let him continue. “My feelings aside, think about Anakin. Do you know what would happen to him if he lost you? I can’t watch him go through that for a second time.”

Obi-Wan pales and Ahsoka isn’t sure if it’s from the blood loss or the words she is mercilessly volleying at him. She continues anyway.

“It would almost be worse than losing you. I know how to let go, but he… I don’t know what he would do if he lost you. He can’t… that can’t happen again.”

“I want to tell you it won’t.”

“Then tell me.”

“I can’t,” he says, his jaw tight with either pain or sorrow. Perhaps both.

“Please, just…”

“No. I will not make you a promise I can’t keep. Not while we’re in a war. Not ever.”

“Then promise me something else,” Ahsoka insists, grabbing his hand in hers and looking him directly in his ocean blue eyes.

He looks at her wearily. “What?”

“Promise you’ll stop being so reckless,”

“What did I just say about making promises I can’t keep?” Obi-Wan grins. Ahsoka lightly smacks his shoulder.

“Promise me you’ll try then!” Ahsoka amends.

“I’ll try,” he laughs. “I promise.”

Slowly, Obi-Wan stands up but has to steady himself on a leather handle affixed to the ceiling.

“I would love to continue this conversation,” Obi-Wan says, his voice starting to slur ever so slightly. “But I think I need to lie down. Or throw up. Or both.”

Ahsoka grimaces and hands him a canteen. “Drink,” she says. “You need to stay hydrated.”

“Need to lie down,” he repeats.

“Drink, and then you can lie down.”

Obi-Wan nods and takes a few sips from the offered canteen. He passes it back to her before curling up on a small bunk just outside of the cockpit. A slight shiver racks his frame and Ahsoka grabs a blanket and lays it over him. He hums in contentment.

“Are you going to be okay until we get to the temple?” Ahsoka asks nervously.

“Yes. The adrenaline’s just wearing off and the blood loss is catching up with me. I’ll be okay.” Ahsoka stares at him a moment longer. “I promise,” Obi-Wan adds on.

“You better keep that one.”

“I will.” A pause. “I am sorry,” he says. “I didn’t want to scare you. And I didn’t want to get shot.”

“I know,” Ahsoka says. “Just get some rest. We’ll be home soon.”

#my writing #tw blood #tw gunshot wound #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #thanks for the prompt!

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alfredosauce50 · 3 years

Note

Hi! I was wondering if you could do some Romano + Prussia x royal reader (separate) headcannons? I'm a sucker for a good forbidden romance and would be happy to see what you want to do with it. Thank you!

Yes, of course! Sorry for the kinda late response--I got carried away writing other things. What a coincidence that I've been doing a lot of exploring in fantasy! The reader is referred to as she/her.

Forbidden Romance Headcanons - Prussia and S. Italy

Prussia - The earnest pickpocket and sheltered princess

Unfortunately, Gilbert is on the wrong side of history. As an albino, he's been an outcast ever since he was born. In an age of superstition and class divide, his parents had no problem abandoning an extra mouth to feed. Especially when they were a demon with magical powers. Left to fend for himself as a baby, he only ever survived thanks to the generosity of an old neighbor. When they passed away due to old age, he had to get on by himself on the streets. Stealing, lying, whatever it takes to get some quick cash. And he's been doing it ever since he was five.

He loved fairytales ever since he was a kid. His guardian always told him these stories before bedtime, after all. They said it was good luck to give the princess a flower, and he remembered this a few years later during the royal parade in town. Pushing through the crowd of onlookers, he held out a small dandelion hoping you would take it. Before the guards could swat him away, you took the flower with a smile. All you remembered from that time was a small and dirty face gleaming up at you. And, of course, a pair of striking red eyes you would never forget.

In his adolescence, he became a thief with quick hands. It wasn't until he took on the most dangerous job of all did he make himself a public enemy. Stealing the royal family's jewels. And he would've gotten away with it if he wasn't forced to take a detour through the princess's bedroom. Unbeknownst to him, you were wide awake. Immediately, you recognized him as the little boy from that day. Without thinking, you hid him in your wardrobe until the guards left. That was the start of a strange friendship forged between two people from two worlds--a dirt-poor criminal and the well-loved princess of a thriving kingdom.

He visits you from time to time by climbing up the side of the castle. When he first did it, you practically throttled him by his collar, screaming, “Do you have a death wish? They'll throw you to the lions if you get caught!”. He simply responds with, “The awesome me never gets caught! That's why I'm here, ja?” Soon, this becomes routine until you learn to trust him.

Gilbert loves gloating about his adventures as a street rat, whether it's about singlehandedly beating up gangs of bullies or outrunning the palace guards. As a sheltered person of royalty, his stories reflect experiences alien to you. But it opens your eyes to things you've never seen, and it's very fascinating.

If he's not telling grossly exaggerated anecdotes of his greatness, he'll bring in board games and cards he “borrowed” from his friends. You've never played with them before as your parents deemed them unrefined. It fills him with pride to see you enjoying yourself so much, especially when he's teaching you how to play.

You don't go out very often, so he always brings back little trinkets and souvenirs. When you found out he stole them all, you would hit him on the head and tell him off. “Where did you get these from? Stealing and giving these to the princess--do you know how stupid that sounds?” Then, you would pinch his cheek until he tears up and admits his wrongs. “I-I thought you would like them, okay? I wanted to give them to you as a present...” The next day, you would accompany him to the shops he robbed and pay the owners back.

He gets upset and embarrassed when he realizes those gifts aren't gifts at all. Not when you paid for them yourself! One of the ways he shows affection is through giving gifts, but that unfortunately clashes with not having money. So he's eager to make something out of himself, even if he has to work as a bottom feeder and face unfair treatment for what he looks like. When you find out, his boss gets one hell of a time dealing with you. After that, he uses whatever small amount he earned to buy something for you.

As he grows out of his old habits, he becomes more honest. In fact, he's so determined to prove himself that he shows up one day with a homemade board game scribbled out on a spare piece of parchment. He's nervous and twiddling his fingers, and that's when you know you have to help him get back onto his feet. He's so touched by your kindness that he shows you a secret he's been hiding forever--he can do magic. It's one of his skills that let him become so good at stealing in the past.

After some practice to touch up his abilities, you try convincing your parents to let him work in the palace as an all-rounder. With the magic dancing in his fingertips, there's nothing he can't do. He has a green thumb, good reflexes, and the horses in the stables listen to him better than the caretaker! He can't forget that you encouraged him to let go of his doubts and previous identity as a petty thief. There's nobody in the world he looks up to more.

On the night of your eighteenth birthday, he's invited to a ball to celebrate. Once again, he finds himself anxious to see you in your dress, especially when he's quite glammed up himself with his suit and hair slicked back. While you teach him how to dance, he tells you he looks ridiculous. But you think otherwise and make it explicit. That's when Gilbert realizes he's completely smitten with you. He embarks on another journey to improve himself until he thinks he deserves you.

South Italy - The plebeian pâtissier and renegade royal

War has ravaged the kingdom and eaten into the state's reserves, leaving inflation rates at an all-time high. The suffering middle and working-class take it up to their rulers in a coup d'état, killing the king and queen. And now, they're searching for the princess amidst the chaos of an ungoverned dominion. Romano couldn't be more indifferent to such a cause, only ever caring about putting food on the table. He works day and night helping out his family's bakery, making what he can to get by. However, he's forced to take a side when he finds a girl on his doorstep on the verge of starvation.

Unable to turn away someone in need, he nurses you back to health. However, he does so with spite, wondering to himself why he has to give what little he has left to a princess. When you feel better after a few days, he's eager to send you off but changes his mind as you leave. Romano can't bear to let you face certain death, or worse, knowing how bitter the townspeople are about the unpopular war. So he welcomes you back with a sharp sigh with his head turned away. “Alright, alright, you can stay. Now stop making that pathetic face, you spoilt principessa--it's depressing.”

He relays a few house rules as conditions for keeping you around. You have to help him with chores. Cooking, cleaning, sewing, everything. Considering you always had someone doing those tasks for you, you're hopeless at it. He'll swat your hand and show you how to do things right with an annoyed scowl. “No, no, no, no, no! You're doing it all wrong. This is how you do it. What do they even teach you in that palace, huh? Books? Maths? Books about maths? Well, they won't keep you alive, you know!”

Because he's so observant and strict, he's a good teacher, and soon, you get the hang of everything. Before, he had to open his mouth to correct you every few seconds, but now, he can just watch you do his work with his arms crossed. It's a little demeaning to have someone watch your every move, but inside, he's relieved you're finally fitting in and not a complete waste of his time and resources. In reality, he never wanted to send you off and hoped he could just handle an extra mouth to feed. Not that he'll ever tell you.

When you're out and about, he makes you wear a cloak to hide your identity. When he's forced to interact with people, he'll hold you close and play everything off without arousing suspicion. Even if your hood falls off, he won't react--he's screaming inside in panic, but he's a great actor when he needs to be. You're totally not the princess, just a crazy similar doppelganger. The cloak is there so that people don't make a fuss. When they leave, he'll turn to you and scream how much of an idiot you are. But really, he was just worried to death--and you have a feeling he was. So you hug it out and leave him cussing with a red face.

As you two grow closer, his cousin Antonio notices how much he cares about you despite his efforts to hide it. It's a problem. He approaches him and warns that if people found out he was hiding the princess, he would get killed with her. Romano heats up and screams, telling him that he already knew what he got into the second he let you into his home. When he's asked why he's still keeping you around, he responds with, “It's not fair that her parents fucked up, and she has to face the consequences. Just like how I never wanted to run this stupid bakery--I wanted to be a painter, not burn my hands in the kitchen all day!”

Unbeknownst to him, you overhear the conversation. The next morning, he discovers that you're gone and loses his head. While he's screaming and crying, he's swarmed with the possibilities of what happened to you. He's a bit of an overthinker, but his paranoia is deserved--were you taken away in the middle of the night? Are you even still alive? He spirals down a path of self-loathing until he confronts how much he misses you, then his regret of never being frank with his feelings. Romano didn't understand what he had until he lost it. To say this was a wake-up call--to be more honest with himself--would be an understatement.

A week later, you return unscathed. Turns out, you left to stay with the owner of a paint shop owner your family always supported and bought from. You present him with a gift of some high-end oil paints, brushes, and canvases. When he sets them all down, he'll pull you into a tight hug, and once again, tell you how stupid you are. While he has you in his coils, you smile to yourself as you pat his hair, happy that you also got something in return. Some transparency. “I just thought I'd give you something... For all the trouble.” You'd say, and he'd shush you with a few hard kisses. “You were never a trouble. I wanted you to stay, so I'm more to blame than you.”

As the political situation of the country calms down, so do the anxieties of angry neighbors pounding on his door. You return to his home much to his content. Now that you're just as good as him at icing cakes, you spend more time running the bakery. This gives him some time to paint, and he can't be happier. Once you both get settled, he discovers another hobby on top of making art. Making coffee! The bakery evolves into a café lavishly decorated with his paintings, and it becomes the most popular establishment in town. You both realize how overrated it is to want to be anything more--you never bring up your title ever again.

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tennessoui · 3 years

Note

18 obikin!! Amnesia fics are super fun 🍆

18. One of them wakes up with amnesia (Option A because two people sent in this prompt number and I liked both ideas I saw for it enough to not want to pick) this involves an Obi-Wan that got deaged as well as lost his memories so he's Phantom Menace Obi-Wan. no i will not be explaining. hand wavey drabble fic writing.

The man has not stopped staring, but something in his intense gaze makes Obi-Wan feel safe. Almost. Well. On edge, yes, but. Protected. He has the strange feeling that he’d rather be under this man’s stare than anywhere else in the entire galaxy.

But he knows he’s never seen this man before in his life, the same way that he knows he’s twenty-five and that Qui-Gon Jinn is his Master, that he’s a Jedi knight-in-training, that he hates teas with mint leaves in them, that he’ll never say no to a drink with Quinlan, that--well.

He supposes none of that stuff could be true anymore. Vokra Che, who’s a grown and certified healer master now, had told him what had happened. An older version of himself had touched something he wasn’t supposed to. The closest translation they could find to the runes on the object was that it would transform the user back to their most balanced state. Obi-Wan’s had, apparently, been at the age of twenty-five. He hadn’t recognized the name Anakin Skywalker. He had never been to Naboo.

He throws the rest of his drink back and waves to the bartender to pour him another. He’d gone straight here from the Halls of Healing. He’d had a shadow the entire way, but the man has yet to try to talk to him at all. It’s infuriating.

His Padawan braid swings into his field of vision for a second. He tosses it over his shoulder. He’d been told. Qui-Gon had died. Obi-Wan wants to not think about it at all.

There’s a brush of a Force presence that’s both familiar and completely foreign next to him. The man has finally moved to his side. Obi-Wan’s jaw ticks at his continued reticence, the way he’s observing him but not talking to him. It just simply won’t do, but Obi-Wan isn’t feeling his kindest. He doesn’t want whatever this man is offering him with his silent, dour stares and his suffocating Force signature that keeps trying to tangle itself with Obi-Wan’s own. It’s rude is what it is.

He waves down the bartender and orders a drink for the man. “If you got mint, put it in,” he tells the woman who raises an eyebrow but shrugs, one pair of her arms busy with the drink. When she gives it to him he slides it to the man next to him without even looking at him.

“What--” the man asks. “I don’t--”

“You do tonight,” Obi-Wan says bracingly, throwing back half of his own drink. “We’ve both just lost our Masters, haven’t we?”

The man beside him flinches as if Obi-Wan had skewered him with his lightsaber.

“You are him, aren’t you?” Obi-Wan lolls his head to the side to look at the man threw half-closed eyes. “My padawan.”

“Anakin,” the man says so quietly it’s almost lost to the noise of the bar. “I’m Anakin Skywalker, yeah.”

Obi-Wan takes a drink reflexively, humming in disbelief. “You don’t look like it,” he says consideringly. At Anakin’s confused look, he elaborates. “You don’t look like you could have ever been a Padawan.”

The man pulls himself up, face darkening at the perceived slight. It’s almost too easy to rile him up, but now that he has, Obi-Wan finds he has no interest in fighting this man. Quite the opposite, really. That’s...something. He can’t tell if that emotion comes from him now or the older version of him.

Either way, Obi-Wan has no desire to stand in the way of whatever storm this Anakin is building up in his head, so he turns to face him completely and pushes both hands into his blond hair, raking down the scalp gently before collecting the strands into a poor imitation of the Padawan ponytail. “That’s better, I suppose. The hair threw me off.” He lets go slowly, making sure to tug at one of the strands at the last second.

Anakin has a very strange look on his face, but he’s definitely not angry anymore. He’s even shielding much more tightly now. Obi-Wan smirks into his glass as he takes a sip. He definitely remembers that trick.

“Do you know who cut it?” he asks, catching sight of the end of his braid again. The drinks are going to his head much more quickly than he had intended. Must be all the trauma his body has gone through in the past few days. “My braid.”

“I.” Anakin stutters, caught off guard. “You did.”

Obi-Wan feels like laughing but also a bit like crying. There’s a terrifying emotion rearing its head in his chest. It threatens to swallow him whole. “Well, I suppose I never liked to stand on ceremony.”

“You cut your braid in the fresher and then called me in and braided mine,” Anakin says distantly, as if caught up in the memory. “You wouldn’t let me hold it. I thought you were so mean. But I understood at my Knighting Ceremony. It was a part of me in my hand, a...starmap of all the places I’d been and the things I’d learned during my training. And there was only one person I wanted to give it to in the whole galaxy.”

“Did you?” He asks, taking a sip to hide how important the question is, how devastating the answer could be.

“Well. Yeah. But I guess I don’t know if you kept it,” Anakin cuts his eyes away from Obi-Wan’s and runs his fingers up the long stem of his drink.

Obi-Wan chokes on a laugh. “He definitely did.”

The other man’s face settles into a frown. “You don’t know that. You’re not him.”

“I’m enough of him. I’ve got--some feelings. In my head. Impressions.”

“Of me?”

“Of how he felt about you.”

Anakin’s eyes widen and then narrow with a sudden intensity that makes Obi-Wan want to shiver. It’s like being in the eye of a storm. His hold on the delicate glass in his hand becomes dangerously tight as he leans forward into Obi-Wan’s space, as if he can’t get close enough to him.

“What do you feel when you look at me?” he asks almost breathlessly. Obi-Wan blinks, trying to figure out if he’s being seduced or not. It’s sort of working. It’s all that focus, directly on him. Obi-Wan wouldn’t mind if that’s how the night ended. But sleeping with his former padawan who he can’t remember right now doesn’t seem like the best decision he could make.

But Anakin had liked it when Obi-Wan tugged at his hair. He’d arched closer to him. And now, the distance between them has been eaten away until they’re almost pressed chest to shoulder.

“Safe,” he decides to say, even though the word feels too small. “Sad,” which is mostly true but also an oversimplification. It’s a sort of nostalgia mixed with sadness, mixed with acceptance and resignation. “Warm,” because even after being denied entry to Obi-Wan’s mind, Anakin’s force presence has curled around Obi-Wan’s like some sort of krayt dragon, content to wait and guard and treasure. He leans forward, just until his mouth brushes against the skin of Anakin’s ear. “Coveted.”

Anakin definitely shifts at that, and when Obi-Wan pulls back enough to see his face, his pupils are blown wide.

Swallowing a grin, Obi-Wan swallows the rest of his drink in one go. “Drink up,” he tells Anakin in his most demanding tone, reaching into his pockets to pull out his older self’s credits to settle the tab. “I want to go.”

Anakin obeys immediately, making a face at the taste.

They’re out in the street within a few minutes, Anakin smacking his lips as if still trying to rid himself of the flavor. “I just don’t know why you had to order me that,” he complains, falling into step on Obi-Wan’s right.

Obi-Wan pauses and leans against the very unsanitary wall of the building, spreading his legs wide enough so that Anakin can come in between them. The man doesn’t seem to notice anything different, just steps a bit closer as a crowd of loud party-goers makes their way past them.

“I wanted to see if I liked mint,” Obi-Wan shrugs, raising his hand to rest on the skin of Anakin’s neck. He can feel the way his pulse is beating incredibly fast.

“Why would my drink help you with--”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. He commends his older self for being able to teach this idiot anything, even though he seems to have skipped over important lessons like Recognizing When You’re Being Flirted With.

Before Anakin can finish the thought, Obi-Wan twists his other hand in Anakin’s robes and pulls him forward until their lips are a hair’s breadth apart. “May I kiss you?” he asks because it’s only polite to.

Anakin’s eyes widen and then fall shut as he gives a little nod, finally stepping forward until their bodies are pressed completely together.

At least someone, although he doubts it was the older Obi-Wan, taught Anakin how to kiss. Obi-Wan’s toes curl in his boots as Anakin takes control of the action, moving his hands so one’s pressing against the wall behind them and one’s running up his scalp. Obi-Wan takes his time licking into Anakin’s mouth, allowing Anakin to explore him in return. One of them moans, which seems like as good a time as any to break the kiss.

“Well?” Anakin pants, diving in to place a short kiss onto Obi-Wan’s lips. “What do you think?”

The short answer is that Obi-Wan isn’t. He noses back towards Anakin’s mouth hopefully, sliding his hand down from his neck to rest on his hip.

“About mint,” Anakin elaborates when Obi-Wan doesn’t respond immediately.

“Inconclusive. Need more data,” Obi-Wan tries to kiss him but Anakin’s smiling too hard.

“Then next time you can get the awful drink, and you can get me the Alderaan Sunset,” Anakin is complaining, but he’s laughing too and that’s nice. Obi-Wan thinks that making Anakin Skywalker laugh is one of the best feelings in the galaxy, and he thinks his older self would agree, if the warmth sparking up in his very soul means anything at all.

#asks #my fics #writing #tarantasina #i'm sure eventually they get obi-wan back to normal and he's just sooooo embarrassed that he got drunk and decided to seduce anakin #but like it worked out #anakin makes fun of him too until obi-wan remembers that he kissed back #prompt fill

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detroitbecomeyandere · 3 years

Text

You still remember where you were when the news that mermaids were real broke, you were sitting in the library trying to catch up on homework when the person next to you suddenly gasps and turns on a video. More annoyed than anything you tried to ignore his commotion and focus, midterms were coming up and nothing could be more important than that. When you got home and turned on the news you had to double check the date to make sure the headline wasn't a prank.

"That's right folks, the existence of mermaids has been confirmed. Mermaids are real."

That was three years ago and now you had a degree in behavioral psychology and were ready to get out there. You had put in applications at every marine research center you could to try and work with a merperson. Just as you were losing hope the Sunshine Rehabilitation Center reached out to you, requesting your help in dealing with a temperamental merman. You accepted it without a second thought and booked the first flight out and today was the day you were finally going to meet your first merperson.

The night before you got the report of who you would be working with, a shark merman by the name of Cyrus. He had beached himself after some fishermen tore up his tail because he started hunting in their fishing grounds. Apparently he is aggressive and distrusts humans to the point he is hindering his own rehabilitation, the people in charge of the center were hoping you could come in and help them with him. You thought you were ready to meet him but you were not prepared to stand in front of a six million gallon tank and a merman over nine foot.

You had seen a tank like this before at Sea World though unlike those tanks this one was set up to look like the ocean. The sand on the bottom of the tank was almost as tall as you, there was a cave built into the tank to give the merman some privacy. Said merman was currently swimming through the tank as best as he could, the wounds on his tail still looked red and painful. From what you can tell he was a Bull Shark meaning he was already aggressive to start with and his injury only added to it, it was no wonder they needed extra help.

Since it was feeding time you would get to see Cyrus up close and personal and while you were excited you were also nervous, Cyrus could very easily snatch you up and drag you into the tank with him if he felt like it. So you decided to watch him from a distance standing as far back on the platform as you could.

"Okay Ms. y/l/n Cyrus gets a little messy when he eats, you don't get sick from a bit of blood do you?" One of the biologists cracked a smile as she teased you, trying to get you to relax a little. It only made you more tense. A couple of the biologists tossed massive chunks of fish into the tank to get Cyrus's attention, he surfaced causing water to flow over onto the observation deck. You've seen some pictures of mermaids online but none of them looked like him, his jawline was so sharp it could cut glass, his eyes are such a deep brown they're almost black. Opening his mouth he reveals sharp teeth that easily shred the flesh of his meal.

Seeing the other people so close to him made you feel a bit more at ease and as you approached him, Cyrus shot a glare at you as he pulled his food into the pool.

~~~~~~~

It's been almost a month since you started working with Cyrus and slowly things were looking up. The first two weeks had been rough, one time he tried to bite your hand off but after you popped his nose out of reflex he straightened up. Since then Cyrus had seemed to become attached to you, always coming to the surface when you climbed the platform, he'd take things from you very gently as opposed to the almost violent way he would take things from other people. It seemed Cyrus had taken to you so much he started bringing you little things inside his habitat which mainly consisted of things he had taken from the other employees or little pieces of his meal. He seemed to be responding well to your time with him and was starting to let the biologists help him. Today however he was acting aggressive again and you didn't know what set him off, his routine hadn't changed at all and he was even ignoring you today.

By the time five rolled around you were fed up with his behavior and ready to go home, almost everyone else had already left so it was just you and two other biologists. You kick your flats off and walk to the edge of the platform to say goodnight to Cyrus it was something you started as a way to build trust but soon turned into second nature for you, once you had rushed out and forgot to tell him good night and it was all you could think about till you came back in. Before you even get to the edge Cyrus is already waiting for you, only his eyes above the water as he watches you approach.

"Goodnight Cyrus, hopefully tomorrow you'll be in a better mood, okay bud? Get some rest!" As you turn to leave a clawed hand shoots out and wraps around you ankle and pulls you to the floor causing you to hit your head stunning you. Cool water engulfs you as Cyrus pulls you to his large chest and swims away from the platform and into the middle of the pool. Once there he rolls onto his back and places you onto his stomach he watches as you cough up the water in your lungs, you place your hands on his hard abs as you steady yourself. Trying to stay calm you talk to him through your hacking "Cyrus *cough* I know you are having a hard day but this isn't appropriate. Now please *cough* take me back to the platform."

The look on his eyes was so intense you start to feel uncomfortable you open your mouth to ask again but Cyrus's hand wraps around your waist as he hoists above his face, and in a swift motion his thumb he pushes your pencil skirt up to your hips and catches your panties and rips them off. You bang your small fists against his hand and he moves you over his mouth, panic shoots through you as you start screaming for the biologists to help you but they just stood there stunned. Logically you knew there wasn't anything they could do but emotionally you were upset that they were about to watch you get eaten. Tears are streaming down your face by the time his tounge slithers out of his mouth and starts to prod at your cunt and before you can react to his actions he plunges it into your tight hole, pushing past your tight muscles. The sudden intrusion burns and you try and push his hand off of your waist but your struggling makes his hold your tighter as he starts to fuck you on his tongue. The painful burn starts to fade into a pleasurable one as his rough appendage rubs against the bundle of nerves inside you, your hips start to grind down against him and he loosens his grip to let you.

Just before the knot in your stomach can snap Cyrus pulls his tongue out of you making a whine escape you, your eyes meet his now almost black eyes. Never breaking eye contact with you Cyrus places you on his waist just below his genital slits. From the cornor of your eyes you see the biologists frantically moving around, in the back of your mind you were hoping they were figuring out how to save you but your hopes were dashed when you saw they were setting up a camera and taking notes. Feeling utterly humilated and betrayed you turn back around to find two erect penises in front of you. They were white and stripped with the same shade of gray on his tail, the penises had to be at least 14 inches. Panic sets in again when he wraps his hand back around your waist and aligns your cunt with the blunt head of one of his cocks.

Trying one last time you try and talk some sense into the horny merman. "Cyrus please it won't fit inside me! You are gonna rip me in half, stop please!" He pauses for a moment and huffs out in annoyance, you breathe a sigh of relief thinking he listened to you, but before your eyes his cock starts to shrink. By the time it stopped he was around ten inches and already pushing inside you. Once again you try to claw at his hand or close your legs anything to stop him from violating you any farther but with a little more pressure from his hand you legs spread open and slams his cock up into you filling you up all at once.

Your head snaps back in both pain as the breath is forces from your body, Cyrus moves you up and down his cock like a fleshlight as he fucks you. His other dick rubs against your clit everytime he brings you down on him the friction sends jolts of pleasure up your spine and soon your slick starts to leak down your thighs as the knot in your stomach starts to build again. Suddenly his member starts to grow inside you and every thought leaves your brain and all you can focus on is how full you can feel. He finally stop when you go ridged in his grip and starts thrusting even faster into you, going so deep inside you could swear he was fucking your womb. Finally the knot snaps and you unravel on top of him, your cunt tightens around him in a vice like grip and with a growl Cyrus cums deep inside you. The cock in front of you erupts as wells and showers you with ropes of hot cum, his grip loosens around you and you slump down onto his body. His cocks softening and retracting from you, Cyrus lays a hand across your back as you come back down to earth. On the brink of consciousness you are vaguely aware of the fact that there are more than two biologists on the platform now. To tired to feel ashamed you close your eyes and let sleep take you.

#detroit become human #yandere #mermay 2021 #mermay #dbh cyrus #sharkman cyrus #two dick cyrus #monster fucking #mod beau is a monster fucker #mod beau

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omniscientwreck · 3 years

Note

Hi🖤 Omni! If you're looking for a fic request I've got one.

Okay so Essek is Feeblminded by remaining Volstrucker at his tower. Verin came to visit later that day and has been taling care of Essek, as they both would be scared of the Umavi's wrath should someone find out.

Well Caleb comes to visit a few day's later and Certainly gets a surprise.

Fluff ensues.

I'm talking the Unicorn from Despicable Me level Fluffy😁😁😁

Hi Umbra! Sorry I'm incredibly late answering this, life is weird but I hope the length makes up for it! I know I said drabble but like this just turned into a whole fic so I hope you enjoy!

Verin had worried when Essek’s door hadn’t opened of its own accord, usually he knows when he’s arrived. Deciding something was certainly wrong he barges his way into his brother’s tower. He finds it silent which is normal but unnerving and the unnatural stillness as he calls for Essek has his hackles up.

His knuckles pale as he grips the hilt of his sword and searches methodically throughout the tower. Finding the main floor empty he heads up the stairs to the library. There’s a shuffle, a falling book, a whimper. He draws his sword, adrenaline coursing through his veins. The door is ajar and he can hear shuffling. He thrusts it open is momentarily relieved to see his brother. His hair is tousled and white is stained with flecks of red, his robes are torn and his mantle is askew.

He’s never seen him like this before and his heart lurches. Surprise and fear are plastered across his features, far more freely than Verin’s ever seen him feel. He doesn’t talk and he seems to not even recognize him. Checking the rest of the room, the sword is returned to its sheath and Verin crouches, reaching a hand to Essek.

“Brother, what happened?” Silence, a whimper. “Essek? What’s wrong? It’s Verin, your brother.” His brows unknot, and the tension in his jaw slackens. There’s a looseness to his demeanor and as he stands he waves his hand as if to float, but nothing happens. He tries again and again. The first try was decisive, after watching him for so long Verin knows what it looks like when he casts it. The second time it’s not quite right, the third time it gets looser still. By the time Verin has stopped counting and Verin has grabbed Essek’s hands to calm him it seemed like Essek didn’t know what he was attempting to do.

“Is this some kind of spell? What happened?” His brother looks up with the face of a stranger. His eyes are open and sad, his ears fall just a touch and Essek leans in to hug Verin. He’s never wanted to do that before.

Verin hugs him back. “Oh Essie, what are we going to do?”

Caleb approaches Essek’s tower and is struck by immediate concern when the door doesn’t open for him. Essek always lets him in when he arrives, and with everything that’s happened he immediately panics. Caleb tries to tell himself Essek must be busy and has missed him tripping the wards. So, he lifts the knocker and gives the door a few raps.

He’d asked Caleb to meet him here to assist in the transport of his most important items after their trip to Aeor. He needs to run, he knows it and Caleb knows that turning himself in to the Dynasty would mean certain death so he’s agreed to help. No amount of good will from the Bright Queen would let them bargain for his favour. Selfishly, Caleb won’t allow him to get caught, so he will harbor Essek for some time, helping him stay out of the eyes of the Dynasty.

Eventually he knocks again, beginning to hold a firebolt just in case. “Uh, just a minute,” calls a stranger’s voice from behind the wood. “I’ll be right there.”

The door opens just a crack, “Who is it?”

“I am Caleb Widogast of the Mighty Nein, who is this?” His hand is up and encircled in flame.

“Oh thank the Light, one moment.” Whoever he is, he’s clearly relieved. Caleb’s firebolt stays held.

As the door opens Caleb is greeted by a tall drow, muscular with long braided back hair. He looks familiar but Caleb cannot place him. His features are slowly fading into relief from what must have been a deep concern. “Hello Caleb Widogast, I am Verin Thelyss and I am so glad you’re here. Your the wizard yes?”

Nodding, bewildered as he’s being dragged into Essek’s home by his brother, Caleb can hardly remember to respond, “Uh ja, that’s me. Where is Essek?”

“Well so I came by a few days ago and he didn’t let me into the tower which was weird. There have been some rumors going around and when our mother said he was back I had to ask. I don’t know if you know but… well it’s bad.”

He’s leading him upstairs as he explains and the back of Caleb’s neck is on fire. Verin doesn’t know, but there are rumors that are most likely true. Is he too late?

“So, I’m hoping since you also practice the arcane you might know what’s happened here and how to solve it.”

He leads Caleb into the library and Essek is seated on a chair idly flipping through a book far too quickly. It doesn’t even look like he’s reading, Caleb knows what he looks like when he’s reading. The quiet concentration and the tension it brings his jaw is completely missing. When Essek looks up at him there’s recognition but no words and when he rises to make his way to Caleb, he walks.

He’s wide-eyed and has a sweet smile across his face, it’s difficult to look away but if he doesn’t the heat rising in his cheeks will show. “Essek, what is it mein Freunde?”

No words. Why can’t he talk and why isn’t he floating?

“Essek?” A gentle hand reaches up to rest on his cheek and the heat takes over at the abrupt contact. Especially with Verin standing over his shoulder observing them. “Verin how long has he been like this?”

“About 2 days. I didn’t really know what had happened and if the Umavi found out well… I’m unsure what she would do.” Verin is a little more easier to map out than Essek had been initially and he’s been told enough stories about Dierta to understand the undercurrent of Verin’s words.

“Ja, I understand.” Verin starts at that and Caleb just continues past it, “I believe he has been affected by the spell Feeblemind. I - ah - have experience with this kind of thing. We have friends that can cure him but I will have to contact them, which I will not be able to do until tomorrow.”

Essek’s hand has wound its way into Caleb’s and he tries and fails miserably to contain the blush that he knows is spreading to his ears. Memories of little touches in Aeor flood back and Caleb pushes away thoughts of conversations he’d promised they’d have later, after Essek was safe. To call to attention this thing between them and get it out in the open before it drives him mad. Even if Essek’s feelings do not align with his it will be better to have it in the open.

“So this isn’t hurting him?”

Caleb turns to Essek, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He remembers a blur of time, when his mind had failed him. He remembers terror, looking down at his hands and not knowing whose they were. He didn’t have an anchor, nothing but his own thoughts, with someone there it might be different. Essek can’t understand him but the tone of voice seems to elicit some positive emotions and Essek squeezes his hand, a contented smile across his face, “He seems alright to me. It is unpleasant to be cut off from your casting, but he isn’t in pain and he isn’t alone.” It’s difficult to mitigate the emotion bleeding into his voice.

He pushes down memories of the years he’d been locked away and squeezes Essek’s hand back, reassuringly. “Have you gotten him to eat?”

Verin nods, “Occasionally. Probably not as much as he needs. I’m not exactly an excellent cook and nobody can see him like this so I’ve sent his staff away.”

“Alright, well I’ll just do this then.” he begins casting the tower, “I understand if you want to stay but if you need to go I can care for him.” he wants Verin to leave, he wants him gone so badly, to just take care of Essek properly without the shadow of somebody who doesn’t know hanging over them.

“I should be back to Bazzoxan soon. They’ll begin asking after me.” Caleb finishes casting the tower and leads Essek in. Just before he enters, Verin stops him, “You mean something to each other. I’ve never seen him act this way before, granted there’s an arcane influence but genuinely he has never smiled like he did when he saw you. I trust you with this because I think he would. Do not betray that.”

Caleb nods, “Of course not. We’ve faced the most difficult challenges of my life together and with our friends. I will care for him.” Verin seems satisfied with that and makes to leave, and Caleb enters the tower to find Essek waiting in the centre of the tower. He has an idea of where he wants to go. As the tower door closes behind Verin, he and Essek begin to drift upwards. Essek opens his mouth as if to reflexively murmur ‘up’ as had become their custom in their long travels together and his brows knot in distress, as if he’s realized again that his voice will not come. Caleb reaches for his hand, to comfort him and says it for them both, to which Essek smiles.

The drow releases Caleb’s hand and begins to swirl around, never leaving the central column and Caleb is forced to mirror his motions lest they collide. He flashes back to a moment of levity when they’d first come to Aeor. They had showboated then, dancing around each other as their works often did. This Essek is less restrained and his eyes and nose crinkle into a genuine smile when Caleb joins his frivolity.

They stop at the ninth floor which Caleb had known to be Esseks’ destination and immediately Essek lays on the pillows he always places in the corner. Usually, on their research expedition, he tranced in his room but on particularly emotional days they both preferred an expanse of stars above them as they rested. It became tradition and over time they’d drifted closer and closer together, until they would sometimes come to consciousness to find that through the night Essek had curled into Caleb’s side or that their hands had wound together unknowingly.

Now, Essek’s eyes are wide and his mouth hangs open in wonder as though it’s his first time seeing it all over again. Caleb stands over him, following his gaze up to the idly shifting starscape above. Caleb is quickly distracted by the versions of them that traverse different paths. Sometimes in each other’s company, other times in solitude. In a few they hold hands or make contact at the shoulders. Those are the ones he likes the most.

When his gaze is pulled back downwards, Essek stares up at him with a tenderness that quickly turns to expectation. He’s arranged burgundy cushions across the floor beside him for Caleb and so he obliges. As he stretches out across the crude bed slender, cool fingers interlock his own and he lays back and tells Essek of the constellations he’s hidden among the stars.

When Caleb himself was in this state he remembered lacking familiarity. Nothing around him made sense and the upheaval of his life only moments prior had only amplified the disorientation of the magic that kept him prisoner for 11 years.

Essek has someone to watch over him, he’s in a place that evidently brings him much joy and in recent months he’s found himself halfway to peace. Caleb finds his heart swell at the idea of making this experience bearable.

The silence was always the worst so he points to guide the elf’s eyes as he tells them the stories behind each constellation. He tells him of Nila, gentle and fierce. Of Twiggy, ever optimistic and wholly delightful. He tells him about Reani who Essek has spent some time with. Brief recognition flashes across his face, though it’s quickly replaced with frustration. Caleb remembers. He remembers knowing that someone was there who he should recognize but not having the words to know he had forgotten their name. He was in terror and treated everyone as a threat. Essek treats everything with wonder and discovery. The innocence is sweet and a syrupy feeling pools in Caleb’s throat as he’s again confronted with the way his heart swells when Essek looks at Caleb with that same contented smile.

He scoots closer and this is entirely too much. The idea that this version of Essek may curl into his side willingly, while they were fully conscious where the other version cannot unsettles him. Instead he stands, offering his hand, “Why don’t we get you something to eat ja?” There’s a momentary droop of his ears, much more pronounced than any movement he’d seen before before he lifts Essek and they go down to the dining room.

If there is to be anything significant between them it cannot be spurred under these circumstances. Caleb has to know he means it. As they wait while he cats prepare what had become their usual fare while traversing Aeor, he defaults to telling stories. First he tells him of the tunnels they traversed to reach the Dynasty, crafting an illusion as well as he can of the crystalline caves they made camp in. Food arrives and he continues weaving story and image as Essek picks at the well spiced soup comprised mainly of squash and potato. As he crafts an illusion of the dragon turtle they’d fought just after the peace talks out of amber and morphs its shape to a smaller turtle and then a sea slug, laughing to himself at the absurdity, he notices the clink of Essek’s spoon has long subsided.

Glancing over electric eyes focus on him instead of the illusion, so he drops it. “Ah, Es tut mir Leid, I know I tend to get carried away.” A little contented noise bubbles from Essek’s throat and his heart squeezes. In a desperate attempt to try and get Essek to eat more he turns back to his own soup and looks expectantly over to his friend.

Giving him a look of exasperation, he mirrors Caleb and eats most of the soup. Caleb rips up bread and encourages him to dip it in what’s left of the soup and finally, the bowl is empty. They leave the cats to clean up and Essek’s hand grasps Caleb’s again and squeezes. He knows he shouldn’t draw conclusions or let himself be taken by these gestures that the man wouldn’t make if he’d had the presence of mind, but it’s turning into a losing game.

With the time spent on the ninth floor and the prolonged battle of coaxing Essek to eat they only have a few hours until sleep. Essek takes his customary seat on the couch in the study and Caleb withdraws some of the lighter fiction that now populates the shelves. Lying back on the sofa, feet resting on the armrest, head by Essek he holds up the copy of Der Katzenprinz to show the illustrations. “You seem to like hearing me talk so why don’t I share this with you? Either way you won’t understand what I say so I will read it to you as it was originally intended.”

He begins, in Zemnian to tell him the fairy story that had brought him so much joy as a child, and the cats bring them hot chocolate as instructed. Warm mug in hand, Essek sits patiently through the story and as it turns to a close, picks up another of the books Caleb has gathered and thrusts it upon his chest. A real laugh bubbles up at that and he obliges.

As the night winds on and the mugs are emptied, Essek’s hand winds its way through Caleb’s hair, gently combing. When he looks up at Essek he’s met with soft, drooping eyes and a plain smile laced with nothing but care. He tries to stop Essek over the course of the book but finds that the drow always goes back to his hair so eventually, he leaves it. When Essek’s breaths even and elongate and he’s having trouble keeping his eyes open, Caleb sends him to trance.

He’s met with a slightly mournful look as Essek settles into the cushions he’s provided for trancing, but Caleb squeezes his shoulder, “If something goes wrong the cats will know to come get me. This is for the best.” Looking not at all reassured, but staying in place, Essek lets him leave without protest.

In the middle of sleep, dreamless and warm, there’s pressure. Then a caterwaul cuts through his subconscious followed by several more. He awakes with a start and immediately the cats gather around his feet as he pulls on slippers. They lead him to Essek’s room, where through the closed doors he can hear the sounds of furniture being disturbed.

Barging in, heart pounding, he finds Essek with tears streaming down his face. “Essek Schatz what’s wrong?” He kneels, abandoning any sense of propriety or boundaries and as he collapses into Caleb’s arms with nearly silent sobs he’s struck by how small the other man is.

“It’s alright Essek, whatever it was it cannot hurt you. I will keep you safe as you have done me.” They’ve never talked about the nights when the cats would do the same to Essek as they’d done to Caleb. When he’d been awoken from nightmares with angry red scratches down his forearms and a friend to bandage them. They’ve never quite discussed the comfort in Essek trancing just beside Caleb’s bed on difficult nights and he’s tried to stifle contemplation about the safety the man brings to his subconscious. The timing wasn’t right and despite his own longing he couldn’t make that step towards Essek. Not then.

Now, however, the elf shudders in his arms and he brings him into his lap, lighting soft amber globules of light to examine Essek. When he finds no physical harm he puts them out again and draws him in tighter as Essek clutches at the sides of his nightshirt and curls into his chest. He sings gentle lullabies his mother had once used to soothe him, voice cracking slightly as he flexes it in a long forgotten way. Eventually the shaking stops and breath becomes more solid, but hands stay grasped into his shirt so, with assistance from the cats, he maneuvers them into an easier sleeping position. Ever determined, Essek stays in his arms the whole time and when he tries to encourage him to trance beside him, arms wind around his waist.

“Okay, okay. If this will help.” Caleb resigns himself to creaky joints the next morning and sleeps with Essek in his arms, pushing away any indulgent thoughts of future nights spent with him in the same orientation.

When he awakes Essek is gone from his lap, though their fingers are laced and his head rests atop the drow’s on his shoulder. “Guten Morgen Essek.” He startles and smiles over at Caleb. Open, honest, vulnerable. They need to fix this. “I just need to prepare and then we will see Jester ja?” He receives a blank stare in return and nods to himself. “I will be back in a few moments and then we will go to Nicodranas. Just wait here.” He leaves and dresses quickly, returning to find Essek essentially where he’d been left. He takes a moment to glance over his spellbook and concentrates as he casts Sending, “Hallo Jester, I need your assistance with a pretty big restoration. Can you help today?”

She sounds half-asleep as she responds, “Caleb? Oh hi! Yeah I can help, just come to mama’s, we’re in Nicodranas. Oh my gosh I have to tell you, the dragon turtle-” her word economy same as ever.

“Okay Essek, Jester can help. I don’t know where you kept your parasol but I’m sure she can make you another.” With that they head out the door and Caleb transports them safely to the Lavish Chateau. Essek’s hand never leaves his.

Upon arrival they’re beset by a shouted greeting and Jester crushes Caleb in a hug before even realizing the other man is there. “Ohmigod Essek hi! I missed you!” Instead of awkwardly patting her back as he usually does, he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her in. “Hey Caleb, what’s going on with Essek?”

She pulls back and sees his broad smile and dancing eyes and looks at Caleb distinctly concerned. “Ah- I’m afraid he is a victim of the Feeblemind spell. It’s what they used against me in… well.” Her face clouds with understanding. “He’s okay physically though, whoever attacked him clearly just needed him out of the way. If you can use Greater Restoration that will undo the effects. He’s been ah - rather clingy.”

She waggles her eyebrows at him, making suggestive noise, and gets out the required diamond dust, sprinkling it delicately over Essek who watches in wonder. She puts both hands on her shoulders and green radiant energy emanates from her and passes to him. Before long he’s shaking his head and stepping back, voice hoarse from disuse, “Where- Jester? Thank you oh my gods thank you.”

She grins back at him, “I’m glad you’re back Essek! It’s a good thing Caleb brought you here you were acting so weird-”

She’s cut off as he chokes out, “Caleb.” and looks over with a deep violet flush and wide, apologetic eyes. “I ah- I am sorry for putting you through that. I-”

“Nein, do not apologize. Maybe we should get back to your tower to try and piece together who did this to you and what they were after ja?’

Essek nods and casts his levitation cantrip, shoulders sagging with relief when it works. “Yes, of course. Thank you Jester, I’m sorry we can’t stay but-”

She hugs the both of them again, “It’s okay, you have lots to talk about probably I don’t know bye!” she gives Caleb a wink as he begins casting the spell again and to his surprise Essek’s hand winds itself in his as they vanish.

They’re back in the tower and Caleb looks down, Essek’s hand still in his. Essek drops it and there’s a flush set deep into his cheeks and it spreads to his cheeks as their eyes meet. “Caleb I-” he swallows “I remember most of what happened, though not very clearly. I um-” his eyes are downcast and Caleb braces for what he believes to be coming, “Thank you for your patience. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable it is very difficult to explain but I think you’re aware of the feeling. I didn’t exactly have my full faculties and I fear I broke boundaries that may have encroached too far on your hospitality and our friendship.”

It’s difficult to see him so apologetic for the affection displayed. This thing between them has gone unspoken quite too long and before he realizes it he’s speaking, “Don’t apologize for that Schatz, I ah- I didn’t mind. There’s something I think we ought to discuss fairly plainly because I do not want to mince words about the way I feel anymore, it’s tiring.”

Essek looks up to meet him, steeling himself and as Caleb is about to speak he cuts him off, “I am aware enough of how I acted to realize I cannot properly hide my feelings further.” He takes a deep breath, the back of Caleb’s neck is burning and time has all but frozen, “I care deeply for you Caleb. It is difficult to bring myself to those words for I know this is the last thing I deserve but here I am, a fool for you. I know that there were moments in Aeor, I hold them close to my heart as precious things in a life of solitude. If you do not do the same, if you do not feel the same I will remain your friend if you’ll allow it, your research partner, anything. But-” he looks down almost sheepishly, “I owe it to you to be forthright and so I will tell you that if you’ll have me, I would very much like to see where this takes us.”

A smile breaks across Caleb’s face as their eyes meet, “May I kiss you?”

Essek draws in a sharp breath, eyes wide, and nods. It takes Caleb only a moment to close the gap, hands sliding around Essek’s waist and over the back of his neck as he leads them together. Essek’s hands hold his shoulders and his eyes flutter closed as their lips meet, electricity and heat mixing. When they finally pull back they’re both flushed. Essek lets out a huff of a laugh and Caleb wraps him tightly as he brings him in again, smiling into another kiss.

#shadowgast #critical role #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #the mighty nein #cr fanfic #cr #critrole #fan fiction #archive of our own #omniwrites

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silkling · 3 years

Text

Of Newfound Knowledge and Truths of a Yesteryear

Of Moments in Life AU

———————————————————————————————————

Heatwave stood on his small training platform, punching the wooden dummy and trying to ignore the rage bubbling in the back of his processor. That morning, he’d read some of the data-pads that High Tide and Optimus had left, the ones Blades had read when Dreadwing first crashed on the island. What he’d learned had made him angry, and he didn’t understand how his teammate hadn’t been angry, too.

The Decepticons…the pads had a lot of information on what the ‘Cons had done throughout the War. The information had definitely been censored and sanitized, probably intentionally so his team wouldn’t be exposed to the full horrors of the War through the data pads, but it had still been enough for Heatwave to understand.

Dreadwing had said that the Decepticons started as a social revolution. But they were certainty far from that, now. The Rescue Force, Praxus, Iacon…they’d destroyed everything that had stood in their way, not caring if those they crushed were even involved in the War or not. It made him angry, his rescue protocols screaming with rage and loss in his processor.

As the conflicting emotions peaked, he heard the sound of pedes behind him and turned to see Dreadwing. Heatwave stepped away from the training post, the platform lowering to the ground as he crossed his arms and frowned. He liked the former Deception. He hadn’t spent as much time with him as the rest of his time, but he big bot was never violent or mean. He was a little blunt, and seemed to be a bit overly aggressive in his solutions for Heatwave’s peace-orientated processor, but he wasn’t a bad bot. At least, he didn’t appear to be.

Dreadwing seemed to notice his internal distress, because the larger bot pinned him with a considering and slightly concerned look. “You seem troubled, little one.” he rumbled.

“I’m not little.” Heatwave answered on reflex, mildly indignant. He didn’t understand why the Seeker referred to him and his teammates like that. Well, he supposed he did. They were all little, compared to him. “And…I guess I am.” He looked up at Dreadwing, a hard frown twisting his features.

“So I see.” Dreadwing, for his part, now looked ever so slightly amused. “And what is it what is causing you such distress?”

Heatwave made a frustrated noise, his vocalizer clicking in a sort of nonsense babble as he tried to think of how to explain. “I just–I don’t understand. How could they have done…everything they did?”

“What are you talking about?” Dreadwing asked, confused.

“I read the data lads Optimus and High Tide left! I learned about some of the things the Decepticons did!” he snapped, frustration and anger bleeding into his tone in place of previous confusion. Just the thought of what he’d learned was enough to make his spark sing with rage.

“Ah, now I understand.” The Seeker stated, his gaze becoming solemn and understanding. “And what did you learn, Heatwave?”

“You know what!”

“I do not. Your data pads are Autobot records, youngling. While I have no doubt there is truth there, I am also quite sure that much of that information is highly biased or just pure conjecture.”

The fire truck scowled. “Oh? So the Decepticons didn’t destroy Praxus, which was supposed to be a Neutral city?”

Dreadwing paused. “They did. It was before I joined, but they did.”

“And you’ve probably done a lot too, haven’t you?” He demanded. “Killed a lot of innocent bots, destroyed a lot of lives?” he was angry and hurting and he didn’t understand how Dreadwing could have joined a cause that was so horrible unless he was, as the human say, cut from the same cloth. But he couldn’t be, everything Heatwave had seen from the Seeker since his crash on the island directly conflicted with what the youngling had learned of the Decepticons. It just made him confused and left his spark aching.

The Seeker in question was silent, observing for a moment before he dipped his head. “I have. I have done many, many terrible things. I never killed sparklings or younglings, but I have killed countless Autobot soldiers and slain more than a few Neutral civilians on Megatron’s command.” He said softly. “I have aided in the stripping and destruction of planets, and I have directly contributed to the death of our homeworld. I do not deny any of this. I am not trying to escape my past, Heatwave, or to deny the crimes and atrocities I have committed.”

“Then why did you do them? Why are you here? Why should we let you stay if you’ve done all of that?” He didn’t actually want Dreadwing to leave, and the knew the others would want him to either. But he had just admitted to having committed horrible acts. Heatwave didn’t know what to think.

If the harsh questions bothered him, Dreadwing didn’t show it. “I did what I did because, at the time, I believed I was in the right. You know how Cybertron was in the Golden Age. You know of the emurata, of Functionism, of the caste system and how it was structured. Don’t tell me you don’t.” he said. “I rose from a system that sought to oppress me, and I turned to the only option I saw at the time. The Decepticons. It was wrong, and I have come to realize that.” He paused, tilting his head slightly. “I am here because I have little elsewhere I can go, and because I find myself growing fond of this place. I am here because Primus has granted me a second chance, an opportunity to do better and to be better, and I intend to take it.” Dreadwing took an extra moment to consider the last question. “You likely should not.” he answered. “I cannot change what I have done, all I can do it try to make amends and hope to find redemption one day.” He met the youngling’s gaze evenly. “But I would like to stay, if you would allow me the chance to pursue something better here.”

Heatwave held his gaze, then sagged and looked away. “Fine. I don’t even want you to leave anyway.” he sounded tired. “I won’t make you go. I don’t think I could. The others like you, and so do I. It’d just do more harm than good to everyone involved if I made you leave now.” he glanced up. “Just…tell me why. Why did the Decepticons do all of that? I don’t understand.” he sounded frustrated and helpless.

Dreadwing softened, his wings dipping down just slightly as his frame relaxed. “The Decepticons did not rise from nothing, little one.” he rumbled.

“What do you mean? The data pads said Megatron came out of nowhere and built them up before anyone realized what was going on.” He said, his anger abating in face of his even more confusion.

Dreadwing scoffed. “I am certain that many Autobot’s believe that.” his lips curled faintly, displeased. “That is, however, as far from the truth as you can get.”

“Then why would Autobot data pads contain that information as if it were fact?” he demanded, crossing his arms.

The Seeker hummed, tilting his head. “Perhaps, if you wish to have this discussion in its entirety, it would be best to sit somewhere?”

Heatwave paused, then nodded. “Lounge.” he said gruffly, leading the way. Once there, he dragged over a beanbag chair and settled into it comfortably, leaving the couch to the former Decepticon.

“To begin, I must ask how much you know about the Autobots and Decepticons as a whole, as well as how much you know and understand the political and social climate of the Golden Age.” Dreadwing stated.

Heatwave frowned. “I know what you told us when you first arrived.” he said, tilting his head. “I also know that the Autobot’s end goal is the restoration of Cybertron and the revival of our race. I know the Decepticons want to take control and lead Cybertron by force, and that their end goal is to put ‘Cons in charge and remove lots of freedom from bots under their rule.” he said. He crossed his arms, staring at a point on the floor as he tried to think. “I know that the Senate used to rule Cybertron during the Golden Age, and that they weren’t very fair and a lot of bots suffered, and that some of their regulations and punishments were extreme.” he tilted his head. “I know the caste system made the bots in the lower castes struggle a lot.” he seemed almost ashamed at this point. “I….I never paid the most attention to that, though. I was in the upper-middle caste, and my Function was something I already wanted to do.”

“Rescue work.” Dreadwing guessed.

The firetruck nodded. “Yeah.” he admitted.

“Then you know much of the very basics, though your knowledge lacks in the complexity and finer details of the full scope of the situation.” he rumbled. “You are correct. The Autobots fight for a restored Cybertron. But your knowledge of the Decepticons is…not entirely accurate.”

Heatwave’s engine growled with displeasure as he just grew more helplessly confused. “What?”

“The Decepticons do seek control, and they do seek to rule over Cybertron. That is true. It is also true that their goal is to see to the destruction of the Autobots. But it wasn’t always so.”

“Yeah, you mentioned they started as a social revolution.” Heatwave said, starting to calm down once he realized he’d be getting his answers, and without all the vagueness that came from Optimus whenever he tried to ask the Prime about the War.

“They did. But Megatron not rise from nothing, as the Autobots are so fond of believing. He rose from foundations that were already very deeply rooted. Functionism was a plague and the caste system was a rot that had sunk deep into the very core of our world.” he said, voice soft and somber. “It was a rot that infected only the oppressed and the beaten; it affected the lower castes and the undesirables, and those who lived comfortably in the higher castes did not feel the affects of it.”

“Undesirables?” Heatwave echoed, confused.

“Bots who did not fit into the world the Senate wished to portray. They wanted a Cybertron where every bot had a singular Function and operated according to that Function and ONLY according to that Function. They wanted a world where all those who were not of the Senate were subservient to them and obeyed them without question. They wanted a world that operated under the beliefs and celebrations and social structure they approved of. Those who did not fit into that world, and who could not fit into that world, were deemed undesirable.” He cast the youngling a meaningful look. “For the Senate, that included flight-frames. It is why they were so eager to see the spread of anti-flyer sentiments, to confine flyers, whether they were Seekers or not, to a single city. Flight-frames have a different base coding to ground-frames, and the Senate were all ground-frames. In their optics, flight-frames were a danger to their rule because flyers, by the nature of our frames, do not fit seamlessly into a Functionist society.” he paused. “It certainly did not help that the social structure, belief system, and cultural behavior of flight-frames was radically different to that of ground-frames, and that it was radically different to what the Senate was trying to enforce.”

Heatwave was silent for a long moment, considering what he was told. “But…you said the caste system was a rot. What did you mean?”

Dreadwing hummed, his fingers tapping a pattern on the couch; it was a very human gesture, one he had picked up from the Burnses without even realizing it. He had to word this carefully. Not because he wanted to manipulate the younger bot, but because it was a complex situation and a rather unpleasant one. “You said we’re were of the upper-middle caste.” he said carefully. “And that fits with your frame type and your Function. But have you never thought about the types of bots that fill each level of the caste system?” he asked.

Heatwave furrowed his optical ridges, shaking his helm. “No…” he said slowly. “I know…I know artists were considered among the lowest tier of the high castes. I know scientists and medics were high caste, and that the only bots above them were politicians.” he said.

Dreadwing smiled faintly. The young bot was starting to understand on his own. “Indeed. But those bots only made up a minority of Cybertron’s population. What of the others? What of the common laborers?”

“You mean, like, cleaners and construction bots? You’re right, they were more common than scientists, medics, or artists.” he said. “Like Boulder. He was originally a construction bot.”

He nodded. “They were indeed more common. But what caste did the Senate assign to them?”

“The…the lower caste.” Understanding was starting to bloom in Heatwave’s optics. “The lowest caste, for most of the laborer frames.” he realized. “That means…Boulder was from the lower castes.”

Dreadwing hummed agreement. “He was. If you wish to know more, then you shall have to ask him yourself. It is not my place to tell you what he experienced.” He sighed heavily. “But I will tell you that the lower castes, the bots who made up the majority of our people, did not often lead pleasant lives. They received little pay for their work, could not often afford decent fuel, if they could afford any fuel, and most of their pay would have to go to maintaining their living space. It oft left them overtired, overworked, and very, very hungry. It did not help that many of them had dangerous Functions, dangerous jobs, and after paying for their living quarters and fuel, they did not have the shanix for medical care. It meant the lower castes were forced to choose between their need for fuel and their health.”

Heatwave swallowed, his optics blown wide. “Oh.” he whispered. “But…why didn’t they do anything?”

Dreadwing looked almost melancholic at his question. “Most of the lower castes simply did not have the time or energy to fight against it. They were too tired, too hungry, to injured or sick, and were forced to focus purely on their own survival.” he stated. “And those few that did try to speak up…” he trailed off. “The Senate was not kind to dissenters, little one. If they did not use empurata on those who protested their systems, they used other means of punishment and silencing.” his tone was grim.

Heatwave chose not to ask what those “other means” were. He had a feeling he didn’t want to know. “It…it was really that bad?”

The Seeker bowed his helm. “Ask Boulder or Blades. They would know the best of your teammates.” Though, he had his suspicions about the means of Chase’s creation, and if he was right then the police bot might also know how bad the Senate could be.

“Boulder, I get. But why Blades?”

“The little flyer once told me that one of his brothers was a flight-frame. He would not have experienced the cruelty directly, as he was a ground-frame on Cybertron, but he would doubtless have experienced or seen it through his brother.”

“Oh.” Heatwave was starting to get the feeling that he didn’t know as much about his team as he thought he did. He really needed to fix that. “I guess I understand why the Decepticons rose to quickly then, if things were really that bad for so long.”

“Indeed.” Dreadwing agreed. “But there is one more thing you must understand.”

“Which is?” Heatwave was feeling a little sick to his tanks. He hadn’t been aware the situation on Cybertron had been so bad, but then again, he’d lived a good life. He’d had all the fuel he needed, he never worried about his health or safety, his living situation was pretty much always assured, and he actually enjoyed working according to his Function. He wouldn’t have experienced the rot Dreadwing mentioned, so it only made sense he wasn’t entirely aware of it. That didn’t get rid of the guilt, though.

“The Decepticons are made up almost entirely of flight-frames and those of lower castes. There are certainly some of those among Autobot forces, but the grand majority of them are Decepticon.” Dreadwing pinned Heatwave under a severe look. “What does that tell you, little one?”

“It tells me that the Autobots are mostly ground-frames and bots from the middle and upper castes.” he answered, suddenly understanding the War in a whole new light. It certainly didn’t excuse what the Decepticons had done, but now this…this made it a lot easier to understand.

“Indeed.” he agreed. “The Decepticons originally rose on the backs of bots who were beaten down and had little else to lose, bots whose only crime was to want a better life.” he said. “When the Senate, and later the original Autobots before Optimus Prime, attempted to beat them back down to their “proper place”, they fought back for the freedom that should have always been theirs.” His gaze went distant, as if remembering something from long ago. “The Decepticons were originally a freedom movement, little one. It was only as time wore on and the spilled energon between the factions soured that they lost their way and forget their original mission.”

“And now?”

“Now, because so many Autobots are ground-frame or originated from the higher castes, they do not understand why their enemy continue to fight. Certainly, many Decepticons fight because they wish to destroy the Autobots, but there are many, many more who only fight because they fear that an Autobot victory means a return to the ways of the Golden Age. It is something that Prime and his bots simply do not, and perhaps never will, understand.”

“So most of the Autobots…they weren’t bots who were hurt by the Senate.”

“No.” Dreadwing agreed. “Prime’s team on Earth is a good example. Prime himself is formerly of the lower-high caste, as he was a former Archivist. His scout was upper-middle caste, and while he was too young to receive his Function at the start of the War he would very easily have made a successful racer. The femme-bot was an Enforcer, also considered upper-middle caste. And of course, the medic. Ratchet was famed, even before the War.” The Seeker smiled sardonically. “He was quite firmly in the highest castes. All of them operated according to their Function, and all of them were content with it.” He tilted his head. “The only bot on Prime’s own team who does not fit that mold is his Wrecker, who was once a construction bot. He is the only one who might truly understand.”

Heatwave nodded, looking own at his lap. “I think I get it now. This war…it’s not going to end until the Autobots understand that stuff, is it? Because they won’t understand why most of the Decepticons keep fighting, why they started fighting in the first place.” he said, looking up to meet red optics.

“Yes. You’re very intelligent, little one. You learn fast.” Dreadwing slumped slightly, releasing a heavy vent. “You are correct. So long as the Autobots do not understand, then the Decepticons, at least those who only fight out of a fear of a return to the old ways, will never stop what they are doing.”

“You really know a lot about this stuff.”

“I am a Seeker, Heatwave. I experienced much of the Senate’s cruelty directly, as did most of my frame-kin.”

The Rescue Bot nodded, subdued. Now he understood. A part of him wished he didn’t, but he was glad he did. He sighed, meeting Dreadwing’s gaze again. “I think I owe you an apology, then. I judged you based on incomplete information.”

Dreadwing bowed his helm. “Thank you, little one. As I said, I certainly committed horrible acts, and I can never undo what I have done, but now I only make to make amends as I move forward.”

Heatwave nodded, smirking and straightening up. “I think you can. And lucky for you, we’re here to help.” he said.

Dreadwing blinked, before he chuckled, his wings lifting as the mood brightened. “So you are. Thank you, youngling.”

“We’re Rescue Bots.” Heatwave grinned. “Helping others is what we do.”

“So it is.” He agreed, looking amused. “And perhaps, I can also help you?”

He blinked, taken aback. “Me? How?”

“I have noticed you practicing with your sparring post. Your form is acceptable, and I am aware that the Rescue Force trained its Teams to have combat abilities, but I can help you improve. Your current skills will help you fight if a rescue mission were to go wrong, but if you wish, then I can help expand and improve your combat capability even beyond that.”

Heatwave blinked. “You’ll teach me how to fight.” he stated.

“I would be glad to, if you wish to learn. There may come a day when you must fight a true enemy, and if that day comes then greater combat skill may be helpful.” Dreadwing pointed out.

Heatwave narrowed his optics, considering the unsaid implications of that statement. “…you think the War might come to us.”

“Perhaps.” he said grimly. “I pray that it does not, but in the event it does I think it is better that you are prepared to fight against an enemy who truly wishes to see your spark go out.”

He nodded, gaze firming. The others would need lessons too, in that case. The Rescue Force did teach them all basic combat, in the event that they needed to fight off anything that might be threatening whoever or whatever they were rescuing, but their combat training had been pretty basic. If Dreadwing was right, and there was a possibility of Sigma-17 one day facing an opponent that wanted them dead, then they’d need to shape up. He stood, hands curling into fists as his shoulders lifted and determination burned in his spark. He stared the Seeker in the optics.

“Let’s do it.”

Dreadwing stood, a faint smile curling at his lips, and clapped a hand on the youngling’s shoulder. “I look forward to it.” he said, a hint of pride in his tone. Heatwave was so very young, but already he was shaping up to be a fine mech, a fine leader.

Heatwave himself only grinned, blue optics bright. “So do I.”

He’d learned a lot today. Not all of it had been pleasant, and a distinctly unpleasant feeling still curled in his tanks, but he was glad to learn what he had. The past was dark and violent, he’d come to realize. Cybertron’s history was steeped in shadows and darkness and Heatwave was certain that he still didn’t know everything, that Dreadwing had certainly omitted many of the worst of the details. Given all that, he really couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised that the War had happened.

Now though, wasn’t the time to focus on the past. Not Cybertron’s past, and not on Dreadwing’s past either. He tilted his helm up to turn his grin on the larger bot, leaning his weight into the hand on his shoulder and enjoying the small physical contact. Yes, he decided. Dreadwing’s past didn’t matter, not here. All that mattered was what was to come, and Heatwave was determined to meet whatever the future held for them head on.

For himself, and for his newfound family — all of them, even its newest addition.

———————————————————————————————————

Here it is, folks! The next installment in “of moments in life”! This one goes a little deeper into Pre-War Cybertron’s social/political climate. Heatwave got a massive reality check. He was sorta privileged, by the standards of the Golden Age, and he’s being forced to realize what that meant and what it blinded him to. Poor youngling, his entire worldview just got rocked.

As for Dreadwing, he now has another son! The next installment will be tHe Blades and Dreadwing one. It’s gonna be sad. They’re gonna talk about their brothers. That’s all I’ll say! I have prompts fo write for before I can get to it, so it’ll be a bit, but stay tuned, it’ll come out! Anyway, hope y’all liked it! Let me know your thoughts!

Until next time, folks!

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lit-in-thy-heart · 3 years

Text

Gwaine’s fingers hadn't stopped burning since the beginning of the training session. He'd been able to feel the sweat clinging to the pores of his skin and crawling up his hands as the sun had glared down on them. It hadn't been this bad for weeks. The summer, by usual standards, hadn't even been as terrible as it usually was; apart from one painful patch on his palm where the skin had split, Gwaine’s hands had remained largely clear of any eczema, but training had brought out a rash-like appearance that Gwaine knew would transform into clusters of dry and inflamed skin in a matter of days.

Still, he'd struggled until the end of the session and had resisted the urge to scratch the irritated areas by retrieving the scrap of material he'd used to wear before becoming a knight and tightly winding it around his hand. Unfortunately he only had the one, so he'd simply curled his second hand into a fist and had slipped away.

And now he was currently staring at a bucket of water in his chambers, contemplating whether or not plunging his hands in it for temporary relief would be worth the agony of having to dry his skin afterwards. If it didn't disappear before the world grew colder, then winter would be hell.

Mouth pressed in a thin line, Gwaine unwrapped the cloth and shoved both hands into the bucket of water with a suppressed groan. As a child, his eczema had largely been contained to the joints of his elbows in warm weather and, after the age of around five, had disappeared altogether. Its return had coincided with his father's death as a teenager and that's when it had been all over his hands.

Most of the time it was manageable. There was the rare occasion where the skin did split open and caused all hell to break loose for a couple of weeks before it healed up, but for the most part Gwaine could get on with his life. But then there were times like this, where the fluctuating weather and physical activity pushed his skin to breaking point and his fingers were left feeling stiff and inflamed and he wanted nothing more than to scrape everything off.

But he gritted his teeth and moved through it. Or tried his best to, at least. There was a sound at the door and Gwaine started, reflexively removing his hands from the water and delicately drying them off with a cloth by pressing down on his hands. It stuck to his skin and pulled at his fingers but he forced himself to remain as impassive as possible as Merlin and Lancelot, holding hands that were completely smooth to the touch, entered the room.

Lancelot dropped a kiss to the top of his head as he approached the table. 'Hey, love, you disappeared after training.'

'Was getting too warm,' Gwaine replied, kissing Merlin’s cheek clumsily as they rested their head on his shoulder to examine the water. 'You both alright?'

'Fine,' mumbled Merlin. 'What are you doing?'

'Just washing.'

Gwaine knew there was nothing to be ashamed of, but he couldn't help but feel like the condition would be nothing but an impediment if it was discovered. Alone he could manage it. It was a nuisance, but he could do it. If the others knew then they might tell him to take a break or, worse, to get a grip of himself. It meant that he wouldn't be able to hold either of his partners' hands for several weeks until the flare-up died down but they probably wouldn't have wanted to touch it anyway.

Lancelot frowned. 'Since when have you washed alone?'

Gwaine shrugged, avoiding his gaze and standing up. 'It was too warm and I couldn't wait.'

'That's twice now you've said it was too warm,' observed Merlin.

Gwaine opened a window and kept his head turned away. 'It was.'

'Are you hurt?' Lancelot asked, dropping Merlin’s hand and approaching Gwaine again. He pressed one hand to the small of Gwaine’s back. 'Gwaine?'

'No, I'm fine,' Gwaine quietly said, glancing around with a small smile. 'You don't need to worry.'

'You kept flexing your hands in training.' Merlin had joined them. 'Are you sure you're not hurt?'

'I was just readjusting my grip on the sword. Honestly, it's fine.'

'Let me see,' Merlin softly demanded. 'Show me your hands.'

'It's fine—'

'Gwaine,' Lancelot sharply cut in, 'just show us.'

Steeling himself, Gwaine turned around and flung out his hands, palms facing down. 'There. Satisfied?'

With a frown, Lancelot traced the rash scattered across Gwaine’s fingers. 'Is it some kind of infection? Were you wounded and you didn't tell us?'

'It's not an infection,' whispered Gwaine. 'It's a skin condition. It's fine, mostly, just the heat and the physical activity today made it flare up. It's fine.'

Merlin delicately slipped their hand beneath Gwaine’s palm. 'Does it hurt?'

'It could be worse. It has been worse.'

'But does it hurt?'

'Not really. It's more of a burning sensation, that's all. Just feels hot.' Gwaine withdrew his hands and shoved them in his pockets, allowing the friction of the movement to momentarily soothe him. 'It goes away for a few weeks, then returns again. Nothing can be done about it.'

As Lancelot rubbed his shoulder, Merlin bit their lip. 'Gaius might have a salve that can reduce the inflammation. It won't cure it, but it would make it easier to deal with?'

'I wouldn't want to waste it for people who might actually need it,' Gwaine quietly replied.

Lancelot's grip tightened. 'You need it, love.'

Merlin pressed a kiss to his forehead. 'Give me two minutes, I'll be right back.'

With a nod, Gwaine fell against the wall, avoiding Lancelot’s eye. As much as he loved him, there was always the niggling idea that he had to be as good as Lancelot in being able to protect Merlin if needed, and the thought that he wouldn't be if he could be slowed down by stiff hands—

Fiercely, he shook himself. It was ridiculous to think that. He wasn't any less capable of protecting Merlin just because his hands felt like they were on fire. He'd managed to protect himself, in the years alone and wandering, with blistered and broken skin. And if he could do that, he could protect Merlin.

It was Lancelot’s voice that snapped him back to reality. 'How long have you had this?'

'Since I was a teenager. On and off. It's alright, I'm used to it now.'

Lancelot cupped Gwaine’s cheek with a flawless palm. 'Still. It can't always be easy.'

'Lance, it's fine, really. I make enough of a big deal out of it already.' Gwaine sighed. 'It's worse during hot nights, when I just want to tear off my own skin. During the day it's usually okay.'

Kissing him gently between his eyebrows, Lancelot rubbed his shoulder. 'Hopefully the salve will help.'

Gwaine rested his forehead against his partner's. 'Hopefully.'

'I have it!' came a triumphant voice. Merlin had returned, in seemingly record time, and held a small pot in their hand. 'Hopefully it won't make it worse.'

'Don't say that,' Gwaine said, leaning into Lancelot as Merlin approached.

Grinning, Merlin removed the lid and put a large amount on his fingers, holding them out to Gwaine. When Gwaine offered up his hands, he kept his lips tightly sealed as Merlin lathered the salve over his skin and ignored the intensity of the burning sensation. If it hurt, it meant it was working, that was what he'd always been told.

The smell wasn't unpleasant but he couldn't quite define what it was but, as Merlin continued to cover his hands, Gwaine decided it didn't matter. There was a slim possibility that his condition might improve and, if not, then at least he could enjoy Merlin and Lancelot refusing to let him carry anything for himself for the rest of the week.

#i wanted to write something like this several months ago after a bad flare-up but never got round to it #luckily for you bright sun and physical activity apparently causes it to return at double the intensity :D #it's all fine though it could be much worse #they probably didn't have any treatments for it in camelot's time but fuck it gwaine deserves a little relief from it #gwaine #merwaincelot #lancelot #merlin #bbc merlin #merlin fanfic #lit writes #eczema

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russadler · 3 years

Text

The Red Room (Russell Adler x OC! Bell) SMUT/EXPLICIT

Bell needs something from Adler...

EXPLICIT/SMUT 18+

A/N: Just a little something I wrote while in quarantine. I imagine this taking place in my “A Little Death” universe (I’ll probably find a way to write it in later on) but this can be read as a standalone if you wish. I’m still looking to add to “Playing with Fire” so stay tuned in the meanwhile. Thanks for reading!

It’s only midday and Bell can feel herself cracking. The CIA agent makes a half-decent effort to make herself look busy with her own assigned tasks, but in reality she feels her skin crawl with yearning.

Her mind is fixated on one thing and one thing only.

With the others having either gone into town for lunch or other business, the main area of the safehouse is left solely occupied by Adler and herself. Bell slips into the red room as soon as she sees the chance.

The brunette toes quietly into the workspace, not looking to completely interrupt her fellow agent’s current task at hand. Adler still turns when he hears footsteps behind him, his ears finely tuned after years of espionage work.

Russell greets her with a simple “Bell.” As he continues developing the image in his possession. The American man is not a fool by any means, he knows she wants something. What exactly it is she seeks is another question entirely.

He of course sees fit to make her wait until he is ready to give it.

Bell leans casually against an adjacent table to observe Adler as he works, her arms supporting her body as she leans back. The position pushes her chest forward and thus causes her nipples to poke very visibly through the thin white cotton of her muscle shirt. Her choice in attire had already earned a look from the elder man earlier in the day, but he had chosen to not make any comment.

The young woman studies the muscles of Adler’s arms intently as he works, paying extra attention to the way his back shifts through the material of his dark green polo.

Russell finishes his current project after a few short minutes, taking time to set his tools down and remove his gloves before turning to face his companion.

“What do you need, Bell?” He questions.

The woman in question moves from her place at the table and slowly approaches the man, stopping only when they touch chest to chest so he can feel her hardened nipples as her fingers hook themselves in his belt loops.

The brunette peers up at the older man, gnawing at her lip in a show of both nervousness and want.

“Bell.” Adler sighs. “We can’t — not here. Not now.”

“So you still want to?” Bell asks mischievously in return. “You didn’t say no, just that we can’t.”

Adler sighs again, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his lover’s lips as his hands come to grip at her sides.

“You know damn well I’d love to baby.” He replies quietly, his thumbs rubbing softly at the meat of her hips. “But if we were caught, there would be lots of trouble for both of us, especially for me.”

The shorter of the pair doesn’t consider the other’s answer for too long. She already expected him to say no, it was why she came with a back up plan.

Bell leans in to whisper in the other’s ear. “Let me suck you off.”

She leans back to observe the man’s reaction. Adler is a man of very subtle mannerisms. He isn’t easy to read, but the lack of sunglasses as well as her personal relationship to him makes things a lot easier.

His face doesn’t shift at all with surprise, but instead she sees the minute etchings of curiosity decorate the man’s features.

Adler’s eyes dart quickly to the door. Bell answers his unsaid question.

“Everyone’s gone out for lunch, and we both know Hudson has meetings at BND headquarters all day.” The female states matter of factly, beginning to reach for the man’s belt. “We still don’t have enough time for you to fuck me, but surely I can get you to cum in my mouth at least.”

Once his belt is unbuckled, her dark haired form drops to its knees in front of her commanding officer. As she wrestles his cock out from his briefs, Bell feels the light touch of Adler’s hand on the crown of her head as he pushes back the hair falling in her face.

The Russian finally reaches her goal, the man’s half chubbed length presenting itself as she tucks his briefs behind his sack. Leaning forward to suck the engorged tip into her mouth, Bell glances up at Adler as his flesh enters her mouth.

She notes the way his jaw clenches in the red light, groan caught in his throat as he watches her closely. The woman works to suck more of his fattening length into her mouth, left hand gripping at his thigh as her right grips the base and massages what she can’t fit in her mouth.

Russell reaches down to stroke delicately at her chin.

“Good girl...you’re so good for me.” He whispers adoringly, admiring his girl as she sucks him off.

Bell closes her eyes and continues working her mouth up and down, knees becoming sore as they rub at the cement floor. A hand coming to rest on the top of her head, guiding but not pushing her to take him further.

“Lift your shirt, let me see those gorgeous tits” Russell whispers roughly, hand on her head shifting to grip at her hair as she swallows down more of him.

The beauty complies with the man’s directive and her left hand moves to lift her shirt, exposing her perky breasts to the chilled air. Bell straightens at the sound of Adler’s pleased hum.

As she sucks him further, she eventually feels her gag reflex trigger. Forced to pull back and take a moment to breathe, Bell knows she looks a mess, hair mussed by Russell’s grip and saliva covering her face, but she knows they both enjoy the absolute filth of these things.

Russell rubs at her bottom lip with his thumb as she gasps for air, playfully pushing it forward for her to suck at before pulling away.

“Sweet girl…” He rasps with a smirk, moving forward to tap the tip of his cock on her swollen lips. “Better move faster if you want me to cum before they come back.”

She beams back with a stellar smile of her own, before opening her mouth to allow him to push his cock forward. The elder groans, swearing under his breath as Bell resumes sucking him off with vigor.

Bell swallows him deeper with each pass, moaning in pleasure as she gets him off. Adler’s hand clenches and grips at her hair as attempts go restrain himself from fucking her throat.

As much as she would love him to, they both know they wouldn’t be able to explain why she suddenly lost her voice midway through the day.

“God...you’re so good to me Bell…” Adler murmurs.

The brunette pulls back suddenly from sucking his cock to lap at his balls, moaning in unison with him as she begins to suck harshly at a testicle.

“Fuck...Bell...yes.” Adler hisses, tossing his head back as his face pinches in bliss. Bell makes note to suck at the other testicle as well before returning to swallow his length.

From that point on the younger begins a rapid and zealous assault on the CIA agent’s erection, determined to make him cum. A hand jerks him at the base, while her mouth moves along his length at a swift pace.

The red room becomes filled with Adler’s groans and quiet praises, mostly drowned out by the wet sounds of Bell choking on his fattened dick.

Bell can feel herself absolutely melt as she blows him. The carnal act and the absolute danger of their current situation feeds her insatiable appetite for the man. She feels the hot burn of tears run down her face as she makes herself swallow him with haste until she chokes, a mess of saliva covering most of her face and dripping down her chin.

“Make me cum baby...I know you can…” Adler encourages as he’s cut off by his own groan. “Suck that cock dry...I wanna cum in your mouth.”

The Russian whimpers at the words as she continues her assault on his penis for another few minutes. She wants nothing more than to feel the warmth of his release in her mouth, to hear him cry out as he releases.

She pulls back and takes a deep breath before rapidly sucking him to the base in one go, she coughs as she deepthroats him for the first time but she still manages to hold on.

It finally does the trick.

“Oh fuck! Bell I’m gonna fucking cum…I’m gonna cum. Oh Jesus…” The man lets out a groan from deep within his chest as he releases. His partner’s hair tightly gripped by both hands.

Bell pulls back, only leaving the tip in her mouth as he comes. The salty taste of his thick release soon fills her oral cavity.

“Show me.” He growls lowly. “Show me the cum I put in your mouth then swallow.”

Pulling back off his softening cock, the female leans back and opens her mouth. Her tongue is barely visible beneath the sea of white cum.

Adler places a finger under her chin to tilt it upwards and whistles approvingly at the sight. “Goddamn...good girl. Letting me dirty your mouth like that.”

He removes the finger from underneath her jaw and steps back. “Now swallow it.”

Her mouth snaps closed, and she angles her head upwards to make a show of her throat moving as she swallows. She finishes by reopening her mouth, now bare of his release.

Adler gives her a lopsided smirk and helps her from the floor, greeting her as she rises with a filthy kiss. He seems uncaring of her messy state, and of the fact she just swallowed his load.

“Oh you filthy, filthy girl…Thank you.” Another kiss, followed by one of his hands moving to push a stray hair behind her ear as Bell smiles shyly. “You’re fantastic, you know that?”

He moves to help her clean her face with a spare handkerchief she had brought along, before using it to wipe his now soft cock before zipping himself up.

Russ gives her one last kiss, arms enveloping her shorter form and pulling her close as he leans down to whisper in her ear. “I’m going to make you cum so hard later...I’m going to make you fucking shake. You hear me?”

She nods silently as he pulls back, one of his hands coming to grip at the meat of her ass.

Bell takes a moment to enjoy his hold. "I’m gonna go get freshened up properly before everyone gets back, because I definitely look like I just sucked someone off.” She declares as she begins to pull away.

Adler gives a huff of amusement as he begins to head back to his work station. “Yeah...I think that’s a good plan.” Bell smiles at him as he begins to put on a new pair of gloves while she moves to the door.

“See you later?” He asks, his head turning to look at her one last time as she leaves.

“See you later.” She confirms, blowing one last teasing kiss over her shoulder as she strolls out the door.

Bell debates later if she imagined it, but she swears he smiled as she left. Not a smirk, or the tight lipped smile he rarely dons.

No, she swears, he beamed.

A/N: This one goes out to @judo-98 <3

#russell adler #russell adler x oc #russell adler fanfic #russell adler smut #call of duty smut #call of duty fanfic #black op cold war #bocw #bocw fanfic #mine #my writing #a little death au

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haikyunicorn · 4 years

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oikawa, atsumu and osamu with an s/o who fainted

anonymous asked: “Hello!~ I love your writing :D May I request HCs with how Oikawa and the Miya twins would react and how they’d take care of a fem!s/o that passed out and didn’t wake up right away because she was in a lot of pain + holding out a lot? (im not sure if that makes sense) I always have episodes where I faint and have a lot of pain and I’d really love to see how some of my fave characters would be 🥺”

warning(s): descriptions of fainting

oikawa tooru

Oikawa is always perceptive and observant even if he doesn’t show it, and he’s always looking out for his s/o

If you show the slightest symptoms of being in pain, he’ll be subtly watching over you for the rest of the day, like he’ll make some excuses to tag along with you everywhere

Oikawa isn’t a stranger to overworking himself and then having to hide the painful aftermath of it, so he’s recognising some of familiar behaviour from you

He’ll be asking if you’re feeling okay, if you’d like some water, if you need to sit down

His suspicion only grows if you keep denying him, brushing him off and saying you’re fine, but he won’t push it any further

At least that was the plan until he notices you kind of spacing out next to him, your lips paler than usual, small beads of sweat starting to form on your skin and your expression twisted into discomfort

He puts a hand on your shoulder and tries to get your attention, asking once again if you’re feeling okay

Whether you heard him or not, you find it hard to focus, dark spots dancing in your vision, nausea collecting in your throat, the ground feels like it’s spinning and a ringing in your ear gradually gets louder, tuning out Oikawa’s concerned voice

The last thing you vaguely remember is stumbling forward into your boyfriend’s grasp before passing out

When Oikawa feels your body slacken and you start to sway, his heart drops in his chest and he quickly moves in front of you to support your body

Despite his panic, he’s quick to perform the first aid he knows, carrying you to a shady, less crowded area

He lays you down on your back and puts his bag under your legs, wetting a towel with some water and dabbing it on your face and neck

All the while one of his hands is holding yours - partly to check for a pulse and partly because his own hand is shaking - and he’s calling out your name and asking if you can hear him

His fear doubles when he realises you’re not coming to as soon as he expected and Oikawa decides to take you to the nurse’s office, practically running there

He sits and tries not to fidget too much as the nurse runs proper examinations on you and he feels relief course through him when he sees that you’re finally awake and talking quietly to the nurse

After the nurse clears you and leaves the both of you alone, Oikawa pulls up a chair next to the bed and asks if you’re feeling better

He makes light conversation with you for a moment before quietly asking if you know why you had fainted

When you finally admit you’d been holding back some pain, Oikawa feels heart ache for you and he can’t help the slight guilt in his chest, wishing he’d intervened sooner

Still, he does his best to put up a cheery front for you, not wanting to stress you out even more

He makes you promise to tell him next time, no matter what he’s doing, he wants to know if you’re hurt or if you need help

After resting a little more in the nurse’s office and making sure you’ve completely recovered, Oikawa walks you home and insists on carrying your stuff and, if you let him, carry you on his back

At your house, he makes you sit down on the couch or on your bed while he goes to get you a drink and something to eat

For the rest of the day, he doesn’t let you lift a finger and will do anything for you and spoils you with all the cuddles and kisses you want to help you relax

miya atsumu

Atsumu isn’t always the most gentle with his words, but he still lets you know he cares in his own way

When he notices something off about you, he’ll kind of glance at you for a few moments, trying to figure out what’s wrong

When he ends up drawing a blank, he’ll straight up ask you what’s wrong

“Oi, what’s up with you today?”

He won’t take “it’s nothing, i’m fine” because he knows something’s wrong and he hates it when people bullshit him

So he’ll keep pressing you for an actual answer until he gets one

That is, until you suddenly pass out

His quick reflexes allow him to catch you before you hit the ground, but his mind temporarily short-circuits due to the shock

Atsumu starts calling out your name, lightly shaking you and trying to get you to wake up

When you don’t respond, he only gets more frantic and it takes Kita or someone nearby to instruct him to take you to the nurse’s office

Once he sets you down on the bed, he’s already asking the nurse all the questions

“What’s wrong with her? Will she be okay? Is she gonna wake up soon?”

The nurse has to give him a stern glare and shoo him out while she runs check ups on you

Atsumu, more than anything, is frustrated. That you didn’t tell him anything and that he doesn’t know how to help you right now

Still, he forces himself to sit and wait, a frown and a little pout on his face

When the nurse finally opens the door, he immediately shoots up from his seat and asks again if you’re okay and if he can see you

Relief replaces all his confusion when he sees you already awake and visibly better than before

He’s quick to move to your side and almost demands to know what happened, and you, cornered in the bed, have no other choice but to admit

Atsumu’s jaw tighten at your explanation and his mind is running a mile an hour, wondering why you didn’t just tell him instead of holding out your pain

He doesn’t voice out his thoughts, though, opting to reprimand you with a mumbled “you should have just told me”

Per the nurse’s orders, he lets you rest a bit, getting you something to drink, before he takes you home

All throughout the journey to your home, Atsumu keeps glancing at you warily in case you look like you’re in pain again

it’s not very subtle and you have to tell him to knock it off

Since he’s not the best with words (and honestly, he’s not sure what to say), Atsumu’s priority becomes your comfort

Once the both of you arrive, he gives you some space to clean yourself up while he texts Osamu if he can make some good food and drop it by your house

Osamu grumbles a lot but you receive a surprise delivery from him later, with a warning that it’s for you only and not to let ‘his idiot brother’ have any

You and Atsumu settle in on your bed next to each other and enjoy the food together while binge-watching your favourite show or just talking with each other

After you’re finished eating, Atsumu helps clear away the dishes and proceeds to snuggle under the covers with you

The both of you continue to talk, Atsumu’s arm around your shoulder as you rest your head on his chest and his fingers absent-mindedly drawing patterns on your side

Eventually, you doze off and that’s when Atsumu allows himself to truly look at you and think about how scared he was earlier

Atsumu softly kisses the top of your head and whispers an ‘i love you’ to your sleeping form, silently vowing to himself that he’ll be a more attentive and better boyfriend for you

miya osamu

Osamu is more laid back and chill, but that doesn’t mean he’s a bad boyfriend - he’s just usually more lowkey compared to Oikawa or Atsumu

Thought it doesn’t escape his attention when you meet up with him looking a little out of it

He asks “you good?” once and drops it when you tell him you’re fine, but will continuously give you suspicious looks at the telltale signs of discomfort

He’ll be subtly trying to help you as well, by suggesting less strenuous activities or saying he wants to get a drink and you should get one too

Once he notices your condition worsening, he’ll make you sit down and ask if you need to go to the nurse’s office (though, he’ll probably take you either way)

It takes him by surprise when you actually pass out. His eyes widen and he’s tense, but he immediately tries to wake you up by lightly tapping on your face while calling out your name

When he sees you not even stirring, he quickly decides to take you to the nurse’s office instead, ignoring all the curious stares as he walks briskly with you in his arms

He stands to the side and he watches the nurse perform the first aid, praying that you’ll come to soon

Not long after, he sees your eyelids flutter open groggily and your form shuffling a little on the bed, and Osamu releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in

He slowly approaches you and doesn’t say anything to you at first, offering you a small comforting smile

If you try to apologise, he’ll shush you mid-sentence and roll his eyes, telling you there’s nothing to apologise for when you’re the one lying on the bed right now

But he’ll appreciate it if you tell him what exactly happened, all the while he’s gently holding your hand with his thumb tracing circles on it and he looks at you intently as you explain your situation

Osamu feels his heart twinge when he finds out you’ve been trying to hide your pain until you literally pass out and he’ll simply ask you not to do that in the future and that he can help you in whatever way you need, so please don’t hesitate to go to him for anything

After gathering your things, Osamu takes you home and insists on giving you a piggyback ride, partly to cheer you up and partly so you don’t tire yourself out further

When you both arrive, he immediately goes to the kitchen to cook something warm for you so you can regain your strength

He makes you sit on the table while he cooks your favourite dish so you both can continue talking and so he can keep a close eye on you

You easily fall back to your usual casual conversations, which pleases Osamu and dissipates his worries

Later, you both enjoy the delicious meal he prepared and afterwards, Osamu lets you choose whatever you want to do, preferably something fun to get both your minds off the previous incident

Osamu is satisfied as long as you’re happy and healthy, and he makes sure to tell you so as you’re both cuddling under the blankets and dozing off after a long day

hi anon, thank you for the request! sorry it’s a bit late, and i hope i understood your request correctly!

hope you enjoyed this❤

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defectiveconantoy · 3 years

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Memories (ShinRan)

Fandom: Detective Conan

Pairing: ShinRan

Rating: T

Genres: Angst, Comfort

Words: 1,535

Author’s Notes: Remember my old WIP? I changed the title and finished drafting it right before @shinranweek was announced. 😅 The story is angst-ish mixed with confort. Enjoy!

“What a gloomy day!” Ran stares at the living room window with a frown on her face before returning to the couch. Shinichi, on the other hand, is fine with staying at home. He calmly stares at the television screen and says, “I wouldn’t worry. There’s always tomorrow. We can go to the park again, like we did yesterday. And remember, I’m not going anywhere. I’m here to stay. We have time.” That reassured Ran.

The Kudo mansion is quiet this Saturday afternoon, except for the rain lightly tapping on the windows and the sound of soup boiling in the background. Its smell of broth and fresh green onions linger around the living room and near the couch where she and Shinichi were located. Ran constantly switches her attention between the living room and kitchen while Shinichi sits and absentmindedly watches television.

Ran is spending the weekend over at Shinichi’s house. His parents are away for the week, and her father, Kogoro, left town for a case. During her visits, Ran’s favorite activity is to cook warm, homemade meals for an eager and hungry Shinichi, a tradition that first started during his Conan days. Today’s dish is miso soup, the perfect fix for the rainy weather. Good thing the meal sounds good because mothing good is on television right now. Bored, Shinichi daydreams, drifting to flashbacks of the past year’s chaos.

Calling it all chaos is an understatement. Might as well call it having your body and spirit stretched, compressed, stomped on, and slapped around. Being Conan was not easy. It was like one’s soul was screaming but nothing came out because its lips were sealed shut. He wished to tell Ran everything, to run free and stop living a double life and pretending he was not really Kudo Shinichi. The dangerous situation was an imaginary brick wall between him and Ran. He looked forward to finally breaking it and no longer seeing her hurting and waiting.

The Black Organization’s attack on him was a flash of lightning that ruined years of work achieved during his lifetime. Never will he forget the humiliation endured from being knocked down, bloodied, pulled by the hair, and forced to swallow that wretched pill. The poison’s few minutes of piercing, bone melting pain were followed by missed opportunities. Being Conan was a unique experience, but he can’t deny how his new life caused him to temporarily sacrifice his old one. To this day, he struggles to adjust but still manages to move on, in spite of slipping the occasional ah le le and Ran-neechan.

He next thinks about the moment he received the permanent APTX 4869 antidote. Days after receiving the pill, he recalls lying on a couch near Haibara Ai, who observed and documented his reaction to the drug. “Good news, Kudo-kun! Looks like the antidote is working as expected. Your vitals look fine. No heart problems or side effects. Everything looks great. Come back to visit me one week from now.” “Tch! You’d see me anyway. I live right next door,” Shinichi joked back.

At first, he was scared the drug was a fluke and would turn him back into Conan. Luckily, it ended well because he experienced the heart pounding and drastic bone growth without the shrinking afterwards. The worst after-effect was becoming Haibara’s test subject for a few days before her trying the antidote on herself. It was a sacrifice he was willing to make. After all, the first step in facing the Organization and gaining power over them was becoming himself again.

Back to reality. Shinichi shifts his attention back to the television screen and sighs. “Commercials are currently on. Still nothing good! How stupid!” The rain briefly stopped, but the clouds remain present. The house is a bit dark during these daytime hours. Ran is now in the kitchen stirring the soup.

Ran. Shinichi now blushes after he remembers telling her the truth a few weeks ago. He returned to the Mouri residence to pick up Conan’s (or his) belongings. They spoke alone in her bedroom, with her doing most of the talking. And boy, did he feel guilty! The memories hurt. He feels embarassed now while deep in his thoughts as he did then. He lied to her about his identity and used that front to stay at her home, take a bath with her, and unintentionally tune in on secrets she would never tell him as Shinichi.

Their conversation was actually quite a relief. Ran was more upset by him frequently running away to solve cases than over his massive lie. Shinichi felt grateful for her not breaking up with him, though their argument was settled under one condition: she keeps a very close eye on him. At least he finally gets to spend more time with her as himself this time.

He also owes Ran his life after the Black Organization’s defeat. Shinichi initially refused to get her involved. She instead was persistent and unwilling to listen. Never will she make the mistake of letting him run into danger alone again. His fast reflexes and her karate skills helped them escape a deadly kidnapping.

All this thinking makes Shinichi dose off and take a nap. In his sleep, he envisions Ran and himself strapped together, roped by their arms and waists and their backs turned away from one another. Ran lets out a soft cry, “Shinichi. I don’t want to die.” “Don’t say that,” he whispers. “Look, I have a plan. What we will do is —ah!” Gin appears out of nowhere, interrupting his speech before point a gun to his chest and forcing the poison on him again. He shoots and runs away before Shinichi could fight for Ran and himself. His vision is now blurred, and Ran is nowhere to be felt. He whimpers, and right when he becomes concerned about his body shrinking again, he wakes up sweating and screaming.

“Shinichi!” Concerned, Ran immediately darts towards the living room and sits on the edge of the couch. Shinichi’s eyes widened. He jitters, pants, and looks around in all directions before throwing himself at Ran with a tight embrace. She silently smiles and begins stroking his back. “Shhh! There! It’s okay. It’s okay,” Ran whispers before kissing his hair. He moves up and rests his face against her left shoulder. She eventually presses his back as a cue to change positions. “Hmm...please don’t leave,” Shinichi whispers. Ran responds, “Of course not! I just want to adjust myself.” “Oh!”

They settle down. Shinichi turns the TV off and begins talking: “Ran, I just had a nightmare about us. The Black Organization kidnapped us. Gin shot me and left me for dead once more. I couldn’t hear you, and I swore I was going to turn into Conan again. My first encounter with the Organization left me scared for my life. Scared for you too. Scared they would hurt you. I’m sorry again for everything. If I could take back this past year, I would. I betrayed you. I’d stop myself from leaving you behind back in Tropical Land. Back when I was Conan-kun, I wished you knew everything, but it would hurt you. I was also told not to tell you. Agasa-hakase and Haibara —”

“Ai-chan?”

“Yeah, her,” Shinichi continued. She even aimed a gun at me at the hospital after you donated blood to treat my gunshot wound. Or so I thought. It was a fake gun concealing a small bouquet of flowers. She scared me into not telling you about the Organization or Conan-kun’s true identity. I don’t blame her. That girl was really scared. She would panic any time she sensed their presence. Honestly, I was scared too, only better at hiding it. I didn’t want you to ever see me suffering and turning into Conan or get suspicious, discover everything on your own, and get yourself into deep trouble. Sorry again for getting you into this mess.”

“Don’t apologize,” Ran started. “I trust you. I knew you were hurting but couldn’t tell me for some some reason. I waited for the day you’d return and tell me everything face-to-face. When you first left, I’d sometimes think you were out fooling around with other women. But that’s not you. You were pretty close to me before that incident. You, the Deduction Freak, always talking to me about Holmes or the case of the day. Still, you changed since leaving. I sensed it though our phone calls and in Conan-kun.”

He remarked, “Conan was a new experience. I think it provided opportunities. I met the Shonen Tantei-dan, Hattori, Haibara, Akai-san, and so on. I also gained the courage to confess my feelings to you. Anyway, it’s nice to be back. I missed you.”

“I missed you too. I’m glad you’re back. Well, the miso soup is almost ready. Want to help me prepare the table?”

Shinichi replies with a grin, “Sure, Ran-neechan!”

“Here we go again! You can’t get away with your Conan-kun act this time.”

“Haha! I kid, I kid,” Shinichi joked. He smiled in Ran’s direction. “Let’s do this. I’m hungry!”

#dcmk #shinran #shinran fanfic #more shinran goodies #dcmk fanfic #i hope you like it

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knchins · 3 years

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Symbiosis - Benimaru & Joker

Summary: Benimaru, Joker, and a former Sister learn how to work through their frustrations with their investigation into the Holy Sol Temple through the one thing they know best: sex.

Pairing: Benimaru Shinmon x Fem!Reader x Joker

Rating: E

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: pwp (I didn't even try this time lmao), spanking, vaginal sex, oral sex, dirty talk/degradation, some dob/sub themes, hair pulling, face fucking. I do not count this as dp but some people might. SPIT ROASTING.

Notes: So I wrote this for @tamcitrus and I hope she likes it! It’s like my most self indulgent piece to date probably lol. Idk how I managed to write this while being barely able to breathe but when the inspo strikes what can you do....First FF/ENS piece! I think they may be a bit OOC but...whatever I’m too sick to care.,

“So will you join me, Sister?” The mysterious man asked as he puffed on a cigarette. You stared off at the nighttime skyline, at the temple in the very far eastern horizon. Was this something you really wanted to do? It would be dangerous, but you could sense the power coming from him. Not only that, he had already enlisted the help of the Captain of the 7th, Benimaru Shinmon. It wasn’t as if you’d be taking on the church all by yourself.

Your mind drifted as the King of Destruction peppered kisses down your bare throat. The mission with Joker hadn’t been entirely successful. In the end they were met with Captain Burns who handed you a journal that belonged to the wife of Raffles I. While it was true you did come up with some new theories about the White Clad, ultimately it felt like a dead end. Now you just had more questions than answers and it was incredibly frustrating.

But you weren’t the only one frustrated. Your two new comrades had been too. Eventually you had found a way to relieve the tension that had built up over so many years of bullshit. Having been an orphan and raised as a Sister for the Holy Sol Temple, you had plenty of ill will harbored against the empire. You had long abandoned your title but that didn’t stop the two men from egging you on by calling you by it.

Currently the former assassin was watching through a half-lidded eye as you sat in Benimaru’s lap, your back to his chest as he kissed along your neck and cupped both breasts in his hands. You were already stripped down to your underwear, both men clad in only pants and briefs. Joker tended to observe first before joining in, enjoying taking his time watching the view of Beni turn you on and work you over. Small trails of smoke rose from the lit white stick of tobacco that hung from his mouth.

“You look so pretty like that, Sister.” He drawled, inhaling another wave of smoke that filtered out of his nose. “You like when he plays with your tits don’t you?”

“Don’t call me that,” You protested weakly in a voice that came out as more of a moan than a grumble as Beni began to tweak your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. You began to wiggle in his lap, ass brushing against his stiffening cock in a way that had him biting down on your shoulder possessively.

The cotton panties you had been wearing were soaked all the way through between your legs. This stupid little routine always had you mewling and crying before anyone even bothered touching your needy cunt. Beni enjoyed torturing you too much and Joker enjoyed watching him do it. You had known in the beginning being the only woman in the trio would put you at a disadvantage. You just didn’t know how much.

“Waka, please.” You gasped as he bit down on your throat this time, sucking a bruise into the skin there. One of your hands moved to try and touch your clit for some form of relief, but he warned you by warming up his hands rapidly. It wasn’t enough to burn you but it was enough to let you know that he would if you didn’t play by his rules. “Asshole.” You hissed, pulling your hand back up to a safe distance. You reached behind him and grabbed a fistful of his hair, tugging it angrily.

Beni quickly pushed you onto the tatami mat on the floor roughly, holding the back of your head in one hand, pressing your face against the material as he lifted your hips up with the other. He began to grind his erection against the wet fabric of your underwear, seething as he ripped down your underwear so that you were completely bare for the both of them.

He took no time in slapping your ass in retaliation for pulling on his hair. “Impatient little slut.” He growled, causing you to clench with desire. The way his deep voice reverberated in the small room made you even wetter.

Joker was laughing lightly at the scene. It was pretty typical for you to piss Beni off. And the cute little squeaks you let out as the captain spanked you was just even more delectable than your moans. He finally stood, dropping his pants and underwear at the same time as he knelt before you. Beni took his hand off the back of your head so you could lift up enough for Joker to grab you by the hair and pull you up onto your hands.

He always had an affinity for fucking your warm wet mouth. Something about choking you on his dick felt better than either your pussy or ass. It was definitely his preferred hole, not that Benimaru minded. It was easier to punish you if he had total control of your lower half. You could hear Beni remove himself from the rest of his clothing as well.

At the feeling of his blushed head pressing into your folds, you began to protest. “Beni, you have to-” You couldn’t even finish your sentence as Fifty-Two plunged his dick into your open mouth.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Sister,” Benimaru spat out. “Only good girls get warm ups.” Then he pushed his impressively large cock into your small hole, filling you up and stretching you out with a familiar but still painful burn.

Your cries were garbled by the dick in your mouth. Joker was still, watching the different emotions cross your face: panic, surprise, pain, pleasure. The last one had your jaw slackening for him drool rolling off your lower lip as tears threatened to spill from your eyes. Despite the initial discomfort, there was no greater pleasure in this life than the Captain’s cock being buried balls deep into your soaking pussy.

“This is what you wanted, right little slut?” Beni asked, smacking you one last time as he slowly pulled out and rammed back in, forcing you to lurch forward and deep throat the man in front of you.

You gagged, making Joker laugh at your expense. “I’m pretty sure that’s what she wanted.” He said, given your hair a gentle pull. You struggled to breathe, tears rolling from the corners of your eyes reflexively. You tried to back away from him to give yourself some sort of relief, walls clamping down tight on Benimaru behind you. He let out a small groan at the sensation, though he didn’t budge as you tried to push back on him.

“If only the Sisters that raised you could see you now. Choking on the dick of Holy Sol Temple’s number one enemy. I bet you’d get off that too, wouldn’t you, Sister?” Joker asked as he pulled his hips back enough to allow you to breathe. You shot him a pitiful glare at the taunt, grabbing his bare thigh and digging your nails into it angrily. They always loved to tease you when you were in no position to defend yourself. It could be so annoying.

The pain of your nails tearing at his skin was about on the same level as an insect bite. It was really insignificant to him, and therefore it didn’t cause him to correct his actions. He simply tightened his grip on your hair.

Beni started to move in and out of you at a quick and relentless place. Though he had been kind enough to let you adjust to his size, he wasn’t a total monster. He only started doing with his regular rhythm when he started to feel you relax around him. The muffled moans spilled from your mouth as your eyes rolled back. Any time he fucked you from behind he was always able to hit that sweet stop with his cockhead, the one that had you weak in the legs and gripping him dear life.

Both men highly enjoyed the sounds of you sputtering and crying for more, your words a garbled mess due to Joker’s length plowing into you at a matching speed. The first few times you three had indulged in one another, the rhythms were out of sync and almost awkward. But now, they had the routine down pat. They knew how the other one worked and could easily find the best way to compliment the other’s thrusts. This had Beni pushing in while Joker was pulling out and you stayed as still as you possibly could so that you wouldn’t impale yourself on either of them in a painful manner.

It felt like the pinnacle of symbiosis. Everyone works together for their own gain but not at the expense of the other. In the end no one would be left out or at a loss. You’d have to remember to thank Joker later for gathering the three of you together.

Beni let out a curse as he increased his pace, using one hand to push locks of sweaty hair from his eyes. Sometimes he was convinced that your body had been made for him. He fit inside of you like a hand in a perfectly tailored glove. The gentle squeeze of your kegels anytime he or Joker did something you found particularly pleasurable, whether it was tugging on your hair, slapping your ass, or degrading you with their words, just made him feel so damn good.

Any time he was buried in you, regardless of which hole it was, he always became devoid of any rational thought. The sex consumed all of you, the tension releasing with the exertion of their hips. Infiltrating the temple, investigating Hajima, life had just become so stressful lately. This was the only time any of you could truly just let go.

That familiar tight coil was winding itself up in your lower abdomen, the pressure building with every thrust as you took deep breaths through your nose. “Ahh, Sister,” Joker said through heavy breaths, “You better be a good girl and not swallow right away.”

Of course you knew what he meant, the way his thrusts became a little less in sync with Beni’s and a little more arrhythmic as he chased after his orgasm. He was the first to come, filling your mouth and throat with warm white seed. He pulled away, still holding onto your hair as you stuck out your covered tongue to show him, the white liquid spilling onto the mat beneath you as you were pounded from behind. Your moans were no longer muffled and were loudly filling the small room. No doubt other members of squad seven could hear you, not that you card any more. Konro was probably just shaking his head at his captain’s antics.

“Now swallow.” Joker instructed as he sat back on his heels. Your tongue retracted into your mouth and you swallowed every last drop that hadn’t fallen from your mouth. The blissed out look on your face was almost enough to make him hard again, your whimpers as you neared your peak, the needy look in your eyes. Nothing else mattered in this moment but the release.

You came with another loud cry, collapsing onto your chest as your arms gave out beneath you. Benimaru worked you through it, his balls slapping against your clit had you shaking and sobbing at the overstimulation. A moment later he was filling you up with his own seed, gobs of it gushing out around the base of his cock and onto your folds.

Joker moved to watch him pull out of you slowly so he could observe the gaping, leaky hole. He let out a low whistle at the sight. “Latom,” He said jokingly, folding his hands in prayer as Beni guided your hips down onto the ground. Benimaru rolled his eyes at his partner in crime, making sure to soothe the bruise skin of your ass with his rough hands.

“Get some rest, Sister.” Benimaru said solemnly as he got redressed. “Our investigation resumes tonight.”

You let out a low groan at the reminder, having totally forgotten that you were going back to Hajima headquarters to try and gather more information. “Fine, just let me take a nap first.” You grumbled sleepily. You couldn’t see the soft smile on his face as he glanced at Joker who nodded back in a silent response.

Benimaru maneuvered you to his futon with Joker’s help, covering you with a blanket so you could rest in peace. Then in a few hours it would be business as usual.

#benimaru shinmon #benimaru x reader #fire force #en en no shobotai #enen no shouboutai #fire force imagines #joker x reader #52 x reader #benimaru imagine #joker imagine

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thebiscuiteternal · 3 years

Text

“A Bird in the Hand” Friendship <3, Mutual Interests (Sorta Not Really), Hidden Identities, Kidnapping, The Ship Is A Huge Spoiler Sorry

__________

Having decided he was going to lose his mind if he had to listen to the constant chatter about scores and techniques for one more moment, Nie Huaisang quietly slips out of the dining hall and heads out into the early evening air.

Just a little time to himself to clear his head, that’s all he needs. A short walk, and then he’ll go back. If Da-ge gets upset about him wandering off here… well, he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

Movement in the bush next to him startles him a little, but not enough for him to miss that the small reddish-pink form darting out of the leaves is flying very oddly.

Wing damage at the very least, he calculates. If he doesn’t intervene, it’s probably going to be a predator’s meal soon.

Concern replaces his earlier exasperation; he changes course from the path he’d been planning to take and begins tracking where it might land next instead.

---

The erratic flight pattern makes his task a little more difficult, but there is still a bit of light left in the sky when he finally snares the wounded and bedraggled puff of feathers -a rosefinch, one he hasn’t ever seen this particular color and pattern of- and very gently deposits it in his lap.

“Shh, you’ll be fine,” he soothes, carefully rubbing the poor thing’s cheek with a fingertip to calm it down before reaching into his sleeve for his usual pouch of supplies. “See? I’m here to help.”

Once the bird is gorging itself -no, himself- on seeds, he begins inspecting and carefully cleaning the injuries. He was right about the wing, plus there are nasty cuts to a leg and another to the neck. Claw marks, most likely. “Poor darling, you must have just escaped a cat,” he coos softly as he takes out thread and thin strips of cloth.

“Interesting.”

Nie Huaisang only just barely manages to avoid jostling his patient when he jumps slightly at the unexpected new voice, then freezes when he turns his head to find a young man wearing red and white robes. “Ah! I’m sorry if I entered a restricted area, I just-”

“It’s fine,” the Wen stranger says with a smile. “You haven’t left the guest territories yet.”

“Oh… good. That’s good.” The rosefinch cheeps in his lap and pecks his hand and he looks down and clicks his tongue as he resumes threading the needle he’s holding. “Demanding now that I’ve been nice enough to feed you, aren’t you?”

“May I observe while you work?”

He doesn’t hear the Wen disciple move at all, so when he looks up and finds the young man standing barely a step away, he has to restrain himself from scooting away on reflex. “Er- I suppose? Most people don’t want to,” he says, watching as his new companion takes a seat on a rock next to him.

Up close, there is something slightly unnerving about him. It's the same feeling he notices when Da-ge is trying to intimidate people around him less, like there's something big and dangerous being forced into a too-small hide.

Nie Huaisang swallows and ducks his head, reaching into the supply pouch to produce more seeds for his patient. He finishes prepping the needle and gently coaxes the rosefinch into a better position, feeling an intense gaze on him all the while as he begins the first neat, tight stitches. The bird makes an unhappy noise of pain, but more seeds and petting keeps him from attempting to escape and he only cheeps grumpily to himself as Nie Huaisang works.

"You're very skilled to make it trust you so easily."

Despite himself, he feels his face heat at the rare compliment. Though Da-ge and their cousin Nie Zonghui often try not to get bored whenever they visit the aviary, the only person who’d ever actually been interested in watching this sort of thing was-

He bites his lip and shoves that thought aside. “It’s a lot of practice in patience, mostly,” he says as he finishes with the leg and turns his attention to the wounds that might need to have feathers clipped for proper treatment. “You have to learn how they work, how to follow them without getting them so stressed they accidentally hurt themselves worse, observing flight patterns, all that.”

“Seems like a lot of effort to put in for someone who so infamously avoids it.”

Nie Huaisang stiffens, then forces himself to calm down.

Stupid. He’s wearing Qinghe colors and this disciple probably just saw him hanging around Da-ge. He’s not hard to identify, and his reputation… well.

Still, the unease lingers, though he tries to shake it off by remaining focused on his task. By now the rosefinch is comfortable enough with him that he’s able to gently remove some damaged and bloody feathers. “I just… I like doing this. That’s all.”

“Understandable. A reward only counts as a reward if you want it.”

It’s gotten dark enough for people in the buildings down the path to begin lighting their lanterns, but he’s well-acquainted with working in such conditions. He finishes the neck and wing injuries quickly, the strange disciple remaining in his spot for the duration.

“There we go, all ready to get better,” he croons sweetly, coaxing the finch to his shoulder, where the bird snuggles into his collar.

An elegant hand reaches into his view. “May I?” the disciple asks.

“If he’ll let you,” Nie Huaisang says, tilting his head to give space. The rosefinch is having none of it, however, and ducks to hide under his hair with a grouchy little squawk, tiny claws pricking at the nape of his neck. “Or not. Sorry about that.”

The other man’s lips curve in amusement as he draws his hand back. “It’s fine. Patience, as you said.”

Nie Huaisang begins packing up his pouch. The unease from before has faded into a more readily ignored feeling, especially since the disciple hasn’t actually done anything to deserve it. “Do you want to walk back to the pavilion? Da-ge won’t be happy if I stay out much longer. He’s probably not happy with me for staying out this long already, actually.”

“I appreciate the offer,” the other man says as he stands and needlessly dusts his clothing. “But I live in a different part of the compound.” Another smile, slow and interested in a way that makes Nie Huaisang’s face grow warm again. “There are still two more days left in the tournament. Perhaps we’ll cross paths another time.”

“Ah- well- shouldn’t I know your name, then? You already know mine.”

The strange disciple bows, smooth and sharp, not even a fold of cloth wrong. “This humble one is simply Han-er. I look forward to our next meeting, Nie-er, gongzi.”

It is only later, after Nie Huaisang has returned to his own room with the rosefinch, that he realizes somewhere the ‘perhaps’ had become a certainty.

---

They do cross paths again, more than once, in fact.

After the second encounter, Nie Huaisang can’t help but notice that Han-er always seems to find him when he’s entirely alone.

A spy, maybe?

Maybe not. He’s been keeping track, and Han-er has never asked him anything particularly pointed about Da-ge or their cousin or anything about them that might be considered ‘vital information’, just the occasional offhand curiosity about their relationship dynamics. Their sects may be on bad terms -very bad terms- but Han-er has been nothing but polite.

By the time of their fourth meeting, he feels guilty for ever having had such suspicious thoughts about the man.

“And how is Minsheng doing this morning?”

“Besides being crushed under the weight of such an auspicious name?” Nie Huaisang asks cheekily, earning another of those amused smiles.

“You cannot deny he has earned it.”

He can’t, really. Once no longer in constant pain, Minsheng has become chatty enough that the finch has received at least one threat of being roasted and eaten. “He’s recovering at a good pace. I worry about taking him home, though. With the differing climate, he’ll be miserable while his feathers are growing back in.”

Han-er inclines his head and looks away. “Why not leave him with me?” he asks after some consideration. “I do not have your experience, true, but our time has been... enlightening. And he likes me well enough, now.”

It’s… not a bad idea, really. If Nie Huaisang changes the bandages again just before he leaves, all that should be left to do surgery-wise would be to remove the stitches, and he’s seen that Han-er has a steady enough hand for that… “I can draw up some notes for you this afternoon and deliver them and Minsheng before the closing ceremony, would that be alright?”

“Perfect.”

---

He doesn’t actually see Han-er again before his sect departs to go home to Qinghe, having been forced to leave Minsheng and his notes with a guard who’d smirked at him in an extremely discomforting way. It brings back the troubled feeling lurking in the back of his head and leaves him unsure whether he’s unhappy to have missed the meeting, or somehow relieved.

When word comes several days later that the Cloud Recesses have been burned, he decides on relief.

---

His stomach churns unhappily in a mix of unsatisfied hunger and nausea as they’re dismissed back to their cells after another day of grueling work and so very little food. Each step feels like he’s trying to slog through knee deep mud, and by the time he makes it to their designated hallway, he’s starting to feel dizzy.

Something… something’s wrong. Had the food been spoiled? But no, no one else seems to be...

“Young master?” asks one of the other Nie disciples.

“I’m fine,” he lies, even as it feels like the floor rolls under him like the deck of a boat.

He falls and doesn’t remember hitting the ground.

When he opens his eyes again, the disorientation persists. Something noisy is going on nearby and whatever he’s lying on, it’s too comfortable to be the paper-thin pallet mattress he’d been subjected to for over a week.

This isn’t his cell… Where…?

What is that noise?

Confused, head swimming, he tries to sit up and finds that his hands have been bound behind his back. Before he can start to panic, gentle hands squeeze his shoulders and assist him in rolling over.

He dimly registers that the sound he’s hearing is the chattering of a bird.

But why would there be a bird-?

A familiar figure leans over him, long fingers sweeping his hair out of his face and down his cheek in an affectionate caress. For the briefest moment, he is grateful to see the face of… perhaps not a friend, but at least someone he knows.

Then ice cold terror seizes his insides when his eyes register the crown on the man’s head.

The Eternal Sun.

“Tell me, little bird,” Wen Ruohan says, smile sharp as a knife’s edge and gaze hungry. “Was I patient enough?”

__________

((Author Note: Okay, so, like, if I’m not remembering wrong, Novel!Ruohan is described as ridiculously young-looking because of his high cultivation. Like, we’re talking 19-ish even though he and Jin Guangshan are the only Great Sect leaders who have at least one fully adult child at the time of the Phoenix Mountain competition. So I thought, what if he leaned in to it? Suckered the other sects by having an older proxy take his place at meetings and conferences so that no one actually knows what he looks like except for some of the Wen Sect’s inner circle?))

#mdzs #nie huaisang #and a secret friend!#fanfic

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