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xjoonchildx · 3 years

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greedy | myg x reader | chapter five: do we look like recruiters to you?

summary: being a loner has never bothered yoongi until now. until you.

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 6.7K

notes: thank you all so much for rolling with the changes to my posting schedule. it’s been a while since i posted an update and i really wanted to give you guys a chapter. plus it makes more sense, in my mind to break it out like this. in this chapter, you’ll notice that ko starts calling OC “jagiya.” thank you to the korean reader who brought to my attention that my previous nickname for her didn’t fit as well as this one!

anyway, you guys make me endlessly happy with your feedback on this story. i’d love to hear what you think of this chapter. beta read by @hobi-gif because i would wither away without her analysis. also beta’d by the awesome @btsarmy9593 who has been so awesome to give me her feedback. thank you to @augustbutwinter for the words of encouragement. and of course, the boos @ladyartemesia and @untaemedqueen pitched in to help me in this journey as well.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

*************************

Min Yoongi wakes up with a problem. Well a few problems, actually.

The first is that he has to pee.

The second is the head-to-toe pain that starts to register the moment his sluggish brain kicks into gear. He starts from the bottom -- gingerly wiggling his toes, carefully stretching his legs -- and slowly works his way up, taking mental inventory of what hurts and what doesn’t.

A lot of shit is landing on the hurts list right now.

The third problem -- and perhaps the most pressing -- is the problem pressing into his side right now.

Your hair is still damp.

Yoongi noses into it and lies in the quiet for a while, breathing you in while you sleep. You smell like his shampoo and his soap. You’re wearing his t-shirt and basketball shorts. You are covered in him; fitted to him. Solid and warm and real.

Which brings him to his next problem.

This is the kind of feeling that’s way too easy to become addicted to. The kind of feeling that makes you do stupid shit. Take away the mangled body and the looming safety concerns and this is easily the best morning of his life.

That’s why when you stir and burrow a bit deeper into his side, Yoongi ignores the pain radiating from his sore ribs. He ignores the way his arm has fallen asleep under you, ignores the intermittent buzzing of his phone from the nightstand warning of missed texts.

He ignores the tiny voice in his head that says don’t get attached to this feeling.

Yoongi ignores everything but you and this because right now, it’s the only thing he wants to think about.

And then he’s drifting off again.

***************************

This time, Yoongi wakes up alone.

The deep steadying breath he takes while he’s trying to work up the nerve to get out of bed hurts like hell.

Everything hurts like hell, actually -- the back of his head where he can feel scrapes left behind by the brick wall, his jaw from where he took that driller to the face. His knee from where he jammed it into that fucking goon’s stomach.

But his shoulder is what’s really fucking everything up right now.

He can’t remember telling you where to find the sling or how you got it on. Can’t remember you positioning his pillows around his injured arm or slipping into bed beside him. He’d been so fucked up by the pain and the adrenaline withdrawal that he’s pretty sure he blacked out at some point.

So Yoongi lies there for a minute, trying to piece together what he can remember of last night.

The memories come back to him blurred and disjointed, out of order.

He remembers feeling like he might vomit when you shoved his shoulder back into place. Awkwardly accepting your help taking off his jeans so he could shower. Nearly falling to his knees under the hot water. Pulling himself together long enough to stash his gun in a drawer when you’d stepped away.

And it’s that last memory that makes his chest go tight.

Last night, hiding his gun seemed like the right thing to do. A way to keep you separate from the ugliness he normalized a long time ago. But this morning the half-assed lie of omission makes him feel guilty as hell. A pathetic attempt to delay the inevitable. Chewing gum jammed into the crack of a dam.

He has to tell you about that gun.

So he gets to work on dragging his ass out of bed. It takes him way too damned long to sit upright, way too damned long to slide himself off the edge of the mattress. Longer than that to slowly limp his way into the bathroom where he pees for what feels like a solid ten minutes.

He’s still rubbing the sleep from his eyes when he spots the bright red toothbrush sitting in the cup on his sink.

It’s just some cheap throwaway he brought home after his last visit to the dentist -- a long-forgotten backup that’s been stashed in the cabinet under the bathroom counter for months. But now it’s sitting out in the open, in that cup. Right next to his own blue one.

Yoongi stares at it and scrubs a hand over his face.

And that tiny voice in his head gets a bit louder.

************************

He finds you seated at his piano, bare-faced and hair tousled. Fingers tracing light patterns across the keys of his custom instrument, gaze taking in all of the tiny details he paid a small fortune for.

He could have stayed there for a while, just appreciating the view had you not caught him staring.

Your dark eyes flick up to find his and Yoongi’s pulse quickens at the warmth in them. At the soft, shy smile that comes over you just before you clear your throat and lower your eyes back to the keys.

“Beautiful,” you sigh.

No kidding, Yoongi thinks.

He crosses the room slowly. Tries his hardest not to limp but the throb in his knee makes that nearly impossible. Sadness flashes across your face as you watch him sink heavily onto the bench beside you.

“I can help you, you know,” you admonish softly.

Yoongi shrugs, motioning to the sling. “You already have.”

He stills when you reach one hand out to brush your fingertips across the redness on his jaw. You stroke your thumb across his aching cheek and Yoongi leans into the touch, savoring the feeling of your skin against his.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, “I’m so sorry you’re hurt, and -- ” you pause to shake your head sadly, “-- and I’m so sorry it’s because I put you in this position.”

Yoongi sucks in a deep breath.

He can’t bring himself to tell you that he can’t think straight when he imagines what could have happened if that fucking goon had gotten you alone. Can’t bring himself to admit out loud that he could have pulled his gun and ended that piece of shit without losing a second of sleep.

Would have, had you not been there.

“Better me than you, Doc,” he says thickly. “You made the right call.”

You press a gentle kiss to his throbbing jaw.

“You still mad at me?”

You whisper the words into the shell of Yoongi’s ear and a slow heat builds in his gut.

“Yeah,” he lies, dropping a kiss on the delicate skin below your jaw. He ghosts the tip of his nose against the curve of your neck and you shudder under his touch. He’s forced to check himself, leaning back for a few inches of badly-needed space.

On the bright side, at least his dick isn’t broken, too.

He clears his throat. “If that guy had brought backup -- ”

“ -- If that guy had brought backup, he’d have been out of the car long before you left his buddy in a pile on the floor,” you interrupt gently.

Yoongi chuckles. “Just admit you’re terrible at following directions.”

“You happen to have your MRI results around here anywhere? I’d be interested to see what they say about that shoulder.”

You raise one brow when Yoongi narrows his eyes at you in response. “No? Well, then I guess I’m not the only one who’s bad at following directions.”

“Guess not,” Yoongi admits with a smile.

Your turn your attention back to his piano, touch reverent as you slide one hand across the rich black lacquer.

“When you first walked in, I was going to say something really dumb like do you play?” you admit with a laugh. “But no one owns something this magnificent unless they have a passion for it.”

“Yeah, I play,” Yoongi murmurs. “When I have two functioning arms.”

He’d intended to earn a laugh with that tease, but the joke falls flat. Sadness creeps back into your features.

“Yoongi,” you say quietly, gaze dropping into your lap. “I honestly don’t know what would have happened to me last night without you. And all I can think about this morning is why? Why did you do this for me?”

Fuck, that’s a loaded question.

If Yoongi had the balls, he’d tell you straight up that he fell for you the moment he laid eyes on you at Songdo . That you feel like his chance at something more. But Yoongi doesn’t say any of that.

Instead, he coughs up a weak white lie.

“We’re both out here flying solo Doc. We have to look out for each other. Besides -- ” he tips your chin up with a gentle press of his fingers and finds your dark eyes glassy with unshed tears. “ -- I have a thing for that smart mouth of yours.”

He earns a tiny smile from you then, just the slightest curve of your lips. And he’s this close to kissing the soft, sad expression right off your face when that voice in his mind fucks everything up again.

Tell her about the gun.

The thought is like a bucket of cold water over his head, jarring him from the intimacy of this moment. Yoongi swallows thickly before opening his mouth to tell you the truth. But before he can speak, you do.

“I have something of yours,” you say, reaching into the pocket of your borrowed basketball shorts. Yoongi watches you produce a worn handmade bracelet and holds his palm open to accept it. “It fell out of your jacket last night,” you explain.

He rubs his thumb over the smooth metal corners of the cross that dangles from aged leather. It brings back the memory of his baptism -- of the day Mrs. Bak proudly gifted it to him while he was still damp from the ceremony. It also brings back the memory of last night -- when he’d clutched it between his fingers and sent a silent plea for protection skyward.

It’s been a long time since he’s prayed. It’s been a long time since he had anything to pray for.

“Are you religious?” you ask softly.

Yoongi shakes his head. “Honestly? I don’t know.” A self-conscious heat creeps up his neck. “Just makes me feel better, I guess. Is that dumb?”

“No,” you reassure quietly, bringing one warm hand up to cup his cheek. Yoongi covers your hand with his, laces his fingers in between yours. “Not dumb at all.”

Tell her about the gun.

“Doc,” Yoongi whispers thickly, “We need to talk about something.”

Your hand falls away from his face and your spine goes stiff with tension and Yoongi almost loses his nerve.

Almost.

“Okay, so I was, uh -- carrying a gun last night,” he starts, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck, “I carry a gun all the time, actually. I hid it because I didn’t want to freak you out.”

You say nothing, expression unreadable. And Yoongi keeps talking.

“But I don’t want to keep things from you,” he says quietly. “I want you to know exactly who I am. No half-truths.”

Your eyes drop back down to the piano. You pluck at one of the keys and a somber note rings out, lingers in the air between you before you speak.

“You have a gunshot wound in your back, Yoongi,” you murmur. “It’s not exactly a leap of logic. Besides, I already saw your gun. It was in your drawer last night when I got you a change of clothes.”

Yoongi nods slowly, processing the fact that you’d discovered the gleaming silver piece and hadn’t written him off right away. You’d still slept in the crook of his arm last night. You’re still here right now.

“And yeah, maybe it does freak me out a bit,” you admit. “But after what I saw last night, maybe I can understand a bit, too.”

Yoongi lets go of the breath he’s been holding and takes your hand in his. Maybe is as good as he could have hoped for at this point. Maybe is not a dead end.

“I have something to tell you, too,” you admit after a moment. “I’m due at the hospital in a few hours.”

“Doc,” Yoongi groans, hand tightening reflexively around yours. “You can’t go back there.”

“I don’t have a choice,” you insist, pulling away. “This isn’t just some job I fell into, Yoongi. This is years of my life.”

Yoongi is quiet for a few seconds, willing his rising agitation to subside. He’s careful to check his tone before he speaks.

“You’re not safe there.”

“I have to go back. I don’t have a choice,” you repeat. “I can’t afford to get blacklisted and Lee is still my boss. And if he’s already got wind of what happened last night, he’s going to be gunning for me even harder than he already has been. I have to tread carefully.”

Yoongi shoves a hand through his hair.

“You have to meet me in the middle here, Doc,” he exhales. “There’s got to be something halfway between you walking right back into that hellhole and you losing your job. Take a couple of sick days. Give me some time to figure out who your boss is working with and what I can do about it. Can you do that?”

You’re quiet for a moment as you consider his proposal.

“Yeah,” you concede softly. “I can do that.”

You lift a hand to brush a lock of hair out of his face and press your mouth to his.

Every cell in Yoongi’s body stands at attention. He cards his fingers into the soft mass of your hair and kisses you slowly -- carefully -- all too aware of the way he’d manhandled you last night.

Not even the pain in his jaw could take away from how good it feels to touch you like this. Not even the ache in his ribs could stop him from leaning into you. He slips his tongue past your lips and you whimper, fingers curling into his sore knee.

He could not give a shit.

Yoongi leaves your mouth to trail kisses down your jaw, and you tip your head back, offering him the soft expanse of your neck. He accepts it gladly, mouth hot and open on your skin, savoring your scent and taste -- enjoying the way he can feel your pulse fluttering wildly under his lips.

He’s enjoying it all so much that he gets careless. The elbow of his injured arm connects with the sharp edge of the piano and he recoils instantly.

“Dammit,” he groans. “Fuck.”

“Oh, shit,” you gasp, clapping a hand over your mouth.

The pain is so potent it seems to radiate all the way from his arm to his temples. Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut as he waits for the ringing in his ears to subside.

“Yoongi, your shoulder, it's -- it’s really bad,” you admonish quietly. “If you keep going like this, the damage is going to be permanent.”

“Trust me, I know,” he sighs. “I’m going to get this looked at, I just haven’t.”

“I want you to see a friend of mine at Asan today,” you urge. “He’s a good doctor. He can get you some pain relief. Get you back to working condition.”

Yoongi nods weakly, pain still ebbing from his arm.

“But it’s not a substitute for an MRI and it’s not a substitute for surgery,” you warn. “This is just a temporary fix. You have to be careful. Whatever you’re planning, just please be careful.”

Yoongi skates the pad of his thumb over your lips before kissing you just one more time.

“Don’t worry about me, Doc,” he murmurs. “I’m going to have some help.”

**************************

It’s amazing what a pair of high-powered steroid shots and a bottle of industrial-strength painkillers can do for a guy.

Yoongi pulls into the parking lot at Maekju feeling almost human again.

If the text messages that have been blowing up his phone all afternoon are any indication, everyone is here tonight. Everyone with the exception of Namjoon, of course. He doesn’t drink anymore and even when he did, he always preferred to drink alone.

Jungkook is the first person Yoongi spots, leaned up against a pool table, beer in hand. He’s watching Jimin and Taehyung face off at billiards while Seokjin and Hoseok sit side-by-side at the bar, deep in conversation.

The maknae’s eyes go a bit wide when he takes in Yoongi’s unusual gait and immobilized arm.

“Holy shit, hyung,” he breathes as Yoongi approaches. “What the hell happened to you?”

Seokjin whips around in his barstool at the sound of Jungkook’s greeting, but Hoseok doesn’t take the bait. He stiffens in his seat but refuses to turn around. Stubborn bastard.

“Yoga accident,” Yoongi mutters, stepping up to the bar next to Seokjin. The older man smirks as he takes a long pull of his beer.

“How’d you drive with that thing on?” Seokjin asks, motioning to Yoongi’s sling.

“Carefully,” Yoongi says dryly. “Listen, can you give me a minute with Jung here?”

Seokjin’s critical gaze bounces back and forth between Yoongi and Hoseok, who is still resolutely pretending not to notice the conversation taking place just inches from his face. He stares into a television mounted high above the bar and sips his whiskey with feigned indifference.

“You two need couple’s counseling, I swear,” Seokjin groans, rolling his eyes. He stands to his feet to relinquish his barstool and claps a hand over Yoongi’s good shoulder. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Hoseok, the fucking infant, grabs a newspaper abandoned on the bartop and proceeds to pretend to read it. Yoongi slides into the stool next to him anyway.

“Miss me?”

Hoseok doesn’t answer.

“You’re not gonna say hello? Not gonna ask me why it looks like I spent all night falling off a cliff?”

“Nope.”

Yoongi waves off the bartender who starts walking in his direction. The last thing he needs is a drink. He’s got so many painkillers in his system right now that one sip of booze would probably have him under the bar in seconds.

“Come on Hoseok,” Yoongi sighs. “Don’t be a dick. I’ve literally never seen you read a newspaper.”

“I like to stay informed,” Hoseok shrugs.

“Well, I’m trying to talk to you.”

“Oh, so you talk to me now?” Hoseok snickers. “That’s new.”

Hoseok’s probably earned the right to his petulance, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying. Yoongi starts to reconsider that drink.

“Jung,” he groans. “I’m trying to apologize here.”

“So apologize then.”

“Fine,” Yoongi mutters. “I’m sorry I’ve been an asshole lately. I’ve been twisted up over some shit that has nothing to do with you or family business.”

Hoseok grabs his whiskey off the bar and finally -- finally -- pivots to face him.

“A giant asshole,” he corrects dryly.

“Yes. A giant asshole,” Yoongi repeats. “We good now?”

Hoseok sips his whiskey slowly, eyes narrowed at Yoongi over the lip of his glass.

“Buy me a drink.”

“Fine,” Yoongi hisses, flagging the bartender.

Hoseok leans back in his barstool, looking a bit smug.

“Now this shit you’ve been twisted up about,” he starts, brow cocked. “Would this have anything to do with your secret doctor friend?”

“Maybe,” Yoongi admits, scratching at the back of his neck. His injured shoulder is tired from carrying the extra weight of the sling. He rolls it gingerly as Hoseok looks on.

“Would this have anything to do with why you look like you got jumped on your way in here tonight?”

Yoongi’s cheeks warm at his partner’s blunt observation. “Maybe.”

Hoseok drains his whiskey just as the bartender arrives with a fresh one. He takes a long drink before setting his glass back down on the bar. His lips purse thoughtfully as he levels Yoongi with a long, assessing look.

“Okay,” he says calmly. “So who do we have to go fuck up?”

**************************

Dr. Lee Geon just looks like a fucking weasel.

Yoongi glares at the man as he strolls into the coffee shop a few blocks from Songdo with just minutes to spare to his shift.

Lee bears little resemblance to his photos on the hospital website.

He’s thin -- just this side of gaunt -- hollow cheeks prominent below dark under eyes beneath a sparse dusting of greasy hair. Were he not dressed in a rumpled lab coat and equally creased scrubs, Yoongi might have missed him entirely.

Across the room, Hoseok peers at Yoongi over the top of yet another borrowed newspaper -- is this the guy? -- and Yoongi answers with a furtive nod.

He goes over the plan they’d worked out in the car in his head. They’d find the guy -- make sure he was the guy -- and then follow him out of the shop. Catch him just before he got into his car. Shake him up a bit before shaking him down for information.

There’s one thing Yoongi still hasn’t worked out, though.

Just how much he’s going to allow himself to hurt this asshole before sending him on his way. Lee slowly shuffles his way to the front of the line as Yoongi imagines jamming his fist into the man’s stupid fucking face. Imagines doing it over and over again until the piece of shit is unrecognizable.

Yoongi watches Lee order his drink as he kneads at the tender muscles of his shoulder.

Ditching the sling was probably a bad idea -- definitely against doctor’s orders -- but it was a risk he was more than willing to take. He’d downed a couple of painkillers and shoved his shoulder into a brace and decided he could deal with the dull throb just for the night.

No way in hell he was going to confront this scumbag looking like some kid who just fell off his skateboard.

It doesn’t take long for the barista to put together Lee’s drink. He grabs his coffee and Yoongi tenses in anticipation of his next move. But instead of heading for the exit, Lee heads for the bathroom instead.

Yoongi locks eyes with Hoseok across the room and Hoseok raises one brow.

Change of plans?

Yoongi nods.

*****************************

Lee’s coffee sits abandoned atop the sink ledge.

Yoongi and Hoseok slip silently into the bathroom and get right to work. Hoseok blocks the door as Yoongi quietly creeps past the stalls, ducking his head to peer beneath each one. Lee’s scuffed sneakers are the only pair of shoes he spots.

His ears pick up on a faint sound coming from inside the locked stall.

It’s a kind of soft, intermittent rasping. Yoongi concentrates on the noise, isolates it until he comes to the realization that it’s sniffling he’s hearing. He turns to Hoseok and taps his finger against the side of his nose and Hoseok nods his agreement.

Yoongi shakes his head in disgust. Is there a single substance this idiot isn’t addicted to?

It takes a moment for the sniffling to subside. It’s followed by a few seconds of quiet rustling in which Yoongi can picture Lee carefully pocketing whatever’s left of his coke. The noises from behind the brushed steel barrier finally stop and the next thing Yoongi hears is the distinct clink of the latch coming apart.

Lee swings the door wide -- gets one look at what’s waiting for him on the other side -- and nearly jumps out of his skin.

He startles so hard that he almost falls backward into the toilet. But he catches himself, regaining his balance and staring back at Yoongi with wide, worried eyes.

Yoongi stands there and says nothing.

“Excuse me,” Lee mumbles, eyeing him wearily as he tries to slide past. He takes two steps forward then stops in his tracks when he spots Hoseok. Lee swallows thickly, eyes darting back and forth between both men.

“Is there a problem gentlemen?” he croaks.

Yoongi takes a step towards Lee. He shrinks back when Yoongi reaches for his badge, yanking the retractable cord as he pulls it close to examine it. Yoongi runs his thumb over the raised lettering on the laminated card, letting the taut silence linger for dramatic effect.

Then he lets go of the badge without warning, fighting a smile when Lee flinches as it snaps back into place.

“Yes, we have a problem,” Yoongi confirms pleasantly. “And yes, it’s you.”

The little color left in Lee’s face immediately drains out.

“Look, I don’t know who you guys are, but you don’t w-want to mess with me,” he stammers, voice cracking comically halfway through his flimsy threat. “I know people.”

“Oh shit,” Yoongi’s eyes go wide with feigned concern, “You hear that, Jung? This guy knows people.”

“Sounds scary,” Hoseok chuckles.

Lee starts to breathe harder, chest rising and falling faster. Pupils blown with fear and coke.

“Now, here’s the difference between you and us, Dr. Lee,” Yoongi explains calmly. “You know people. But we -- ” he motions to himself and then to Hoseok, “ -- are people . Do you understand what I’m trying to say here?”

Yoongi punctuates his point by brushing the edge of his open leather jacket aside, allowing his pistol to peek out from underneath. Lee’s eyes lock on it as he nods slowly, pulling deep, noisy breaths through his nose.

“Great. Now we don’t have to play the game where you pretend not to know about the bullshit you’ve been pulling over at the hospital, right?”

Lee shakes his head slowly.

“So that means we also don’t have to play the game where you pretend you didn’t send some fucking street goon to rough up a little old lady, either. Right?”

The man’s mouth drops open like his first instinct is to deny that accusation. But he steals another look at Hoseok and shuts it instead.

“And then -- ” Yoongi jabs Lee in the chest with one finger and the man jumps back, “-- you tried to send that same goon after your own resident. But here’s the thing, Doctor Lee. She knows people, too.”

Lee’s body goes rigid. Yoongi watches him process the information with his drug-addled brain, a flare of recognition finally sparking in his dull eyes.

“I saw you at the hospital,” Lee whispers. “You know her.”

“Don’t worry about who I know,” Yoongi shrugs. “Worry about what you’re going to say in your resignation letter.”

He advances on the man again, closing the space between them. Lee tries to back away, but he runs out of room. He tilts against the stall door.

“Resignation letter?” he echoes weakly.

“The one you’re turning in tonight,” Yoongi explains coolly. “Before you get the fuck out of Songdo and then get the fuck out of Seoul.”

Lee sputters for a moment, grasping for his next words.

“Well, where am I supposed to go?” he bleats.

“Do we look like recruiters to you, man?” Hoseok cuts in sharply. “We don’t give a shit where you go -- you just have to go. You sure this guy is a doctor, Min? He seems way too dumb to be a doctor.”

“Nah. This guy’s a junkie pretending to be a doctor,” Yoongi accuses, dropping any pretense of good humor. “Pretending to be a tough guy, too. But all of that ends tonight.”

Yoongi grabs Lee by the chin, jerking his head into place and forcing the trembling man to look him in the eye.

“In ten minutes, you’re going to walk your ass into that hospital. You’re going to tell them you are leaving. You are going to take that piece of shit pharmacist and anyone else who’s involved with you. And then you are never going to step foot in this city again.”

He pauses to enjoy the way Lee’s pupils dilate even wider with fear.

“You’re not too high to understand what I’m saying to you right now, right?”

Lee shakes his head weakly, jaw still pinned in Yoongi’s vice grip.

“Great. Now just one more thing before you go on your merry way,” Yoongi says, voice low with menace. “Give us the name of your street guys.”

Lee panics. “I can’t,” he whines from between compressed cheeks. “They’ll kill me.”

Yoongi grips his face tighter, crushing the man’s jaw and using it to push his body flush against the stall. His fingers and knuckles turn white with the force of his grasp and Lee groans weakly at the pain.

“I will kill you,” Yoongi seethes. “Me. Right fucking now with my bare fucking hands if you don’t give me that name.”

Lee is sweating so profusely that Yoongi wonders briefly if he’s having a heart attack. He’s probably got enough coke in his system for that to be an actual concern. But the pathetic little shit manages to pull himself together long enough to follow directions.

“Kkangpae,” he wheezes.

Yoongi’s iron grip stays in place, even as he turns to Hoseok, even as both men exchange a look. That is something he did not see coming. Perhaps his recent personal issues are family business, after all.

He finally releases Lee’s jaw and the man rears back, breathing hard.

“You have exactly one day to get the fuck out of this city,” Yoongi instructs quietly. “And that is not an offer I’m prepared to make twice.”

Lee licks his dry lips, nodding his head slowly like he’s just come out of a trance. “Okay.”

“Great chat,” Yoongi smiles, patting Lee’s cheek.

Hoseok leaves his post at the door to cross the cramped bathroom and reach for the coffee Lee abandoned minutes ago. Both men watch in silence as he turns it up over the sink, pours it out, and then tosses it in the trash.

He heads back to the door and holds it open.

“Damn Hoseok,” Yoongi murmurs as he brushes past. “That was cold.”

*********************************

YOU

There’s buzzing. Of that, you’re sure.

But in those first few moments that you’re rousing, you can’t be sure if you’re hearing it or dreaming it. You’re disoriented. It’s the second time in as many days you’ve woken up in an unfamiliar bed.

Shafts of sunlight pour through the blinds and you squint at them, trying to get a sense of the time of day. If the amber tinge is any indication, it’s late into the afternoon.

The buzzing sounds again.

You roll to your side to grab your cell phone off the nightstand and blink at a long list of waiting texts.

ko: wake up sleeping beauty [ 11:36 AM ]

ko: i have news [ 11:45 AM ]

ko: big news [ 12:22 PM ]

ko: and gaeran tost-u [ 1:02 PM ]

ko: ready for you to wake up now [ 1:43 PM ]

ko: don’t mind me just gonna bang a few pots and pans [ 2:11 PM ]

Any curiosity over Ko’s big news is overshadowed by the way your heart drops when none of those messages is from Yoongi.

Before you’d left his apartment, he’d asked you to stay. He’d cleared his throat and looked down at his hands and explained that he’d feel better if you weren’t alone until this entire mess was settled. But the way he looked at you in those last few minutes together made you feel like his proposition was about much more than just your protection.

It made you want to say yes.

Never mind that it’s insane to feel so at home in his personal space -- or that coming to that realization might have sent you into a mild panic. In the end, you’d had to say no because you couldn’t bring yourself to leave Ko on her own while this madness played out.

You rub the sleep out of your eyes and fire off two quick texts.

you: i hope you’re okay. please be careful [ 2:33 PM ]

you: up now. be down in five [ 2:34 PM ]

**************************

Ko makes good on her promise of gaeran tost-u.

You’re greeted by the pleasant smell of the sugared egg dish as you walk down the stairs. Ko sits at her kitchen table, eyes shining with excitement, and pushes a plate at you when you slide into the chair across from hers.

“Eat,” she orders sweetly. Your stomach rumbles on cue and you waste no time digging in.

“This is really good,” you declare around a mouthful of bread and eggs. “I might have to live with you forever.”

Ko smiles wide and the expression makes you feel warm from the inside out. The bruising on her face is barely visible now, easily hidden with a little makeup. Her eyes crinkle with happiness as she watches you eat without saying a word.

“Alright,” you sigh, loathe to stop eating even for as long as it takes to speak. “Spill it. You look fit to burst.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” she complains cheerfully. “Dr. Lee is gone. Walked into Songdo last night and walked out forever.”

You gasp halfway through your next bite, sputtering as you try to catch your breath around a mouthful of toasted bread. Ko stands to grab you a glass of water which you gratefully accept.

“Well, don’t die on me now,” she teases, “Because there’s more. Nang left, too. And Tuan and Beom from pathology. All four of them quit without even so much as a notice, Jagi. Isn’t that wild?”

You sip your water slowly and Ko’s eyes flash as she watches you.

“Yoo called me early this morning and said the entire hospital is talking about it. There’s a bunch of crazy theories going around. And here I am, drinking my tea. Thinking about how you took a few sick days and showed up here. Thinking about how healthy and rested you look right now. Isn’t that interesting?”

You nod, jamming the sandwich back in your mouth for an obnoxiously large bite.

“And I can’t help but wonder if there’s some connection between this very convenient development and my very sweet, secretive friend.”

Ko’s mouth twists into a teasing smile as you chew your food absurdly slow.

“That sandwich isn’t going to last forever, Jagi,” she says dryly. She lifts her teacup to her mouth and takes a dainty sip. “And trust me, I have nothing but time.”

She leans back, cup in hand.

“Okay, so I might know something about it,” you admit after a while. “But there’s still a lot I don’t know. And I’m not sure how much of this you want to hear.”

Ko tuts under her breath.

“I want to hear it all. I’ve got quite a few years on you and trust me, very little shocks me anymore. So now you spill it.”

You take another sip of water and clear your throat.

“Okay,” you exhale. “So there’s this guy -- ”

“ -- Oh, I love it when stories start like this,” Ko interrupts. She props her chin up with her hands like you’re telling a bedtime story and you shake your head with a wry smile.

“He’s been kind of… helping me, I guess.”

“Helping you,” Ko echoes. “As in helping you out of your clothes?”

“No,” you deny hotly, cheeks warming. “He’s a friend.”

Ko doesn’t bother to call you out on the weak lie. But her face says what her mouth doesn’t when one skeptical brow raises high.

“Go on.”

“I told him about what was going on at the hospital and he said he could help me,” you explain slowly. “So I’m pretty sure he figured out a way to run off Lee and Nang.”

Ko taps her finger against the side of her teacup.

“So let me see if I have this right,” she muses. “You tell this friend -- who you’ve never once mentioned, by the way -- that you’ve been having this very dangerous trouble at work. And then your friend somehow manages to convince two grown men who’ve worked at Songdo for years to give up their high-paying jobs and up-front access to IV drugs overnight.”

You shift uncomfortably in your chair.

“And just like that -- ” Ko snaps her fingers for emphasis, “ -- they’re gone without so much as a fuss.”

You nod weakly.

“Jagi,” Ko’s voice drops low. “I take it your friend’s not a mailman, is he?”

“No,” you mumble. “Definitely not.”

Ko hums under her breath. She carefully lifts her teacup to drink, eyes trained on you over the rim. Her quiet scrutiny makes you anxious.

“Can I ask you a question?” she asks after a long pause.

“If I said no would that stop you?”

“Not a chance,” Ko laughs. “Would this friend happen to be the mysterious, handsome man who asked for you in the ER a few weeks back?”

Mind like a steel trap, this woman. You should have known Ko would make that connection and fast. There’s no point in denying it, so you don’t.

“Yes,” you whisper thickly. “He is.”

It’s hard to get a read on Ko’s reaction. Over the years, you’ve come to rely on her sweetness and wisdom and warmth. But now, as you stare into her dark eyes and try to interpret her careful expression, you realize there’s something else you need from her.

Her approval.

“Ko, I think I -- ” you pause to choose your words carefully, “ -- I think I might be in really deep with this guy.”

Ko snorts.

“Oh, I think you might be right about that, Jagiya . And if he’s helping you with something like this? Chances are, you’re not alone.”

“Yeah,” you exhale, wringing your hands together beneath the table. “Thing is -- I need you to tell me I’m not making a mistake here.”

The corners of Ko’s mouth lift into a soft expression of surprise.

“Oh, Jagi,” she chides sweetly. “You know I can’t tell you that. I don’t know anything about this man.” She reaches across the table to cover your hand with her own. “But you do. You’re the only one who knows how you feel about him. And you’re the only one who knows if he’s a good man underneath it all.”

Ko squeezes your hand and you turn your head before she can see the tears that threaten in your eyes. The amber sunlight outside her kitchen window is shifting orange now, flares of light reflecting off the glass.

You stare at them and think about Yoongi.

Until now, it’s like you’ve been splitting him into two different men -- the bruised, bloody con artist from the exam room and the quiet, teasing flirt from the coffee shop. Until now, it’s been the only way to reconcile your complicated feelings.

But it's well past time you accepted the truth.

The same Yoongi whose cheeks had pinked when he’d asked you to stay is the same Yoongi you watched beat the shit out of a hired thug. The Yoongi who carries a cross is the Yoongi who carries a gun. They’re two halves of one whole.

And you can’t pine for one and reject the other.

Your cell phone buzzes from the pocket of your pajama pants. You reach for it, relief coursing through you when you spot Yoongi’s name on the screen.

yoongi: one more thing to do before we can talk [ 3:01 PM ]

yoongi: it’s cold outside, be sure to bundle up [ 3:01 PM ]

Yoongi’s random mention of the weather confuses you. You stare at the texts and Ko stares at you, concerned by the baffled expression on your face.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” you insist, shaking your head. “Just, um -- ”

Bundle up. A tingle runs up the length of your spine as realization slowly creeps over you.

“Excuse me for a moment,” you murmur, slipping out of your seat.

Ko watches you dash up the stairs, slack-jawed.

You make a beeline for your borrowed room, throwing open the closet doors to find the coat you’d left hanging there on arrival. The coat you’d worn to and from Yoongi’s. You hurriedly dig into the pockets, fingers immediately making contact with something hard and jagged.

You pull it out.

The shiny silver key in your palm looks like it’s never been used, sharp edges gleaming in the waning sunlight streaming into this room.

You don’t have to guess what it’s for.

You just close your fingers around it and hold it tight.

*****************

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zet-sway · 3 years

Text

Spiritual Shrios Summer - EMBRACE

This is a prompt fill for @rosenkow’s Spiritual Shrios Summer!

PROMPT WORD: EMBRACE - | - WORDS: ~6100

Rated: “E” for “Awkward but Spicy” [NSFT] AO3 Link: "Too Much and Not Enough” Pairing: Thane / FemShep Summary: Maybe it's the traces of venom in her system or maybe it's just him, but this man beneath her - this assassin, feared and infamous for the lives he's taken - swells her heart with trust. It's a new and curious thing, so different from the trust shared between brothers in arms. It's simple intimacy, and maybe… just maybe… something more.

A/N: This fic is a god damn hot mess, and yet I have literally *never* revised anything so heavily in my entire life. Was supposed to be part of a slow burn but I'm impatient. I literally can't tell if this fic is worth reading. You decide lol

Thank you @quietonewisp for your feedback on my first draft! It's unbelievable to be in the same fandom with such talented writers after all these years. Thank you also to everyone who shared encouraging words while I was pulling my hair out over this fic :) this is my first attempt at writing Shepard as a thought out character of my own creation. As a result it's pretty awkward.

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

"I don't know how you do this," Shepard grunts through clenched teeth.

Every third day is yoga. And today, she thought it would be a good idea to try a headstand.

Thane guides her feet into the air, resting her knees against her elbows. Her hands are planted on either side of her head, elbows bent at a right angle to form three points of support against the floor. Truthfully, he hadn't thought she would struggle so much with this pose, given her strength.

"Push with your hands. Distribute your weight."

Slowly, he releases her calves and repositions himself behind her as she pulls in a sharp inhale, holding her balance.

"You better not be staring at my ass, Krios."

He raises a brow ridge. It's hard not to stare at her ass, thrust in the air as it is.

"You forget that I have perfect recall," he says dismissively. "I can reflect on the image of your backside at any moment of my choosing."

"So you admit you've been looking?"

"Shepard," he admonishes, "Just because I've seen your ass does not mean I consciously seek to see it." It's a stone cold lie, but an easy one to sell, especially when she makes a point of training her glutes every day during their morning PT.

Slowly, she lifts her knees into the air, shaking with the effort to retain her balance. "I bet you're an ass man," she grits out, one leg finally pointed straight into the air.

Thane sets his hands on her calves to steady her as she wills through the pose.

"I'm unfamiliar with the term."

She huffs, swallowing down a breath before speaking. "A man who prefers ass over breasts."

Only humans would have a word for something like this, he thinks. "As you know, women of my species do not have breasts."

"Yup," she hisses, slowly and carefully straightening her other leg. "That's why you've gotta be-" another shaky breath, "-an ass man."

Well… she's not wrong.

In truth, he finds breasts no more desirable than any other mundane part of the human body. The appeal, he suspects, comes from actually touching them - something he hadn't considered at all until she'd launched herself at him in the airlock weeks ago. He's replayed the experience in his mind hundreds of times by now. The insistent press of her mouth on his, her smooth human hands clutching at his shoulders... and the soft crush of her body against him. He hadn't pulled away, but he hadn't kissed her back either. Right now, he wishes he had.

There's a curious connecting thread between his return to the Normandy and her sudden urgency to speak to him - frequently. Even more curious - neither one of them has broached the subject of her impulsive kiss before his procedure.

With a relieved sigh, Shepard finally manages to straighten both legs and complete the pose. Toes pointed toward the ceiling of the shuttle bay, she trembles. It's all he can do to not close his hands around her thighs to feel every rippling muscle under her skin.

"Excellent work," he says, voice perhaps lower than he intended.

"My head hurts."

Thane shakes his head. "You're not distributing your weight through your hands. Push down, and lower your knees slowly."

She makes a strained sound, tenses her legs, and the motion is just enough to pitch her center of gravity backwards.

He catches her, but not before the rounded curve of her ass is pressed with distracting persistence against his hips. If he could have blushed, he very well might have. Looking remarkably contorted beneath her splayed hands, she grins at him.

"How's your perfect recall going to handle this one?"

He should say something, but he doesn't. With steady arms, he lowers her to the mat and she flops against it, sighing heavily. There's a familiar quiet about her, something he's come to recognize as the silence before a storm.

"...can we talk about this?"

His deflection comes instinctively. "Your mastery of the headstand will take some practice, but-"

"No," she says firmly. "This." She waves a hand between both of them. "I kissed you goodbye and we're both acting like it never happened. It was inappropriate of me. Did I upset you?"

This time he needs a minute to think.

"Shepard, I… no, you did not upset me."

"But...?" She sits up, knees drawn in a loose spread against her chest, arms looped around them. The same focus he'd seen in her face on Tuchanka is there now. But this time her expression is uncharacteristically open, visibly hanging on his next words.

She's not even trying to hide that she wants him.

So why does he resist?

Ten years ago he swore he would never love another, and he meant it. The compulsion to remain ascetic is by now second nature in him. But although the years have not dulled the memory of his beloved Irikah, they have brought a new perspective: the fires of one love are not dulled simply because the fires of another are kindled.

"I've recalled that moment more times than I can count," he says, finally.

"So... does that mean you liked it?"

"I enjoyed your kiss enough to admit that should the opportunity arise... I may not let go."

She leans closer, fingers lacing together with visible anticipation. "And what if I didn't want you to let go?"

The look in her upturned face is what does him in. In a rare display of impulse, he drops to the mat and kisses her. And this time he intends to savor it.

Somehow, the same humility that drove him to his knees before Irikah now folds him again as he gazes into the unknown with Shepard. A purpose, a reason to fight. And now perhaps... a reason to love. He's not sure if he would call it love just yet, but kissing her awakens his body like hot tea on a bitter cold morning. She draws him between her knees, lips parting eagerly beneath his seeking tongue. She tastes like coffee with an undertone of alien unfamiliarity, and his pulse quickens. He's already eager for more.

Shepard mumbles something against his mouth and he pulls away.

"You taste tingly. That's normal right?"

He smiles gently back at her. "Normal for humans, as I understand."

They lean together for another kiss before she releases him. "We still haven't done cardio."

He slips his arms around her waist and tugs her tighter against him, using his strength to pull her up with him as he stands.

"A quick jog around the hold, then?"

"...or," she says coyly, all suggestive eyes with a cautious smirk blooming across her face. "A quick jog upstairs?"

He shouldn't. At least - old habits tell him he shouldn't. But his heart says it doesn't much matter.

"Promise me one thing," he says with caution, taking her hands in his. This is not how he’d imagined his morning. After all the time they’ve spent seeking each other’s company, he hadn’t dared to think...

Shepard tips her head, listening, fingertips idly exploring the subtle texture of his scales. His throat feels dry and the words are stampeding through his mind so fast he can barely catch them.

"Embrace her memory as I have. Smile upon her with favor." The memories mingle together, threatening to overwhelm him. Shepard has already given him so much, and he still asks more of her.

"Your wife?" She leans into his neck, kissing his shoulder softly.

"Yes." He squeezes his eyes shut. His breath threatens to choke him. "I cannot and will not stop loving her. She is with me always."

Shepard smiles at him, as though he's asked the easiest thing in the world. Her next words are an intimate whisper against his lips.

"What kind of Commander would I be if I told you to stop loving your wife?"

Her breath fills his chest with warmth and wanting. Cupping her face in his hands, he kisses her glistening lips as though they were crafted specifically for him. They inhale each other, her tongue sliding against his as he breathes in her kiss. The word murmurs through his mouth and mind as a soft wind sighing through trees and grasses. "Siha."

This could be his second chance. An opportunity to fight side by side with a warrior angel, as he should have done years ago. Irikah was not a trained soldier, but she damn well could have been. She would have given everything to defend the innocent, and by all accounts, she had. Their son, alive because of her and her alone. He can taste her in the kiss, a familiar and soothing encouragement that makes his heart soar. Perhaps if he survives the mission, he will have learned something of her bravery.

There's a gentle tug on his shirt. Shepard leads him toward the elevator.

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

When they stumble into her cabin, her eyes are already bleary with his venom. Thane presses her into the bed, one hand cradling her neck while the other winds into her hair. His lips are slow but strong, kissing her like he knows nothing else. She's never felt so wanted before.

"How far do you want to take this?" she gasps when he trails her mouth down her jaw.

"This was your idea," his mouth is scorching on the column of her neck. She leans back to give him better access. "How far do you want to take this?"

Her insides are on fire at the feel of his mouth alone, and logic says she's crazy to jump into bed with another fucking species so suddenly. But she doesn't care - she's spent enough sleepless nights imagining this very moment. She wants his hands on her bare skin, she wants the forbidden unknowns of his alien body. With every fiber of her being, she wants. But it's easier to think about it than to say it.

"More," she says finally - breathlessly. Words are fleeting. Her hands fist the edges of his shirt and he obliges, pulling away so she can lift it off before she begins pulling off her own.

And then he surprises her by playfully rolling her on to her belly, kissing the back of her neck, her spine, palms trailing an electric line down her sides.

"I confess," he murmurs between kisses, "You were right to accuse me of being, as you say, an 'ass man.'" She moans as those strong hands settle on her backside, fingers kneading her flesh with delicious strength. Good god.

Words are difficult, but she manages. "Don't get any ideas, I'm not letting you fuck my ass."

"It wasn't my intention. Is that something humans do?"

Shepard snorts. "Don't act like you didn't know that."

He laughs like she's never heard before, a rich and jubilant peal in that dark voice she's come to savor. She can nearly feel the soft vibrations of that laugh through his hands as he presses his fingertips between her legs. “I’d rather know where you burn hottest,” he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice as he strokes her just hard enough to make his intentions understood.

"Oh fuck yes."

His palms return to her backside, sliding up to hook his fingers into her waistband. "May I?"

She nods furiously, her own hands closing over his to push her clothes off.

When she's firmly on her back again he drags down the zipper on the front of her bra. It's flung on the floor with the rest of her things and then she's bare before him, biting her lip under the heat of his hungry gaze. She wonders if he can see her body vibrating in anticipation.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, settling his knees between her thighs. He crawls up to kiss her. "For weeks, I've thought about touching you."

She hums as he strokes the rounded edges of her breasts.

"Your body is so wonderfully soft, will you tell me if there's something you don't like?"

"Yeah," is all she can manage before his mouth returns to her neck, his hands wandering like a dying man searching for water. She's certain to have hickeys by the time they're done.

Curious, she brings a hand up to stroke the delicate flesh of his throat. His answering groan confirms her suspicions, and suddenly his questing hands are not so chaste, closing with suffocating warmth around her breasts.

Shepard bites her lip. "Please don't tell me you think breasts are gross."

He shakes his head. "I'll admit I find it strange that human breasts are erogenous, given their purpose. But they aren’t ‘gross,’ as you say. Just... new." She pushes her chest into his palms and that gets a rise out of him - a lovely trembling purr in his throat. "And so soft, Siha."

"Feels good," she murmurs. With parted lips, she breathes her pleasure as he kneads her breasts in slow, sensuous circles, dipping his head to kiss along her sternum and at the tender underside of her flesh.

"I think I might like them,” he says, lips twinged upwards.

Her need flares with that simple statement and she pulls in a breath, straining against him.

"I hadn't imagined how... tempting they could be. Soft curves... ripe like fruit at peak season." A strained moan falls from her mouth when he punctuates his statement with a more appreciative squeeze and draws a thumb over one sensitive peak, his mouth close enough to make her whimper in frustration.

“You’re teasing me.”

"I’m exploring you, Siha. There’s so much to learn." He circles his fingertips around her nipples and they tighten in response. The visual alone has her reeling, electric sparks of need slipping down her spine and straight into her core. "Your body shows me what it wants," he murmurs. "My mouth begs to taste you."

He flicks his tongue out, sampling her in light, infuriating strokes, teasing until she's keening beneath his hands, eyes shut tight and panting over clenched teeth. It's hard to think about anything at all except his hands and lips and that rumbling voice shimmering across her sensitized skin.

She strangles out a moan when his lips close around her nipple and he hollows his cheeks, drawing it into his mouth before releasing it with a soft, wet pop. Her arms clamp reflexively around his neck in an unspoken order to keep still.

"Do that again," she gasps.

He complies without question, textured fingers on one breast and wet tongue on the other, toying with her. Her back arches, hands holding herself like an offering to his mouth, every touch like a phantom crack of lust between her legs. There's a low rumble in his throat, he's practically purring into her skin and she can feel it, thighs clenching together in desperation.

She whines when he finally pulls away.

"I'll be back for those," he promises. "I hadn't expected such enthusiasm."

Fingertips brush her inner thigh and she leans into the touch, wanting more - for fuck's sakes - more - gasping out a shuddering breath she didn't even know she was holding when he flattens his fused fingers into her seam. Face buried in her neck doing god knows what with his lips and tongue, he's exploring her by touch alone. Each press of his hand is excruciatingly gentle, pushing slowly into her slick channel, gliding upwards to her clit. She's so sensitive that she flinches when he brushes over it, clutching at his shoulders.

"Too much?" He asks.

She hadn't even realized her eyes were closed. Her throat is dry, but she rasps, "Not enough."

His full lips curve into a smile before he strokes her again and this time she moans, pushing back on his hand as much as she can manage. Her mind is chanting "please, please," but she won't beg. Not yet, at least.

His voice rouses her from her desperate thoughts.

”Your species makes great effort to avoid using definitive terms for this part of your body."

"Do we?” She asks, willing her thoughts to clear enough for her to speak. “I mean, there's pussy, snatch... cunt, if you're feeling profane."

His voice drops a register lower, and he leans close enough for her to feel his hot breath when he speaks. "Shepard, I believe the technical term is vulva."

She groans. Loudly. "Fuck off."

He huffs out a stiff laugh. "Perhaps you'd prefer something new. Ara'te. Chalice of Arashu."

She tries - and fails - to hide her impatience. "Really?"

"Do you find it repulsive?"

"No, I just... mixing religion and sex is kind of..." She fumbles with her answer, not wanting to offend, but the words are gone from her when he leans in and draws the flat of his tongue in a wide sweep between her legs. "-Jesus, Thane."

His voice is thick with amusement. "How interesting that you invoke the name of a god you don't believe in, if I touch you just so."

Shepard's mouth snaps shut and she looks pointedly away from him with a huff.

"But I digress," he says, fingers rippling along her seam. Scaled hands smooth over her slickness, spreading her with gentle consideration. His mouth is dangerously close, gaze fixed on her with eyes like gleaming onyx. Something in the way his voice drops sets her heart racing.

“You feel like the softest silk,” he whispers, each word rolling off his tongue in a veil of hot breath that cools over the heat of her wet center. Her eyes flutter closed as he presses his exploration, teasing her entrance with his joined fingers.

"Your body is a wellspring," he murmurs, slowly penetrating her with his hand. "Drenched with arousal… begging me into your depths."

She gasps when he takes the opportunity to flick at her with his tongue. Hips grind against his hand, desperately seeking more.

"What the fuck," she moans. "Don't stop."

He withdraws only to enter her again, this time sheathing an extra finger in her heat. Those fingers crook inside her and she damn near twitches off the bed, drawing a sound from him somewhere between amusement and arousal.

"So sensitive, Siha."

It feels like she's melting under the intensity of his touch, a thumb moving in teasing circles around her clit. She hisses, thighs clenching.

"Holy shit just touch me."

"Like this?" he asks in a tone that's infuriatingly playful, barely skimming his tongue across her clit.

"God damn it, Thane, you know what I want-"

He interrupts her, his voice suddenly more serious.

"Show me."

There's silence, and then Shepard blinks at him. "What?"

"Show me how you like to be touched."

"You want to watch me?" her mouth goes dry and her answering tone is more accusatory than she intends. "Because you're a freak, or because you don't know how to touch a woman?"

"Yes." He says simply, dodging both of her questions with irritating smugness.

Her knees twitch inward, uncertain, and with a deep inhale, he withdraws.

"Siha," he murmurs apologetically, taking her hand. "You've left all your confidence on the battlefield.”

The words slip straight through the cracks in her armor. It's painful, but he's right. Cerberus didn't bring her back because they wanted her, they brought back Commander Shepard. The woman she used to be is an afterthought. There's only the mission. The Hero of the Citadel. The Commander.

But here they are, Thane's enormous black eyes boring holes into her defenses in a silent plea for… something. His hand finds hers and their fingers intertwine, resting together on her hip. His expression is more unguarded than she's ever seen, eyes asking a silent question: Do you trust me? Do you want me?

"All my victories have been on the battlefield," she says, looking away.

His thumb soothes back and forth over her hand.

"Intimacy is not a war. What do you hope to triumph over?"

Still unwilling to meet his eyes, her face twists with discomfort.

"I haven't had a lot of partners. I'm laying here naked and you're playing games. I can't tell if you're just teasing or looking for an excuse to drive me off."

His expression softens. "Our differences are not merely physical, then."

She isn’t certain what he means, but Thane shifts to lay next to her, kissing her temple. His fingers tighten around hers in a gentle grip that doesn't let up, finally summoning her eyes back to his.

"On my heart, Siha, there is no place I would rather be than right here with you." There's a genuine apology in his tone, prying her heart open one painstaking centimeter at a time. "Do you want this?"

Her voice is small, but she doesn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Show me what you like," Thane's lips brush against her ear. "Remember that I won't forget." The way his voice rumbles makes her shiver.

He takes her hand and presses a kiss into her palm before setting it atop her thigh. It’s a relaxing gesture, indirect enough that he's not backing down while also letting her choose the next move. His lips are unhurried, traveling up her neck, against her ear, along her hairline.

Years of lackluster partners have tempered her expectations - she’s never shared herself with anyone as intense as Thane; and although she'd never admit it, his sexual confidence is damn near intimidating. But his hot breath against her ear and his endless, patient kisses are an irresistible pull of wanting.

This man is far from bored, she realizes. He's only awaiting her permission to give her something she's never experienced.

Her chest rises and falls in deep, shaky breaths. "No games," she whispers.

"No games," he agrees.

Biting her lip, she guides his hand back to the apex of her thighs. He offers no resistance, humming his approval when she slicks his fingertips through her heat and sets them carefully against her clit.

They move together then, her hand on his, teasing herself while he kisses her neck and shoulder, slowly making his way across her chest. How long has it been since she found release beneath the hands of another? The quiet intimacy of their joined hands, the subtle texture of his scales leaves her breathless, delirious with pleasure, his fingertips sliding effortlessly against her slick center. His mouth wanders over her skin, her breasts, every touch so electric she’s almost not ready for how fast her release sneaks up on her.

"I'm close," she whimpers with eyes squeezed shut, "Oh fuck, Thane, I'm so close."

"Yes, Siha,” he whispers. “Come for me."

She breaks. Every cell in her body clenches in a singularity of pressure before she's launched out in a million pieces, shimmering in the dim light. For once, it doesn't feel cold in her cabin. Waves of heat ripple under her skin, pulsing with every second she spends teasing the tail end of her climax.

She doesn't realize she has a death grip on his hand until she's gone completely still. If it hurts him, he says nothing, only wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her close. When she looks back at him, he's watching her with a knowing, lustful smile. She reaches for him, stroking his delicate neck and earning an appreciative hum that makes her heart beat just a little faster.

"Not that I didn't like you before, but..." she brushes her fingertips along his jaw, tilting his head toward her, "God damn."

Maybe human biology actually is as interesting as he proclaims, if one good orgasm can flood her with this much oxytocin. Like crossing a proverbial threshold, she feels her confidence returning, if only just to tell him we are definitely doing this again. As soon as possible.

"The privilege is mine." His voice is flecked with desire, words she believes so wholeheartedly she can almost see them in the air.

"How are you still wearing pants?"

He growls approvingly as she climbs over him and her fingertips slip beneath his waistband.

"Let's see what I'm about to get myself into," she says with a sly upturn of her lips.

"Or, if you wish - what you're about to get into yourself, " he retorts with no small amount of innuendo.

Immediately she wishes they'd done this sooner. He's... gorgeous. It isn't so much that she thought he wouldn't be, but his anatomy is every bit as colorful as the rest of him and that is a surprise. His length blooms from its internal sheath, a strong and gently ridged gradient of red and purple, nearly glowing in contrast against his green scales.

"Nice," she breathes, reaching for him. "Sorry if I don't have any pretty words to explain how much I want to put this beautiful thing in my mouth." Then she has a thought. "Do you have any fancy words for 'dick?'"

He puffs out an amused laugh and cracks a smile. "I seem to recall you saying something about religion and sex..."

"Humor me," she says, leaning in close enough to make his breath catch from the proximity of her mouth alone.

"Amo'ti," he says. "In your language-"

"Spear of Amonkira?"

He raises a brow ridge at her. "I'm impressed."

She gives his length an appreciative squeeze, testing the give of his ridges, humming at the surprising velvet texture of his skin.

"Maybe," she says slowly, matching the intensity of his gaze, "You can tell me how impressed you are after this." And without any further pretense, she engulfs him with her mouth.

In an instant, his head tips back, and she feels a familiar confidence returning. Men, she thinks, are hopelessly predictable in their pursuit of a hot mouth to fuck. And exactly as expected, Thane's hips are rolling gently forward. She slips her tongue around his length, watching the dancing iridescent scales along the shifting planes of his thighs and stomach.

In the back of her mind, she wonders if drell even do this as much as humans do. But it doesn't seem to matter when he sets his jaw in rapt concentration, visibly struggling to keep his eyes open and fixed on her. She doubles down, flattening her tongue against the underside of his shaft and hollowing her cheeks on the upstroke. His hands thread into her hair, sweeping it from where it falls in front of her eyes and gathering it around his fingers.

Tempted to tease him, she pulls back until the very tip of his length rests against her lips and sweeps her tongue across the head with a seductive smile. Their eyes lock and the sound he makes causes her core to fucking throb with wanting. One hand working him with each teasing swipe of her tongue, she slips lower, plants her lips on the base of his shaft to kiss him with an open mouth. He's shaking now, he's got to be close-

With a strangled gasp, his hips twitch away from her and she stills herself.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No," is his breathless response. "Quite the opposite. Come here."

She climbs astride him, pressing the length of their bodies together as his arms enfold her. "That good?"

"Join with me, Siha," he murmurs, his voice low and laced with need. "Find your release in mine."

An unexpected chill slips through her, tingling every nerve with an onset of understanding. She can hear it in the undertones of his voice: I want you. This was never a game. We will be whole, together.

He rocks against her just enough to grab her attention. The brush of his length between her legs is electrifying - his eyes searching, his body asking.

"I'm… uh…" Shepard bites her lip, processing the words slowly. "I haven't been with anyone since I... came back."

His fingers intertwine with hers for the umpteenth time that morning. It's a gesture she's rapidly coming to adore for all its patience and admiration. He kisses the back of her hand, voice low and steady. "You're in control, Commander."

There's something in his well-placed acknowledgement of her authority that placates her. Maybe it's the traces of venom in her system or maybe it's just him, but this man beneath her - this assassin, feared and infamous for the lives he's taken - swells her heart with trust. It's a new and curious thing, so different from the trust shared between brothers in arms. It's simple intimacy, and maybe… just maybe… something more.

Eyes never leaving his, she steadies herself and sinks down on him.

They join together with delicious slowness, his hips willfully unmoving beneath her as she takes him in. The pressure is exquisite, edging somewhere between too much and not enough, each ridge of his florid length finding its place within the scorching depths of her body. She's nearly sweating as their hips go flush, eyes tipping closed with the sweet pulse of their joining.

One painstaking second at a time, she adjusts. It doesn't hurt, but she's afraid it damn well might if she starts riding him like her lust-fueled mind is screaming to. She stifles her own desire, wills her body for control as she twists and flexes herself to banish the lingering anxiety about her reconstruction. It might even be embarrassing - wriggling against him like a damn virgin - but there's no judgement in his eyes. If anything, he's holding back his own pleasure, unmoving while he waits for her. Hands braced against his shoulders, she pushes up, finally bottoming out with a low, wanting moan. His length lodges against her deepest reaches. It feels fucking perfect.

"Fuck," she breathes with a cursory flick of her hips. "Holy shit, Thane."

Features painted with pleasured focus, he's stone still beneath her, hands patiently cradling her waist. Thane, her unlikely but disciplined lover, waiting for her next order.

Her voice is a whisper against his lips.

"Let's fucking do this."

And with that, he begins to move with her.

The groan in his throat vibrates through her entire body as she begins to ride him. Her fingers clasp around his shoulders, afraid to put too much pressure on his transplant scars. He grasps her hands in his own, holding her firm and letting her weight fall against him, hips rolling with her as she finds her rhythm.

His voice is a breathy sound somewhere beneath her. "Siha… don't hold back."

She gasps when the next thrust hits home.

"Shut up," she huffs, slanting her lips over his.

Despite their hours spent together on the battlefield, his strength is shocking. It's near impossible to tell who's riding who, his hands firmly on her hips, his body moving beneath her like the rolling ocean, all muscle and sinuous control. Either sex is way better than she remembers, or he's just that good. He ripples in and out of her depths, each of his gentle ridges strumming her like a harp, sweat rolling down the back of her neck.

His venom is already refreshing its hold on her mind when she breaks their kiss for breath. There's a kind of weightlessness to the high - she floats up, baring herself to his wandering hands. They slide against the plane of her stomach, cupping her breasts, plucking teasingly at her nipples. It's enough to make her cry out, heedless to the rest of the world, grinding on him for all she's worth. She feels the hot coil of release building within her, sensations concentrated in every point of contact. The texture of his scales against her inner thighs, his teasing fingertips on her breasts… his burning length buried within her, filling her to completion like no other.

In the throes of his venom, her cabin disintegrates, and there beneath an endless veil of stars, they are one - chasing release in the arms of the other. Words can't describe this perfect headspace. Later, all she'll be able to say is how he feels so good, wishing she could borrow his eidetic memory if only for these few perfect, fleeting moments, to revisit at her behest.

She slips one hand down to massage her clit and pitches her head back in a gasp, walls clenching involuntarily around his length, drawing a low rasp of pleasure from his beautiful, perfect mouth. Their voices are a litany of breathless sounds, a chorus of shared ecstasy - the desperate succession of skin meeting scales, the trilling of his ruby throat and the expletives that fall from her parted lips. She's close - unbelievably close - and damn near unwilling to finish if it means this moment will end, a rare second climax bearing down on her as she folds against him. Even with her hand trapped between their bodies, the sweet pebbled friction of his scales threatens to push her over the edge whether she's ready or not.

She releases with a scream, his name barely intelligible in a strangled half-sobbed cry of bliss that can't be silenced even as she buries her face in his shoulder. Thane's strong arms wind around her waist, holding her as he drives into the silken, pulsing clench of her heat with abandon. The sound of him illuminates the darkness behind her closed eyes as he spends himself within her and she can feel it - a glittering tingle of sensation radiating between her legs, up her spine and blooming into a full scale high.

And then she sags against his chest, heaving breaths in tandem with him, unable to give two tenths of a shit about her hand going numb between them.

"Thane..." She whispers. "Thane, holy shit."

"Are you hurt?"

"...No. I feel... tingly. It's good. It's so… just, good. Holy shit." Her head lolls against his shoulder. She won't open her eyes - not yet. Whatever's going on out there beyond his embrace - for once, it's not her problem. She feels over-relaxed, tinged with unreality. Like a dream. When had she gotten so damn high? If they'd barely -

...Oh, she realizes.

Drell toxin. Inside her.

Thane hums in contentment, his familiar alien hands soothing through her hair. She wonders if he feels just as sated as she does.

"Tell me it was good for you too," she whispers softly against his aural ridge.

"Siha," his voice is quiet, as if murmuring a secret, "It feels unfair to tell you how many times I will revisit this memory."

"I'll allow it, if you tell me we can do this again."

"As if you even need to ask," he chuckles breathlessly. "Yes, I’d like that."

"I don't think I've ever been fucked like that. I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk straight.”

“Not the word I would use, but I’m glad to hear I’ve pleased you.”

She feels his mouth move in a smile and takes a strong inward breath, raising her head to look at him. She can see her own silhouette in his fathomless dark eyes.

"Say it," she demands.

His brows - those gorgeous, expressive, glittering emerald brows - raise in curiosity. It must be the venom making him so vibrant.

"Pardon?"

Shepard extends one finger to gently prod his chest. "Say 'fuck.'"

He laughs beneath her and it feels like her whole body is bouncing, joining him in his mirth.

That laughter reaches his eyes and his expression softens. "I think perhaps we've overindulged. I didn't expect you'd be so heavily affected."

Her eyes widen in mock incredulity. "Overindulged? Don't you dare tell me that was too much for you."

A viridian palm settles against her cheek, his lips curled in a soft smile so rare it seems like a gift. "What I mean to say is it may have been too much for you, Siha."

She pauses, pushes herself up on shaky arms and sits back on his thighs. He's softening within her, and the retreat of him leaves a trail inside her that feels... not exactly, but... Sort of like someone stuck a breath mint where it doesn't belong. Shepard smiles inwardly. It feels kind of great.

"I'm Commander Shepard," she intones, setting her hands on her hips in a dramatic display of confidence. "I can handle getting dicked down by the most deadly lizard in the galaxy."

Thane is damn near grinning now. “My apologies, Commander. I will think twice before underestimating your abilities in the future.”

"I'm not moving until I hear you say 'fuck.'" She retorts, arms crossed.

"You're wrong, if you assume I want you anywhere but right here."

He reaches for her arms, trailing down her to her wrists to clasp her hands. Above him, she watches as though entranced, the dim light of her cabin blurring the edges of her vision and bringing the slow intertwining of their fingers into crisp focus. For all their differences, they fit together so beautifully. Her heart feels full.

"Thane..."

Their eyes meet as he kisses her fingertips.

"Fuck you, Siha."

#zet writes things #thane krios #shrios #spiritual shrios summer #fshrios #o boy please dont judge me too hard cause ive never worked on a fic so hard in my life and i have no idea what i'm doing

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ohnopoe · 4 years

Text

Do I Wanna Know? | Chapter .02

Ship: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader Word Count: 4.4k+ Tagging: @hawkerz12 & @slowlywithfreedom & @itsjammin Warnings: SMUT. Author’s Notes: If you’re under 18, stay away from this fic. This is not a suggestion. It is against the law for you to be reading this if you are under 18.

Part One was originally titled ‘Daydreaming’ but then it became a series, so I figured it needed a name change. Sorry for any confusion!

Kinktober Prompt: Anonymous Sex & Blindfolds

Part One | Part Two | Part Three (coming soon!)

The rules were simple. Your blindfold had to remain on at all times even in the dim light of the room, and you couldn’t tell them who you were. In all honesty, most avoided talking as much as possible, desperate to fulfil fantasies without reality crashing down around them, and you were more than willing to go along with the unspoken additional rule.

The lights were already dimmed as you entered the room, cold and emotionless blue that only skimmed along where the wall met the floor. It was too dark for even shadows to form, giving you peace of mind. Whoever this stranger might be, they had no chance of knowing your face, nor you theirs. You could barely make out the shape of your own hand before your face as you took in what you could tell of the odd room. There was a bed, neither gaudy nor shabby, and what looked like they could be ropes tied to the solid frame. Well, that was certainly something to keep in mind if this went well.

But you didn’t have long, you knew that. Your fellow anonymous patron would be joining you shortly, and the instructions the helpful desk clerk had given you had been clear and comforting as your anxiety had risen upon your arrival in the odd club.

If it had been anyone other than Shaak Ti that had recommended the place, you would have seriously questioned their sanity, but those few words the Togrutan had offered had been reassuring. This was a place for those who needed a release, whether they couldn’t have the person they were after, or whether they didn’t have someone in mind at all. It was the perfect thing for a jedi like yourself, with no way of somehow falling into an emotional connection and attachment that came with an actual relationship. From the look in her eye, she was certainly speaking from experience, and that fact alone gave an awful lot of comfort.

You removed your clothes carefully, hesitating slightly as your finger danced over the strap of your bra. But it was dark, there was no need for modesty, and having your stranger try to remove the clothing in the minimal light might only cause further problems, and so your underwear joined your robes. With your clothes folded in a careful pile on the small shelves near the door, you shuddered a breath, attempting to remain calm and ignore the cold bite of air against your bared skin.

This was so different from anything you had ever tried before, so void of emotion and care and all the things that had drawn you into the horny mess you had found yourself in earlier. But this wasn’t romance, this was about release, about letting yourself give in to what was only natural, without the consequences that could bring you so much trouble in the real world.

Still, your mind could run free here. You could pretend the man you would spend time with was the Jedi your heart craved, you could pretend for just a moment, that he wanted you as you wanted him.

The strip of black silk sat awkward in your hand, the final act you would need to perform before going into this. With half your face covered you would be shrouded in anonymity, and with your sight gone, so would he. You stared at the fabric, as if it might hold the mysteries of the galaxy, the answers to solve the war, and tell you what to do, all in one.

Closing your eyes, you felt the smooth blindfold, running it between your fingers as it draped over your wrist. In another time, another life, you could almost imagine the feel of it wrapped tightly around your wrist, holding you still against your bed, leaving you to the mercy of the man you craved. He could be so teasing at times, would he be teasing then? Would he lavish your body as you desired, or leave you wanting, drawing out your desire until you could take no more?

Well, you certainly weren’t worried about being worked up for what was to come with thoughts like that. With a gulp, you sat at the edge of the bed, eyeing the small button that lay at the wall that would tell them you were ready. Yes, you thought resolutely, you could do this.

You fit the blindfold tightly, ensuring it would not slip from your eyes before you lay back against the silken sheets. It was soft and cold against your skin, prickling your nerves into attention as you settled yourself before reaching up and pressing the button.

The door opened only moments later, a swoosh of machinery and then footsteps, soft and gentle. You couldn’t hear boots or shoes of any kind against the cold floor, and it made you intrigued. Was he already undressed? Was that the norm? The sound of the door shutting once more startled you.

He moved slowly into the room, with an air of uncertainty you could almost feel rolling off him. Perhaps this was a bad idea, perhaps the clerk had been wrong, had found you someone that was not as compatible as you had hoped. But then, in the darkness, what could he even see to reject?

But he didn’t stop, not entirely, making his way towards you in the darkness, slowly. Perhaps it was hesitation that held back his movements, perhaps it was something more primal. You could give into your imaginations here, could pretend it was Obi-Wan stepping into the room, his gaze hungry as he drank in the sight of you laying there just for him, primal and fierce as he held back from ravaging you.

You could feel the shift of the bed as he found his way to you, the way the soft fabric pulled taut beneath you with the movement of his knee coming to kneel beside you in the silence. Your breath caught in anticipation, feeling the warmth from the man at your side seeping into your waist, but he did not touch you.

With your bottom lip drawn in-between your teeth you lay there waiting, unsure whether you ought to be making the first move, but it was hard to initiate anything when you were the one with your eyes covered behind a silken mask. Still, your hand moved from where it lay at your side, seeking out the man and following his warmth to find his thigh. A jolt of surprise seemed to come from the man at the slightest touch, but he didn’t push your hand away as you traced lightly over bare skin. Well, at least you weren’t the only one naked.

Hands found yours, holding them for the slightest moment in such an innocent manner, before he gently lead them up to the bars of the bed. His hold was careful, almost tender, and oddly reassuring, and he squeezed your hands once before leaving them to hold the bars.

Fingers, light and careful traced down your bare arms, tickling the skin with the airy touch as he explored his way slowly in the dark. And then it was gone, teasing you forwards, searching for some kind of contact. But before you could lift your hands from their spot, he was back, shifting over you, bracing his weight with one hand by your head as he leant forwards.

His lips seemed to hover over your wrists, pressing against your pulse point tenderly, but leaving no question that he was asking they remain where they were. And so began their journey. He seemed to take a delight in the softest of kisses against your arms as he travelled lower, the lightness of his touch making you crave something more. And was that the feel of hair surrounding those lips, or were you simply imagining it, desperate for his lips to be those of the jedi you craved?

His mouth found your neck in your distracted thinking, nuzzling there for a moment before descending with more vigour. He seemed to home in just above your collarbone, dragging his teeth over the skin before licking at it quickly. The rough feel of his beard and teeth followed by the quick warm wetness of his tongue had you offering an unearthly moan, diminishing any fears that this might not be as good as you needed it to be.

But then he was moving once more, sooner than you would have liked, his touch light once more as he ran a single finger down between the valley of your breasts. He only seemed to come to a stop when he reached your navel, and you could have easily thought he was in a hurry had he not paused there, hands dancing over skin lightly, exploring you with his touch.

It was only when his breath danced across your torso, warm and shuddering before placing the lightest of kisses against your heated skin that you realised what had felt so odd about the situation. You had expected a certain lack of intimacy, after all, this stranger was seeking out something he couldn’t find otherwise, just as you were. But, somehow, you hadn’t expected him to avoid your lips so determinedly.

You could feel the rough hair of his beard as he grew more confident, his lips replacing those nimble fingers as he sucked your nipple into perfect pertness, drawing you achingly forwards with a sigh as his hand settled on your waist. He ran his tongue over the pert bud, lapping at it with such skill that you couldn’t help but marvel at the sensation. If he was this good with your tit, you could only imagine what it would feel like to have that marvellous tongue tracing over your clit.

It seemed you weren’t the only one with such a line of thought as he began to draw away from your breast, placing a gentle teasing kiss against your suddenly neglected other nipple before descending down. His lips and tongue made an expedition as they traversed your body, darting out to place the lightest of kisses against your skin, to lick at the flesh that felt so heated.

He found your folds with determination, placing an irritatingly soft kiss against you before running a finger along your slit. You were already so wet, a mixture of the man’s actions and your own imagination building within you. It was easy for him to move amongst your slickness, to trace over your clit so lightly that you were jolting your hips forwards in surprise. A deep chuckle reverberated against your skin at the action, and you could so easily imagine it was Obi-Wan worshiping your body. And just like that he found you, his lips pressing a kiss, more firm this time, against your aching clit as his finger traced idly between the swollen bud and your opening.

You couldn’t help but sigh in relief. It wasn’t much, but it was pressure, friction, and you craved it desperately. He took no hesitation in working your body, darting his tongue out to run over your sensitive bundle of nerves as his finger entered you slowly. It was almost torturously slow, as if testing the limits, and it made it so very easy to imagine it was a fair beard that sat between your thighs when you felt the trepidation of his touch against you. Yes, Obi-Wan would be careful, he wouldn’t want to push you, he would look up at you with such wonder- you had to bite your lip at the thought, hands racing down to find the man’s hair, eagerly egging him on.

He certainly seemed to get the hint as his finger began to move in and out slowly, still wary until a moan escaped you. It was too slow, too little, you needed more. With a light tug of his hair, you silently pleaded for more.

His beard rubbed roughly against the inside of your thigh as he placed a kiss there, slow and open mouthed before he returned those glorious lips to your clit, a second finger joining the first with a curl, before he was moving once more, finding a faster pace within you.

The pressure was perfect, rough pads of his fingertips running against your inner walls as he worked your body. And then he was moving again, just as you felt tension begin to rise in your body. With a frustrated sigh, you felt his weight shift down the bed, and then his finger, wet with your slick, moved to your clit, and oh kriff was that his tongue against your cunt?

Thoughts were jumbled in your mind as he curled his tongue against you, entering you slowly. It was shallow and did little to fill you, but his tongue was warm and wet and in that moment of bliss you were determined to do whatever you could to give him just as much pleasure as he was giving you in the moment.

You could feel the tension building within you, every swipe of his tongue, every time he ran that rough finger over your sensitive clit, bringing you ever closer.

You were so close.

Would he feel like this? Would he pleasure and worship your body? Would he roll his tongue against you again and again- your hips jutted forwards of their own accord, hand tightening in his hair as your imagination drew on reality for inspiration.

He was above you, hovering above you with those marvellous arms that you had gazed at far more than you ought to have holding his weight. Fair hair and a mischievous grin as he would look up at you, catching your gaze with that infamous smug smirk playing on his lips, those same lips that moved against you…

Your orgasm came suddenly, violently taking over your body as you seized against him. Muscles clenched, and it was all you could do to only let out the moan that ripped from you without drawing out a string of words along with it. Yes, yes! your mind screamed, uttering a string of profanities and praise that you wouldn’t dare let fall from your mouth.

Still, he stayed with you throughout your orgasm, lapping up your juices in gentle movements, careful not to startle your sensitive clit as he cleaned you up with his tongue.

It wasn’t until your hand, forgotten in his hair, tugged lightly against him that he moved from you, watching the rise and fall of your chest as your breath evened out as you came down from your high.

He didn’t make a move against you, didn’t rush to find his own release, or hurry you in any form. You could feel the solid weight of him above you, watching as you relaxed before him, marvelling in the sight as his own imagination played over the sound of your release over and over in his mind.

You were slow to move, rolling him off you with a hand to his shoulder as you began to sit up, still revelling in the feeling of bliss that had taken over your body. But you were determined nonetheless, a tongue like that… you couldn’t hope to compare, but you would do your damnedest to try.

With your hand on his shoulders still, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, determined not to lose him to the pitch black of your blindfolded gaze. Your feet felt unsettled as they met that cold ground once more, still weak from the feeling he had brought from his tongue, but you wouldn’t be on them for long. Your hand reached out in the darkness, running down his arm until you found his grasp and could lead him off the bed with you.

You could practically feel his curiosity radiating off him, but you quickly closed your mind to the feeling. It wasn’t a stranger’s curiosity that you wanted to have in your mind in this moment, you needed your imagination to remain in tact, to keep those images coming of the fair haired jedi master you longed for.

Standing before him, your hands slowly tracing over his waist with a light touch that mimicked his own. The feel of muscles, taut but not overdone lingered beneath your touch, only helping tempt your mind into images you could not see.

Those bright eyes would be shining down on you, watching with intrigue as you discovered his body, memorising the feel of one another in soft, slow movements. Those beautiful lips, pulled between his teeth in an effort to hold back a moan as your fingertips traced lower, finding that trail of hair that lead to where you both wanted your touch to be.

With one hand taking its place on his hip, the other ran down his thigh, marvelling at the feel of his toned leg beneath your touch. It was just as you had imagined the Jedi master would feel, muscular without being overdone, all that physical training shining through, just as they did through his khaki cotton trousers.

You had to use him to steady yourself as you lowered yourself to your knees, hearing a shuddering sigh at the action. Well, he certainly didn’t seem against your plan if that was any indicator.

Your fingertips traced over warm skin, drawing patterns as you explored further, inching towards your goal at an excruciatingly slow pace. Until you found him, hard as can be, practically laying against his toned stomach, aching to be touched.

With your hands lightly running over his straining cock, you could feel him thrusting forwards at the slightest contact before he rocked back on his feet, almost apologetically. A smile played on your face at the feel. If the strain of his cock hadn’t shown how eager he was, the way he couldn’t control his movements certainly did. You tightened your grip around him, allowing some pressure as you ran your hand up and down his length, creating a picture in your mind from the feel of him.

He was long and thick and utterly perfect, from what you could tell. You could practically imagine that pleasant feel of him stretching you out, slow and steady as he settled within you, and it was all you could do to not let your hand fall between your legs to relieve the already growing pressure there.

With your thumb tracing over his head, feeling the precum that settled beneath the pad of your thumb, you couldn’t help but smirk into the darkness. With your other hand moving gently along his length, you brought your thumb to your lips, tasting the salty sweetness he already had for you. You wanted more, and if the shuddering sigh that fell from his lips was any indicator, he wasn’t complaining about the idea either.

Slowly you edged your way forwards in the dark, hollowing your cheeks as your lips circled his cock. You moved gently, taking what you could inch by inch, allowing him to succumb to the feeling of your warm wet mouth wrapped around him.

“Maker,” the word was quiet, an uttered sigh as the man above you fell forwards into the sensation of your lips around him, but it was enough to have you startling backwards. That voice, it was familiar, too familiar.

You rocked back, mouth falling from his cock as you sat on the back of your heels, tilting your head up towards where you assumed he must be. Oh, how you wished that damned blindfold was gone, how you wished you could see the man before you, to confirm or damn the suspicions that his single word had brought nagging to your mind.

But the rules were clear. You weren’t to say who you were, just as he wasn’t to say anything that could help identify him either. And you were clinging to that rule, the only thing keeping you from crashing in the moment.

It couldn’t be him, you thought with determination, torn between desperately wanting to rid the thought from your mind, and the excitement you felt at the sheer possibility. Perhaps you didn’t really want to know, perhaps you could simply use that single word to help paint a picture that matched your imaginings, that helped you pretend it really was the man you dreamt of. Perhaps that was enough.

But you had been still too long, having pulled away from the throbbing of his cock as quickly as you had descended upon it, and he clearly realised his mistake. A sigh, one that did nothing to rid your thoughts of the jedi master who held your thoughts, fell from his lips as his hand reached down, comfortingly stroking along the side of your face, slowly drifting down your jaw almost apologetically. And then he did the one thing you could never forgive, he spoke again.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you startled back at the sound once more, pushing away from him further in shock. Another sigh came from the man, but it was barely heard over your own thumping heartbeat in your ears. “I haven’t done this before,” he continued, and there was no longer any room for question. You knew that voice too well, you had spent so much of your free time replaying it in your head, you could practically conjure the sound in your mind, hearing words he would never say to you in your mind, helping you when you had only your hand for company.

You couldn’t decide what to do. If you stopped he might grow suspicious, might seek you out with the force, may find out just who it was he had been delving into with his tongue only moments earlier. You couldn’t have that, you didn’t want to deal with the shame, with the rejection as he learnt it was you. But then, was it right to continue when you now knew who he was? When the mystery was lost for only one of you, and anonymity failed. Was it a breach of his privacy to know him so intimately when he didn’t even know it was you?

Heartache and guilt, it was a tough combination. You could either give yourself up and face the harsh heartbreak of the man you loved turning you away, or you could never meet his gaze again for the shame of it. You knew it was no real question, you had to do what was right, and perhaps one day you may be able to laugh over the situation, but never tell him that he was the very being that had brought you there in the first place.

You pushed yourself off the floor, moving slowly in the darkness, not daring to touch him as you raised yourself up. If you took off the blindfold would you see his eyes? What would they convey? How would he react to your reveal? You couldn’t muster the courage to meet his gaze, keeping the silky material firmly in place as your head hung low before him.

You had to say something, something that would reveal you to him as he had unintentionally done to you, but words seemed lost to you. How could you tell him it was no longer anonymous, that it wasn’t simply some stranger who had their mouth around his thick cock moments earlier, but a colleague, a friend.

“I’m so sorry,” your words echoed his, but the tone was so very different. Where he had been apologetic, you were sympathetic, soft and simply sad, as if you didn’t truly want him to hear your voice, as if you simply couldn’t bare what was to come.

You could feel him stumble backwards, the heat of his naked body falling away from you as he struggled to make sense of what he had heard. He couldn’t be hearing right, he must have been too far in his own mind, mixing reality with fantasy. He needed to be certain of what he had heard, of who he had heard.

The feel of his hand gently cupping your face shocked you, having expected him to practically run from you at your soft words. But instead he ran his thumb over your cheek, curious and timid, trying to make sense of what he had heard.

“Is it really-”

“Don’t,” you cut off his question, your tone almost begging, as you clung to that rule the establishment held in place as if it were the only thing keeping you from drowning in despair. You couldn’t tell him, couldn’t say the words, nor your name. Instead, you simply hung your head low, your resignation answering what your voice could not.

Silence seeped its way into the room, thick and awkward as you let the realisation sink in for him as it had done for you. But even as the moment drew on, he remained there, hand still hovering against your cheek as if frozen in place by that one damning word.

“Do you want to stop?” you had to ask, someone had to take control of the situation, and judging by the tone of his voice he was in no position to do so. You were almost thankful he was distracted, barely hearing your words and missing the way your tone gave you away in disappointment at the very thought.

“I- well-” Obi-Wan stumbled over his words, and you could almost feel his gaze flittering over your naked form, but whether it was in surprise or something else you could not tell.

“I-” you started once more, voice small and insecure as you gave in, giving him an out despite yourself. “I won’t be upset if you don’t want to do this- if you don’t want to do this with me.”

But it was a lie, one you were putting your all into hiding. The truth was you would be hurt, far more hurt than you could ever imagine being, the word heartbroken rang in your mind, no matter how much you tried to push it away. If he didn’t want you, especially after how eagerly his body had seemed to react to yours, well, your dreams were at an end.

But you remained resolute, raising your head as if you could see him, as if you were as strong as you pretended to be. This would not break you. His rejection would not break you. No, if any of this was going to break you, it would be in the comfort of your room, where no one could see your tears.

“Perhaps,” he sounded uncertain, as if he were torn even as he spoke. He cleared his throat, that harsh sound of discomfort seeping into your bones as you waited for the rejection you knew was coming. “Perhaps, it would be for the best.”

#obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi smut #obi wan smut #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars reader insert #my fic #kinktober #kinktober 2020 #kinktober2020 #smut #damned if you queue damned if you don't

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deviltakesthewaltz · 4 years

Text

In celebration of recent events, here is a snippet of a clexa fic I’ve been working on, featuring 4k of yearning!Clexa.

Golden leaves spiral from the sky the first time they kiss.

It’s been a soft autumn, and their love bloomed with the times. Lexa’s father is away on business; Clarke’s mother is stitching up war wounds at the infirmary across the way. Like most days lately, they found themselves drifting farther and farther from home, which was a relief for Lexa, ever eager to put distance between herself and the cold, empty manor that had served as a roof over her head for all of her life; Clarke, who had shared many a laugh and comforting embrace in the shelter of her small quaint home full of warmth, nevertheless found herself eager to follow Lexa anywhere, but especially the hallowed orchard.

It doesn’t belong to either of them. They aren’t certain who owns these acres stretching farther than the eye could see, beyond the shimmering horizons, some measurable distance behind their own homes, but they’re always grateful to capitalize on its relative emptiness. Just through the orchard lay a meadow, with naught but a single oak tree to spread its shade, and it’s always there that they find themselves wandering. Clarke has long lost count of how many afternoons they’ve drowned in the comfort of this tree, the usual sharp edges to her outings with Lexa inexplicably softened when the two of them came to rest at its trunk. It’s been marked with their presence for many years now, a small heart containing their initials they carved in together with the small bowie knife Clarke stole from her father.

Clarke is never sure if it’s the magic and mysticism of the tree itself, singular and towering, or the familiar and gentle tenor of Lexa’s voice as she reads softly to Clarke from the various books she could never be found without. Just as when they were children, Clarke would slip into slumber with her head tucked into Lexa’s shoulder, and when she wakes she would always spend the first several seconds pretending she hadn’t, if only to remain there just a bit longer, dappled sunshine her blanket, head filled with the sweet scent of her friend’s soft curls just beneath her nose and the sound of Lexa’s heartbeat reverberating in her own aching rib cage. Lexa never seemed to realize when she was awake. She would read on, softly, until Clarke stirred and nuzzled deeper into her embrace, until Lexa’s lips brushed across the top of her head, and her body in its entirety burned with something she could never name.

But she suspects she’s beginning to discover it.

She has felt this way for as long as she can remember, and when she tries to think back, pinpoint an exact moment, she finds it’s as difficult as recognizing the precise instance in time that her young self learned how to breathe.

She feels as though she’s been built with this yearning, this ache that suffuses every inch of her body, but in times such as these, when they’re tucked into this haven isolated from the world, it’s hard to feel the usual shame about it- particularly when moments alone give way to a different sort of fear when her monstrous appetite spreads its jaws wide and threatens to swallow the both of them whole. She’s not strong enough to resist reaching for her, fingers curling loosely into the wool of Lexa’s dress. The fact that it serves as the only thin barrier between her fingertips and Lexa’s skin is one that tends to haunt her at all times, but admittedly most when it’s late at night.

Lexa tends to have that effect on her.

It was, in fact, only two days ago that their reading led to an epiphany. For years Clarke had swallowed down these strange and confusing feelings, had tried her best to ignore the way her skin lit up with each graze of Lexa’s body, how she seemed to glow even at mere proximity to her. Now the incessant swirling of her stomach felt heavier, fuller, in certain loaded moments where the air felt alive and dangerous, the equivalent of the tension in the sky moments before a storm. She had rattled off excuses for why she oft found her gaze drifting to various features that shouldn’t draw it- the soft swell of Lexa’s lips, the sharp angle of her jaw and elegant stretch of her neck; the defined measure of her collarbones and the subtle shadows splayed over her chest from her corset pushing up her breasts, only ever seen in brief stolen moments when they changed near the other— sometimes even the curve of Lexa’s backside, the shapely line of her ankles beneath her pleated skirts.

She reasons with herself when she realizes she’s staring too hard and for too long. When she swallows and quails beneath the pressure of her own swollen, aching heart, squeezing and suffocating beneath the graceful timbre of Lexa’s voice. When she thinks constantly about the clever way Lexa’s mind works, how she’s so unafraid to speak her mind to Clarke, how she boldly shows her anger in private moments when she raves about her frustrations with her father, the town, the workings of the world. When the very, very few times Lexa has allowed herself to expose the sorrow eating up her heart, Clarke has cried with her, has brushed away her tears and kissed the top of her head and whispered that she is here, she is here, she is here, all for her. When she fantasizes endless scenarios that involve her going much farther than simply holding Lexa’s hands and gifting her the gentle affections any woman would give a friend they loved dearly. When she imagines parting her lips and letting the truth fly free, begging Lexa, confessing she knows not what these feelings are and what they mean, except she knows exactly what they are and why she is overwhelmed with them, and perhaps she is a monster and the universe is corralling her toward certain hell, but if this haven exists— the orchard and this hidden meadow where everything but time and the two of them ceases to exist— then perhaps she is content with this version of heaven. If this is paradise, she’s wholly certain whatever lay beyond it pales in comparison.

Still, when it came to matters of intimacy, she would at times feel that heavy dread in her stomach that accompanied the flutters of warmth. Generally she reasoned with herself, in those weaker moments. This must be an anomaly. An abhorrence. A test of her will. Fight it.

But then it happened.

Two days ago.

And Clarke’s world would never be the same.

It was a day like any other. They woke, finished their chores in haste, and snuck away with a book tucked beneath Lexa’s arm. Spoke and laughed as they made their way to this spot, to this place that belonged to them, stole their fruit and settled against the tree, swathed in its reprieve, and spent the next hours with only Lexa’s soft voice and the occasional birdsong breaking the silence.

"Whenever you tell me your story, it will be made up chiefly of some one great romance."

Clarke had been dozing lightly, drifting in that cherished limbo somewhere between awake and asleep, Lexa’s words guiding her like a safe harbor.

And then her next words, spoken with uncharacteristic hesitation followed by a gruff clearing of her throat, changed everything.

“She kissed me silently.”

Clarke’s eyes had flown open. She peered down from where her head was propped on Lexa’s shoulder, her heart stuttering in her chest as she focused on the words printed on the paper moments before Lexa said them aloud.

"I am sure, Carmilla, you have been in love; that there is, at this moment, an affair of the heart going on."

"I have been in love with no one, and never shall," she whispered, "unless it should be with you."

How beautiful she looked in the moonlight!”

Lexa paused when Clarke took an audible, sharp intake of breath, and Clarke cursed herself for a moment because she didn’t want Lexa to stop. But she could feel the weight of her uncertain stare, so she tilted her head, craning back to meet her gaze, and a thrill wracked through her when their eyes met. It was a calm, breezy day, barely a cloud in the sky, but suddenly it felt as though thunder could rumble and lightning strike at any moment.

“What?” Lexa said, voice small.

“She kissed her,” Clarke said dumbly, cursing herself for her lack of wit. Her face warmed, touched with embarrassment.

Lexa swallowed, green eyes flitting between each of Clarke’s as though searching for something. “Yes.”

Clarke paused, her heart thundering. She struggled to control her breathing. “They...they are both women, are they not?” She may not have paid as much attention to this book as she could have in favor of napping, but she was fairly certain of this.

Lexa swallowed again, and Clarke was enchanted and besotted by the dusting of pink on her cheeks. “Yes.”

She kissed her.

Clarke’s gaze drifted, as it was already wont to do, but typically not so openly. Lexa’s lips were full and pink and beautiful, and Clarke had felt their softness on her countless times before, however fleeting. Kisses to the top of her head, to her hand, even on occasion to her cheeks. But never on her mouth. Her body seized and burned with the ache coursing through her at the thought, the need. She realized all at once that Lexa was still staring at her, and panic struck high in her chest; she promptly dipped her head down, hiding her face in the curve of Lexa’s neck, shaking in response to the hitch of breath Lexa gave.

For a long moment they were silent, still, uncertain, until Clarke couldn’t stand the tension in the air any more.

“Keep reading,” she whispered.

It took another moment, but Lexa did. Cleared her throat first, and quietly read out, “Shy and strange was the look with which she quickly hid her face in my neck and hair, with tumultuous sighs, that seemed almost to sob, and pressed in mine a hand that trembled.”

Clarke’s face burned against Lexa’s skin, and Lexa’s wild curls tickled her nose. She couldn’t stop herself from pressing her trembling hand to the one Lexa had clenched in a fist atop her thigh. She could feel Lexa’s whole frame shaking against her, and without thought Clarke tipped her chin up to press what was meant to be a soothing, placating kiss to any part of Lexa she could reach; she landed on the column of Lexa’s throat, and her heart thudded at the fact that she could feel Lexa’s pulse thrumming wildly just beneath her flesh.

Lexa continued to read, her voice rough, lower than Clarke had ever heard it.

“Her soft cheek was glowing against mine. "Darling, darling," she murmured, "I live in you; and you would die for me, I love you so."

The words echoed within Clarke, rebounding in the confines of her skull, singing out a chorus in the caverns of her chest. It was instinct, the way she pressed more firmly against Lexa. The way she sought out more of her, nose trailing the arch of her neck and the hard line of her jaw, the hollow high of her cheek, and finally, the soft tip of her nose. All Clarke could hear was the rushing in her ears as she struggled to open her eyes; when she did, all she could see was Lexa, less than an inch away and closer than Clarke had ever been to her, her brow creased with something akin to desperation, her lips parted, rapid breaths puffing warm over Clarke’s lips.

She kissed her.

It was as easy and natural as anything else Clarke had ever done by instinct. As simple as breathing. She didn’t know who closed the gap, but one moment they were both breathing one another in and the next, their mouths were pressed together. Lexa was impossibly soft against her, warm, and Clarke realized all at once that she was wrong about breathing being easy before. She felt as though she had never breathed properly until this moment, which made little sense considering how much difficulty she was having sucking air into her lungs, but she would happily remain here like this, motionless, pressed into Lexa, propping herself up with one hand on Lexa’s knee and the other clenched tightly over Lexa’s fist, their mouths fixed perfectly together.

But all too soon, the need for air won out, and she and Lexa broke apart. They remained close for a while longer, ragged breaths mixing, foreheads resting together, until Clarke managed to force her eyes to open and she found Lexa already watching her with a particularly dark shade of green Clarke had only ever seen on a handful of occasions. She very nearly kissed her again, except then Lexa blinked, and blinked once more, before drawing back and putting space between them. She pulled her arm free from beneath Clarke’s grip as she hauled herself to her feet, bracing against the tree trunk when she swayed uneasily.

“We, um. We.” She cleared her throat, shaking her head as though to clear it. “We should probably head back, it— it will be dark soon.” The sun had yet to even set, but Clarke couldn’t find her voice. “We can, um. We can read more tomorrow.” She blinked; her face had gone from red to pale, drained of all color, and uneasiness curdled in the pit of Clarke’s stomach. She’s not quite sure what happened, except she’s squirming beneath the uncomfortable sensation that something that felt so right should have felt wrong, and there was perhaps wrong with Clarke for not knowing that. “If you...if you still want to, that is.”

The uncertain implication behind those words coupled with the terror in Lexa’s face as she said them had Clarke propelling to her feet. “Of course I want to.” She tilts her head, mouth suddenly dry as fear trickles through her— fear that they had ruined and destroyed everything. “Do you?”

“Of course,” Lexa said quickly, and it provided enough relief Clarke felt weak in the knees.

The relief was short-lived, however. They remained standing in silence thick enough one could not so much as cut it with a knife, and the longer they stood there, looking anywhere but at the other, the more Clarke burned. She shifted her weight on her legs, dazedly noting she’d never been lost under such tumultuous emotions, a verifiable maelstrom that crashed into her with all the strength and ferocity of ships wrecking into the rocks at Polaris Cove.

“We…” Clarke’s voice trailed away as dizziness flooded her again; she could scarcely believe what just happened. Despite the anxiety that was itching at the bottom of her spine, there was an exhilarating thrill thrumming like the wings of a hummingbird in her chest. She looked at her friend in an entirely new light, and realized the light wasn’t actually new at all.

“Naught happened,” said Lexa quickly, and Clarke blinked, jarred and taken aback. Her denial brought Clarke back to the ground with an abrupt jolt, for she had been at risk of surely floating right up off her toes and sailing clear into the very sky itself.

“Lexa…” she began helplessly, but Lexa shook her head at once.

“Don’t.”

“We kissed.” Saying the words aloud was frightening, but this was Lexa; this was her dearest friend, the person she trusted most in this whole entire world. A girl who was always so fearless, whom Clarke had once watched stand tall and proud against her father, jaw set and eyes blazing, despite the imminent belting she would undoubtedly receive as punishment for her failure to complete her chores in favor of accompanying Clarke and her mother to town. A girl Clarke had once spent a tense afternoon huddled in the kitchen with, tending to her bloody, bruised knuckles after a tussle with John Murphy, a low-born boy who had tried one too many times to pester Clarke by attempting to lift her skirts to display her shins for all the world to see—and another belting from her father lay waiting for her then, too, which was perhaps why she seemed so reluctant to leave Clarke’s care, watching her quietly as she’d bandaged her up with the clumsy hands of a child, and thanking her with a blush when Clarke gently kissed her knuckles to urge them to heal.

For as long as she’d ever known her, back when they were wee babes and Lexa’s wild mane of hair was nearly as big as her entire scrawny body, Lexa had been bold. So larger than life in her fierce spirit and unyielding confidence.

Yet now she stood before Clarke looking so shaky and willowy she appeared in danger of being knocked over by even the gentlest of breezes, and her eyes were filled with more trepidation than Clarke could ever have imagined her capable of feeling.

And Clarke was tempted for a moment, by guilt and her own fear, to follow Lexa’s initiative and let it go.

But her lips tingled and everything about that kiss was magic, and she knew if they didn’t discuss it now then they never would. And if there were one thing Clarke was known for, it was her mettlesome relentlessness.

“Stop.”

“We kissed,” Clarke persisted. Her entire body bloomed with warmth at the mere words. “It just happened, I can still feel you on my lips— how can you deny it?”

“Clarke, stop.” Clarke’s heart twisted into a hard, painful little knot, and she had never known such devastation as watching Lexa shake her head in dismissal. “You don’t—you don’t have to say anything. I understand.” There was a split second of blinding pain as those two little words sank in. Lexa understood? She understood but she didn’t feel the same way, she was rejecting— whatever this is? But then Lexa continued, “You were just…caught up in the book.” Clarke blinked, not connecting the words until Lexa lifted the thing in her hands, gave it this small, pitiful gesturing wave.

Lexa froze when Clarke gave an angry scoff before marching over to her and snatching the book right out of her hand. Lexa cried out in protest when Clarke promptly flung it away; it hit the tree trunk and fell with a final thud to the ground.

“The book, the book! I don’t care about the book! That wasn’t— that wasn’t why I kissed you.”

Lexa looked at her, struck dumb, her exquisite countenance a mixture of dread and heartbreaking hope that seemed so unfamiliar on her features yet the longer Clarke looked at it, the more she realized how often Lexa wore it when looking at her.

“I kissed you because every part of me has ached to for as long as I can remember,” Clarke said, voice hushed, her heart thrashing wildly and her hands trembling violently at her sides, desperate to reach for Lexa, who stood there shell-shocked. “I—I don’t know how this is possible, or what it means. All I know is that you are my favourite person, and the most beautiful girl I have ever seen, and I can’t take my eyes off you for fear you’ll disappear as I’ve imagined you up because you are so...you are so precious and perfect to me.” She swallowed hard and Lexa echoed it, green eyes wide and glossy and filled with fear and awe that Clarke was sure was reflected in her own. “And all I may do is pray that you can understand even a margin of all this I’m telling you. That you—that perhaps you kissed me back, and your own reasoning had little to do with the book as well.”

Silence, save for her heart pounding. Lexa took a shaky breath and exhaled it, once, twice, before swallowing again, and whispering, “I feel as if I can no longer remember a time when I did not want to kiss you.”

Warmth bled through the shock that stilled Clarke’s body, the relentless, fervish hope that wracked her spine. There was a time to worry about what all this meant, Clarke knew. A time to be struck with terror at how cruel life is, to love someone in the dark, forbidden, stuck in a world where they could be killed for it.

But right then, they stood in their meadow, the orchard just behind them. It was sunny and warm, a gentle breeze ruffling their hair. Lexa’s cheeks were pretty and pink and Clarke’s heart was so swollen she was sure it could burst.

Lexa took a deep breath, her eyes shining with that hope again, and Clarke felt it spread its own wings ever wider in her chest. “May I kiss you again?” asked Lexa, voice soft but hopeful.

Clarke bit her lip to curb her beaming smile, already tilting her face up expectantly. Just before their lips met, she paused, and Lexa’s brow knit in concern, previously half mast eyes lifting in renewed alarm. “For future reference, you can assume the answer to that question is always an unequivocal yes, so as to avoid wasting any unnecessary time asking me that, and skip right to the kissing.”

Lexa’s lips quirked in Clarke’s favorite crooked smile. “Is that truly preferable, my lady?”

“It truly is, my lady.”

Lexa’s eyes lowered again, dark, focused on Clarke’s mouth, and Clarke couldn’t help the way her own gaze drifted to lips she now knew were every bit as soft as they looked. “Then it will be done. As you know, I follow no one’s orders but your own.”

“Lexa.”

“Yes?”

“Please kiss me already.”

“As you wish.”

When their lips met again, it felt like coming home. Clarke shivered under the onslaught of emotions rushing through her, leaving her weak-kneed and trembling. And just when she thought it couldn’t get any better than this, Lexa’s mouth opened beneath her own.

Their tongues didn’t yet meet—Clarke was too shy to broach that far forward, and Lexa must have felt the same. But Clarke could still smell the fruit from the orchard on her breath, knew she would taste of it, burned to find out. But she didn’t. Couldn’t. Not yet.

Clarke had no idea what she was doing, but she seemed to be faring fairly well all things considered. She moved on instinct, her hands clutching Lexa’s forearms, fingers twisting into the fabric and gripping, pulling despite the fact that it was nigh impossible for them to be any closer than they were, hips aligned, breasts and stomachs flat together, so close she could feel the wild beat of Lexa’s heart keeping time against her own.

Their lips moved with a whisper of movement, languid and soft and slow. Though a part of Clarke was roaring, aching and urging her to drive recklessly forward, to tangle her hands into Lexa’s rich curls and kiss her with abandon, another part of her purred, content to remain here in this perfect bubble she never, ever wanted to leave. The gentle breeze stirred golden leaves from the tree and they floated down all around them; the birds sang a beautiful tune that wrapped around her heart. Lexa’s lips were soft and warm and Clarke had never known something so perfect could exist.

By the time they parted for air and Clarke opened her eyes again, the world around them was considerably darker. The sun was inching lower over the horizon, and the sky behind them, towards home, was as dark as the pupils focused on Clarke. Lexa’s eyes were wide and dark and luminous, and her hands no longer shook so violently as they squeezed around Clarke’s own. They stared at one another for a second longer before they each split into breathless, giddy grins, delirious with one another.

“You’re so beautiful,” Lexa whispered, and if Clarke did not blush at the words she most certainly did when Lexa reached up to tuck a curl of Clarke’s hair behind her ear. “There’s so much I want to tell you. So many thoughts I’ve kept to myself all this time.”

“I have the same plight but I fear there are not enough hours in the day,” confessed Clarke, grinning more broadly when Lexa gave a breathless laugh. She joined in a moment later, their sweet laughter echoing around the meadow, before they finally sobered, eyes shut and foreheads tipped together, gentle smiles curving their lips.

She could stay here forever. Truly, Clarke would be happy to. To forget about the lives that wait for them outside of this place, full of endless responsibilities Clarke didn’t even want to think about facing. One day she and Lexa both would move on from their duties of caring for their fathers and instead care for their eventual husbands and children. The thought moved Clarke to nausea, but she swiftly pushed it out of her mind. That is then, and this is now— and right now, Lexa was in her arms.

But the day was ending, dusk was approaching, and Clarke couldn’t bear it if Lexa was punished for being late.

“We need to return home,” Clarke sighed, wrenching the words free.

Lexa’s face crumpled with devastation, hanging her head and shutting her eyes as though she’d never heard such terrible news. Clarke hid her smile by kissing her again, chastely, resisting the urge to sink into it.

“You know we do. Your father already fears I am too much trouble for you, and you arriving home late again won’t help matters.”

Lexa still hadn’t opened her eyes, but her lips quirked as she tipped her forehead against Clarke’s, arms wrapping around her shoulders. “You are trouble for me, Clarke Griffin.”

Clarke hummed, loving the feel of being in Lexa’s arms. Loving the way it feels to have Lexa in her own, as she winds her arms around Lexa’s slim waist. “As if you don’t go looking for it on your own.”

“I would always go looking for you.”

The sincerity broke the teasing, and Clarke expelled a shaky sigh, her heart fluttering, tightening her arms to hold Lexa close. Lexa returned the embrace, the both of them burying their faces in one another’s neck and hair, breathing each other in.

And then, as all things do, their time had to come to an end.

Lexa gathered her book and took the hand Clarke held out for her. They made the whole journey back, some twenty minute walk, with their fingers entwined, walking in a comfortable silence filled with shy smiles and furtive glances.

By the time they emerged from the woods, the sun was nearly completely gone, dousing the world in shadows. They dropped one another’s hands and their smiles slipped away when they neared their houses. Titus’s carriage was pulled up the drive, and the house windows glowed from the lit lanterns.

Clarke’s heart sank as she turned to see Lexa’s grim face.

“We can lie. I can fake an injury, a limp, and we’ll say you helped me—”

“You know that doesn’t matter, Clarke.” Lexa’s shoulders were rigid and stiff, even as she sighed. “It’s nothing new. I’ll be fine.”

Clarke opened her mouth to protest, but before she could say anything, Lexa turned to fully face her, and Clarke’s mind went blank beneath Lexa’s full attention. She found it difficult to meet her eyes when her own kept dropping to Lexa’s full lips.

Lexa clearly noticed, if the way a corner of them quirked up was any indication.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said seriously, her voice low. She glanced over her shoulder, ensuring no one was around, before grasping Clarke’s hand and lifting it to her lips. Clarke smothered a quiet gasp, her heart thudding ever faster, and wished for nothing more than to push Lexa back against the wooden fence they stood beside and kiss her senseless. “We can go to the meadow and finish Carmilla, if you’d like.”

“Always,” Clarke answered, gaze still fixed on those damning lips. “Or,” she added, voice slipping into a lower octave, one that has Lexa’s grip on her hand automatically tightening, “perhaps we could find something else to do.”

She would happily have almost all of her company with Lexa be spent kissing, if she had it her way. By the brightening of Lexa’s eyes and consequent smile, she felt the same way, and that more than anything had elation soaring within Clarke. She half wondered if the moment Lexa stepped away, she truly would just float off into the sky.

“Goodnight, my lady,” whispered Lexa as she stepped back.

“Goodnight, Lexa.”

Clarke’s arm remained extended though she stayed standing where she was, loathe to lose contact with Lexa, but Lexa’s slender fingers moved across her palm, down her own fingers, and then skimmed over her fingertips, until there was naught but air and Clarke had no choice but to lamely drop her arm, watching, speechless and enamored, as Lexa walked backwards a few steps, maintaining intense eye contact before giving her one last soft smile and turning to enter her house.

#Clexa #Clarke x Lexa #Princess Commander #Clexa fic #Clexa drabble #Clexa fanfiction #Clexa first kiss #Clexa fanfic #Clarke/Lexa #Lexa #Clarke Griffin #I have 40k+ of this au so far #I'm waiting until it's complete before uploading it to ao3 #hope you enjoy #Her Echoes Within Me #HEWM

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

Note

I'm not immune to the fluff 💖

Hand-holding 32. not really paying attention, both doing something else, but still holding hands Touching 22. falling asleep on the other’s shoulder

AWWW YES! My fluff trap has worked! >:D

Some drabbles! Just for you, friend! <3

Their relationship was confusing for some. Well, most, if Fane was being honest, but he didn't really care what anyone else thought. Not many relationships in this day and age held a candle to what he and Solas had fostered, and that wasn't the fault of those who didn't understand. It was how the world was, and their relationship was complexity incarnate, so confusion was a typical reaction.

And many, many people didn't understand the concept of intimacy in sheer presence. Not all love was shown through acts of intercourse or raw carnal desire. Sometimes, it was as simple as an open palm and a small smile as two hands became as interlocked as a masterwork lock. Even better was when neither party thought of combining tumblers, the act instinctual, the purpose wanted in thought.

And that was very much what depicted their acts of intimacy.

"If I get one more letter from Halamshiral talking about my eyes, I will seriously gouge them out.", Fane growled as said eyes flitted across a piece of parchment; a letter in the most refined and disgusting filigree he had ever seen. He didn't get paid enough for this job.

"I would advise against self mutilation, vhenan.", Solas quipped from beside him, the two of them situated side by side as the mage's desk in the rotunda. His sky was currently reading his own text, but from the view of a small smirk and lax expression, it was far more calming than what Fane was currently having to deal with.

"Just try and stop me.", Fane said with a sneer before flicking the letter away unceremoniously, sighing. "What time is it, anyhow?" It felt late and he knew that because of how his marked hand felt numb and heavier than a dead weight, but also...warm?

"I am unsure.", Solas responded, throwing off his confusion from gentle heat. "The candle is worn down to about half, so I would hazard a guess and say close to midnight." The assessment even, concise, even as the voice that sounded them held the desire to sleep in its lilt.

Fane blinked. "Midnight?", he balked, the mage only letting out a hum in affirmation. "By anything that's holy, Solas, why didn't you--", he went to raise his left hand to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation, but found that it was...heavy? And again, warm? "What the..? Why are we holding hands?", the question slow as his gaze shot straight down to their loosely joined hands and then back up and then back down.

When had they interlocked?

Solas let out an airy chuckle, his head lulling to the side, eyes picking up from his book to give him a look that said, 'Truly?' before the hand adjoined to his own gave a light squeeze.

"Truthfully, I don't know the answer to that question.", Solas admitted, looking down at their joined hands, too with a small smile. "Perhaps it was merely instinctive. I find myself reaching for you without thinking.", more admittance falling like the freshest rain upon a warm brick.

"Do you now?", Fane teased as he looked back up to gaze into the only sky he would ever know from now until the end. Solas hummed, lifting his head back up, the same small smile still in place.

"I do.", he said without hesitation before something akin to shame flashed into blue and grey, blessed warmth beginning to unravel with his slightly larger appendage. "But I can stop if you--"

Fane shook his head, cutting Solas off. "Don't start with that.", he admonished, pulling the retreating hand back to entwine them tighter together before picking up the next letter in his small pile. "You can hold it for as long as you want, my sky.", he said before shifting his gaze away from slightly wide orbs. "...And you're not the only one who finds themselves reaching out. You beckon for the dragon above to land, and I yearn to draw the sky near. So, don't worry about making me uncomfortable because I'm anything but that."

Heat blazed across his cheeks as the words left his mouth, intensely screwing his eyes on the letter in his free hand, but not retaining any of the words. Damn it all! Why did he always get so flustered?! He was just saying the normal shit he always did! So, why did it--!

"Thank you, my dragon.", the words of gratitude sounding like a literal prayer as the voice that uttered them dropped to a reverent whisper, the hand around his reinforcing its grip around his own like molten silverite. "Thank you.."

Fane huffed out an amused breath of air, giving his molten encasing a reciprocating squeeze, further solidifying the bond between them.

"No, thank you. For everything."

****

The Emprise du Lion was cold, that much was a given, but wasn't so bad for Fane. Two layers of fur was more than enough to keep him comfortably warm. Anymore than that and he would melt, his inner core still inherently the same as the one he had possessed as a dragon.

However, others were far less fortunate. Namely, a creature, that for all intents and purposes, should have insulated fur of their own.

"Cold?", Fane asked plainly as he meandered his way over to where Solas was sitting on the log by the fire of the Inquisition's latest reclaimed camp, face calm, but a light shudder through strong, but slender shoulders betrayed the true state of his sky.

"Not terribly.", Solas responded easily, but subtly tried to shift his furs around so as not to make Fane aware. Sadly, keen observational skills and a pinpointing nature were his aces in this particular deck of veiled strength.

"You're cold.", Fane stated matter of fact, stretching one long leg over the log to plop down next to his sky, chuckling a bit when a lightly shivering form instinctively leaned into his own, seeking warmth. "How you think you can hide shit from me is a mystery."

Solas chuckled, actively resting his head against one of his fur pauldrons with a quiet, but content sigh. Fane only rolled his eyes, smirking. For an elf that prided himself on keeping a poised and reserved demeanor, he sure did crumble when around him. Though, that was exactly what Fane sought every time he and Solas managed to get some time alone.

"Old habits are hard to kill, ma'isenatha. Ir abelas.", Solas murmured from where he was nestled on his shoulder, the sun setting in sky-like orbs as they shut, blocking out the orange glow from the fire before them. "It is simply more frigid than I expected."

"I imagine for you, it is.", Fane murmured back, rolling his head to the side to rest it against the top of Solas', who let out another, more tired sigh in response. "Tired, too?" It was a foolish question, he knew, but he was trying to use his voice more. Even if to state the obvious.

Solas nodded a bit. "The red lyrium is especially potent here. It makes it hard to concentrate, thus I expend more energy pulling magic through the Veil.", he explained, no longer shivering form coming closer to where their knees were touching. Fane didn't even flinch, the layers of his armor and cloak making his scars blessedly numb.

"Then sleep.", Fane ordered softly, lightly nuzzling his cheek against the mage's head. "I've been asking a lot of you these last two months, so rest. I'll take first watch." He wasn't going to be sleeping anytime soon, anyways. The red lyrium was causing him issues as well. Murmurs in the back of his mind, and echoes of blackness with crimson lights in the distance making it hard to keep his rage in check.

"No, that is unfair on--", Solas began to protest, as per usual, but Fane silenced him with a growl and with a jerk of his arm, fluttering out his cloak to wrap it around his stubborn wolf. The reaction was instantaneous as the mage practically melted into his side with a truly exhausted sigh.

"Go to sleep, you old fool.", Fane said, leaning down a bit to lay a light kiss to a lax temple. "I'm fine. The cold doesn't bother me, and neither does less than two hours of sleep. So, relax and dream." Solas needed the rest more than he did, and he would grant him that.

The mage sighed. "I do wish you would stop calling me that.", the words slurred with approaching sleep, but still held gentle teasing in silk.

Fane shrugged, lightly so as not to jostle Solas too much. "I state what I know.", he said. "And you're old."

"You are older than I.", his sky replied, inching closer and closer to the Fade as his form leaned into him more, the cheek buried in his fur going lax as usually calm breathing slowed even more. Fane smiled a bit at that, bringing his emerald cloak in more to shield his wolf from soft gusts of chilly air.

"Only by about two thousand years. Give or take.", he quipped quietly before laying another soft kiss to Solas' temple. "Now, shut up for once, and sleep. You can glare and raise your eyebrow at me later." Solas only let out a noncommittal hum at his words before Fane saw his face go completely lax, sleep wrapping around a tenacious mind like how his cloak was his physical body.

Fane smile a bit more. "Sleep well, my sky.", he whispered in a voice he only reserved for the one of utmost devotion. "Ar lath ma.", unusual Elvhen rolling from his tongue as he repositioned his head to lightly rest it against the top of Solas' again.

And sadly, he missed the tender smile that rarely graced a stoic face, his words reaching far past the boundaries of the Veil, the Fade, and perhaps, even the Void. The sky would rest in the wings of a dragon. No matter where their mind would take them for their heart, their soul, knew what the mind sometimes did not.

#drabbles!#why do i write so easily like this?!#it comes so easily when i do it through asks! AHH!#i give you two because i had two ideas! X3 #thank you so much! this was a ton of fun! <3 #solavellan #solas #oc: fane lavellan #dragon age #these two give me so much life #take that canon! >:D #my writing #writing #asks

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keichanz · 4 years

Text

Sneak

hey @heavenin--hell remember when i said i wanted to write something about that cute Inukag fanart you drew?

welp. i did the thing ;lajdfajfadjkfaldalf

came out a little longer than intended (big shocker there i know pfftt) no seriously i wanted to keep this short and sweet without so much detail in between, but then my stupid brain went “oh Idea™” and then this happened. whoops.

anyway i hope you enjoy this little ditty that your amazing fanart inspired! <3 i love your art so much please never stop i will cry if you do okay not really but still it’s awesome lol

unedited because it’s late and i’m lazy.

“Inuyasha, dinner’s ready!”

Satisfied the hanyou would heed her call and come running at the promise of food, a smiling Kagome ducked back inside her little hut and bustled about, cleaning up a bit of the clutter and retrieving some dishes for their meal as she waited for her ever constant companion. She was confident he would hear her wherever he was in the village, although she suspected he wasn’t that far away. It was something she’d learned earlier on after her return; Inuyasha was never too far away, and though he may be out of sight, she knew he was reluctant to put much distance between them, and she felt the same exact way.

Setting the wooden serving tray on the floor before the fire, a beautiful housewarming gift from Miroku and Sango when she’d officially “moved in” into the hut that had previously belonged to a now deceased elderly man, Kagome sat back and stared thoughtfully into the fire, still smiling as she took a moment to think back on all that had happened since her return nearly four months ago.

Never in all of her life could Kagome have ever possibly imagined she’d be as happy as she was right now without any of the modern conveniences she’d grown up with. If someone had told her before she’d fallen down the well on her fifteenth birthday that three years from now she’d be living with no hot water or plumbing and call it paradise, she’d think them gone completely daft. Someone like her? Whose favorite pastime was taking hot baths living without hot water and being happy about it? Get real!

But then, as fate would hate it, funnily enough this was her paradise. Breathing in the fresh, clean open air, having her friends that were as close as family here with her, and sharing it all with the man she loved. It all sounded too good to be true, and sometimes Kagome did wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, fearing that her nightmares were a reality and she was still trapped in the darkness, never to see her friends or Inuyasha again.

But then strong arms, familiar arms, surrounded her in a comforting embrace as a low voice rumbled assurances in her ear and she was able to breathe once more as blessed reality came rushing back. She’d cling to him, crying her relief, and he’d hold her tight, whispering to her, telling her everything was alright much as he had her first day back.

It was a day Kagome often thought back on with a fond smile, because not only was it the point in which her life changed forever, but it was also when she realized her hanyou wasn’t the same stubborn, temperamental boy she’d involuntary left behind three years ago. They’d all be in Kaede’s hut, celebrating her return and swapping stories of how their lives have gone thus far when, her emotions finally catching up to her, Kagome had without any warning completely broken down. Her entire body had shaken with heart wrenching sobs, her face was wet with endless tears, and no matter how hard she’d tried, she couldn’t stop.

Her relief had been so intense, her joy of being reunited with those she loved most was so great, so incredibly strong she’d been unable to contain it and it had overflowed in the form of relentless crying. She’d been unable to answer Miroku and Sango’s concerned questions, only managing a stuttered apology, but then, surprising everyone in the room, Inuyasha had wordlessly stood up, settled himself beside her, and then scooped her up into his arms before cradling her in his lap, holding her as she broke apart.

Kagome had clung to him desperately, not even bothering to question his very uncharacteristic display of affection. When she’d calmed down enough where she wasn’t a total mess, she’d turned around, held out her arms to the friends that she’d missed so much, and for the next few minutes the five of them had simply held one another, rejoicing in their loved one’s permanent return.

And then the twins, wanting in on all the affection too, had joined in, Kagome laughed, and the atmosphere considerably lightened. She’d gotten introduced to Miroku and Sango’s children then, immediately bonding and falling in love with them, and they’d been able to fall back into conversation like she’d never even left, comfortable, easy, familiar.

The entire time she’d remained seated in Inuyasha’s lap with his arms draped loosely around her and they’d looked so happy no one had the thought to tease them about it.

Kagome blushed, remembering how she’d slept through the night in his arms. She was extremely pleased to say that their relationship had grown by leaps and bounds and while neither of them had truly confessed their feelings yet, they were no stranger to physical intimacy. It wasn’t anything serious yet – just mainly hugging and a few chaste kisses here and there – but Kagome was happy with where things stood between them. There was no rush, after all; she was here to stay and they had all the time in the world now that they didn’t have some great evil looming above their heads twenty-four seven.

Her blush deepened and despite herself a giggle erupted from her mouth before she could stifle it. Well, she wasn’t in a rush at least. While Inuyasha hadn’t pushed her for anything or even hinted that he wanted more, he had been the one to kiss her first, just a few short days after her return. It had been slow, gentle, incredibly sweet, and he’d simply held her afterward, claiming that he’d wasted enough time with her before being an immature, emotionally stunted asshole – his words, not hers, and her laugh had made him grin – and he didn’t want to wait anymore to show her he wanted to be with her.

Kagome had been able to do nothing but drag him in for another kiss but he’d heard her message loud and clear. Ever since then, every once in a while Kagome was able to surprise him by brushing a soft kiss to his lips, but more often than not it was that devilish man that liked to catch her off guard by sweeping her into a kiss without warning and she knew he only did it because he thought the heavily blushing and flustered state he left her in was funny as hell.

Despite this, however, and even though she did often chase the cackling hanyou through the village while shouting various threats of dismemberment, she never asked him to stop.

She did have to admit, however, with that familiar fluttering sensation in her tummy, that it was getting increasingly more difficult to resist the urge to either crawl into his lap at night, or ask him to join her in bed. Not because she wanted to tempt him or take their relationship to the next level, but because she wanted him to hold her as she fell asleep, to be surrounded by his warmth in the hopes that perhaps he would be able to chase the nightmares away.

Kagome suddenly bit her lip in thought and glanced toward the futon, her flush deepening at the direction her thoughts had inadvertently taken, however the small smile that curved her mouth was cautiously hopeful. Maybe…maybe it was time she finally stopped pussyfooting around her feelings and asked him to join her. Hell, maybe she’d even do it tonight. He practically lived here anyway; it’s where he ate, slept, and Kagome didn’t want him to feel like he had to sit sleeping against the wall in his own home when the futon was plenty big enough for both of them—a generous gift from Kaede who’d handed it over with a knowing smile that Kagome hadn’t understood at the time.

Now, though… Kagome sighed and shook her head with a chuckle. The old woman always had been rather perceptive and rather sly, to boot. She sent a silent word of thanks to her dear friend, her decision made. Yes, this was their home, Kagome loved it, and though he occasionally complained that it smelled like old man, she knew he liked it, too.

A giddy sense of excitement welled up inside her and Kagome released a few girlish giggles, allowing herself just a brief moment ridiculousness as she squirmed about where she sat, her face flushed, but her smile bright. She was fairly certain Inuyasha would agree; even if he hadn’t said it in so many words, she knew he cared for her – perhaps even loved her – and really, it wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before, except only this time it wouldn’t be because he was comforting her from another nightmare.

Kagome sighed wistfully, then frowned, gaze swinging toward the door. Speaking of which, where was that man? He should have been here by now.

Getting to her feet, she ambled over to the door and swept aside the reed mat. “Inuyasha? Dinner’s ready.” A pause. “Inuyasha?”

When still she heard nothing but the gentle breeze rustling the trees and saw neither hide nor hair of her hanyou, Kagome sighed and ventured out to go find him. It was possible he was taking a quick dunk in the river to wash off the dirt and sweat of the day, or he could be entertaining the twins at Miroku and Sango’s. He had a soft spot for those girls and they adored him in return, and watching them interact never failed to bring a smile to her face.

Kagome smiled and absentmindedly put a hand over her stomach, biting her lip as she imagined it round with their child. Though it was true she was in no rush in terms of their relationship, she would like to get there someday, and she hoped Inuyasha felt similarly. Of course, knowing her hanyou like she did, she also understood it could be a very long time until he felt ready enough to cross that step, but she was content to wait for however long he needed.

She just really hoped he wouldn’t make her wait too long.

Inwardly snorting but with a little smile curling her lips, Kagome started towards their friends’ house – even if he wasn’t there, they might have a clue as to where he is – however, she’d only taken just a few steps before she spotted the very person she’d been intent on searching for.

Cradled in the roots of his favorite lounging tree, relaxed and utterly dead to the world, Inuyasha hadn’t heard her because he was indulging in one of his recent favorite pastimes, hands behind his head and even snoring lightly. The damp hair and open kosode and suikan suggested he had indeed taken a brief dip into the river before deciding to take a nap and Kagome crept a little closer, being careful not to wake him.

Her expression softened and she knelt down, crossing her arms over her bent knees as she regarded him with a loving smile. If someone had told her three years ago that Inuyasha was napping somewhere, completely oblivious to everything, she wouldn’t have believed them. She’d known him to always be restless with pent up energy, unable to sit down and do nothing while Naraku was still out there destroying lives and collecting Shikon jewel shards. So to see him like this now, so peaceful and without a worry in the world, it was truly refreshing and a sight to savor.

She couldn’t really blame him for developing a fondness for naps. Before they had never had any time to just sit down and rest, to kick back and relax because there had always been a new enemy to fight, a shard to find and purify, and napping was damned near impossible when there was a despicably evil demon constantly looming over their heads, power hungry and hell bent on their destruction.

But now that Naraku was gone, they didn’t have to worry about any of that. They could finally just breathe, take naps, sit down and smell the damn roses and hell, have a freaking cup of tea while they were at it. The point was, they had the time now, and Kagome didn’t blame Inuyasha one bit for taking advantage of it when he could.

As a matter of fact, it was awfully temping to join him in peaceful slumber, to snuggle up against him and doze off for a while, but dinner was over the fire at home and she didn’t want it to spoil. She bit her lip as she stared at him, tilting her head to the side in thought, and then smiled.

She knew exactly how to wake him. She didn’t get this rare opportunity often and she didn’t want it to go to waste.

Fighting back the urge to giggle as she oh so slowly inched closer, Kagome managed to prop herself up over him without, miracle of miracles, waking him up and she was smiling broadly now as he hovered her face above his own. He slept on, none the wiser, and biting down on her lip to stifle a giggle that welled up, Kagome started to lean down—

It happened so fast Kagome couldn’t even draw in the breath to gasp. One second she was leaning in to wake him up via tender kiss, and the next Inuyasha had captured her mouth in a heated kiss that had her toes curling and something warm to pool in the pit of her belly. This kiss was different from all the others they’d shared; this one was slow, languid, and incredibly hot, his tongue slipping past her parted lips for a deeper, more thorough taste.

Then suddenly it was over as quickly as it had begun and Inuyasha lied back, his eyes still closed, but the smirk that curved his mouth upward as she sputtered and blushed above him was all kinds of satisfied male arrogance.

With an inarticulate noise of flustered embarrassment echoing in her throat, Kagome flopped down against him and buried her hot face in his shoulder as he chuckled beneath her.

“It was a good try, Kagome,” he rumbled, his smirk widening at her muffled shut up. “I heard you leaving our home and coming this way, but…”

“Shut up,” Kagome repeated in a peevish mutter and weakly slapped his chest, wondering if her burning face would ever return back to normal. Probably not.

“Ten outta ten effort,” Inuyasha continued and laughed at Kagome’s audible groan. “I already told you, wench.” He turned his head and he felt her shiver as he growled in her ear.

“You can’t sneak up on me.”

did you like what you read? please consider buying me a coffee to support me! c:

#sneak #inukag #inuyasha #kagome #fanfiction #heavenin--hell #keizfanfiction #oneshot #inspired by fanart #because i just love so much aaaaa

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izukyu · 4 years

Text

home & warmth.

requested by @katsuki-bakugous-lady, sorry for the long wait! tagging @brattyquirks bc ily!

pairing - shouto todoroki x reader.

word count - 960.

warnings - manga spoilers.

summary - sometimes home isn’t just a place, sometimes warmth doesn’t have to do with temperature, and sometimes introductions seem scarier than they truly are.

for the first time since he could remember, the house was cold.

although it was true the house was new and quite different from the one he’d grown up in, shouto still felt uneasy as he walked through the corridors without feeling an overwhelming heat lurking behind his back. the very few family pictures fuyumi managed to salvage decorated the walls, giving the place an oddly domestic touch. something he, admittedly, had never experienced before.

nevertheless, it felt right—welcoming, even. the house might have been cold, but shouto’s heart slowly warmed up with each second he spent inside his new home away from school.

“natsu, you’re bringing your girlfriend over tomorrow night, right?” the soft sizzling of the stove did little to muffle his brother’s nervous sputtering, which only seemed to amuse both fuyumi and rei even further.

“yeah, but it was supposed to be a surprise,” natsuo mumbled, sighing in defeat as his mother chuckled. “but i’ve been doing my research, and I’m actually surprised shoto hasn’t said anything about tomorrow yet.”

shouto’s soft grin slowly turned upside down, confusion evident in his eyes, “what is that supposed to mean?”

fuyumi, without missing a beat, only spared him a sly gance, “you might be good at keeping secrets, but your two friends sure aren’t! poor midoriya let it slip that you’re seeing someone.”

there was a brief pause as shouto slurped his soba quietly. it wasn’t necessarily a secret, though it wasn’t something he planned on revealing just yet either. unsurprisingly, his forte had never been keeping in touch with his emotions, or sharing details about his personal life. for shouto, that was still quite a learning curve.

however, something about the naturality of the current situation made it easy for him to open the door to his heart.

“we’ve been together for over a year,” shouto hummed, “i guess i haven’t had time to introduce them to you.”

clearly not expecting the lack of secrecy after being caught, natsuo and fuyumi were taken aback. witnessing the rare occurence of their little brother opening up was certainly touching, making the cold house just a little bit warmer.

surprisingly, it was rei who spoke next, her kind eyes resting on shouto, “will they come for dinner tomorrow as well?”

although his expression didn’t quite convey the same emotions, shouto could almost imagine the lightbulb going off inside his head. all those hours he had spent questioning his own sanity and why there seemed to be something amiss inside the house suddenly made sense. something missing.

of course, when talking about his loved ones, you were the only one missing.

“i’ll make sure to ask them.”

“sho, are you sure about this? i don’t want to intrude, and this was all on a pretty short notice,” with the door to his house just a few meters away from you, all the worries shouto had tried his best to dispel started to resurface once again.

“yes, i’m very sure about this,” he started, squeezing your hand as he rang the doorbell, “this is new for me too, and i apologize if i didn’t give you enough time to prepare, but there’s no one else i would want in your place.”

both the weight of his jacket on your shoulders and his soft smile did wonders to chase away your stray thoughts. or at least enough to not scramble as soon as his mother opened the door.

“you must be (Y/N),” being able to see the resemblance between your boyfriend and rei was a new sensation. entrancing, yet daunting. bittersweet.

“we’re sorry for the delay,” shouto jumped into action as soon as he noticed your lost stare, “are natsuo and fuyumi inside?-”

“i’ve heard so much about you,” you muttered, pushing past the urge to flee or curl up into a ball for both of your sakes. “it’s, uhm, really great to finally meet you.”

perhaps it was an unspoken type of bond shouto had yet to grasp, but when rei moved to hold your shaking hands, all evident nervousness in your eyes started to filter out of you. shouto could only watch with amazement as his mother reassured you without words.

in spite of everything the world had thrown at her, rei’s heart remained kind.

“the pleasure is all mine.”

with each star that emerged up in the sky, the anxiety that came with meeting shouto’s family eased into a more pleasant feeling. each taste of fuyumi and natsuo’s cooking held a certain tinge of intimacy and familiarity. each silent giggle you shared with natsuo’s girlfriend as the siblings got into a playful quarrel was subtle, yet uplifting.

above all, being by shouto’s side and getting to enjoy the evening, laughter and embarrassment included, was heart-warming.

it made you feel welcome.

“please promise me you’ll visit again!” fuyumi giggled, standing by the front door as you and shouto bundled up to return to your dorms. “you’re always welcome here.”

shouto’s gaze landed on you, gently squeezing your hand as he awaited for your response.

“we most definitely will,” you started, moving to embrace fuyumi in one last hug, “i promise.”

all while squeezing you tightly, fuyumi beckoned for her little brother to join in on the hug. without another word, shouto came closer, wrapping his arms around both your frame and fuyumi’s.

“thank you for visiting, mom really enjoyed herself.”

shouto sighed almost dreamily, his eyes closed, “me too.”

and as he walked out of the house, hand linked with yours, and a smile on his face, shouto came to realize the frosty atmosphere inside had steadily melted, leaving behind an intense warmth. not the burning he knew as a child, rather, a gentle heat.

the right type of warmth.

★ - peep through my works.

★ - got a request?

★ - wanna be tagged in my stuff?

#bnha x reader #todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #shoto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #mha x reader #this request is like 3 months old omg im so sorry

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cultureisdarkbeer · 4 years

Text

Falling is Complete!

Covering Seasons 4-7

In Milagro, we hear that "Agent Scully is already in love". So the question becomes, When did she fall in love? When was that "one day you look at the person and you see something more than you did the night before. Like a switch has been flicked somewhere". When did that moment occur for Dana Scully? This is that story.

Read it here

*New*

Chapter35

The weekend’s journey had Scully twisting and turning like a Chubby Checker song. It sent her not only back through her life, but down each wrong choice road, like parallel dimensions heard through the chimes of fate. Dreams as soon as a year ago now were irrelevant and obscure. The path she chose led her here on this couch. Turning away all her past lives, opening herself up to the unimaginable, beyond science, beyond religion, to hear the call of a voice, the one she chose to follow, that chose to follow her right back.

She felt her body become weightless as he lifted her from the couch, with gentle strong arms, he pulled her close to his body, it’s warmth, igniting a glow within her. Her eyes fluttered open as he lowered her onto the bed. “Where are you going?” Scully asked sleepily.

“I’m sleeping on the couch,” he said, tucking the blanket back around her.

“You can stay,” then quickly added, “it’s your bed.”

“It’s okay Scully, get your rest,” he stated firmly, squeezing her hand. She held onto it, refusing to let it go as he started to walk away.

“Hold me?” she asked meekly.

Her vulnerability made him pause. “Yeah. yeah, I can do that.”

He walked around the bed and got in under the covers. She butted her back up against him as he wrapped his arms tightly around her.

“You heard, they’re doing a full financial audit of the FBI,” Scully said. “They’ll be looking to make cuts.”

“If the powers that be have their way, the x-files will be on the chopping block,” Mulder concluded, rocking her gently, nuzzling her hair.

“Then what?” Scully persisted.

“We continue to search for the truth,” he replied.

Scully breathed out a chuckle, then took comfort in his embrace. Too much had been left unspoken. “Why does being closer feel like it’s taking us further apart?”

Mulder drew her in, closing the small gaps between them. “Maybe because we’re trying to hide in glass houses.”

She nodded and felt him squeeze her tighter. It was a comfort.

He whispered into the shell of her ear, “We’ve had a lot to make peace with Scully.”

Scully spoke in cautious tones. “What if you meet someone, what if you decide later that you want to have kids?”

She felt his body stiffen around her at the question. “You could do the same. There are other ways,” he answered tenderly. “If you want children, what’s stopping you?”

“The consequences of my choices?”

Mulder sighed. “I’d like to think we’ve made peace with those..”

“And the X-files?” Scully persisted, rotating in his arms so she could look into his eyes.

“You’re asking me to make a choice?”

“No, I..” she stumbled.

“Scully,” he replied softly, caressing her cheek with his thumb. “I choose you.”

Her walls melted inside his gaze. “Every choice I’ve ever made, has led me to this moment. You and I. Right here.”

“That leaves another choice to make.”

Scully passed him a wry grin. “I’ve made my choice.”

Scully closed her eyes knowing the next time they opened they would be staring into the only man she could ever imagine herself with. His lips pressed and slid against hers, warm and wet, with the grace of a trained dancer and the power of his 9 mm pistol. The removal of their clothing was clunky in their haste, forcing her to clutch his shoulder as a counterbalance. Gripping her tight, he steadied her feet. Scully’s cheeks heated when she was able to meet his eyes again. Not because of embarrassment, she would never feel that way in front of Mulder, but because of how real the moment was, the strength at its core -with honesty and purity- they would rebuild.

His eyes held that same gentle fire and connection they felt the first time they ever laughed in the rain. The soft warm glow of copper’s flame burning hazel through his irises. It’s embers igniting her heart and she knew it was time she spoke the truth aloud.

He was hers, and just as importantly, she was his. The words were on the tip of her tongue, dying to be spoken into existence. She wanted it roared into the night, well perhaps whispered in his ear, or murmured on his skin.

She chose to speak directly into his eyes. “I’m in love with you, Fox Mulder.” Her words filled with the passionate intensity of countless gamma rays bursting through the universe. And it was all for one man. Inside her arms she felt the current of her words coarse through his body. “Scully,” he released in breathy affection, the words were with the same vulnerability as when he came to her when his father was shot. “I’m yours.”

The countless hours she had stared at his lips, the way they pursed at her challenges, or curled in disgust at her autopsies, the lower jutting out slightly when he rocked his mandible forward with passion. She knew every line of those lips and every curve the way she knew the shape of her own bathtub and stain in her coffee cup. She sucked the lower one into her mouth just to feel the desire exhaled from his lungs. His tongue reached for hers and she met it with fervor, intertwining with the strength of the divine threads of space and time.

Mulder covered her body as he rolled on top. She felt safe, much the way she did as he protected her years ago from the bullets in Milford Haven. Feet and wrist bound in the gymnasium showers he had braced to give his life for her at the end of a shotgun.

He smiled at her like he was reading her thoughts and she kissed him softly, his hand tangling in hers with the same motion as when he hugged her in an empty hospital hallway, giving her promise and support that she would carry on even with her cancer sentence. Mulder had resurrected her with a chip, the one buried at the base of her neck. She wasn’t a slave to it, instead one of the many symbols of his devotion. Those thoughts caused her hand to skim the scar of her consecration inside his shoulder.

Kissing and mingling with the others’ breath, her legs naturally wrapped around his torso. Skin to skin, mouth to mouth, but they were also connected in an entirely different way. They didn’t need to invade each other’s mind, they melded, their bodies flowing together, skin hot and sensitive to every touch. The passion, the need she felt, went beyond eternity. Their entire life together felt like foreplay- every time they shared a laugh, every time he cradled her in his warm embrace, or interlocked their fingers, or just stood in each other’s presence.

Grateful he didn’t prolong the sweet torture, he aligned himself and carefully pushed inside, heavy and thick, connecting on a level they had only known with the other. For long minutes, they kissed and reveled in their feelings, in the waves of sensations hitting them as he moved inside her. It was a soft and reverent kind of sharing. The type of intimacy that at one time would have made her push away to preserve her independence.. Make her skin crawl. But it didn’t with him. Possibly because his response would have been to wait until she was ready. Instead, she relished the contact, something had changed inside of her, somewhat like Mulder’s prediction as they stared at a cocoon in a tree.

Not a weakness, but a strength, she felt safe when they were like this, like nothing could ever harm them. His darkness blanketing her with comfort. Their love born from shadows.

Scully’s insides hugged him tight and they released a groan of acknowledgement. He was intrinsically home. Their pace was slow, considerate. Mulder paused and kissed her gently, his right index stroking her forehead in reverence, reminiscent of when he spoke his condolences about her father or their first case after her abduction.

Their movements were fluid and quick, languid and vividly profound. Any pieces of walls left inside her, he had shattered, saving her, the same way he battered the window to save her from a psychotic man.

She chose the path with him not from fate or destiny, not out of desperation or visions, but out of friendship, out of respect, out of devotion. Love, unadulterated and complete.

His head fell to her neck and she felt every inch of him seeping pleasure into her core and out into the galaxy. He filled her as they burst together, points of light streaming, fusing and branding them, reaching out into the heavens, creating a miracle, a mosaic of the love she no longer gave with reservation, the emergence of existence.

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Artwork By: @ms31x129

Special thanks to the following people:

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chrysalispen · 4 years

Text

the smile that you gave me

A gift I wrote for a valentine’s day exchange in my writing discord <3

===

The night sky.

Constellations you know all too well from your own astrology lessons, as viewed through the ornate windows, brace the scintillating spires of the Tower like sprays of diamonds upon black satin. You would never have thought to be so enamored of something so mundane. For a land so nearly swallowed by eternal Light, the return of healing darkness is like a balm over its extensive wounds.

You’re sitting at a small balcony table watching the comings and goings of Crystarium folk (although the pace of their activity is decidedly more sedentary this time of the evening) and enjoying the sight from your vantage point. Across the table sits a familiar face, one that appears curiously unchanged by the passage of time- at least at a glance. There is a careworn look about him that even his physical form, languishing a world away, did not seem to have when last you glimpsed it.

Thancred, your oldest and dearest friend - more than your friend - with whom, in a sense, you have been truly reunited at last. You could think of no one else with whom you’d rather share a quiet evening, and so- here you are.

But he looks… ill at ease, you note. Nervous, in fact, and ever so slightly awkward the more he attempts to mask his anxiety.

Initially naught more than part and parcel of your penchant for casual observation - honed over what has become years of habit - the thought is so jarring that it nearly brings you to a dead stop mid-conversation. Surely not, you think at first. Surely just a flight of fancy, but the fine thread of a tremor you first detected in his voice has not passed. It lingers even within the casual meandering of inconsequential small talk, and you find yourself taken aback for a slight handful of seconds when you realize that you are the cause.

You remember your first meeting with this man - a chance encounter beneath the Sultantree - and his gentle but constant prodding to get you to (eventually) knock upon the door of the Waking Sands. You recall plenty of other things too: his easy smile, his confidence, his wry humor, the friendliness laced with the obvious interest that he barely bothered to hide as his dark brown gaze swept you from tip to toe.

Thancred, nervous? Around you?

But the thought, once it has crossed your mind, won’t leave you, so even as you smile and laugh you find yourself searching for other context clues. His hand rests a few ilms away from the small box of chocolates he’d brought along, but it keeps drifting towards the empty space between the edge of the table and his knee. That, you realize, is the place where his gunblade would normally sit braced against a table leg or an empty chair. No doubt all the better for him to be ready at a moment’s notice, in case of a sin eater attack.

Or even some other, older call to arms: be they Garleans or primals. Old habits die hard.

Musing upon this for a moment or so, your own gaze trailing back to the stiffness in his limbs, and understanding dawns upon you. What with the rather hasty nature of your own arrival, you hadn't really realized how isolated Thancred has been, in part because of the strange way time flows across the Rift. Truth be told, even were it not for that, it just hasn’t felt as though there’s been time for what has at times seemed a rather frivolous pursuit in the great scheme of things. Norvrandt has been in a state of emergency for so long that the chance to slow down and take a breath, take any personal moments for yourselves, let alone time for prolonged intimacy, is both exhilarating and intimidating.

You can only imagine how he must feel. As time is reckoned in the First, it's been five years since he arrived, after all- and he’s been alone for a great deal of that time. All the smooth words and playful rejoinders that used to flow as easily from his lips as water in a mountain spring probably feel farther away than ever.

Perhaps somewhat on impulse, you reach across the table, ignoring your half-finished dinner, and cover his hand with yours. It’s warm and its weight is comforting, his skin ever so slightly rough to the touch.

The gesture catches his attention, those soft brown eyes flaring just slightly, giving you for the moment the impression of a startled doe- not that he is anything so innocent. You chuckle to yourself aloud at the imagery, and beneath your light and encouraging touch you feel some of that tension flow out of him.

“Did I say something?” he asks. His grin is warm. It’s still not what it used to be; it lacks the cocksure edge that you remember from your early adventuring days. But maybe that isn’t such a bad thing.

“No. I was just thinking,” you choose your words carefully, not cynically but with the desire to put recent events aside for the nonce, “how very handsome you look tonight.”

He rewards you with a blush at the tips of his ears, one that is surprising and most becoming. You can’t help a soft laugh, one which he answers in kind, his dark eyes twinkling-

-and ah, you think, there it is. The mischief that you remember. It hasn’t left him entirely, not yet.

Absent the others, or any present and immediate dangers to overcome, Thancred seems more like his old self, and you cannot but wonder if it’s at least in part due to your presence. You would like to think so.

You relax at last, then, and so does he. The evening proceeds apace with wine and long conversation as the two of you, in a sort of subconscious and mutual accord, discuss everything except Scions business- and little by little you find that you have yourself fallen into old (and very comfortable) habits.

Opportunity presents itself in due course: he takes your arm and asks with a certain cheekiness if he might walk you home. You agree, with a flutter of anticipation settling low in your belly.

You had been hoping it might come to this, after all.

~*~

You had heard once upon a time, an anomaly amongst the many rumors garnered from eavesdropping, that Thancred could hold his breath for upwards of ten minutes.

It had seemed improbable, to say the least, so naturally you had to ask him if it was true. With a wide and decidedly devious smile that spoke of pure sin, he had said he might be willing to indulge your curiosity. It was your turn to flush, then, as you realized why that was a rumor in the first place. Certainly it had naught to do with swimming (as you’d rather innocently assumed, at first).

But you were not without certain skills of your own - so you had countered, with a smirk and a remark to that effect. That was the first night you had him, and he had made good on his word. Then, and many times since.

After all that’s transpired in the last five weeks, it might as well have been five years in truth, upon Source and shard alike. But perhaps that is immaterial, for you have him again at last: pinned against the mattress of your well-appointed guest bed in the Pennants, his fine dress shirt still on but half-unbuttoned. You can feel your smile as you kiss him, pressed sweetly against lips that are still as soft and supple as you remember.

His hands rest upon your thighs, still clad in the new leggings you’d purchased for this occasion, and the warmth of them radiates through the thin fabric. It’s passing strange to you, feeling such mortal warmth from a body that is technically little more than a projection - not unlike the Ascians against whom you and your companions have battled for so long.

But the man beneath you still casts his thoughts elsewhere, even while he lies in your bed. You can see his interest in lightly flushed cheeks and dark eyes perhaps slightly wider than usual, but you can also sense his hypervigilance, that readiness to spring into action, and you pause to ask if aught is amiss.

His snowy brows lift and you watch a parade of emotions make their way across his handsome face. Surprise, followed by guilt, followed by that smile flickering back to life like embers that have not quite cooled- but this time the tilt of it is lopsided. Self-deprecating. Sheepish.

“I should have known you would notice,” he says, and you murmur your agreement, trailing the path of your lips to the corners of his mouth as if to capture the words with your tongue. You sense he has more to say so you withdraw, only an ilm or two, enough to give him space. “It’s- … so much time has passed. For me, that is. I-”

Whatever he had meant to say trails off in a frustrated sigh. You sit up and he props himself up on his elbows in turn, to study you. Regret for time gone and time wasted lurks in the darkness of his eyes, ghosts that you know all too well. They rest uneasy when they rest at all.

You say nothing, only wait.

“... Five years. And I’ve thought of almost nothing but Minf-... Ryne, for most of it.” You do not remark upon the correction, for it is made without any rancor. Whatever resentment he bore for the situation appears to have passed. “You needed my strength, and I… was too wrapped in my own problems to notice until it was almost too late. How can you sit here and....”

“Seduce you?” you supply helpfully.

Alarm, or something like it, darkens his features, and you grin at him, a smile that widens the longer he stares at you. You don’t really know why you suddenly find yourself laughing, but something about the moment feels so absurd you just can’t help yourself.

After a minute or two of confused silence, Thancred joins in, and the sound of your combined mirth breaks the tension at last.

You press your lips to his again. And again, and again, until guilt is the last thing on his mind or yours. He’s pretty as a picture disarmed thus, with his half-lidded smoulder and the return of that flush, blooming like spring roses across the apples of his cheeks. One of his hands pets your nape from where it has tangled in your hair.

“I brought you chocolates,” he says weakly, chuckling. “For Valentione’s.”

The chocolates in question sit neatly on the long table where once the Exarch had supplied you with an army’s ransom of sandwich baskets, a few ilms away from his longcoat which he had draped over the wooden surface. You idly wonder what he must have said to the artisan, or if he had explained anything about the Eorzean custom at all.

“I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten about-”

You stifle his attempts at further explanation with another kiss: this one much longer and deeper, your tongue gently but firmly seeking past parted lips to entwine with his. His hand twitches, grasping on instinct for purchase before cupping the back of your neck and slipping beneath your collar.

Eventually you emerge, taking in night air and savoring the taste of red wine and tenderness.

“Are you certain?” he whispers. Both hands now linger at your hips, toying with the hem of your shirt.

You answer him when you gather handfuls of fabric and lift, tossing the article of clothing in the vague direction of the table before returning to the warmth and surety of his touch.

Tomorrow is the Empty. Another foray into the unknown, and more questions. More uncertainty. Very likely, more danger- that is just the nature of things as a Scion of the Seventh Dawn, these days, and he knows the way of it as well as you do. But tonight belongs to a long-overdue reunion, to a warm bed shared beneath the diamond wheel of the stars, and to a connection that has surpassed the boundaries of space and of time.

An ardor of a thoroughly mortal sort- and all the sweeter for its transience.

#chrysalispen writes #thancred waters #thancred x wol #valentione's 2020

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crystalsexarch · 4 years

Text

Ultracrepidarian - E

"What do you know about repression?"

"Plenty."

Explicit. Ambiguous second-person WoL and G'raha Tia. Late at night, when one touches on certain topics, one feels compelled to start touching other things, too.

Also on AO3.

Part of the 2020 FFXIV Writing Challenge

Night. The Find. The tent you share with G'raha Tia. You aren't sure why it's different, but it is. Blame the battle. Blame the boredom. Blame the built up tension he has been tiptoeing around since the first time you caught him staring at the back of your head. Now you're both staring at the gentle ripples in the roof and trying to name the sudden change in flavor, both pretending you have yet to taste it.

"Perhaps we should venture out," G'raha says. Like you, he's lying on his back with his hands clasped at his navel. Between his dinner and your arrival, he had time to trade his trousers for a dark pair of silky shorts. You've seen him sleep in them before. When he speaks, he cheats his head towards you. "Clearly we've yet to expend enough energy."

"I think not," you say. "The fact that I can carry a conversation belies my aching bones."

"Mm. Well I suppose I'll remain here as well, given that sparring is best done with a partner."

You roll onto your side and prop your head up. "Sparring? You?"

"What!"

"With your bow, I presume?"

He shifts his hands behind his head, laughing. Buying time. Unbeknownst to you, he’s daydreamed of taking you on many times, toying with steel and finding you hard in the bind, slipping under for a counterattack—a compelling argument for swordsmanship. The outcome of the skirmish doesn’t matter. It’s the intimacy that makes his head rush. "Make no mistake—I can be flexible."

You scoff in good humor. "Yes. A man of many talents."

"Many!"

"And going to bed on time is not one of them."

A calloused finger points. “This I will admit,” G'raha says, snapping up from his cot. “But I assure you I’m no stranger to combat.”

Your rise is slow and confident. No need to rush. You're the godsdamned Warrior of Light. “And I’m sure you have the scars to prove it?”

The finger curls back down in line with its neighbors. The corners of his lips curl up. “Well, as I’m sure you can imagine, Warrior, by the time you are ready to take blows that would scar you, you are practiced enough to weave away.” Driving home the point, he closes his eyes and points his chin to a high corner. “This is, of course, why all mercenaries and adventurers worth their salt have clear skin.”

You chuckle and lean back. “Like yours? You must be one of the finest.”

It’s a joke, but it still pulls his eyes, full of fondness, to the ground. G’raha knows he’s easy to read. Easy to please. Easy for you, which makes the strange night harder. When you speak by the campfire, the crackling wood harbors his secret purrs. Now, with camp quiet and no fire in sight, he works harder to mute it. Even as he tempers the swishing of his russet tail, he hopes you’ve accepted him as a friend at best, a fan at worst. Not a romantic admirer.

You aren’t sure what to think of him, but you don’t mind looking at his long eyelashes while his head is down. Time to take a chance. “Would you like to see mine?” you say.

Blinking, he lifts his gaze. “See your…?”

“My scar. The worst one.” You’re already itching at your collar.

Can you tell it’s driving him mad? Caught between two or ten answers, he stiffens like a man in a photograph. Tail reanimates first, body follows. “Beg pardon?”

“I’m happy to show you. There’s a story behind it, after all…”

He clears his throat. “If this is some manner of secret, there’s no need to spoil it on my behalf.”

“No secret. Just a story and a scar.” You stand and stretch long enough for him to chew on it. After a hearty sigh, you lock eyes again. “So what do you say?”

The scar is on your chest. G’raha gulps when he realizes you’re removing each layer that separates the jagged line from the elements. Once or twice he’s seen you bare, but not this close. Not this specifically.

He listens while you tell the story, but he looks just as carefully. Maybe, he hopes, you’ll recognize his expression as the same one he wears before Allagan relics. Not something hungrier. If you’re embarrassed to have him gawking at the history on your chest, your voice never falters. The night is warm enough that he’ll be forgiven for glowing. The dip in his gaze will be missed in the darkness. His open-mouthed attempts to taste you like a snake will be unfruitful, unnoticed.

He wishes he could touch you. He wishes it so badly that he cannot speak, not even when you’ve finished your story.

“That bad, huh?” Your leg bounces at a casual tempo. “Too much detail?”

“No,” he says, rocking back. “No. Forgive me, I...perhaps my jest was in poor taste.”

“Nah.” A lazy yawn. The day has taken its toll, finally. “You got any?”

His voice is soft and mossy. The heat must be pooling at the top of the tent. “I’m afraid my stories pale in comparison to yours.”

“And your scars?”

“Well…” He rubs his back. “Though its origin betrays my own humble, adventurous beginnings—”

“Show me.”

“...very well.” His smile can’t stand on its own legs. Rising, he turns his back to you and removes his shirt like it needs to stay sterile. You can’t see his face, and he’s thankful for that. He’s walking into an icy pool of water, testing it with his toes and holding his tail high. At least he can anchor himself in finding the scar. He fingers to the left of his spine before finding the ridges. “I fell out of a tree as a child.”

“I can’t see it.”

“Here.”

“Move your hand.”

He does, then startles when your finger replaces his own. The scar is about the length of your index finger, but it must’ve been deep. Stitch marks knitted the ghost of the wound together.

G’raha clears his throat. “It...may not have been as serious as I remember.”

“A scar’s a scar,” you say, taking one last look at the mark before turning your attention to his bare back. Freckles dot his shoulders. “Falling out of a tree isn’t half as embarrassing as the time I split my lip.” You lean back on your cot and smile at the muscled scholar before you. You wonder how he's put those muscles to use.

He turns over his shoulder at your withdrawal sits back down, bundling his shirt in his hands. “Have you come to terms with it?”

“Yes. I fell off a bed after a night of bad decisions.”

“Ah yes. The drink.”

“Nope. What comes after the drink and normally takes two.”

“Oh,” he says. Oh no, he thinks. Thankfully, you have busied yourself with blankets. It gives him enough time to wipe the dark curiosity from his face and recognize that perhaps he, too, should settle into bed. As he does, his imagination also settles— into a reality where he’s the bad decision that gets to press his lips to your scars, to kiss your collarbones and figure out how hard he has to pinch your nipples to make you gasp.

You don’t think twice about G’raha turning his back to you. He could be doing it for any reason.

You fill the air with a mighty yawn befitting the Warrior of Light. “In any case, that’s not the only reason I’ve tried to cut back on random nights of pleasure.”

Just a few fulms away, his voice is whisperous and hot. Delayed. A mysterious echo that filters from a forgotten cave. “I should hope that successful heroes not doom themselves to lives of repression.”

You laugh. "What do you know about repression?"

"Plenty." He’s tracing the outline of his cock, begging that by the time he raises his head, you have turned away. So much has leaked already. He’s embarrassed at how badly he wants to join the ranks of those privileged enough to say they’ve been inside of you.

“You’re not a virgin, are you?”

“No! No, no.” He twitches in his shorts, his fingers just beneath the band. “I had several...study partners at the Isle of Val.” None of them as bewitching as you. “One of my first went on to ‘study’ in Ul’dah. As it happens, the scholarly life was not for them.”

“Ah. Exploring a professional career in...studying?”

“Yes. Although personally I considered the experience a bit amateur.” Yes, he thinks. Focus on that instead of foolish fantasies. No point in imagining how tight your body would hold him, whether you would squeeze. Too bad you have already offered him fruit he cannot help but bite. “Your first time, then. Was it good?”

“It was fine. He was gentle.”

I could be gentle. “That's...good.”

“It wasn't good. It was fine.” The memory sparks no particular warmth or fondness. "Gentleness isn't necessarily what I look for anymore.”

“What is? Experience?”

“Trust. Trust that I can handle it. Trust that when I say I can't, I can't.”

He swallows. Thumb finds head, fingers find shaft. Tongue finds temptation. “That makes sense. So...you prefer something rougher?” Because I could be rough, too. He’s hardly moving his hand, but it feels so good he knows he’ll keep going even if you stand up and start watching.

“Depends on the partner. And you?”

He stops stroking, winces, holds himself tight. Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think about it. "I've done a little bit of this, a little bit of that."

"And what would you be doing if you had your way?"

You.

Clenched teeth keep the truth from spilling from his thick lips. What keeps him from spilling, he isn’t sure. Your presence, your scent, your voice—tugging his hand in both directions. It was supposed to be a gentle touch. Now he’s concentrating on keeping his cot stable. Can you smell him? Can you hear him? Do you know he’s imagining the texture of your scar beneath his palm? What good leverage it could offer. He could hold you there and fill you—first with his cock, then with his seed—rock you instead of his bed—sink inside and sing.

“G’raha?”

“Ah.” He opens his eyes and stretches his legs. Maybe it will disguise any strange motion you’ve noticed. “I’m sorry, I must have started drifting off.”

"I see..." You eye him once more before turning on your side. "Perhaps it's for the best. My mind is catching up with my body, I think..."

"Goodnight, my friend."

"Goodnight G'raha Tia."

He waits. He waits and waits and waits but does not soften. He spends what feels like half a bell trying to keep himself from imagining a world where he can mount you, slick you freely. Spends half a bell failing and reaching again for his erection. By the time he's holding his breath for release, he's pumping himself so madly he doesn't care if passersby can hear him from outside. He isn't thinking of the sleeping body at his side, but the heaving chest in his visions, the ebbing weight around his cock, and finally—finally, when he stops spurting into his open palm, he remembers where he is and what he is supposed to be doing.

Not. This.

Surprised he let himself take things so far, he rushes up in a frenzy and stares at the cot. Empty, he is. His brain is empty. For an instant the pain in his eye is completely silent. It's the memory of you—the real you, snoring lightly at his back—that sets him back on the ground where he has more than a few problems to address before the morning.

#g'raha tia #ff14 fanfic #ffxiv fanfic #ffxiv #ffxivwrite2020 #mywriting

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ffxiv-ariavitali · 4 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light, Aymeric de Borel & Warrior of Light, Aymeric de Borel/Original Character(s), Aymeric de Borel/Reader Characters: Aymeric de Borel, Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Reader Additional Tags: Romance, Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Gestures, Mutual Pining, Implied Sexual Content, Cause we know how thirsty we are Series: Part 5 of FFXIV Writing Prompts Summary:

Or lyric prompt: "Someone holds me safe and warm"

.//

You hadn’t expected the weather to change so abruptly. In fact, you anticipated the oncoming blizzard to hold off until you managed to reach Fortemps manor. Instead, you end up pulled into the Borel estate, its head manservant seeing your figure dash across the Pillars through the window and urging you inside. How will you explain to Lord Edmont you’ll be missing for the rest of the evening?

You ruffle the frozen flakes from your hair and your clothes. The warmth bathes you like a hot spring and does wonders to your frozen fingers. As soon as you remove your coat and boots, you find yourself gravitating towards the closest source of heat - which just so happens to be coming from the den.

You curl up to a ball before a burning hearth and rub your palms together before bringing it closer. The interior walls were a dazzling shade of sapphire with gold detailing creating royal patterns across the design. It certainly reminded you of the outfit Aymeric wears as the lord commander, which only served to make you ever more curious to what he was like in casual attire.

Aymeric appeared before you in half a bell and you were mildly disappointed to find him in his alpine coat. You can tell that he had dressed himself and combed his hair, making you (almost) painfully aware that he was perhaps tucked into bed prior to your entrance and you missed the chance to sneak a peek.

No matter.

You stand to greet Aymeric and he smiles with one of his own. The lord commander notices how comfortable you seem to be by the fire and moves to sit by the closest couch. He asks you if you are alright and he praises Halone for bringing you to safety before you fell victim to the onslaught of the Fury's ire. You laugh and explain that you had finished your latest dungeon and was returning to Fortemps manor for a brief respite.

He asks you to regale him of your tale. While it would be ideal for him to have joined you, reality decided his fate was not to be. Thus would he be satisfied with a simple imagining of how your battles turned out. The sight of your muscles flexing as it weaves between attacks or takes the brunt of a blow, an expression of adrenaline contorting your face from the thrill of adventure, the beads of sweat running down the sides of your temple as you cheer in victory…

Your voice pulls Aymeric from his small fantasy, your eyes dark with concern with how lost he seemed to be. With certain bashfulness, Aymeric admits how his inner wanderlust had him carried away and he was rewarded with the sound of your giggle. How he wished to hear more of it.

The greater part of the evening was used simply talking. Speaking of day-to-day activities, asking of their health, bidding each other to rest; because both of you give so much to that which you are committed to and it takes others to serve as a reminder so that neither of you collapse from exhaustion. That’s just how both of you work. There wasn’t anything wrong with that.

Then, silence falls when your gazes meet.

Neither of you are aware of the hush in the room or the lull in the conversation. You are both quiet, you admiring how his eyes sparkle with the reflection of the flame and Aymeric adoring how your memory of the tale is brightening your own. You both stay like this, comfortable in the silence.

Someone holds me safe and warm.

Aymeric reaches out to take your hand in his. You allow him this and allow him to pull you closer to his person. Off from the ground and into his lap. You feel his body heat and when bare skin met bare skin, your heart fluttered at the sensation of his erratic beat.

Horses prance through a silver storm.

The winds outside seemed to pick up and, in the far corners of your mind, you hear the rustling against the walls and window. It goes unspoken, for your body is indulging in the feel of his hands exploring just as you are unconsciously chasing after his warmth with slight flinches and head tilts. His fingers are gentle, his caress delicate - as if you are both a porcelain figurine on the verge of shattering and an unknown deity that the Twelve kept hidden this entire time.

Figures dancing gracefully across my memory.

Aymeric leans his head towards you, closing the gap enough that your lips were an ilm away from his. You can feel his breath and it only made your heart fit to burst. Your cheeks burned, but so did his. That is, if the lighting wasn’t betraying your eyes.

“You are still chilled overmuch, my friend,” he whispered in a husky voice. “With the storm, it seems wise for you to remain here for the night…”

You gulped and nodded. From excitement, understanding or obedience...who knows?

Far away, long ago…

Aymeric released a soft hum and soon enough, he had closed the gap. His lips were soft on yours and you question for but a breath how he managed to maintain its smoothness in spite of the dry cold of winter, but the thought is pushed aside the more he pulled you to him. To him and with him, down to the lake of need and throwing the chains of restraint across the shore, the life raft being the secure embrace of the other. Both your hands were everywhere and nowhere at once - across arms, threading through hair, brushing against cheeks, sinking lower and lower.

Aymeric picks you up then, causing you to sigh as he breaks the kiss. Even when he is carrying you to his bedchambers, he peppers kisses along your forehead, to the top of your head, anywhere he could as he twirled you in his arms.

Glowing dim as an ember.

When he places you on his bed and retreats to close and lock his door, you notice that his own personal fireplace was losing strength. The candle on his nightstand was melting and a book was half-heartedly tossed across the surface in a rush. Aymeric was excited to see you and it added a certain emotion into the already overflowing melding pot that was whirling in your chest.

Even greater was the thrill when you see he had shed his coat, revealing a plain button tunic that he wore in his colors. Despite the fading light, his expression was clear as day and it was focused solely on you like a predator to its prey.

Things my heart used to know.

Your arms open to welcome Aymeric into your embrace and he collapses into it, your body a temptation that all his years of faith in the Fury could not steer him away from. He hears the muffled chuckles and smiles all the same. Smiles as his lips roam your skin to paint an array of kisses. On your neck, on your collarbone and on your bare chest once he removed your top from you. He hopes you like raspberries.

Things it yearns to remember.

When was the last time you felt like this…?

To feel so safe in someone’s hold, to feel the warmth of their love against your own, the affections evident in each and every brush of skin on skin. You have spent so many moons remaining strong for Eorzea, for the people that plead for your assistance. You’ve bitten back a remark when a merchant was rude and suppressed tears for the ones you were unable to save.

Yet here, right now, you are being cared for. You are being loved in the way you deserve and, oh, how absolutely sublime it is to be reminded of such a sensation.

And a song someone sings…

Aymeric mutters your name like a prayer, a chant. You, in turn, call out to him as if it was the only thing you knew how to say. He was your focus, he was what your heart desired and, by the Twelve, would you level an entire nation if he was taken away from you. For when a heart loves, it knows no bounds. When a heart bleeds, it knows no end.

So, both of you sing. Sing a chorus of each other’s names in the shadowy corner of Aymeric’s bedchamber. Neither of you notice when the hearth’s light finally goes out; the moonlight was bright as it pierced through the glass panes and the warmth of each other’s bodies was enough to stave off the cold. Even more so when the fabrics that separated the intimacies between you two were peeled off.

Once upon a...

Faeries tales often have a willing hero and an eager love interest. No one really knows what occurs after ‘the end,’ only knowing the story begins with a ‘once upon a time.’ In this same notion, you don’t know what the future holds or where it will take you, but at least you know your story began with love.

With love amidst a silver storm on a cold winter night.

#ffxiv writing #ser aymeric #aymeric de borel #wol x aymeric

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chronicparagon · 4 years

Note

First from Halsten if that's okay

@skullboysfinale

First - Our muses having their first time

Moonlight streams through the window and cast the bedroom in the moon’s soft glow accompanied by the lone street light outside Harmony’s apartment peeks in with its own light. Time quietly ticks away and though the night is still young, it slowly ages minute by minute. What started with a quiet dinner led one thing to another. She and Halsten found themselves in her bedroom. Intimacy was a topic that came and went in past conversations. It wasn’t until now that they decided to stop discussing it and act on it, but it is apparent they aren’t sure how to proceed.

Harmony hasn’t slept with anyone. Her body quivered throughout the day from the thought of Halsten turning away from her once he sees the scars she hides. Halsten means the world to her and the thought of losing him, it made her stomach turn and her heart weigh heavier than lead. She can’t imagine it. She can’t bear it. But now, she has to wonder why he hasn’t continued. Why hasn’t he touched her yet? That is when something popped in her mind that made everything clear.

Could this be his first time too?

That thought never occurred to her. Doctor Valentino made it obvious that he is very familiar with sex. She has a feeling that Doctor Kristoff and Doctor Padrig also had their own shares of flings and relationships. But, what about Doctor Halsten? Harmony must know.

“Hal? I know this might be too personal, but...This is...Well.” She rubs the back of her neck while looking away from him. Perhaps if she comes clean, that will put him at ease. “I haven’t done anything like this before. Is this your first time too?”

The truth came quickly and she couldn’t help but break into a light fit of giggles. Just the look on his face when he confessed. She found it endearing. “Sorry! I’m sorry! I’m not laughing at you, my dear. It’s just I thought you might have some experience.” She adds as color stains her face. She shuffles closer to him. One hand over his own, the other gently cupping his face.

“It’s all right. We got this...We’ll explore this together.” He receives a ight kiss before she got up to take off her dress and bra. Her heart beats against her chest as her hands tremble while working on her clothes. Oh, how she is scared of the look of horror that may be on his face when he sees her naked form. Harmony is afraid to letting her guard down, but she knows this is what she wants. The first time is always something special, at least Harmony thought so and if she were to have it with anyone, it would be Hal.

She never thought that he would stay when he saw her body. Grisly marks imprint over Harmony’s right shoulder and down her arm. The eagle tattoo on her upper back covered part of the old burns on her right shoulder blade with its wing. However, it couldn’t hide the full extent of the scars. They are not great to look at, but Halsten didn’t shove her away or even appear to be put off by it. The scars hold a story, but now is not the time to tell it. It hurts far too much to look back on that dark memory. Her lover seems hesitant in stripping down, but with gentle encouragement along with seeing that her appearance is far from perfect, that coaxed the tall doctor to does the same.

A gasp slip past her lips and her hand covers her mouth when he finally revealed himself to her. His skin is pale as the moon. Surprisingly, he has a toned figure. Certainly not very muscular but it’s apparent he is not as slender as she previously thought. His clothing is deceptive, to say the least. But that is not all. No, that is when she saw them, all of them. Tales of past battles and challenges in the form of scars cover his chest and down his arms. Large marks of what appear to be caused by blades mark his joints from his wrists down his ankles. She does not know what caused him and it is not her place to ask.

“Good God, Hal...You...Y-you...” Harmony doesn’t turn on her heel and run from him. Instead, she steps closer. Soft hands lightly trace the scars on Halsten’s chest. The stroke down his arms before slender fingers gently wrap around his wrists. She holds them up to her.

“I never thought you would be this breathtaking.” She lowers her head to kiss the scars on each wrist. Harmony doesn’t stop there. Harmony wants to show Hal what she thinks of him. Her lips lay kiss after kiss on every scar and cut up his arms. “Come this way.” She gently guided him to the bed where she had him laying down on his back. Harmony joins him by crawling over him. Dark, silky locks fall over her shoulders and surround Hal like a curtain. Harmony rests on her arms folded over his chest. Bare breasts press against him while she smiles at him.

“I’ll set some ground rules. If there is something you don’t like or don’t want. Tell me. Don’t be afraid to speak up.” Harmony begins, “If there is something I do that you like, tell me. I want you to enjoy this too.” She means every word of that too. She makes it clear that she will respect his boundaries. This is not just for her. Tonight is their night, and she wants to be his as he would be her’s. “Now then, let me make you feel like you the world’s most wanted man.” That is where it all began.

Her touch and kisses worship every imperfection on Halsten’s body. Her warm breath fans over him while lightly nibbling on his neck down his collarbone. Light massages into his muscles against pallid skin. Lower and lower, she continues to worship his body until she reaches his hips.

Warmth pools over her face when her gaze spots his member. Her hands lower themselves to rub along his thighs. She thought about going above and beyond. Push against her own comfort to give Halsten everything he could ever want. Her hair hides her face as she inches closer to his length. Lips part, but she pauses just inches from it. Fear of messing this up grips her heart and halting it from its fierce rhythm. Sweat breaks over her body when a flurry of worries feed into her anxiety.

What if he is too scared to tell me he doesn’t want this? What if I choke on him? God, if that happens, I might bite him!

He’ll hate me for that! I-I can’t!

Harmony shuts her eyes tight yanks back. No, she isn’t ready for that. Flustered, Harmony tries to recover from that scare. She forces a smile to help put him at ease and returns to him. Harmony never wants to disappoint Halsten, but she didn’t want to mess up the trust they have built together.

“That...That’s something I need to work on. I’m sorry...” She straddles over Hal and she holds her breath before lowering herself. Shyness gets the better of her, worried if she is letting him down or judging her performance as a lover. It’s fine. It will be okay. She’ll go with plan B.

Wide hips move in slow circles while his member rubbed against her as she grinds against him. Unlike Halsten, Harmony still wears her underwear. The silken pair is the only barrier between him and her heat. Her hands trace over his abdomen toward his chest and she kisses Hal again before whispering to him. “How are you feeling right now? You want me to kick it up a notch?” She plans to remove her last garment and finally let him enter her. She doesn’t do it right away. It’s not time yet.

Not yet.

Harmony waits to hear what her lover wants before she takes the next step. However, he could act on his own desires. This is his chance to take it off her and claim her as his own. Either way, she would not be against it. But if he decides against going further, she won’t push it.

#skullboysfinale #answered #thank you!!#it's more than okay!#Harmony loves him #left in the dark #this could be a thread #or a one off drabble~

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 5 years

Text

A Lake Full of Stars, Part 1

There’s something mesmerizing about Lena Luthor driving with the window down.

A warm breeze makes her long hair flutter and billow, and she gazes at the road ahead of them through a pair of Ray Bans that both highlights and softens the planes of her face. She underhands the wheel with one palm, while the fingers of her left hand tap a lazy beat against the outside of the door in time to the music that pours gently from the speakers

This Lena is a different beast from the one who suggested the trip the week before. James had been joking when he’d suggested chucking his phone in the trash and going off to live in the woods for the next year. But Lena hadn’t laughed. Instead she’d cited a friend who owned a lakehouse, barely glancing up from the tablet she’d been tapping on.

Now, she’s distracted again, but not with a thousand meetings and deadlines and project details. This Lena drifts with the winding road, coasting in sunlight and music. Her eyes are soft behind her shades, betraying gentle thoughts-- or perhaps none at all.

When they pull into the long narrow drive up to the house, James glances at his phone to find Lena’s warnings of poor cell services were well founded. He can’t help the frisson of apprehension that awakens at the prospect of the weekend ahead.

They’ve never existed together without the pulse of their work in the background. Thus far they’ve been a couple with phones in hand, one finger on CatCo or L-Corp, always with the slight edge of competition-- between themselves or against the rest of the world.

Without the burden of the outside world holding them together, would they fall apart?

Lena packed light. Throwing the car into park, she climbs out and hoists her single leather satchel the window from the backseat and shoots James a lop-sided smile over the roof of the car.

“Ready?”

Her voice is low, deepened by the early shadows cast by the trees already beginning to blot out the drooping sun. James reaches in for his own bags, and nods.

“After you.”

The lakehouse proves to be both nothing like he imagined and yet a perfect fit. They walk into an open floor plan that’s half exposed timber and half fieldstone, lit by the sunlight spilling in through the wall of windows that faces the lake.

James whistles as he wanders to the windows, and gazes out at the flat, glassy lake rimmed with evergreens. “Wow.”

Lena sidles up next to him, looping an arm around his waist. “Yeah. It’s pretty great, isn’t it.”

“Your friend has good taste.”

She gives a brief squeeze before releasing him to turn towards the stairs. “C’mon. Bedroom’s this way.”

James follows, but can’t help but glance back over his shoulder at the breathtaking view. When Lena had said her friend had a lake house, he’d imagined a mansion on a pond, all crowded in with a dozen other mcmansions. This place is everything but.

It’s not cramped by any means, but cozy-- dwarfed by the sheer volume of wilderness just outside their door. The bedroom boasts a large bed, and wide windows that look out over the lake as well. One comes with a window seat, fashionably cushioned and home to a book splayed open on the seat, forgotten by its owner.

Lena snaps it shut, setting it aside to make room for their bags to sit.

“This place is nice,” James delivers, flopping back on the bed. He sits back up a second later, suddenly antsy. He snags Lena around the waist and pulls her close, delighting in her playful giggle. “This was a good idea. Thanks.”

A hum confirms Lena’s agreement as she leans down to kiss him. When she pulls away, her fingers stroke his cheek. There’s intimacy in the moment, the kind that lingers even as Lena changes the subject. “You hungry?”

James’ belly rumbles in answer. He grins. “Think they deliver pizza up here?”

Her laugh spreads warmth through his veins, banishing any lingering doubts.

“No,” she says, still grinning, “but there’s a stocked pantry and a kitchen. I’m sure I can manage to whip something up. Want to go explore a little while I cook?”

“I’d like to help with that…”

“Thank you, but I’ll be okay. Besides, didn’t you say you wanted to scope out a running trail for tomorrow?”

James perks up. “Oh yeah. I do, actually.”

“Take a flashlight. Dark sneaks up on you around here.”

If there’s anything James has learned in the past year, it’s that Lena Luthor is usually right. So he takes the flashlight she digs up for him and makes his way outside. Sure enough, the afternoon shadows have already deepened to near night under the canopy. But he finds a flat path the winds around the lake, and a mile in he knows it’ll take him in a nearly eight mile lap of the lake, if it doesn’t meander off through the trees. Perfect for a morning run.

For tonight though, he doubles back. The air feels clean in his lungs, and clear-- like the reflection of the twilit sky in the flat lake on his right. It makes the blood buzz in his veins. He breaks into a jog just to bleed off the restless energy. Climbing up the steps to the elevated deck, his thudding heart kicks up another notch when he catches a glimpse of Lena through the windows.

Like staring at a movie screen, James watches Lena move around the kitchen. She slips fluidly between counters, shifting her attention between steaming pots and a cutting board and a sizzling pan with ease. She tastes a spoon, nods, and gives the sauce another stir before bending down to check on something in the oven, hips bopping gently in time to smooth music James can only just hear through the glass.

He watches longer than he should. He’s certain she’ll catch him staring, but when she turns towards him several times without registering his presence, he realizes that the darkness around him is impenetrable through the glass, and that he’s somehow stumbled across the sight of the Lena Luthor who exists when she thinks no one is watching.

Heart pounding for a whole new reason, James reaches for the door.

Lena looks up with a smile. “Hey! Mission accomplished?”

“Yeah, I think so. Does the path out back loop around the lake?” He inhales deeply as Lena nods with a hum of confirmation. “Wow. Smells great in here. Is that garlic bread?”

“I found some sauce in the freezer for pasta,” Lena nods. “Bread’s still in the oven. Set the table for me?”

James obliges readily, and by the time he’s opened every cupboard just to find the plates, utensils, and a pair of wine glasses, Lena’s heaped everything into serving bowls and popped the cork on a bottle of deep red wine.

The sauce is delicious, the bread warm and buttery, but it’s the quiet that James savors most. It might just be the best meal he’s ever had, with Lena and her elbows on the table and her eyes twinkling with warmth as she eyes him over a forkful of pasta.

“What?”

James smiles. “Just thinking how glad I am to be here with you.”

Her eyes roll with a teasing nudge of her foot against his shin. “Nerd.”

But her smile comes with a pleased flush, and she relaxes even further. Seeing her shoulders slouch, the enormity of the weekend ahead sinks in-- and then melts away from James entirely.

James had worried it would unearth the unpleasant sides of themselves they hid from the world. He never imagined it might bring him a whole new facet of Lena to fall in love with.

Reaching out one finger, he strokes the back of her hand. Lena’s fingers turn readily, slipping their palms together neatly. “This weekend is going to be good,” she says.

Jame returns her smile. “Yeah. It is.”

#i wrote dis #lake full of stars #guardiancorp #the lakehouse weekend we were robbed of #lena luthor #james olsen #it was initially going to be all one post #but the second bit is giving me difficulty #so i'm giving you this part now #to tide you over until i can get more time to finish #i'll probably not be on again until the episode tomorrow #busy day ahead #but feel free to let me know how you like it!

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mysticmikalla · 6 years

Note

35 with saeyoung!! thank you lovely!!

SONG INSPO: Call Out My Name by The Weeknd

This is much longer than I expected but I hope you like it, thank you for the request!!

***

35. “About the baby…its yours.”

He couldn’t process the words you just had spoken, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. Saeyoung was a man of vivid imagination, but never in his wildest day dreams could he have conjured the image of you, standing at his doorway with that look clouding your eyes.

Was it regret he detected? Or guilt?

“I-I don’t understand.”

It had been almost a month since you announced to the entire RFA the good news- you were expecting. While the rest of the organization cheered and congratulated you, the hacker felt his heart constricting in his chest painfully. If he had any lingering hopes that you’d might one day feel the same, it was now all gone. How could he keep wishing you’d one day be his if it meant abandoning your new family?

Saeyoung had always thought himself as a selfish, but he couldn’t keep wishing for you any longer, not if it meant tearing your family apart.

So he stayed silent. He congratulated you when you beamed, toasting to the new life of the married couple and looking Jumin in the eye while lying about how happy he was for you. Though, while your husband kissed your cheek, eyes full of love and adoration aimed at you, Seven needed to look away, to avert his gaze before he gave up his true feelings.

Hah, he thought, If only Jumin could hear your words now.

“About the baby…its yours.”

He wanted to claim it as impossible, but Seven could very well recall that night, as lucid as if had just happened moments prior. All he had to do was close his eyes to remember how beautiful you looked under him, cheeks pink in a flustered blush, the sweet melody of your voice as you called out his name in moments of ecstasy, not your husband’s. Hell, not a single night went by when he didn’t spend by himself with those images on his mind, your naked chest pressed against his while your nails dug on his back, begging for more. Seven could remember your gasps, your moans, your begs for him to go deeper, to keep touching you there, everywhere.

Whenever he saw you giving Jumin an affectionate kiss, all he could think about was when those lips were on his.

“T-that’s impossible.” He denied with a shake of his head, unable to think of appropriate words to say. His mind ran over the events of that night, trying to determine whether they were safe, if they had used protection. But the evening was almost all but a haze, the alcohol intoxicating both your systems made him only remember your body, your moans, and nothing else.

He tried to swallow the forming lump in his throat, “How can you be sure? T-that it’s mine, that I’m the…”

“Jumin and I haven’t-” You looked down, ashamed to hold his gaze any longer, “Not since that fight, Jumin and I haven’t been intimate.”

For a moment, Seven was silent, trying to decipher what those words could mean. It was no secret to the hacker that your relationship with Jumin had been wavering for the past few months, but he found himself surprised at the lack of intimacy between you two. Surprised and selfishly pleased.

He pursed his lips, “Does he know? That he isn’t…?”

“Of course not.” Scoffing, you crossed your arms over your chest. The scenario in which Jumin found out the truth about the child inside you had run over your mind a thousand times, keeping you awake while he slept in blissful ignorance beside you. If you knew your husband well, and you were sure you did, there was no happy ending for any of those scenarios, and the thought terrified you.

“Do you plan on telling him?” There was a hint of annoyance in his voice as he spoke, anger and jealousy mixed in his tone.

“Not a chance,” you said, “Jumin can never know.”

“Then why did you come here?” Saeyoung retorted, the mention of your husband, the man he tried daily not to despise, infuriating him, “Why didn’t you just have the baby and lie to me just like you’re lying to him?”

“Saeyoung-”

“Why did you come here?”

“I needed you to know!” You blurted, tearing at your hair with a desperate hand, “I couldn’t keep this a secret, not from you.”

“MC…How can you expect me to just stand by and watch my child be raised by another man? It’s already-” He took a deep breath, running a frustrated hand over his face, “It’s already hard enough seeing you with him, acting as if nothing ever happened between us.”

“It was a mistake, Saeyoung,” taking in a shaky breath, you went on, “It was a drunken mistake that should never have happened.”

It felt like a punch to the stomach. Though he already knew it to be true, that your night together didn’t mean to you what it meant to him, Seven hoped you wouldn’t say it aloud. He was all too aware that you didn’t feel the same, but he dared dream that perhaps your kisses were just as sincere as his. That you felt the same high he did when you cupped his cheeks, moving your lips slowly against his and bringing him as close as possible.

He dared hope that you were as in love with him as he was with you.

When he didn’t speak, you went on, “I love him, Saeyoung. I love Jumin, and I can’t let this ruin us.”

“You didn’t look like you loved him when you were under me.” He sassed, biting the inside of his cheek harshly and hoping the pain would distract him from the one increasing in his heart. Seven blinked back the moisture gathering in his eyes, not wanting to let you have this kind of power over him, not anymore.

“Saeyoung, please…” You furrowed your brows, taking a cautious step towards him, “Please don’t tell him. Please.”

Taking his hand in yours, you hoped he’d feel your desperation through your touch. His hands were rougher than Jumin’s, something that reflected the gaping difference between both men’s lives. You husband’s touches were always soft and gentle, while Saeyoung always held on to you so tightly, as if terrified of having you slip away. You had only been touched by him once, but that much you could tell by the palms of his hands and the look in his eye.

He shook his head, ripping his hand away from your grasp, “No, MC! Do you even know what you’re saying? You can’t ask this of me, not this.”

“But…!”

“What happens when baby comes out with red hair, huh? What then?” He snarled, putting as much space between you as he could. You had never seen him this angry, the usual bright of his amber irises now dulled with seething emotions. Never in the course of your relationship had his anger been directed at you.

Tears began prickling in the corner of your eyes, feeling the hope of fixing this mistake without any further damage to your marriage, without hurting the man you loved, painfully slipping away, “I-I…”

“Tell him, or I will.”

“Don’t do this, please.”

Seven cursed himself for not being able to maintain his anger towards you. He hated how weak you made him, how he had never been able to deny you anything. Perhaps that was why he touched you that night. You were sad and he was in love, and the sight of your tearful eyes alone was enough to make him throw out his set of morals and comfort you. It was wrong, and he knew it, but even after the news you had just told him, Saeyoung Choi didn’t regret a single moment he spent with you.

“You need to tell him, MC,” his eyes softened, and despite wanting to reach for you and pull you closer to him, Seven remained still, “It’s not just your life, it’s not just Jumin you’d be lying to. Think of the baby.”

Your shoulders shook as you sobbed, knowing the bitterness of what he said being true, “I know…I know it’s selfish, but I c-can’t throw my marriage away because of this, because of one stupid mistake.”

He flinched at your words, “I’m sorry, Saeyoung. I didn’t mean it that way, I just-”

“You love him,” he didn’t have to wait for you to finish, “I know you do, and I knew it back then, as well. I’m not asking you to do this for me, but do this for the baby, at least. Jumin loves you, he will understand.”

“I’m not sure about that,” you let out a frustrated laugh, “But…you’re right, I can’t keep on being selfish. I need to tell him, he deserves to know.”

Before he could reply, you rushed into his arms, squeezing him tightly in a hug. He wasn’t that much taller than you, but enough so that he could engulf you completely in his arms and rest his chin atop your head.

“MC-”

“I can’t keep on being selfish to you, Saeyoung. I’m sorry I did what I did that night, I knew how you felt about me and I took advantage of it, I’m sorry. I was hurting and I just needed someone, I’m so sorry.”

Seven brought his lips to your forehead, placing a tender kiss, “It wasn’t your fault, I did it because I wanted to. And I don’t regret it, I never will. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you smiled against the fabric of his shirt, now stained with salted tears, “Not in the way you want me to, but I do.”

“That’s enough for me.”

Stepping back and wiping a few stray tears from your eyes, you were finally able to face him without averting your gaze in guilt, “I’ll tell him.”

“Do you want me to be there with you?” He offered, reaching for your arm and giving it a light squeeze.

“I think that would make things worse. It’s something that I’ll have to do alone. But thank you.”

“He will come around, I know he will. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.” Seven told you, and to himself, he added, It’s the same way I look at you.

“Not sure it will be enough this time,” you laughed down a weep, “But you’re right, I can’t keep lying to him. It’s not fair to either of you, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he attempted you a soft smile, though his own tears were threatening to spill, “I’ll be here, no matter what happens, okay? I’ll always be.”

“I know,” returning his grin, you said, “Thank you, Saeyoung.”

“It’s what I’m here for.”

“I should go now. I should go tell him the truth.” You were reluctant to walk away from the warmth and comfort of Saeyoung’s words and head towards the upcoming storm that was about to take place. You paused in your tracks as he called for you when you began to walk away.

“Hey,” he reassured, “Don’t worry, it will be okay. I know it will.”

You offered him a smile in response, knowing full well it was a lie.

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger headcanons #mystic messenger fanfic #saeyoung choi #707 #mm seven #luciel choi #saeyoung choi fanfic #idk how to end this lol #hope yall like it #jumin han #jumin sweetie im so sorry

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