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withoneheadlight · 3 years

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| billy & will + pre-harringrove | full fic in spanish |

There’s an in-between. The high school and the middle school. A bare piece of land, yellowed from the lack of grass and the rough kiss of the sun and, right in the middle, an old shack.

It's a shabby thing that accumulates lack of re-paintings and excess of humidity but that’s out of sight, in that way of things that are just there but no one wastes time looking at anymore are.

That's where they meet.

Billy lights up a smoke. Slides his ass up an ancient, long retired desk, pasture now of the damp and rot, and leans against the peeling wood. Front and back-row seat to the long column of trees the wind’s rippling along on the other side of the wire fence. The ember warms up his lips as he inhales a deep puff and exhales a,

“You’re getting soft, Billy Hargrove”

He leans his head back and closes his eyes, ears on that ceaseless chirping of the bids that sews together the slow-passing hours of the days and nights of Indiana, and on the delighted screams from the middle-schoolers, remembering that, somewhere in there, there's a bunch of kids who will still be laughing just as hard, just as happy, a few years down the road. That maybe even Max could be one of them, if Billy hurries. That maybe he will too, if Billy is able to control that instinctive reaction that pulls his skin inward and screams at him to stopstopstop, that the soft skin shreds, falls apart so easily.

But maybe it can be both of them, if Billy manages to clench his teeth hard enough and keep on softening.

‘Cause soft skin hurts when it breaks but,

"Hey!"

Sometimes it’s worth it.

Will’s smiling wide. Stops running, abruptly, and then just stands in there, panting. He’s got a funny nose and giant eyes. The kind of bangs that make you wanna blow them out of his eyes even though what they're is too short, actually, and Billy’s always thought he'd do better in life if he didn't. Notice things. If he didn't see that widewidewidewide smile and could read it so easily.

"I've been dying to show you this!" Will kneels down into the grass, chopping out the words in between exhalations. Pulls at the zipper of his backpack, chest heaving, and he doesn't realize he's going to get dirt on the knees of his jeans or that Billy can read it. His relief. Of finding him in here and not just an empty desk. Of how for a kid every single day more means 'You care’.

(About me)

It was early December. Friday right after last period and one of those silly things that only happen in movies. Something so like scripted and choreographed that Billy nearly considered looking up at the ceiling to make sure John Hughes wasn't silently watching them, taking notes from above. They crashed in the middle of a corner. Billy sped up ‘cause he was in a hurry and the only way to catch Max in time lately was to intercept her right out of class. Will ‘cause he's always going like that, Billy knows now. Always a thousand miles per hour. Always verging on time-jump speed to then being the kind of kid who seems so quiet it's scary. They crashed. Hard. In the middle of that corner. Papers flying all over and a curse (Will) and a muffled groan (Billy) and they ended up pulling at the same paper one from each corner. A drawing. Trolls and wizards and a castle and an emerald-green light. A star in the distance, auguring bad omens. Billy forgot to be frightening and Will must have forgotten he was supposed to be frightened when he blurted out a,

"Fuck, Byers. This is frikin’ fantastic."

No fear or reticence or that way he sometimes has of bumping into words and stumbling, just a "Really?" eyes huge and bangs brushing against his eyelashes as he blinked when Billy also forgot he was also supposed to― well, supposed to be Billy Hargrove.

"’Got more?"

So now he skips English instead of Algebra, every Tuesday and Thursday. Sneaks off to that in-between place he knows no one wastes time looking at anymore to light up a smoke, same time as Will has his recess. And the kid doesn't always manage to shrug off of his flock of nerds but he’s lucky, some days.

And he brings the drawings.

Orcs and goblins and enchanted mountains on the northwest and it seems to Billy that there are more princes than princesses and that if there are any, they’re almost always sorceresses, almost always queens and that your attention gets hooked on their burning eyes, not in the clothes they’re missing and Billy feels like it's a small grain of sand, this thing they’re doing. Knows that someone’s already keeping a solid ground under Will's feet ('Joyce' he says it’s her name. And it stings, the way he manages to fit so much love, into such a tiny word). But it also seems to him that maybe it doesn't take much more, for Will, just a few grains of sand, to replace those that being a strange kid in a small town sick with apprehension for what it finds strange, takes every day away from him.

So Billy’s gotta have to clench his teeth ‘till his gums start bleeding ‘cause is that, or let his skin toughen up again. Is that. Or fucking everything up.

And ave María, Billy doesn’t want to fuck it all up again.

So he sucks on his cigarette. Hooks up an eyebrow. Waves his hand to hurry the kid up.

“Mmm. That’s how good you think it is, dickwad? ‘C’mon, got my next class in twenty”

Will flies over the papers. Head nodding and fingers skimming fast. Finds what he’s looking for and yanks it out, raises it up triumphantly in his hand. It’s the sword in the stone and he carries it up to Billy with wet knees and just a little mud-staining. It’s February and the sun’s burning brightly over all the wetness the night’s spent crying. The drawing is a huge dragon, wings made of leather and cartilage, spread out in eclipse in front of the moon, only a few silver rays illuminating the dark knight in front of it. Blue eyes lined in black, blond curls cascading down his back and Billy was clenching his teeth but they part now, ‘cause the figure looks too much like him to be a coincidence. A smile devours his whole mouth. Soft. A joke itching on the tip of his tongue. He grunts a,

“I’ve been called many things. But never this, Byers”

Only half his expression’s visible, eyebrows covered with those thick bangs, and Billy has to once again fight the impulse to blow them out.

“¿Hum?”

“Knight” he says, drawling the teasing tone out “In shining armor”

And It’s such a loss, all that hair. Because it’d pass unseen, if you don’t know him. The way his eyebrows spike up underneath and it burrows in between them, the eagerness of teasing back. But Billy’s lucky, ‘cause it’s been more than two months like this and Billy―

Knows him. Well enough at least. So it doesn't pass unseen to him.

“You know the drill, William. Spit it out. Can see you’re holding it up from miles”

Will purses his lips out tight. Looks like he’s trying but. Nah.

“Wouldn’t be that shiny '' scrunches his nose. Throws a meaningful glance at Billy’s disheveled looks. More thoughtful than not, way more intentional. But that's something he'll figure out when he grows up.

Billy cackles. Will's smile widens, satisfied. Hops onto the desk next to his. Billy offers him the cigarette.

“And―this?” Will shrugs inwardly. Glances up at him. Then down, at the exchange between their hands. Takes the cig in between two fingers and it doesn’t burn but he barely presses them against the filter, anyway, as if he’s afraid it would, all of a sudden.

"Retaliation," Billy half grunts, half laughs, and Will huffs, but swallows a deep breath to gather strength. Exhales. Takes a tiny puff and―

"Argg," coughscoughscoughs "This is. Ugh. It's awful. I don't know how you―” almost throws the cigarette back to him "Ufff, what a―" he hesitates "Yuck"

Billy snorts. Thinks about Max inhaling deep, no more than two weeks ago, eyes pining his in place. Breaking into a violent cough only a second later.

Billy pats Will’s back too.

“That’s good” he says “You better not like it” Will scrunches his whole face “And this too” Billy adds, shaking the drawing a little “This is good, too. Amazingly good, man”

Will. Stares. At him. One. Two. Three long seconds. And Billy hurts a little. With every single one. Three sharp stabs with that newly freed sword. A different kind of ' you care' each one: 'it seems so impossible to me (that you care)'. 'If you think so, maybe it's true (and I do care, that you think it)’. 'Thank you (for caring)'. And then. Those hidden eyebrows. Will’s cheeks puffing out a little when he bites the tip of his tongue and―

"Billy?" his eyes glint, heavy with ill-contained malice.

"Uh?"

"You're the dragon"

"You fucking ass―!"

Billy shoves him sideways. But Will just sways. He doesn't lose footing on that firm ground he’s standing on. Looks back at the drawing, hunches a shoulder up.

"But you’re the knight, too"

He says it in a tone that cuts straight through Billy’s chest Thank you he thinks, even though his soft skin is hurting. And he still doesn't blow hard on that bowl fringe from where it covers Will’s whole forehead but―

Stirs up all his hair instead.

“Eh!!”

“Hey, shitbird. Wanna see the one I’ve made?”

Will nods quickly. All contained-speed and reverberating and sometimes Billy doesn't know how so few people can see it, how big he is for his own skin and he thinks I wish, wish he'd accumulate enough grains of sand to raise up that firm ground under his feet, and get really, really high.

“Sure!”

He keeps it tucked away in the breast pocket of his jacket. Folded in upon itself. Same way he keeps everything else. Folds and layers and at the bottom of pockets no one ever looks at but.

He unfolds it to show it to Will Byers.

“Wow” Will says, and smiles up at Billy like Two months since we crashed against each other and I feel like I know you a little too, Billy Hargrove and Billy hit rock bottom but now at least Max and him sing AC/DC in chorus on the rides back home and Will's voice sounds like 'You're good' as he runs his fingertips over the graphite outlines of the skull and repeats, "Wow"

“Gonna have it done” Billy inhales a deep drag of Marlboro and 'Four Months to Eighteen' and for a moment it’s like he could feel the smoke curl up inside his lungs before blowing it out. The image is as pretty as it’s stupid. He glances at the open jaw of the drawing and thinks maybe he'd like a drag too "Have it healed for summer and―"

“What’s happening here?”

Steve.

Harrington.

Hand on his hips, preppy pastel polo lapels up, Ray-Bans holding up that way his hair swirls without really taming it. The twelve o'clock sun is shining sideways from his back and he's pretty. Painfully pretty. And Billy’s sure it's impossible that this redneck raised on corn and money amassed in dubious moral business is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen but sometimes he forgets. That it is impossible because. Fuck. It so seems like it. Light flicking on the ends of his hair where it curls. Under his ear. In the long curve of his neck. And the world doesn't halt and the birds don't stop chirping and the clouds don't part and no preternatural shit happens because this is the black hole where all the world's shit goes, Indiana. But. It so seems like it and,

Billy.

Knew how to breathe but that’s another thing he keeps on forgetting. Every time Steve Harrington passes him by.

He’s gotta force himself. To nod. To stop choking. When Will looks up at him with those big eyes. Questioning.

Apologizing.

Billy Hargrove, from freshly crowned local terror to―

“I was―” Will starts. Inhales. Presses his lips together right before blurting out the truth ‘cause he knows it's the only real way out "Showing Billy my drawings. Sometimes we―"

―the softie whose pride goes high up in his throat every time an eleven-year-old kid says 'Billy, this is good. It's very. Very good, Billy’.

"Sometimes we. Uhm. We―"

Will's already huge eyes get bigger, rounder. As if he’s just realizing that where he's stuck his foot keeps getting muddier, trapping himself all the way in. And Billy smiles lightly at him, sideways, so it’s hidden. From Steve Harrington. From all the world beyond. ‘Cause of that thing about facades and how hard they’re to maintain, when on one side is pressing what you're supposed to be and on the other, relentlessly, what you're hiding.

But Steve’s asking,

“Sometimes―what?” and Will’s eyes are fixed on Billy, two wide-open I’m sorrys and Billy thinks Fuck it, Hargrove. C’mon. Stop hiding.

So he’s the one who says,

“We share our drawings, Harrington”

And Steve.

He’s got those eyes.

They're like a troubled ocean in the heart of winter, those eyes. Hard, hard, hard. Imposing. But soft. So fucking soft. When something catches him off guard. Rolling stones in the breaker. And Billy wants to get swept up in them, like falling along the curve of a wave. Steve looks at him, and at the drawing in his hand, his eyes a swirl and, when he looks up, the calm. And Billy feels as those times when it seemed to him the waves wanted. To wrap around him. To catch him. Soft as the reflecting clouds. And Billy feels as those times when he’d let them. Carry him. Drag him to the shore. Safe and sound.

“Is that yours?” Steve frowns. When he does that. He looks the prettiest. And Billy's heart breaks. In tiny tiny pieces. Thinks This is what it takes, thinks Fuck, thinks, This is how things hurt when you let your skin get soft.

What you don’t have. What you want. What you could―

Fuck.

What you could love so bad you'd rip your own skin off, so they could touch your heart right with their own hands.

Billy nods. Will smiles. Steve’s frown softens and― waveswaveswaves. On an autumn morning. Waves lapping at the surface of an ocean of calm.

And now. Billy sings AC/DC with Max. His heart taking on water when his voice falls off-key and she clutches at her lungs, choking on laughter. Now, he sits in the back of an old shack halfway between who he is and who he should be and so, so very carefully turns at the pages of Will Byers' sketchbook.

And Billy Hargrove hit rock bottom one day in late October. Hit rock bottom and beat into pulp that pretty face he can't stop seeing in his dream. When he's asleep. When he's awake. Hit rock bottom and that's where he's going to stay. It's either that. Or risk coming up to the wrong surface. And it's easier, here at the bottom. Easier to see what matters, when you look up.

Here, Billy takes a breath. Deep. Deeper. Holds onto that air so he has something keeping him alive underwater when Steve snatches the drawing off his hands. Studies it carefully. Says,

"It's―Uhm. Well―" Grins "It's not. Beautiful. Like, conventionally." He eyes cut back to Billy and something in them breaks into whitewater, into that softness he can't help, as if everything else is as much of a lie as 'Billy Hargrove' and all those imaginary walls "But―"

He says ‘But’ and then. The bell goes off.

"Oh!" Will bounces on the spot "I have to―" he yanks the backpack shut "Class!"

He takes off. Running. Turning around right before the corner of the shack to wave at them, flashing one of those smiles Billy has involuntarily categorized as 'the good ones', wide and already almost panting again, before disappearing at the speed of light towards school and to, Billy hopes, be one of those few kids who are still going to be laughing just as hard, just as happy, a few years down the road. If they’re lucky.

(If Billy’s lucky)

Steve Harrington is still there, planted in front of him when the alarm stops.

"Can I bump one of those?" he asks, chin pointing to the smoke Billy's squeezing between his fingers. In the drift of his hair the Ray-Bans stay afloat, capsizing.

Billy bangs the base of the pack against his thigh, pops out a cigarette. Offers it to him. Scrapes his thumb along the wheel when Steve takes it to his lips, leaning forward and― It's broad daylight but in the thin glow of the flame it almost feels like it’s that exact instant when the world begins to fade, darkness turning wide-open spaces into narrow little universes: Steve Harrington and his red lips around the smoke and a small ache in the pad of Billy's thumb from keeping alive the fire and from wanting things with a bigger kind of ache, his heart cauterizing from holding inside the rage of knowing he's never, ever going to have them but―

"But?" Billy asks.

Steve grabs his wrist. Hollows out his cheeks. Inhales deep. Takes him a moment when he pulls away. To let go. Long enough that his fingers could read the way Billy's pulse is raging in his wrist, if he wanted to.

“But” And he’s smiling. Lopsided. He slips into Will's seat and stretches his neck toward the sky. Prolongs the wait. Exhales. "It's cute."

And then his gaze cuts down and he’s searching for him, with those eyes of his. For Billy, who can never stop looking at him so, when he finds him, finds him looking back already.

And Billy―

Billy.

"Cute?"

Billy. Blinks. His hand stops halfway from getting his own cigarette to his mouth. Stops his heart and it feels like time’s stopping too, in this narrowness Steve's presence has reduced the moment into. And he’s smiling big now. His eyes soft. Soft. So fucking soft. And Billy thinks,

You're getting soft too, Billy Hargrove. You want to let him shred off your skin, when Steve says,

"You," snorting a soft laugh, sun melting in his eyes like honey "With Will. Drawing."

Billy wants him to never stop looking at him like that. Wants to lean in, and kiss him.

"Shut up and smoke your fucking cigarette, Harrington" he growls.

And Steve rolls his eyes in a way that screams 'Gotcha, Hargrove', but leans his back against the peeling wood of the shack.

And does as he’s told.

(Next Tuesday, it's not just Will who shows up, when the bell starts ringing)

i just finished translating this and, since i had originally written this part as and stand-alone thing. here it is. idk if it's worth the work of translating it whole, or if i really feel like it but, we'll see!. i've been at war with life and writing this past few weeks but i've been missing you so much, fandom <3<3<3. hope you've been doing well.

also billy + will + drawing is one of my fav hcs and there are a few tiny things more that i wanna write? hopefully i will 🌟

#harringrove #billy hargrove #will byers #steve harrington #stranger things #billy x steve #steve x billy #billy & will #xharringrove

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whumpzone · 3 years

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Tomas and Rowe - Part 17

Masterpost

taglist: @sola-whumping @just-another-whumper @misspelledwitch @looptheloup @briars7 @black-polarf @zipadeedooda-drabbles @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @rosesareviolentlyread @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @kestrelsparverius @whumpsy-daisies @whumpersworld @memoriesneverforget @sky-or-something-idfk @cupcakes-and-pain @frankieswhump @ihaventwritteninsolong @mybrokenlittletoy @kiretto-laorentze @morelikepainsley @lavmars @tears-and-lilies @whump-me-all-night-long @newbornwhumperfly @itaina-anta @whump-it @haro-whumps @simplygrimly @alex-ember @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @mnmlover2002 @jordanstrophe @princessofonward @xmonster-under-the-bed @as-a-matter-of-whump @5boys1house @crystalrainwing @starnight-whump @jasm0307 @lightdrinker @hurting-fictional-people @captainseconds @glamrockgregory @justbreakonme @downrivergirl914 @cdragontogacotar @whumps-up @vaguelyhumanvoid @kim-poce

CW: pet whump, dehumanisation, fingore, amputation, mentions of alcohol/being drunk

It was the middle of the night- probably- when Rowe was startled awake. He could hear the sound of the door at the end of the corridor unlocking, impossibly loud against the silence. There was a shuddering bang as it struck the wall. Kasia had slammed it open. He was angry.

The next sound was footsteps, irregular and heavy. Stumbling.

Ice ran down Rowe’s spine. It was stupid, he knew, but the fact that it was night-time made everything worse. It was night. It was dark. He was chained up in his old master’s basement for being a stupid, bad, ugly little dog, and he was going to start screaming in pain very soon.

He tried to focus his eyes. He was here, in the present. He was chained to the floor in Kasia’s personal torture chamber. Not much better. Oh, god, and why had he charged in in the middle of the night?

Was this it?

I’m a person, I deserve, fuck, uh, I deserve to be cared for, I’m, I’m, I have worth, I don’t-

Kasia stepped into view, looking down at Rowe with half-lidded eyes. He had dark, bruised knuckles on one hand. His weight shifted unevenly along his hips.

He grabbed the key to the cell, but before he unlocked it, he leant out of sight and dragged the duffle bag towards him.

It had been there the whole time. Rowe hadn’t realised. Kasia unlocked the door, pocketing the key again, and kicked the bag through roughly. The sound of metal clattering inside made Rowe’s skin crawl. It had only been a few seconds since he’d first woken up and his head was pounding.

He stayed very still, watching, waiting. Not wanting to do anything to piss Kasia off more.

The kicks weren’t too bad- his aim was off, tonight, and Rowe could grit his teeth and take it. Maybe he just needed to quickly let off some steam, maybe this time he wouldn’t bother with his sadistic creativity.

“I hate you. I fucking hate you,” he spat, reaching down to grab Rowe’s hair. He missed, swung again then blanched and pulled himself back up. He took a shaky step back to right himself and a hand came to rest on his belly. “Stand up. Stand the fuck up! I’m not crouching down. Ugh.”

Rowe stammered, words failing him for a few seconds as he tried to push through the fear and reply. “I-I-I can’t, I’m ch-chained to the f-f-f-floor-“

“Fuck,” Kasia shouted and Rowe whimpered, pulling back. Kasia yanked the duffle bag up and began digging through.

A smile spread across his face and Rowe’s heart stopped when Kasia pulled out a pair of bone shears. He hooked them onto his thumb while he continued to rummage until he retrieved a key.

Rowe realised it was the key to his collar. Kasia grabbed his hair successfully this time, pulling Rowe up so effortlessly he could have been made of paper. God, he was still so hungry.

The collar fell open and Rowe stayed where he was, hanging pathetically from Kasia’s hand. His lips parted to ask what he planned to do with those shears, but sick fear kept his tongue clamped down.

“Stand up then,” he snapped, his eyes burning two holes into Rowe’s. He obeyed without a thought, and Kasia locked his fingers around his throat, slamming him against the far wall. It was the hand holding the bone shears, and the thumb hoop pressed against his windpipe like a threat.

Oh hell, Rowe thought, staring up at the ceiling. Is he going to slit my throat?

“I’m going to fuck you up,” Kasia growled, and a few tears slipped down Rowe’s cheeks. Kasia’s free hand suddenly grabbed his left wrist, holding it up, looking at it.

Rowe did he best to keep breathing through his rising terror. “Pl-please, please d-d-don’t, have mer-mercy, pl-“

Kasia pulled his wrist out straight with such ferocity that Rowe’s pleas died immediately, turning instead to gasps of horror. The hand holding the bone shears left his neck, opening wide like a jaw.

It all happened too fast. The bone shears clamped down onto Rowe’s ring finger, only slowing when they struck bone, but within seconds his finger was severed and blood was streaming from the fresh wound.

For a few moments everything was silent; the only sound was the ringing in his ears. His vision splintered, the form of Kasia blurring before him, and bile quickly rose in his throat as he screamed. Oh, god. Oh god oh god my finger he really did it no please no no no no it’s not real it’s not real.

Kasia released Rowe’s wrist and took a step back, admiring his work while Rowe howled. Both pairs of eyes were wide and bloodshot, staring at the empty space between Rowe’s fingers.

“Now,” he slurred, drawing up his weapon hand once more. “I’ll make it symmetrical for you, Pet.”

All Rowe could do was try to get away. He didn’t think about it, he just knew he had to. Kasia filled the entire space before him, a great towering beast. There was nowhere to go except to stumble on his weak legs towards the corner of the cell.

Kasia smiled at this pitiful display and moved forwards, when it happened. His foot landed in the fresh pool of blood and onto Rowe’s finger and he slipped.

Rowe had until Kasia hit the floor to make a choice. As his tormentor’s back struck the concrete, Rowe chose.

He thrust his arms forward and grabbed the duffle bag, and fuck, it was heavy. It must have been adrenaline and the raging thrill of disobedience that imbued his limbs with the strength to heave it up and send it whirling into Kasia’s head. It connected with a rusty clang and Kasia let out a thick groan, collapsing.

There wasn’t a second to lose. Rowe reached out with his good hand, the one with all five fingers, and gripped the chain still attached to the floor anchor. Pulling it up, he twisted towards the dazed and hurt Kasia, and wrapped it around his neck, gritting his teeth and begging silently for this to work. He pulled as hard as he could.

Kasia’s hands shot up to Rowe’s, scrabbling and writhing. His nails easily broke the skin along Rowe’s taut, pale-white knuckles in a desperate attempt to get free, but Rowe was used to pushing through pain. He dug his feet in and summoned his whole weak, malnourished body to help him.

“You- fu- ugh!” Kasia’s words failed as the chain around his throat only tightened. He kept struggling, thrashing his legs until they were soaked with Rowe’s blood. One hand stayed scratching around the chain, while another reached up to claw at Rowe’s face, but Rowe easily evaded it.

It was sickening. He was hurting him, he was being a bad Pet, he was forgetting his place, he was going to become a murderer if he didn’t let up soon.

Kasia’s arms fell limply down. His legs stopped kicking. Rowe loosened the chain just a little, leaning forward and listening. He was breathing- just. Unconscious. Good.

“I hate you,” Rowe whispered.

His skin was still prickling with terror, and he dug around in Kasia’s various jacket pockets until he found what he needed. The collar snapped shut around Kasia’s neck nicely, the click of the lock filling the room.

Finally, he could breathe. He noticed a watch on Kasia’s left wrist- it truly was the middle of the night. Rowe had to go. He had come too far now. It would be cold. There would be people about. He was drenched in blood, old and new, and had burns, sores, bruises, and a neck bearing all the hallmarks of a collar. He decided to take Kasia’s jacket. It wasn’t much, but it would keep him warm, and hopefully make him look less like an escaped Pet.

Before he put it on he ripped a portion of Kasia’s t-shirt and did his best to staunch his wound. It would have to do. He draped the jacket over his shoulders and opened the cell door, taking a last look inside. Kasia was lying in a pool of blood, more similar to a corpse than a living being, the collar trapping him within the confines of the short chain. To the walls, and the tap, but not the door. The duffle bag lay near him and Rowe pulled it out of reach, just in case anything inside could double as a lockpick. Somewhere in the midst of all the gore was Rowe’s finger, but he couldn’t mourn it. Better it was left in there, rather than him.

He shut and locked the door, and turned to look down the corridor, his heart in his mouth. It was short, with only four cells on either side. He walked down it, and-

Yes, oh thank fuck yes, his suspicion had been correct. He had truly heard it. The sound of the door at the end of the hall opening- and nothing else.

Kasia, in his wondrous, amazing, heaven-sent state of drunkenness, had forgotten to lock it behind him. The keypad sat uselessly on the side of the open door.

He reached the exit. This was it.

Rowe pulled the jacket tighter, and ran.

#tomas and rowe #pet whump #whump fic #pet whumpee #mine #ENJOY GUYS!!!!!#this was so fun to write god

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saphirered · 3 years

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Hi! I really love the stuff you've been writing for Molly!! It's so engaging and really sweet and makes me smile really wide, so thank you for that! If you're still taking requests, could I request a romantic Molly x Reader who's a druid/bard multiclass? Who has the same vibes as a Disney princess? I hope you have a great day and I can't wait to see what you write next!!

Aw shucks thank you so much ☺️. I hope this is to your liking. Enjoy 😘

The parade to draw people into the carnival was coming to an end. You were almost back at the tent and had gathered a proper crowd to watch the night’s show. Along the way you did your acrobatics and used some druidcraft to create little flowers in the palm of your hand or letting colourful floral vines bloom throughout your hair and attire. The whole look made you appear like an ethereal creature from the Feywild, perhaps even at the Seelie Court itself.

Children giggle as you wave at them, snowflakes fall only to melt before they reach the ground. Dancing around you had fun and eventually found your ‘Fire Faerie’ friend. Together you twist and turn in a carefully practiced routine. A cloud of petals floats around you until Orna sets them ablaze, the embers blowing up in the breeze with a soft casting of Gust from you. People laugh and cheer as you both curtsied and move on your way through the crowd.

You find Molly juggling his iridescent shimmering scimitars. Announcing your presence you dance around him just barely out of reach from the sharp blades. He nearly drops one in surprise, not expecting you to step so close but recovers quickly and it seems either no one noticed or they expected it to be part of the act. He sends you a half smile and a wink as you twist and turn around him avoiding the blades by a hair’s width humming a sweet melody. Gasps came from the people around as you narrowly avoid the scimitar from cutting through you like butter.

You stop and take a slower pace to fall back a little bit, run and with the momentum, leap onto Molly’s shoulders in a handstand as he continued to walk. You let a couple of the flowery vines weave into his horns as he laughs and you flip over landing ahead of him. Looking over your shoulder you blow him a kiss with a wink as he continues juggling. You continue your routine with the song, the melody turning into a beautiful song people follow behind you as if you were the piped piper. Each time you take your next step you leave behind a path of colourful wildflowers.

Toya had been feeling a bit under the weather so, you were to take over her act for the night. All dressed in flowy chiffons of greens, blues, purple and golds held together by felted vines and silk flowers, glittery exaggerated makeup, hair braided and teased you’re ready to take on your role. Your devil at your side usual clothes exchanged for dark ashen robes and features contoured in such a way to give him an even more devilishly handsome look.

“And our next story, comes from far away. The fires of hell know one loyal to Zariel herself! A trickster, traitor and danger to all. One should know better than make a deal with this devil…” You hear from behind the curtain Gustav begins your introduction.

“That’s my cue. Let’s give them a show worth remembering.” Molly kisses your knuckles before his lips meet yours and he’s off by the time you open your eyes. Taking a few deep breaths you wait for the ‘story’ to continue.

“They say a devil’s heart cannot be tamed. They must never have met the Summer Princess! Blessed from the Feywild, what is beautiful is most dangerous and they are no exception. The Summer Princess walks among the Seelie Courts but those who pay careful attention may just hear their song. Be warned, they are much more treacherous than the devil…” Peaking through the curtain just so no one can see you focus on the support beams of the tent and begin casting your spell. Blooming vines creep up the beams wrapping around, flowers drape down. Petals begin to fall down from the ceiling provided by the Knot Sisters from the shadows. You hear gasps as people look around.

You see Molly walk around, sword dragging in the dirt as you hear him growl at the plants. Time to sing and sing you do.

The people look around as you tend to the flowers near one post ‘oblivious’ of the presence ‘in your garden’. You interact with some of the people in the front row offering them smiles and making flowers sprout around where they sit, offer an airy touch of the cheek of the poor individuals entranced by your song, unable to keep their eyes off you as they cling onto every word.

Your song speaks of the beauties of the Feywild. Making use of your training you belt. Birds fly into the tent, swirling around you, the devil watching, his face turning from anger to bewilderment as he sticks to the shadows. You reach your hand to the sky mimicking the melody of the songbirds. Stretching your arms to the side one by one they land. You let them sing replying in a song of your own as if you’re having a conversation with them.

Molly steps out from the shadows and into the light around you. You hear whispers from the audience ‘watch out’, ‘he’s behind you’ and ‘the devil is coming for the princess’. You continue your song walking along the audience, birds still resting on your arms as you sing with them. Next you turn the edge of the blade of ‘the devil’ is pointed at you and you act surprised, your song stopping for just a moment.

“What are you?” Molly growls showing his fangs as he does fully committing to his role. You can’t help but hide a smile. Such a lover of theatrics.

“I’m the Summer Princess and you, handsome devil are in my garden.” You sing, the blade drops a little before it raises closer to you.

“Do not think you can charm me, wild enchantress.” You hum to the birds and they give a reply.

“I charm only those willing to listen to my song. Are you willing, handsome devil of mine, walking in my garden.” You harmonise with the birds. They leap into flight circling around you and Molly closer and closer until you’re standing toe to toe.

“Your song is sweeter than temptation, more treacherous than this devil’s words.” You move your hand to stroke his cheek as you do flowers and vines similar to the ones in your hair begin growing in his much like a crown. You may have overdone it a bit but Molly would see later what piece of art you left for him to remind him of your act.

“Then join me handsome devil, and let the wildflowers keep our secret.” You tilt your head as if you were going to kiss him speaking the last words. You step back, hand outstretched looking at him with bright eyes. Molly’s hand stretches out towards you as you set pack.

“Come with me, my handsome devil.” You sing as he begins following you with slow paces. Gustav comes around once more.

“And so the Summer Princess tames the heart of their handsome devil. Their charm never fails and they are as treacherous as they are beautiful still. Take care to stay out of their garden or you might just end up like their handsome devil…”

————————————————————————

After a successful evening show you sit at the camp attempting to remove the vines and flowers from your hair and clothes. They look beautiful but are an absolute hell to get rid of and leaving them in isn’t really an option. As far as you could tell you successfully got rid of all the vines and flowers without harming the delicate silk greens, purples blues and yellow golds of your show costume which left you with your hair.

Not even half way through with the moon high in the sky you give up with an exasperated sigh and let yourself fall backwards onto the soft grass. Most of the others had gone to bed already or found the bottom of a bottle so you’d find no help there. The calmness and quiet of starry night brings comfort to your mind and you start to drift off a bit. Your ears still manage to catch the familiar footfalls approaching you and your pile of discarded flowers. What you didn’t expect was about a hand or two full of flowers hitting you in the face.

Opening your eyes you saw Mollymauk standing above you with half grin. By the looks of him he had attempted to get the flowers from earlier out of his hair but struggled just as much as you had and given up halfway through. He hadn’t gone about it as carefully as you though so the purple knotted mess sticking out at odd angles made him look rather funny and you stifle a giggle as you get to your feet. He puts his hands on his hips.

“You think this is funny? I swear, if I didn’t know any better I’d really believe Gustav’s story, you little Archfey!” He speaks exasperated as you pulled away some ivy circled around one of his horns with a laugh dropping it with the pile you had created.

“Of course I think it’s funny, my handsome devil.” You patted his cheek and took one of his hands with your free one pulling him with you to sit down on the grass. Kneeling in front of him you begin untangling the vines and removing the flowers using your fingers to brush through, carefully pick apart and untangle the mess he had created. Once you are done and just brushing through his hair making sure you didn’t miss anything and to get it back to its usual state he takes your hands and presses a delicate kiss to your palms.

“Turn around?” The words come out more as a question but you do and sit between his legs as he starts carefully detangling the vines from your own hair muttering a sorry and kissing your shoulder every time he either has to or accidentally pulls on your hair to take them out. It took him a while but eventually all the vines and flowers are gone and you’re just sat, leaning back against him, listening to sounds of the early early morning and the faint light barely visible from the town you’re set up outside off in the fields.

Molly’s arms wrap around your waist and his head leaning on your shoulder as he hums a tune all too familiar to you. You elbow his stomach looking at him with a fake scowl. He kisses your scowl away and begin humming along with him, a flock of birds dancing overhead as you do. Surrounded by warmth and comfort you both slowly let the exhaustion consume you as the first lights of dawn draw upon the horizon.

#critical role x reader #mighty nein x reader #mollymauk x reader #critrole x reader

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sugarakis-p2 · 3 years

Text

Shigaraki's Muse Ch 14

Just two captives chatting, it is loud. It jumps from past to present just because I'm cruel. This Fic story is one of my favorite babies and if you're just reading this chapter doesn't have smut, it's does have plot.

Warning: Mature content with bad words

Chapter 13

Chapter 14: Boom boy

"I want you to talk to me again," Tomura muttered to her in the dim light, both hot and sweating. He brought Ember's hand to his face, using her palm to cover him, it's cooler than the rest of her, and he sighs with contentment.

"You won't like what I have to say. Why can't you be happy with me just being here?" Ember asked, annoyed. "You're more likely to give me what I want when you are happy. You're right. I won't like it. But, I don't want to kill you, and I don't want you to leave or kill yourself. So, let's make a deal. One I will hate," Tomura rasps under her hand. "I don't think we can; we want opposing things."

"I have never been able to stand being around other people. You are an expectation, you're my ally, and you should get whatever you want. I will listen to your three best arguments for letting you go, just once, then you can never bring it up again. If you can convince me, I will let you go. If you can't convince me, then I must be your expectation." He turns his head to see her reaction around her fingers. She is staring at him with suspicion. "You will just tell me I belong to you and keep me here anyway."

"Yes, without a doubt. But I listen; I'll hang onto your every word. Just because I won't be convinced today doesn't mean things won't change over time. I don't see that happening, but that is the only hope I will allow. Three one time arguments then never again." "What if you can't come up with a counterargument other than I belong to you? Then will you let me go?" She asks with little hope. Hope was getting harder to come by here.

"No," he said flatly, already looking annoyed. Ember knew it was because it's the only counterargument that mattered. "What if it's a series of questions? Do I have to do these arguments back to back?" She asks sweetly, dragging her fingers down and over his collarbone. He stops her, grabbing her hand and giving her a dark stare.

"You can't manipulate or trick me; I won't stop you from trying. But I mean it when I say that's the only hope I will allow. I catch you being insincere, trying to escape, breaking the rules; it's the chain."

"Insincere? What lying?" she asks with real confusion.

"Ug, these questions are annoying. Don't be stupid. I know what I said. If it questions you think will lead you to leave, then it's only three of those at one time, in a row. Just say I want one of my arguments. Let's not draw out this bullshit too much longer. I'd rather get back to other things," he gives her a suggestive leer.

"Ok, I agree. It's a deal." She seals the agreement with a kiss. He doesn't hate it. She's actually feeling good for the moment. He says something that chips away at her hope.

"If you have a boy, let's name him Cyrus, a girl. I want it to be Hana." "I like that. My brother's name or your sisters, it will be nice." They fall asleep tangled into each other's limbs.

"Time passed. The honeymoon was never over for Tomura, so we spent a lot of time together when I wasn't being punished. It was a really nice routine for the most part. I didn't mind. He is amazingly sweet when he gets his way. I asked for a way to cook, and he got me a hot plate. I asked to see Loverboy; he placed a camera at the food dish. He started letting me wear comfy clothes again. we played video games like in the old days." She says, smiling to the hot headed teen next to her on the couch.

"Sounds like brainwashing to me," says Bakugou, his crimson eyes burning holes into her. "Without a doubt, but if reform school taught me nothing, it's that you have to take pleasure in the little things." "Sounds like what people who don't take responsibility for their life say. Shit just happens to me, so I make shit sandwiches and plaster a smile on while I eat them. Well, not me. I'm going to find a way out." He shouts at her. She sighs, he's been nothing but a loud pain in the ass since they met. He asked how she ended up here and now he's yelling at her.

"Your funny; you also sound like an asshole, the kind they loved in reform school," she gives him a knowing wink and a click of the tongue. She turns back to her game while he huffs, getting more annoyed by the second. "Ok, how many questions do you have left?" He asks with his arms crossed. "One."

"So, did you use that as an argument, can't be healthy having it in a bunker." He pointed at her stomach. "You mean the baby. You can call it a zygote but quit pointing at me awkwardly. Yes, it didn't go well. That's why I've saved the other." "I see," Bakugou gets up to stare at the door lock some more while Ember plays an RPG. "When we met that night, you had the chain on, why?" He yells at her while staring at the thumb lock. More shouting, she thinks.

"It's a long story."

"Well, we have nothing but time, so spit it out! Better yet, tell me everything, highlight the important shit until we meet." Sighing, she quits her game and turns on the couch to look at him. He's giving her a pissed-off look; he always looks pissed off. He reminds her of a louder version of Tomura, part of her wonders if this is how he would have turned out in another universe. If that happened, she would've used the knife on Tomura. She hates the little fuck nut who must still have his parents. It's the only way she can imagine nobody drowned him in a tub. At first, she wasn't sure, but she is now. Tomura placed him here on purpose to break her.

"Ask nicely," she replies.

"What! Look, if you tell me everything, maybe I can help you come up with an argument." She gives him a dirty look and turns her back on him. Like Tomura, when Ember gives them the silent treatment, they give in to basic niceties.

"Ahhhhh, fine! Please, tell me everything, highlight the important shit until we meet, so I can help you come up with an argument." "See, was that so hard?" She gives him a sweet smile. She sighs again, not wanting to tell him her participation in his capture. She gives him a look of pity. "Are you looking down on me?" he asked vehemently.

"It's a good thing you have pretty eyes. I'm a sucker for pretty eyes."

Chapter 15

#kidnapping #bakugou katsuki #mha fanfiction #yandere shigaraki tomura #yandere shigaraki #yandere

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aphroditestummyrolls · 3 years

Text

i wrote a fairytale au moment

my country has reached a terrifying level of disarray and i am scared. so i wrote some escapism (literally) for Joe and Nicky. i was even inspired by this to write a whole fairytale au fic!!! it is long-- like, my star wars fics level of long, and im very excited about it. it feels good to be excited about something lol.

Folks that wanted to be tagggged: @ilostmyothersock, @littlerosetrove, @antukini, @sunriseseance, and @polarcell <3333 i hope you enjoy it! let me know if you do.

His heart pounded in his chest, the nighttime’s dewy grass sending him slipping and sliding as he darted between the trees. He didn’t dare take his usual, well-trodden path. Not tonight— not if his father had sent anyone after him.

The gardener’s cottage was on the edge of the palace grounds, where the lush, even lawns, sculpted shrubs and elaborate floral displays gave way to the foothills of the mountains. The ancient groves of chestnut trees were wilder, monuments to the artistry of a natural, unpruned life. Silver blue moonlight shone on their trunks, guiding Yusuf’s frantic steps as he dove deeper into the woods. He had slipped out of his chamber window without a sound that night— just as he had many nights before. There were no guards stationed out this far. He’d left the last of them blissfully ignorant, back by the last of the rose trellises— he knew it, but the urgency of tonight was twisting him into knots. He had to be sure. He had to take all precautions.

He couldn’t live with himself if he accidentally exposed this secret.

Finally, the endless shadowy forest gave way to a familiar clearing. The iron fist clenched around his heart loosened some, and he heaved a deep breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

The cottage was small. The roof leaked when it stormed, and the front door had gone crooked with age, providing a gale-force draft that rattled the windows on windy nights. The stones used to build it were near as old as the trees around it, starting to crack after weathering centuries of snowy winters and sun-baked summers.

It was small, yes. But he knew that the bed was warm, that the verdant rows of growing vegetables smelled like earth and honey under the sun’s heat, and that he felt relaxed there. It felt more like a home than the Palace of Genoa, where he was all but trapped under the constant gaze of gossiping strangers. It was even more comforting than the silks and spices of home, across the sea where his family and his people ruled.

His father had told him that he was accompanying him to Genoa to discuss trade imports between their kingdoms. He had said that they were to spend the year solidifying their connections with the Genoese royal family, drawing up important contracts— it's time you learned a thing or two about compromise, Yusuf.

That was what he said.

Yusuf rapped desperately at the door, a ragged half a sob punching out of his throat when he realized that he was finally there, on the flagstone threshold of someplace warm and safe, and—

“What’s happened? Yusuf?” The door opened to the smoldering orange light of the hearth, the brightest lantern hastily lit by the sleep-ruffled man blinking owlishly at him. “You said it would be too dangerous to meet tonight, while you met with your father…”

Yusuf would have laughed at his sweet face, if he weren’t about to cry from relief.

“He means to marry me to her.” He said, shaping the words outside of his panicked head for the first time. They felt too loud in the quiet night, too starkly horrible against the pristine haven of the trees. “The Princess, she—“ Yusuf choked.

Only now did he notice how his hands trembled, the way his vision was going steadily blurrier— he blinked against the heat building behind his eyes. The summer night was cool, but not cold, yet he still shivered. He shivered until a work-rough hand took pity on him. Nicolo reached out and pulled Yusuf into him, like he had all those months ago, back when everything changed.

He pulled him through the threshold into the cottage, the floorboards creaking and the door swinging shut behind them as Yusuf spun around to immediately throw his arms around his love’s shoulders. The fog of sleep was gone when Nico’s pale eyes locked on his, suddenly and horribly awake. A hot tear broke ranks and burned a track down Yusuf’s cheek.

Nico made a sad little noise. It rumbled from somewhere deep in his chest, a hum and a moan, the quiet syllable of no hidden in behind his teeth— like mourning. He cradled Yusuf’s face, his thumb brushing the wetness away.

“When are you to be betrothed?” He asked, his voice hoarse, like the sentence had to be yanked out of him.

Yusuf just shook his head, the thought of it flipping his stomach. “They intend to announce the engagement by the end of the summer.”

Something broke behind Nicolò’s eyes, and Yusuf knew what he was thinking. They had barely a fortnight left. The arm around his waist squeezed tighter, pressing their chests flush.

He could feel their hearts, pounding in time with each other. Usually it was a comfort, but it was a ticking clock between the two of them now. Their moments together were numbered.

Nicolo shuffled them around after a few tender seconds— breathing each other’s air, stroking over each other’s backs, existing in shared space— and maneuvered Yusuf to sit on the edge of his bed. It was still warm, the covers rumpled.

“I’m sorry to wake you. I just… I had to see you.”

Nico shook his head, “No apologies, Tesoro.” He puttered around the room, stoking the fire from embers to flames before setting the kettle over the highest heat. He settled on his knees, knelt at Yusuf’s feet to study him face to face.

He brushed Yusuf’s tousled curls off his forehead, and gazed into his eyes. His love’s eyes were a pale, silvery green, but tonight, they looked darker. In the dim glow of the cottage at night, they were bluer than usual, contrasted with the amber firelight. Yusuf leaned into his palm as it traced his hairline, down over his beard and jaw. Nico sat in silence, watching him with the gentleness of someone patient enough to watch the flowers grow. He was waiting.

“I…” he didn’t know where to start, what to say, “She’s so… She’s so old.”

Nico’s smile was unmistakably sad, little more than a quirk of lips, but his nod of agreement spurred Yusuf on.

“It has nothing to do with her looks, really. She’s just so old, and so wasteful, and her gaze on me is so… I just… I understand that I’ve put off marriage as long as my father can take. But she’s 25 years my senior. Her children are my age, Nicolo!”

He had told these things to his father— he had begged him not to go through with the arrangement, not to agree to the Genoese king’s proposal for his daughter’s hand. It’s already done, he’d said, it was arranged months ago.

Yusuf had no choice in the matter.

“I suppose it’s stupid that I was surprised.” He groused, his throat feeling tight and his voice thick. “It’s been so long since any of his children were more than bargaining chips to him— I’m not his son, I’m a new trade route.”

The kettle on the fire began to whistle, but Nico was sure to take his hands and kiss his knuckles before standing up to fix their tea.

Left to drift in his mind, Yusuf chewed his lip and floated through his memories, mentally listing the siblings that he’d lost to distant royal families. Only his eldest brother, Farouk, would never leave home. The throne was his, but what about the rest of them? What was the point of having children, of lovingly raising a family, if only to scatter them to the four winds in exchange for trade routes, dowries, and peace treaties?

It would be different if Mama was alive, he thought with a despairing little whimper. She wouldn’t let him do this…

“Yusuf, breathe.” His love’s voice broke into his thoughts, calling him back from the tangle of his mind. A steaming mug of rosehips, mint and honey was pressed into his palm, and Nico took it on himself to mold his hand around the warm pottery. “D’you have it?”

“If I say no, will you keep holding my hand like that?” Will you never let me go? he added silently, sure that his eyes were saying it all for him. Nico’s grip was warm and solid, and the calluses felt rough against him. It tethered him to reality, right there on his love’s bed. His pale gaze was soft and glimmering a little. Like he was going to cry. Like he couldn’t imagine saying goodbye to Yusuf anymore than Yusuf could bear the idea of letting Nicolo go. He swallowed around the lump in his throat, reaching out his free hand to card into his long hair. “Don’t let them take me, Nicolo— come away with me.”

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. He didn’t mean to spring this half formed, half delirious, half perfect plan on him so soon after waking him up in the middle of the night. The words fell from his lips, unwarranted and chaotic, but suddenly he was desperate to go, run, and be free.

Before he knew what was happening, the hot mug was lifted from his hand and Nico’s were on him, cupping his cheeks to slam their lips together. His waist was wedged between Yusuf’s thighs, his arms slipping down to wrap around him and tug his hips closer while Yusuf twined both of his hands into his love’s hair, desperate and trembling with the need to have him as close as he could be.

He nearly gasped with the need for air by the time they dared to pull away, but he missed his love’s lips the second they weren’t on his. Nico pressed their foreheads together, drinking in deep gulps of air, tear tracks wet on his cheeks and clumping his lashes as he fisted his hands in Yusuf’s tunic.

Yusuf’s hands in his hair slid down to stroke gently along his cheeks, feeling the wetness and studying how it gleamed in the glow of the hearth.

He held tight to Yusuf, fingers flexing in the fine fabric of his sleeping clothes. His jaw worked, jumping the way it did when he was holding his tongue. Everything about him was grim and elegant, as still as a statue.

He was so beautiful, and so sad.

“Why d’you look at me like that, Hayati?” He sighed, his own heart gripped in a terrible vice.

Nico swallowed, lips twisted with concern for a moment before he finally sighed and said, “I cannot ask you to leave your life, Yusuf. You are of such importance—“

“I am the sixth child of the Tunisian King. Farouk is his heir, and he already has three children of his own. I am nothing more than a mountain pass into the north to my father. My people barely know a thing about me— to them I’m simply the handsome, unmarried oddity of the royal family. My love, you know the wealthy trappings of royal life have never been something I need— but I need a life where I am appreciated and loved for who I am! I need simple comforts and a partner to walk hand and hand with through life. I need you, Nicolo.”

The fire crackled, and the cottage was quiet. Yusuf’s chest heaved, and tears streamed down Nicolò’s face. His bright eyes shone with a reverent light, like he had in the early days of falling in love— like he still did, in the pale morning hours when Yusuf was still half asleep by his side. It was as if he was falling in love all over again. Awestruck and grateful, his eyes looking like glimmering, full moons as he beheld Yusuf like a fallen star.

It took a long moment for Nico to find the words. Yusuf stroked his hair, hands still trembling from the adrenaline, even as the knots in his gut began to loosen.

“Yusuf, you…” he trailed off, rose back up on his knees and kissed him like an act of worship— firm, tender, salty with tears and trembling just as much as Yusuf was. Nico pulled slowly back, just far enough to nuzzle their noses and look him in the eyes. “I have never loved anyone the way I love you.”

“Will you come with me?”

“To the ends of the earth. Yes, Tesoro.” He sucked in a breath and let it out long, in a sigh that seemed to clear out all the corners of Yusuf’s cluttered mind. And then, he smiled.

Nicolo was a man of intricate reactions. There was beauty in each and every one, but it was a private, special thing to see that broad, happy grin.

“Drink this while it’s still hot— it’ll help your heart calm itself.” He fussed, pressing the mug back into Yusuf’s palm, and this time, he took it gladly. Nico stood to his full height, standing over him where he sat for a brief moment while Yusuf didn’t dare take his eyes off of him. Looking back down at him with the glow of something divine in his eyes, Nico bent himself down to press a soft kiss to Yusuf’s brow.

“Well, my Prince— where shall we go?”

Yusuf grinned back, something bright and hopeful growing in his chest.

They had planning to do.

********

Yusuf gazed up from where he laid in the glen, soft grass and wildflowers under his feet. The sun dappled the forest floor, streaming down into the parting of the trees where the cottage sat. Nico flickered his lips into one of his barely-there smiles as he gazed down at him where Yusuf had pillowed his head on his thigh.

Summer was nearly done. The full, green leaves were burnished gold around the edges by the hot sunlight; the garden smelled heavy with ripe harvests and vibrant flowers; and— on the far side of the palace grounds, beyond chestnut groves and manicured lawns, and terraces— the home of the King was glittering with silk flags and banners for the harvest ball. The last days leading up to the festival were certain to be wildly busy— there wouldn’t be a single moment where Yusuf could slip by unnoticed. Nicolo would be fussing about in the palace gardens with last minute preparations from dawn to dusk.

Usually, Yusuf would be tearing his hair out from the stress. He couldn’t stand the pomp and circumstance, the endless preparations of a ball. He spent hours per day, standing stock still and poked with pins while he was fitted for another itchy, Genoese costume. King Vincenzo was seeking out any opportunity to discipline the palace staff, and the courtiers got particularly insufferable as the long awaited date came to peacock around at the height of their finery. Even back at home, festivals were terrible, but in Genoa, Yusuf’s father had become even more strict. You are representing our kingdom! Act like it! was the most common phrase, hissed into Yusuf’s ear for the most minor infractions. He was constantly watching him, his shrewd eyes looking for any moment to say stand like royalty, Yusuf— shoulders back.

He hated standing on ceremony and the never-ending scrutiny— but, this time was the last time. His escape was in sight. He didn’t complain a single time about the drapes of scratchy, heavy fabric piled on his shoulders, or the way standing with such rigid posture made his back ache. He took each new indignity with a smile so gracious that even his father was smiling back.

Thinking of Nicolo made every pinprick more bearable. Lying there in the sun, eyes closed to bask in the warmth, he thought about the expertly packed saddlebags under his love’s bed. He listened to his soft humming— a tune Yusuf had only heard when he was rearing his most delicate seedlings, or on their quietest, gentlest mornings together— and the way it blended into the sounds of the birds.

Yusuf had never felt so certain of his path.

He was so content that he didn’t notice that the fingers twining their way through his curls had gone until they must have been missing from him for quite a while. He cracked open one eye, peering up at his love with mild accusation. Nico wasn’t paying attention to his pouting lips, though.

Sitting up to get a better look at him, Yusuf found Nico’s deft hands full of colorful flowers. He weaved their stems back and forth, his steady gaze flicking over to Yusuf with a sparkle in them.

“If I didn’t know you like I do, I’d have thought you’d fallen asleep.” He chuckled.

Yusuf sat close to his side, able to look over his shoulder and study the intricate bouquet. “What a beautiful braid.” He murmured, awe in his voice.

Some of the blooms were the small, wild ones that grew in the glen, poking out between the wide circles of bright blue coneflowers and puffs of golden orange chrysanthemums that Nico must’ve pulled up from the garden bed beside them.

“Let me show you how?” Nico replied, phrased as a question even as he handed over his work for Yusuf’s inspection. “It’s not as hard as it looks, I promise.” He said, tiny smile tilting his lips again.

Perhaps it was his imagination, or his own excitement, but it seemed as if Nicolò’s smiles had gotten wider, his eyes gone softer. The rod of nervous tension that always clung to his spine in the days before a ball wasn’t as unyielding and stiff.

Nico was more at peace. He weaved the stems of his beloved flowers in, out and under each other, dutifully guiding Yusuf’s hands as he collected his own flowers. He was right— it wasn’t as difficult as it had looked. The rhythm was steady and relaxing, a balm on the last of his nerves as he tucked flower after precious flower into his braid of grass. The crickets chirped, the birds sang, and the sun fed the earth— Yusuf sat side by side with his love, and it felt right.

“You know, I have been thinking.” Nico murmured, his rich accent nothing more than a purr into the summer breeze.

Yusuf chuckled, knocking their shoulders together, “Dangerous.”

Nico huffed an indignant sound, but his eyes rolled playfully when he met his gaze, “Of course, of course— thinking is only for those supremely educated, princely philosophers. How dare I—“

“No, no no no!” Yusuf shook out his curls, letting out a full, genuine laugh, “Tell me every thought that has ever passed through your head, Hayati— it is my privilege to be your audience.” He was grinning, laughing, cupping Nico’s sunkissed cheek and basking in the light of his eyes. “What were you thinking about?”

Nico licked his lips, swallowing like his throat had gone dry as he maneuvered himself to face Yusuf, sitting on his knees like he had not so long ago. Something about it squeezed at Yusuf’s heart, his smile fading into seriousness as he waited.

He carefully took and set down their braided flowers on the grass, scooping Yusuf’s hands up into his own.

“If we are to truly leave this place, I want to do this properly.” He said, eyes clear and trained on him with an unwavering focus. “I love you, Yusuf, but I can’t promise any royal comforts, or an easy life. I have no ring or dagger to give,” his breath came out long and slow, intentionally calm even while his fingers squeezed around Yusuf’s hands. He let go, then, picking up his circlet of braided flowers to hold in his lap. “I can only promise you the kinds of beauty I can make grow. Would you…”

His voice stuttered, his gaze dropping down to his lap and the blue flowers there, as if Yusuf was too blinding to look at. He could feel his smile splitting his cheeks, bright and unabashed, the cry of yes on the tip of his tongue, nearly jumping from his lips.

But he waited, patiently holding space for his love. He reached out and cupped his hand over his wrist, feeling his pulse race under the delicate skin, just to make Nico meet his gaze again.

“Would you marry me, my Prince?”

Yes. “Yes, my Gardener. I will marry you.” He replied, whispered like a secret, but more resonant and proud than anything he’d ever said. He was grinning, “Though, I’m not sure how much of a Prince I’ll be by the time we wed.”

Nico huffed one of his little laughs, meeting Yusuf with one of his rare, open smiles as he lifted the circlet of blue and orange and braided white to rest gently on top of his curls.

“No, but you will always be mine.” He said, swiping a tear from Yusuf’s cheek, not unlike he had done so recently, for such different reasons. It was more breath than sound, matching Yusuf’s hush.

I’ve never been so proud to wear a crown, he thought.

With his chest feeling expansive and warm, his cheeks hot with a pink flush, Yusuf hastily reached out for his own circlet of flowers. Their wide, fragrant petals and little sun-yellow centers felt silky under his fingers as he lifted it to Nico’s brow.

“If I maintain such royalty, then, my husband must, too.” He replied, voice nearly lost in the birdsong. “King of my heart, my true love.”

Nico’s face had gone soft and slack with a familiar expression— as if Yusuf was the sun itself, as if his warmth and light had singlehandedly brought him to life.

Yusuf let himself be held as Nicolo took his face in his hands and leaned in close. He pressed his lips to his tear-stained cheek, and then the other. He peppered the smallest, gentlest kisses across the freckles on his nose, and Yusuf wrapped his hands around his love’s wrists to keep him close. The last kiss was softly, loving left on the crest of his brow bone, tender enough to bring the forest to a standstill.

#joe x nicky #immortal husbands #kaysanova #yusuf x nicolo #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #the old guard #the old guard fanfic #fairytale au #escapism for the struggling #schmoopy schmoopy sappy fluff and some tears (cuz i always make joe cry-- not sorry)

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pressedinthepages · 3 years

Text

Breeze

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Rating: T

Masterlist

a/n: reader request: [Hello! I read that you would like to write something other than x reader from time to time, so I have a (hopefully cute 😳) Geraskier-request for you: Geralt saving money and surprising Jaskier with buying him his own horse. And Jaskier is deeply moved by that action (maybe he's crying) and Geralt just laughs and gives him cuddles/kisses him. 😌] awe dumb softe bois

also thanks to @sometimesiwrite for being a wonderful beta :)

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: mild language, ~yearning~, geralt has to use his voice to communicate

Two idiots and a horse get another horse.

“Geraaaalt. Why aren’t we staying at the inn? I can literally see it from here, the soft bed and the warm bath beckoning to me through the dark. ‘Come to me, Jaskier,’ it’s saying, Geralt. It’s not like we’re strapped for coin, either. The alderman actually paid you pretty well for that bear ghost-”

“Barghest.”

“Yes, yes, exactly. But back to my earlier line of inquiry. I ask again, why in the shit are we staying out in the middle of the woods for what feels like the thousandth night in a row?”

Geralt sighs, staring up at the stars on the clear night. “I’m trying to save my coin.”

Jaskier scoffs, drawing a raise of the brow from the Witcher. “For what, pray tell?”

“New armor.”

“Oh, so the Witcher can get new armor every other week and it’s fine, but when I go and buy a new outfit for a performance, it’s a ‘waste of coin, Jaskier?’”

` Geralt hums with finality, listening as Jaskier just continues prattling on. There’s no real heat behind it though, and Geralt does feel bad making Jaskier rough it out here with him. But he knows that if he lets the bard wander into town on his own, Geralt will end up having a much larger and more annoying mess to clean up.

“Jaskier,” Geralt hums, listening as he stops his ranting. “Come get some sleep, I’d like to get down to Blackbough by the new moon.”

Jaskier huffs in response before he undoes the little buttons down the front of his doublet. He shucks it off of his shoulders and drapes it over a log on the ground, rolling up the sleeves on his chemise up to his elbow. Geralt tries quite desperately not to watch, but his eyes are drawn to every new inch of skin revealed under the low light of the embers.

Jaskier’s bedroll flaps loudly as he sets it between Geralt and the fire. He plops down onto it, stretching out and turning to face Geralt. The Witcher peers over at him, admiring quietly the way that the last few sparks of light dance over the high planes of his cheeks.

“Ah, Geralt. Another day, put to rest. Sleep well, dear Witcher.” Jaskier turns over with his back to Geralt, scooching back a bit, close enough that Geralt can feel the heat radiating from his skin. Geralt hums, his fingers flexing at his sides, itching to touch, to hold, to gather Jaskier into his arms and never let him go.

Instead, Geralt only gives a whispered, “Goodnight, Jaskier.”

***

The sky is black when they do finally arrive in Blackbough, bespeckled with stars far and wide. Jaskier leans against a post while Geralt checks over the notice board in the center of town, the bard kicking off one boot and digging his thumb into the tender skin of his sole.

“Fuck, Geralt. My feet are exhausted. Don’t get me wrong, I would happily trot along at your side until the end of my days, but I may need to invest in some new boots sooner rather than later if that’s to be the case,” Jaskier groans, sliding his foot back into the soft leather of his boot. Geralt hums as he tears a slip of parchment from the board, watching it flutter between his fingers.

“Wind’s howling,” Geralt rumbles, tucking the parchment into his pack atop Roach.

“Yes, dear Witcher,” Jaskier’s hair flaps about his face, “thank you for the weather update.”

“Why don’t-” Geralt starts, peering over at the bard. “Why don’t you head to the tavern, see if they’ll let you play for a night in a room. I’ll be out scouting this contract, so you should absolutely stay here.”

Jaskier looks back at the little building, noting the light shining from the windows and the voices still floating in the din of the evening. He nods, and Geralt raises an eyebrow at the lack of argument. “Oh shut it, Geralt,” Jaskier grins, “you know that I would typically be more than happy to traipse through spooky fog and poky underbrush. Alas, I am fucking tired. So, on this one occasion, I will admit that you are right.”

Geralt gives one of his rare smiles, a cheeky turn of the corner of his lip, and turns to lead Roach out of town. “I’ll come collect you in the morning. Try not to get into too much trouble.”

Jaskier scoffs half-heartedly, swinging his lute case around as he turns towards the tavern. Geralt listens to be sure that Jaskier is secure in the building before he changes course, heading instead to a large structure situated just on the edge of town.

***

Geralt stands in Jaskier’s room, surrounded by the dulcet tones of his deafening snoring. He has called out to the bard several times, but nothing has been able to wake him. That is, nothing until Geralt decides to grab a sweet bun from the innkeeper and a cup of steamy tea.

Jaskier hums when he smells the herbs next to his face, smiling a bit when he sees Geralt brooding in the corner. Jaskier takes a great bite out of the pastry, moaning quite obscenely at the taste. “Have a nice night, Geralt?”

Geralt hums, gathering Jaskier’s stuff from around the room. By the Gods, he was only here for a few hours. There is a doublet over a chair, trousers on the dresser, one boot by the door and one by the fireplace, and blankets and furs all over the place.

“Alright, Bard. Let’s go, I have something to pick up before we leave town.” Geralt chucks the pants to Jaskier. They hit him square in the face before falling into his lap, revealing quite the impressive side-eye.

Jaskier sighs, sipping his tea as he goes about getting dressed. Geralt watches once more, chuckling to himself as Jaskier tries to ruffle his hair into something that doesn’t quite resemble a harpy’s nest.

The two of them head out of the tavern soon after, the morning sun greeting them through the dew. “Geralt, where’s Roach?”

“Stable.”

Jaskier responds by strumming a chord on the lute with a look over to Geralt, confirming his permission to play for the time being. Geralt gives a short nod of the head and Jaskier begins, something quiet and slow as the world warms in the dawn.

The stableboy sees them approaching and ducks inside, leaving Geralt and Jaskier standing alone. Geralt closes his eyes and just listens to the tune that Jaskier hums, relaxing into the sweet tone that drips like rainwater off of a fresh flower.

The stableboy comes back out, followed closely by Roach and a second horse. She is palomino blonde and slender with a spring in her step. Jaskier quirks his brow at the latter, stepping confidently towards the stablehand, who most certainly does not get paid enough for this.

“Thank you sir, but it’s just Roach for us. Geralt, would you mind-”

Geralt tosses the kid an extra coin as he takes both sets of reins, passing the palomino to Jaskier. But Jaskier only looks at him, even when he gives the soft leather a good shake in the bard’s direction. Roach butts Geralt on the shoulder, wisely prompting him to use his words. “She’s uh...she’s your horse, Jask.”

“What? Geralt, I don’t have a horse. Did you get hit on the head or something, you silly Wi-”

“I bought her, Jaskier. I bought her for you.”

Jaskier finally shuts up, taking the reins from Geralt’s hand with a tentative grip. The palomino steps closer to Jaskier, snuffling his hair. He giggles, setting something quite tender alight in Geralt’s heart.

“Geralt, I-I don’t quite know what to say...I thought you needed new armor?” Jaskier’s voice is quiet as he scritches along the horse’s nose.

Geralt shakes his head, fiddling with the straps on Roach’s saddle. “No. Wanted this to be a surprise.”

Jaskier goes silent, and Geralt can’t quite bring himself to look over at him. But then Jaskier sniffles and Geralt looks up, finding tears on his cheeks and a soft look in his eyes.

“You-you got her for me?”

Geralt nods, struck by a sudden boldness. He moves forward, grabbing the soft fabric of Jaskier’s doublet at his wrist. “I don’t like seeing you hurt. You-” Geralt huffs, grappling for words. “You’re far too important to me.”

“I-do I need to actively hold onto the reins all of the time, Geralt?”

“No, why?”

“Because I would very much like to kiss you right now, and I would love to have both hands free for that.” Geralt’s eyes widen a bit and he nods, his breath catching as Jaskier drops the reins and surges into him. Jaskier’s lips are so much softer than Geralt had ever let himself imagine, and his fingers in Geralt’s hair feel like the closest thing that he will ever get to true paradise.

They part, but only far enough to look each other in the eyes. Geralt looks into those eyes, the clearest blue rivers rushing to raging seas. Geralt’s hands rest on Jaskier’s hips, his thumb rubbing little circles into his sides. He closes his eyes and leans his forehead onto Jaskier’s, reveling in the way that Jaskier’s heart speeds up and his breathing tightens a bit in his embrace.

“Thank you, Geralt. Truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you,” Jaskier whispers, light as a feather between their lips.

Geralt hums once more, still holding fast to the bard. “We should be leaving soon.”

“Can I have another kiss?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt can hear the smirk in his words.

“I suppose,” Geralt smiles as he leans back into him.

#geraskier #fluff #THESE TWO #i love them

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ayo-cowbelly · 4 years

Text

Anakin Everlasting

read on ao3 here

wowww look at me, posting writing two days in a row... here’s to being productive

again, blame discord. those amazing angst-lovers keep inspiring me to write and make everyone sad.

hope you enjoy!

p.s. pretty sure it's a thing that jedi live a lot longer than average people, usually over 100 years. so that's why that's in there.

***

Anakin wandered throughout the temple. Not the Coruscant one, as you might think- no, he was on Yavin IV now. Years ago, the Jedi had decided to expand and, seeing as there was an unused temple on a lush planet, a planet that was strong in the Force- it was perfect for a new branch of the Order.

He stared out at the greenery, so different from what he had been used to. Even though he came to this place almost 100 years ago, Anakin couldn't find himself getting fully adjusted to the new environment.

Anakin was now surrounded by greens, blues, and browns, so different from the golds and tans he was used to. Those colors represented everything he loved, everything he'd lost, and that which he could not bear to see taken from him. That was why, even if it was a bit uncomfortable, Anakin had moved to Yavin IV. He has lost so much- and Anakin had never been good with loss.

Yes, time heals all wounds, and of course he'd spent time meditating with Yoda, learning how to let go; Yoda was the only one who could even begin to understand Anakin's plight. Despite that, however, he still found his heart aching when he thought of his friends, his family, and how they had left him.

Padmé had been the first to go. She lived to be 97, and Anakin never stopped loving her. As she got older, Padmé had insisted on Anakin moving on, finding a younger person who could keep up with him, now that she was too frail to even leave the apartment most days. He knew she'd be gone soon, so he promised he'd try to find someone.

It was the only promise he'd ever broken.

"I don't want you to mourn the moment you spent with me for an eternity," She had told him.

Anakin, tears in his eyes, whispered back, "You are my eternity, Angel."

That, even 1000 years later, was still true. He loved her, as many others in the galaxy had loved someone; fiercely, eternally, even if she was dead. Anakin and Padmé had a love that would always be real, be true, as long as he kept her memory alive as he traveled across the stars.

Anakin cried for days when Ahsoka died.

His first and dearest Padawan lived to be 117, and she had been feisty until the very end (only Leia had been able to keep up with Ahsoka in that regard- oh, Force, Leia-)

When she left, laying in her bed with soft condolences and gentle teases and whispers of "Don't forget me, Skyguy," Anakin had thought that would break him, as he held her now-limp hand.

Obi-Wan was worse. Obi-Wan, the oldest family member he had left, had been gone for a long time. His brother had lived to be around 124 (or maybe not, Anakin seemed to be getting worse at keeping track of time the longer his life went on). Obi-Wan had lived a long life, a happy life; and when his time came, he learned enough of the Force that he could still visit Anakin, sometimes.

Every once and awhile, the two could talk (it used to be always, back when Obi lived- but Anakin would be the only one who would get an always). But it wasn't the same. Not even close.

He'd never admit it, but Anakin cried for over a week when Obi-Wan faded away. At that time, he was sure he would shatter; If Padmé hadn't broken him, if Ahsoka hadn't, surely his older brother would.

Obi's death had to be the worst, he was positive.

He was so, so wrong.

Nothing could compare to the pure heartbreak that came with the death of his children.

Luke, who was bright like sunshine and serene like water- and Leia, who was pure fire and somehow engulfed everyone she met. They were the brightest parts of Anakin's life, both in the Force and not. They were the best parts of him and Padmé, and he loved them so incredibly much. And, being twins, Luke and Leia spent almost every moment together since their birth. Throughout their lives, it was rare to see one without the other, for nobody was as closely intertwined as they; save for Anakin and Obi-Wan.

So, when Death came for his children, Anakin had to watch as they left together (there was no other way they could go). He'd had them for an amazing 156 years, years he would forever cherish.

Now he didn't have anyone. But somehow, he was still whole. He hadn't broken then, and he hadn't broken when his later Padawans had died (death was hard for Anakin to think about. Even though he somewhat feared it, he also wanted it, if it meant he could see his dearest ones again). But Anakin knew Death would never claim him, so he made the most out of his eternal life (but it was a half-life, for what is a life without love?)

He took other Padawans, trained other students and treated them as his own. Though he knew it was a bad idea, as nobody could stay forever, they became his family. Just as Ahsoka once had, when she'd stepped out of a shuttle on Christophsis.

Anakin also found he was good at storytelling. Every night, he made his way to the Crèche and regaled the younglings with his stories. The now-legends of a beautiful queen, a wise Jedi Master, a snarky Togruta (who had become a Master in her own right), an exasperated clone captain; and later the stories of a brave young man and his fiery twin sister, the smuggler she fell in love with, and how through it all were two droids who were the best of friends.

He told the next generations about their adventures, how they found joy while fighting a war, and he told them of how they had managed to discover and overthrow the Sith. He taught them how to find the Light, find love, even when hope seems lost.

The younglings loved the stories, ate them up until Anakin had no more, so he'd retell them again. He told them to the children, to the Padawans, to the Knights, and even the Masters (even if they were old, most had grown up hearing of Anakin's adventures). His only rule for those who heard the tales? Pass them on, so the memories stay alive.

He taught them a truth he had discovered: Nobody is ever really gone, as long as you keep on telling their stories.

Anakin forever would.

He made his way to a special room he had reserved for himself in the Temple, for as Grandmaster (now that Yoda was gone, Anakin had become the Grandmaster. Yoda's death, of all people... that had hit Anakin harder than he'd thought it would. When someone who seems to be forever dies, said death is shocking) he could do such things.

When he entered, he looked around the room. He surveyed the pictures and trinkets that lay there, waiting for him.

By Padmé's picture, there was the old Japor snippet necklace- along with a small flimsi paper flower he'd once made for her, onboard a Star Destroyer while thinking of how he missed her.

Beside Obi-Wan's, there was a lightsaber that hummed. It seemed to have a mind of its own now, and the buzzing got louder as Anakin approached- or rather, his own blade did. Just as their users were connected, these lightsabers were as well. There was also a small holo of Anakin and Obi-Wan on Cato Nemoidia, just after that "business" that Obi-Wan always said "didn't count". In the picture, Padawan Anakin is grinning widely, arm slung around a very disgruntled Obi-Wan's shoulders.

Next to Ahsoka's lay her two lightsabers and the golden headdress she'd worn since she was young. Anakin remembers how he'd gently lifted it off her head at the funeral, for if he couldn't keep his sister, his beloved Padawan, then he would keep this small part of her.

Alongside Luke and Leia's (their pictures were one and the same, since they almost never did something without the other) there were their own 'sabers and two drawings the twins made when they were toddlers. If Anakin remembered correctly (as time went on, he found it harder and harder to look at such things) the pictures depicted their family- which of course included Ahsoka, Obi-Wan, Rex, R2 and 3PO.

The two droids had been shut down long ago, finally going out of use just after Padmé's death.

The room housed other pictures, which showed the rest of Anakin's Padawans- including Ahsoka, there were six in total; But even though he kept all their lightsabers, he only had trinkets for two of them.

Uchani, who had been his second Padawan about 40 years after Ahsoka died, had been a quiet but strong Zeltron. She was a calm person, but there was spunk in her that rivaled Leia's. Uchani was amazing at calming Anakin down when he was angry, the gentle waves of her Force presence dousing out the embers in his. She had become his little sister as well.

Then there was Myn. A young Tholothian, Myn was brave and outspoken, and him and Anakin fit well together. He was the sixth student Anakin had taken, and though he loved all his students, Anakin remembered Myn vividly.

In all his eternal years, Anakin had not been prepared for seeing his Padawan die young. In battle, no less.

Myn was slain by a Darksider in the catacombs of Akiva. Anakin had been too late, moments too late; after cutting down the enemy, he watched as Myn's life dwindled.

Knowing Anakin well after ten years of training, Myn had wheezed, "Don't- Don't do anything- anything reckless, Master."

Anakin refused to look at the wound on his apprentice's stomach. "Myn, we need to get you to a healer-"

"Master- Anakin-" Myn coughed, and Anakin felt the tears in his eyes overflow and run down his face.

"No, please, not you too," Anakin said, but he already knew what the outcome would be.

"It'll be okay, Anakin," Myn murmered, and then he was gone, just like all the others.

Anakin shook off the memory of his last Padawan, and he sat down in the middle of the room. Rex's helmet (Rex, who had lived to be 105 once the accelerated aging was healed, had never stopped standing up for what was right. When his body failed him, he switched to words, fighting until the end. Anakin missed his twin so much), which Anakin had kept in as good condition as possible, stared back at him as he told his family of his day.

When he finished, he felt a presence behind him, and wasn't surprised to see the faint blue glow of Obi-Wan's ghost.

"It sounds like you had a good day, Anakin."

"I did," He said back happily. "But it's not over yet. I'm about to go see the younglings- care to join me, Master?"

Obi-Wan smiled softly. "I'd be delighted, Padawan mine."

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bundleofyarrow · 3 years

Text

requests open!

new milo x reader content appears! hello world, i'm fresh to the pokemon fandom trying out writing fanfiction for the first time. i've started the first few chapters of my milo x reader over at AO3 called A Bundle of Yarrow. i'm also taking requests for general milo x reader imagines or longer scenes that can fit into ABoY's universe. while i will be writing the main storyline, i thought it would be fun to make a part of it collaborative and have other milo x reader fans send in ideas for scenes that fit between chapters. check out the rules page for more!

i'm new to all of this, so people feel free to comment or message me with suggestions. the link to the fic on AO3 is above, but in case you prefer reading on tumblr, below the cut is the first chapter. just a heads up, it starts in leon x reader land but moves into milo x reader as the story progresses.

enjoy!

Chapter 1: Postwick

Galar is a land of hills. Or at least, Postwick is, and it’s just about the only thing you’ve seen since you arrived. Soft curves of verdant green, sometimes tawny gold with a bale of hay or two. There’s a sign around here that says this is a farming town since days of yore, and the near constant whines of Wooloo are determined to never let you forget it. Lying on one such hill, almost completely vertical, you oversee the main road were balls of wool roll where they please. You feel transported, like you’re viewing another planet from some place outside.

The giddy hollering of children and Pokemon at the house not far away pulls you back to earth. A young girl bounds up to you with an anxious-looking blue creature in her arms.

“Look! It’s my new Sobble~ Leon got it for me! Isnt’s he great?”

Your cousin’s bright eyes implore you to sit up, propping yourself on your right arm once you realize one of your legs has fallen asleep.

“He’s adorable Gloria.”

You lean in closer to take a look, you’ve never seen a Pokemon like this before. The Sobble turns his face into Gloria, clearly shy and overwhelmed.

“It looks like he’s already taken to you!”

She looks down and holds him closer, beaming, rocking slightly.

“It’s okay, this is my cousin. That means part of our family!” Gloria turns slightly so her Pokemon can safely peek out at you. “I’m sure he’ll warm up to you too!”

You give the Pokemon your softest smile, and while he doesn’t completely warm up to you, he leans in a little to get a better look at you. Baby steps.

“Oh yeah, I also came here to say that dinner’s ready!”

The sound of sizzling meat and peppers hasn’t escaped your notice, but now the smell entices you to go and socialize with the family neighbors. Gloria shuffles back down the hill towards the fanciest house of Postwick, where the Champion of Galar and his family lives.

You take your time getting up and brushing off the grass from your clothes. A breeze rolled over the hill, reminding you that your Alolan wardrobe is way too thin for Galar’s climate. As you climb down, you see the neighbor boy, Hop, waving skewers at you before turning back to his bunny Pokemon, who kicks up some embers to give the meat a little extra char. You try to put on a smile as your auntie puts food in your hands and introduces you to everyone. It’s hard not too feel awkward, being not only new to this group of people but to this entire region, but you genuinely are looking forward to having the best time you can while you’re here. Eventually the adults get distracted by Hop’s antics, where he ropes in Gloria to do yet another trick with their new Pokemon. You sit down at the table nearby and just watch for a bit.

If you had been distracted, you wouldn’t have noticed the pair of big eyes pop up from the side of the table, topped with green tufts of hair shaped like leaves. You must have had quite the expression of surprise on your face when a little orange hand darted towards your food, because two bigger hands immediately scooped up the trickster before he could make off with your food.

“Now now Grookey, that’s not champion behavior!”

The admittedly cute Pokemon flailed in Leon’s grasp for a bit, shedding some fake tears until he was given a wedge of grilled Mago berry.

“Sorry about that, this little one is quite the handful around food.” He tried to seem stern but you could tell he was more amused. “He didn’t startle you too badly, did he?”

You strangely don’t feel that shy around Leon. It feels like you should be more star-struck, but maybe because this is the first time you even really knew he existed, he came off more as an ordinary guy with a flair for the dramatic. He seemed like a nice guy, wanting to give everyone a little attention, which also made him seem a bit spread thin. But you could see him start to settle as the light faded from the sky and fans stopped coming by to cheer at him.

“Oh not at all, I was just a little surprised! If I wasn’t paying attention, he would have be feasting like a king.”

The Grookey pouts as you let out a light chuckle, taking a finger and lightly rubbing his forehead.

“And have a massive stomachache tomorrow that I would have to deal with!”

Leon says everything with a little bit of a laugh, and his eyes seem like they are permanently smiling. He looks between you and Grookey while seeming in thought.

“You’re staying here in Galar for a while now, yeah? What are your plans?”

You slide over a bit to let Leon sit next to you as he sets Grookey on the table between you. His cape and hair make him seem larger than he is, and talking with him at eye-level feels like talking to Leon, the person not Leon, the Champion.

“I’m not entirely sure to be honest. I just had to…” You’re never sure what to say about your past, and the uncertainty of your future. “…get away for a bit. Maybe start over, find a clean slate.”

The breeze picks up again and you feel the sleeve of your shirt slide a little down your shoulder, exposing some skin. You don’t realize that you should be embarrassed about it until you catch Leon’s gaze eyeing your collarbone and then quickly looking back to the Grookey. It was common to show skin on the hot coasts of the Alolan islands, but as you take a look around, everyone around you is more covered up.

“I’d like a bit of adventure, I think.” You say absent-mindedly as you readjust your top, oblivious to Leon fidgeting a bit.

“Ah, well-” He moves in his seat again, “what do you think of this here Grookey?” Leon rests a hand on his head and lightly rustles it. “I think you two might get along!”

This took you by surprise, the last thing you were expecting was to be offered a foreign Pokemon.

“O-oh really?? But I thought you were going to train him to become a part of your champion team or something?”

He smirked at ‘or something,’ as if entertained by your complete lack of interest in the most popular Galarian sport.

“That was the plan, but you said you wanted some adventure! Can’t get around many places here without a Pokemon. Being a trainer lets you travel a lot here in Galar. Maybe you’ll get to compete in the upcoming Gym Challenge if you’re up for it!” He grinned some more here. “Who knows, maybe you’ll end up facing me in the end. Wouldn’t that be an adventure?”

You laughed a bit, shaking your head but trying to show an appreciative face. “Me? Be a trainer? And a good enough one to face you?? You’re funny.”

Hop has already regaled the crowd at dinner about how excited he is for camping in the Wild Area, hiking through ruins and snow, getting lost in haunted forests. You’ve never been one for the outdoors, and don’t think moving regions would change that.

“That’s kind of you, and he is cute. But that wasn’t the kind of adventure I was thinking of.” You smile at them both. “I appreciate you though!”

Leon seems a little confused at first, but recovers quickly and nods. Eventually the kids come over still hollering over Pokemon, and Hop quickly begins to monologue about his favorite topic: Leon, his brother. Hop drags you inside once he realizes how little you know about Galar’s Gym Challenge, Gloria and Leon trailing behind, with the former happy to be spared from the lecture about the Champion for once. You all found yourselves in Leon’s room, Hop showing you different magazines and eagerly pointing at different pictures of his brother’s most memorable fights. The trophies throughout the house and the weights in his room really do scream Champion. Is there ever a moment when he's not? Eventually Hop decides that Gloria and himself need to look up more information on their new Pokemon, and pulls her away into his room, leaving you and Leon alone.

The Champion, who really just seems like a man rather than a god to you, sheepishly rubs the back of his head and shrugs.

“Sorry about that, once Hop gets going, it’s hard to make him stop.”

He begins to collect all the magazines his brother pulled out and carefully places them back where they belong. It just hits you now how carefully organized everything is, and how little escapes his attention. You notice all the hats neatly arranged around his room, walking up towards the rows of shelves and scanning all the different kinds he owns.

“I like your collection.” You mean that, you’ve always enjoyed window shopping at boutiques and spotting people who took fashion seriously. “If I didn’t just hear everything your brother told me, I’d think you were the Champion of Streetwear.”

His chuckle comes from right behind you, startling you a bit. Turning around, you meet his intense and mischievous gaze.

“Adventure, huh?”

He steps a foot towards you, and you instinctually press back against the dresser behind you. Leon closes the distance between you and meets your lips with his, only making your heart race faster. What is happening?? You melt into the kiss, I mean, this is the Champion we’re talking about here, and go along with his lead. He doesn’t draw it out or take it too far; it wasn’t a sweet kiss but one of intrigue.

Parting just moments away from your lips, he breathes out a “You’re so different, too bad-”

“KIDS? Are you up there!? It’s getting late and time to go home!”

The moment is broken by a yell from your auntie, and the shuffling of feet all over the house makes Leon swiftly give you some space. You’re still a bit flustered, and confused honestly, but you know to shyly smile in these situations.

“Pity we won’t be seeing much of each other, now that challenge season is on.” He takes your hand and guides you off his dresser and towards the threshold of his room. “But I hope you find that thing you’re looking for.”

He winks as Gloria pops her head in and calls for you, and watches her take your hand to pull you away. You wave to Leon, not really knowing what to say.

Outside it is dark, the faintest hints of dusk dropping further behind the hills. Butterfree flutter from tree to tree, and your aunt’s Budew are nestled in the front yard. All you can hear are Gloria's footfalls up towards her house and the thumping of your heart against your chest. Your cousin is quite tuckered out from all the excitement, and you only stay up a little with your auntie with the family’s Munchlax resting in your lap. She asks the usual ‘how are you adjusting’s and ‘do you think you’ll enjoy it here’s, and you begin to think you made a mistake turning down Leon’s offer. Eventually you take Munchlax over to the guest bedroom and nestle into bed, hoping to understand what you’re supposed to do in this new land.

~*~*~*~

The sounds of yelling and Pokemon cries jolts you from your sleep. It takes you a couple moments to realize an organized battle is going on, rather than some emergency.

“How do people get used to battling happening all the time?”

Yawning, you pawed the blankets of the bed until you found the lump that was Munchlax.

“Rise and shine, if I have to wake up, so do you~” Groans of protest shuffled under the covers, only twisting more into a warm cocoon. “Well, don’t blame me if auntie doesn’t prepare you breakfast.”

You hear frantic scrambling as you leave bed and head towards the kitchen, where your aunt is already drinking tea and checking her phone. You exchange usual pleasantries, making toast for yourself and ducking out to take a shower as soon as you could find a way to excuse yourself.

Eventually you find yourself wandering out of the house and into the late-morning air, smelling greenery and hay as usual. You notice a Wooloo hitting itself into a nearby gate, and shrug it off.

Walking down the main path, you see Hop containing a tantrum within himself as he stands over his fainted Scorbunny. It looks like Leon is giving Gloria and Hop a speech of sorts, something about being rivals, and you’re able to pass by with a wave. Leon nods at you with a cordial smile, not at all seeming like a man who kissed you the night before. It seems like in public, he always needs to be the Champion.

Unsure of how you feel about that, you decide to pick a new resting spot, down closer to Route 1.

#milo x reader #pokemon imagines #pokemon sword and shield imagines #a bundle of yarrow #pokemon milo imagines #pokemon swsh imagines #leon x reader #pokemon milo #fanfiction #fic

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karkles-does-things · 3 years

Note

He can fucking DO that. What can he do? Who is He? Many questions.

He can fucking DO that is a drawing that’s been giving me brainrot here’s the context for it lol:

———

~The Party Has Entered The Red Mist And They Do Not Know What It Does (Yet)~

Jackson stops walking abruptly. Simeon, oblivious, bumps into him.

Simeon takes a step back. He’s bristling and his teeth are bared, but his head is bowed and he is refusing to look at the Army Man.

Jackson, on the other hand, whirls around and all but snarls at him.

Jackson: GOD, would you LOOK where you‘re going? You fucking FREAK.

and, unwisely, shoves Simeon back.

and then a clawed hand shoots out and grabs him by the vest.

Jackson looks into Simeon’s eyes, enraged, but the expression fades to fear when he sees a look on the creature‘s face..

Simeon is growling and is it Jackson’s imagination or is he getting bigger? No he’s definitely getting bigger and now he’s taller than him and now Jackson’s feet are lifting out of the mud as the hand holding him keeps its grip, claws beginning to push through his bulletproof vest...he’s suddenly a good bit off the ground and he grips the monster’s wrist in case it decides to let him go; his hands can no longer wrap around the massive arm...

Simeon, who normally stands a little under five feet tall, is now about the size of a school bus. He is standing on four legs now: two more limbs have unfolded from his torso to prop him up in the mud. His thick prehensile tail is now the width of a tree trunk, and lashes back and forth like a whip. His eyes always glow, but it’s unmistakable now, burning embers in an animal face contorted by rage. His collar has expanded to accommodate his neck.

He speaks, and since WHEN has he had multiple rows of teeth, they line all the way down into his gullet now and ohgodohfuck his VOICE is deeper and snarling and trips every “dangerous animal” instinct in Jackson’s head-

Simeon: Don‘t FUCK with me, little creature. I used to eat your kind by the dozens.

———

And yeah basically what I’m planning to draw is that ending shot ☺️☺️☺️

#when I write it he’s gonna say way more shit than just that though lol #basically he tells him that army men are the bane of his existence and don’t even taste good #but in this case he might be willing to choke one down #story asks #melodyofthevoid #chaos story lmbao #my ocs #simeon tag #unit tag

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hilo--keahi · 3 years

Text

Tuesday 05 January 2021; 03:00. Your dream stops. The beings and the scenery come to a standstill before gently fading into a comfortable office space that seems vaguely familiar. You are seated in a plush chair across from a being you do not recognize. He is more attractive than anyone you’ve ever laid eyes on, but when you wake you will never be able to describe him. When you move your eyes from his, you notice your bracers are gone, and you think you can feel your legs in this dreamscape.

Hilo couldn’t remember what he’d been dreaming before, lost in the immediate forgetfulness of waking that ushered the details of dreams quickly away, leaving only the static afterburn of images and wisps of feeling in their wake. He thought that previous dream was pleasant. This one wasn’t... not pleasant, but it was strange. There was a weight to it that felt uncomfortably real in comparison, but the more he tried to focus on the man in front of him, the more his senses failed him -- like trying to look sidelong at the sun, squinting and using the shadow of your hand to dull the edges.

Wait.

He could feel the press of the chair against the back of his legs -- a stupid, thoroughly mundane thing for anyone else to notice, but for Hilo, it was something he hadn’t felt for half a century. Hilo’s breath stuttered in his throat, startled and confused. He hadn’t dreamt of walking for a long time, longer than a decade or two. Even his subconscious had given up on deluding itself. Fingers splayed wide, Hilo brought his hands to careful rest just above his knees. No metal barred their path, no leather straps. Hilo’s chest tightened, but the man -- clearly more than a simple man, and clearly more than Hilo’s bland imagination could come up with -- spoke.

“You have fallen far, Son of Kona. The curse that plagues your legs was not one I designed to be used in such a way: in the search for power. When I gave your realm my art, I assumed they would use it to punish wrong-doers as my kind do.” There is a long pause, the atmosphere so heavy it feels inappropriate to speak.

A God-designed curse. More than one Emitter had told him as much, when they’d failed to be able to do anything for him. At the time, Hilo had thought they were saying so simply to spare his anger, or their pride. Who had cared enough about his ascent to resort to a God-designed curse? It was a statement previously asked with scoffed dismissiveness, but now it was asked again with all due severity -- only within the jumbled swirl of his own sleeping thoughts. This was not a question for the God in front of him, because a God was what he so obviously was.

Even as the pause stretched between them, Hilo focused on the man in front of him with an attentiveness unfit for the clouded realm of dreams.

“I was wrong. Those of this world…. fight for the wrong things. I have watched you and your Iron Master work on an artifact to bring you closer to normalcy. This was clever.” Another pause as he studies you. “The curse has plagued you too long for me to remove it without side effects, nor do I trust what you would do with returned power, but if your heart continues to impress me, I may help you.”

Only now did Hilo try to open his mouth to form words, but none came -- whether they were actively prevented or he simply couldn’t find them, though, Hilo wasn’t sure. His heart hammered against his ribs even as his fingers dug into the meat of his thighs, and he nearly startled himself with the foreign feeling of the pressure. Fighting for the wrong things, fighting for power -- Hilo knew this, had known this, deep down, for years, but only recently had it started to come into the sharpest of contrast. He wasn’t sure if this man was alluding to the same things, or if Hilo was simply making the connection that was most convenient for him. He had so many questions, so many things he wanted to say, but every thought bumped up against three others before any could escape his throat.

He was losing this thread of the dream, he could tell, but not like before. Even as the man in front of him dissolved into obscurity, Hilo didn’t forget his words. He couldn’t forget his words, even if he wanted to.

The dream begins to fade back into what it was before. The man’s final parting words were this: “I am Fuku, deity of curses and hidden knowledge. Do not call my name in vain, Son of Kona.”

Hilo awoke to find his heart still hammering roughly at the inside of his ribs, adrenaline rushing through his veins. Pushing into the bed with his hands until he could rest his back against the cool wall, he let his shoulders sag as he tried to steady his breathing, staring down where the sheets pooled in his lap. He didn’t have to settle his hands on his thighs to know he wouldn’t feel the same pressure he had moments before.

As with so many things, it was easier without hope.

For decades it’d been easier for Hilo to adjust to the use of his bracers and how they gave him his mobility back without the hope he might, someday, be able to move without them again. It was easier to accept this as his new normal, gaze wandering to where the leather and new, fine metal glinted in the dying light of the hearth’s embers, turquoise mana swirling pensively within the crystals.

Hilo glanced away again, burying his face in his hands to rub furiously. Just because it was easier without hope didn’t mean it would be easy for him to forget what he’d been told. There was no ignoring this message; he already knew it would occupy far too many of his waking moments, even if it never came back to him in his sleep.

Sleep didn’t come back to Hilo, either, not in those early hours of the morning. He simply sat and let his mind whirl with what he’d been told, committing what he could to memory as if it wasn’t already burned into the back of his mind.

It didn’t take him long to decide what he wanted -- needed -- to do next.

The hour was barely five when he left a note with one of the Dwarves at the end of their shifts in the Forge to say he wouldn’t be in today. It was a simple, cryptic, ‘something’s come up’ -- with what he’d been put through lately, Hilo imagined there were few (if any) who would challenge it. He’d been lucky enough that most of his coworkers were also his friends, and the worst he’s had to suffer from them are lingering glances of something akin to pity. Hilo was early enough today to avoid that, a fact for which he was absently glad.

Even though the first daylight was only barely bleeding up from the horizon as Hilo rode towards the outskirts of the city, he knew his cousin would be awake. Alamea had always been an early riser, and now, in her advanced years, Hilo was aware that the aches and struggles of her body had a tendency to keep her from proper sleep. Even in light of this she didn’t greet him with any less sharpness and intelligence in her eyes when she opened the door, though her surprise quickly softened to concern. Hilo was welcomed in without question.

It hadn’t been long since they’d last seen each other for Yeon Nen, so the chatter was idle as Hilo prepared a battered tin kettle and two cheaply made mugs. Ultimately, there was no casual easing into the conversation he wanted to have; the question was eventually asked point-blank, Hilo’s attention focused on pouring the boiling water over dried leaves and herbs. “Alamea… there are still parts of our family that worship the Old Gods, aren’t there?”

“Mm.” Alamea gestured to what they could see of Hilo’s tattoos as he set the mugs on the table between them, sleeves pushed back to his elbows to display rows of neatly inked triangles. The white pointed inward, drawing positive energy towards his heart. The black bled negativity away. “You wouldn’t have those if the elders didn’t still believe.” She paused, then let out a short laugh that seemed altogether stronger than her narrow chest should’ve been able to produce. “I say, like I’m not one of the elders now myself.”

It was hard for Hilo to view her as such, even as Alamea and the rest of his family aged around him while he stood more static in time. She was only older than him by a handful of years, but by looks, it was more like a handful of decades.

Alamea held the roughly-made, misshapen ceramic with equally distorted fingers, joints swollen with arthritis and skin spotted with age. She was piled in blankets despite the roaring hearth he’d stoked. Hilo almost felt silly sitting across from her, barely fitting on the chair.

“We’ve never really believed in the old ways, you and I,” Alamea pointed out, and Hilo simply nodded. “But I know there are pockets of our family that still do. I wouldn’t be so exhausted from Yeon Nen if we didn’t,” she added with a glint in her milky eyes, and Hilo chuckled before nodding again. “Why do you ask?”

Hilo wondered if he should feel silly, asking what he was going to. As Alamea said, their generation of Keahis had always approached religion with a softer lens; the traditions were fun, and good excuses to gather family, but the proper meaning felt long lost to the depths of time. He knew one dream oughtn’t change his mind so thoroughly, and maybe something in his resolve would soften with the clarity of daylight, but that didn’t change what he felt in his bones now as the dream lingered within his periphery.

“I’m hoping there’s someone in our family who can tell me more about a deity named Fuku.”

#solo: of gods and consequences #the sOUND I MADE reading this drop

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flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash · 5 years

Text

The Main Course - Jim Hopper x Reader

Summary: Hopper gets stood up on his date, so you decide to make a move.

Characters: Jim Hopper x female reader

Words: 6,816

Warnings: smut, age gap, size kink, unprotected sex, language/dirty talk, Hopper being sexy af

The Main Course

Placing freshly baked pasta down in front of the middle-aged couple at table 5, you turned and headed back towards the kitchen, wishing this night would just be over already. A glance at the clock showed that it was almost 7pm, which meant that, unfortunately, the place wouldn’t die down for at least another hour or two. And since one of the other waitresses had called in sick, leaving you to close the restaurant alone tonight, you’d be happy to get out of here before midnight.

You had been a waitress at Enzo’s for the past three summers in a row, and while it wasn’t your dream gig, it helped save up some extra money before classes resumed in the fall. You were about to start your senior year of college, which meant that this was most likely (and hopefully) your last summer as a waitress, the plan being to move onto bigger and better opportunities after graduation.

Until then, this was your reality: wearing an uncomfortable uniform while balancing trays of food, dodging spills, and giving your customers a fake smile in the hopes that they might add a little extra to their tip.

The clinking of forks on plates mixed with the soothing, yet lively, notes coming from the string quartet. It covered up the creak of the double wooden front doors, so that at first you didn’t notice someone new had even walked in. However, you had just finished refilling a patron’s wine glass when a glance to the left caused you to freeze in surprise at the man who had just entered.

The tall, imposing figure was wearing a surprisingly casual (and bright) Hawaiian shirt underneath a beige blazer and light blue Wranglers. It was a bit of an odd ensemble, but if any man could pull it off, it was the one and only Chief Jim Hopper.

Up until now you had only seen the chief in his uniform, and though part of you lamented its absence, you had to admit that he still looked good. Better than good. He looked delicious. His shoulders appeared even wider than usual in the blazer, and his broad chest filled out what should’ve been a ridiculous-looking shirt, instead making it sexy and masculine. There was even a row of buttons down the front, which made your lips twitch upwards into a tiny smirk. Oh, the fantasies you’d had about unbuttoning Jim out of his shirt. Usually it was his uniform you imagined, but this one was also going into the spank bank for later.

In case it wasn’t already obvious from your thoughts, you had it bad for Hawkins’ chief of police. As a teenager, you’d found the older man to be intimidating and abrasive. But now, as an adult...he was still an older man who was intimidating and abrasive, but that was a large part of his appeal. You couldn’t help but imagine all the ways he could utilize that sharp tongue and wicked mouth, not to mention the mental image of his smug face pressed between your open and willing thighs. Just the thought of all that powerful man on top of you, of the things he could do to your body...

Realizing that you had been standing dumbstruck and staring for way longer than was necessary, you jolted back into action and went to check on another table. You watched out of the corner of your eye as Hopper was seated in the middle of the room, and it wasn’t purely coincidence that you next went to wait on a table right beside his. While writing down the customer's order, you also kept an ear on the conversation Hopper was having with his own waiter. He ordered a double scotch, which wasn’t surprising. Then he asked for a bottle of Chianti, which was surprising. You had to stifle a smirk at the adorable way he butchered the name of the wine, knowing that his waiter, a stuffy jerk named Tom, wouldn’t appreciate the faux pas one bit.

Finished taking your table’s order, you walked slow as molasses back in the direction of the kitchen, still listening intently to the men’s discussion. When Hopper asked for two wine glasses, one for him and one “for the lady,” a jolt of shock went through you at the realization of why the usually casual man was gracing the most upscale restaurant in the area. He was here on a date!

From what you had gathered around town, Hopper wasn’t one to take women out to dinner, instead being more the type to bed ‘em and move on to the next. You instantly wondered who the woman was and why he had picked her for the date. Okay, so you were maybe, quite possibly...just a tad bit...jealous as fuck.

For the next hour, you kept checking on Hopper out of the corner of your eye. He was too fixated on watching the front doors to notice your spying, and as the minutes ticked by, you got more and more anxious to see who would join him.

By the time it was almost 8pm, Hopper had finished his scotch and half the bottle of wine. His hair was a bit ruffled from running his hands through it in increasing frustration, and while he didn’t appear completely drunk, at this rate he was well on his way. Disbelief and an ember of anger pooled in your stomach the longer you watched him. There were plenty of women who would’ve killed to be here with him tonight, yourself included. You wondered for the umpteenth time that evening who the hell this woman was, and why she would be a no-show for a date with such a stud of a man.

Suddenly, an idea hit you. A totally insane, utterly ridiculous...possibly genius idea. It was very likely that this would be your last chance to interact with Hopper before leaving town for college. And once you graduated, who knows when or how often you’d come back to Hawkins. Maybe, just maybe, tonight’s events had unfolded to your advantage.

The important question was, could you go through with it? Worst-case scenario was he’d laugh in your face and say something condescending in front of the entire restaurant. No big deal, you’d only be traumatized for life, never able to show your face here again. But the best-case scenario...you almost stumbled at the thought, ice clinking loudly as the drinks on your tray came dangerously close to sloshing over the edge. Pull yourself together, damnit!

Once the drinks were served and you had overanalyzed the idea to the point that your palms were sweaty and the snug, white button-down shirt felt as though it was constricting your ability to breath, you made up your mind.

It was now or never.

Pulling out your order pad and pencil, you scribbled down a quick, but flirty, message: Her loss, but I’d love for it to be my gain. You considered writing down your number, but since you were staying with your parents over the summer, didn’t want to risk him calling there and your mother or, heaven forbid, your father answering. Besides, he knew where you worked, so it shouldn’t be hard for him to find you if this panned out in a positive direction. Ripping the piece of paper off the pad and folding it in half, you tucked it into the front pocket of your apron.

Before you could totally lose your nerve, you went over to the table next to his, giving the young couple their receipt and wishing them a fantastic evening. Taking a deep breath, you turned around and took the two steps needed to put your hip inches away from Hopper. Pulling out the piece of paper, you discreetly slid it across the table in front of him. He looked up with furrowed brows, probably expecting to see Tom. When his eyes instead found you, a flicker of surprise shot through them. Not wanting to stick around too long and draw the attention of others, you gave what was hopefully a flirty smile, lightly laid your palm on his blazer-covered forearm for a split second, then spun and quickly headed back for the kitchen, praying with each step that you didn’t stumble or run into anyone.

It wasn’t until you made it back through the swinging doors that you were able to let out the breath you’d been holding. Holy shit, you couldn’t believe you had just done that! You really really wished you could see his face when he read the note, but you also didn’t want to risk the humiliation if he laughed or flat out denied your offer. A few minutes later, one of your table’s food orders was ready and anxiety darted through you at the thought of walking back out into the dining room, wondering if Hopper was still there and if he’d say anything.

He was still there, his back to the kitchen and broad shoulders keeping you from seeing what he had done with the note. Heading over to the correct table, you felt the heavy weight of someone watching as you set down the food in front of your customers. When you were done and turned back for the kitchen, sure enough, Hopper’s gaze was zeroed in on you. Goosebumps rose on your arms at his piercing stare and the way he seemed to be intently analyzing you. He was twirling the folded note between his fingers casually, and you were pretty sure your panties became damp at the slow, knowing smile that passed across his face.

Suddenly, he stood up from the table, running into Tom in the process. The waiter had just been coming to check on him, probably in hopes that he was going to leave soon and free up the table for someone who actually wanted to order food. The affronted look on his face when Hopper grabbed the mostly empty bottle of wine and made to leave caused you to give a huffed laugh. Tom was frantically telling the taller man that he couldn’t take any alcohol off the premises, to which Hopper gave a rather impolite noise and growled, “I can do anything I want. I’m the chief of police.”

With that, he strode out of the restaurant, nearby diners staring in shock at the disgruntled man who had caused such a scene. You personally found any situation that ruffled Tom’s feathers to be amusing, but couldn’t help the zing of disappointment that Hopper hadn’t said anything to you before leaving. Sure, he hadn’t laughed or embarrassed you, but his lack of any response other than the stare and smirk caused you to second-guess writing the note in the first place.

Trying to ignore your inner self-doubt, you refocused on customers. However, a little voice in your head kept whispering that you should’ve known better. Why would an older, successful, and sexy as hell man like Chief Hopper be interested in a much younger college student who didn’t even have the guts to actually say anything to him, instead passing a note like you were still in high school. Besides, he had obviously set his sights on someone else tonight, and if she was amazing enough for him to invite on a date, then you probably didn’t even compare.

Determined to shut down the negative thoughts and forget the entire fiasco, you pushed it to the back of your mind and spent the next two hours waiting tables until your feet were sore. You were beyond relieved when 10pm arrived and you were able to close and lock the doors. The string quartet and other waiting staff had left at that point, and the cook was quick to follow. Once the last round of silverware had been washed and folded, you also sent the dishwasher on their way, leaving only you and the vacuum to finish the evening.

Once the tables were all scrubbed clean and the floors vacuumed of any crumbs, all that was left to do was take out a couple remaining bags of trash. Hefting them over your shoulder, you went out the back door and walked across the dimly lit area to the nearby dumpster. Hauling the last bag in, you eagerly looked forward to going back inside, grabbing your purse, and getting the hell out of there. However, you made it halfway to the door before almost screaming in alarm at the realization that you weren’t alone.

The dark outline of a man was leaning against the brick wall beside the back door, and the fact that you hadn’t even noticed him when first coming outside was enough to send a chill down your spine. He was hidden in shadows, only the tiny orange dot of his cigarette visible, which glowed brightly as he inhaled. You started to panic, thoughts of being robbed or assaulted flashing through your head.

“Leave me alone! Or I swear I’ll…”

“You’ll what? Call the cops?” came the husky and amused response.

Recognizing the voice, your shoulders slumped in relief. “Holy shit, Hopper! You scared the crap out of me!”

A low chuckle came out of the darkness, and your initial fear morphed instantly into desire at the sound. You wondered what he was doing lurking around the restaurant after hours, refusing to be so hopeful as to think it was because of you.

“What did you mean by that note?”

“Huh?”

Oh shit, maybe he was here because of you, after all. Your palms started to sweat at the realization that you honestly hadn’t planned this far ahead. After he had left the restaurant without a word, you hadn’t thought he’d respond to the note at all, let alone tonight.

Standing there under the dim glow of a nearby streetlight, while he was still shrouded in darkness, you suddenly felt out of your element. Here is your chance! You wanted his attention and now you’ve got it, so don’t mess this up!

Before you could come up with a better explanation, he questioned you again. “What did you mean by ‘your gain’? Were you hoping I’d wine and dine you, treat you like a lady?”

You could hear the evident sarcasm in his voice, and knew in that moment he was expecting it to be exactly what you wanted. He probably saw you as some naive girl with romantic stars in her eyes, and would turn and walk away if that were the case. However, the fact that he had still wanted to suss out your expectations meant that at least some part of him must be curious. Your note had served as the proper bait, but now you had to use the right words to reel him in.

“Being wined and dined is overrated.” Walking a few steps closer, you were still unable to make out his face in the darkness. Wishing you could see his reaction, you continued, “If there’s anything I’ve learned from waitressing, it’s that no one likes to wait for their meal. I’d rather skip the preliminaries and go straight to the main course. Enjoy it while it’s hot.”

You were honestly pretty damn proud of yourself for getting all that out without any hesitation or stuttering. Now that the possibility of having Hopper was within your grasp, you didn’t want to mess it up. You wanted to fuck a real man, to fuck this man, before you could move on from this town with no regrets.

Evidently, he hadn’t been expecting that response. There was an extended period of silence, as if he were processing your words. You then saw the orange dot fall as he flicked the cigarette to the ground and finally stepped out of the darkness, stalking towards you with the same focused stare as earlier in the restaurant. The intensity on his face caused a flicker of fear, and you wondered if this was a mistake, being alone with him this late at night.

That thought quickly dissipated as your body took over, arousal coursing through you at the sight of all that attractive man headed in your direction. He was so tall, his shadow quickly eclipsing your own as he closed the distance, the top of your head not quite reaching his shoulders. You barely had time to notice that the suit jacket was gone, leaving him in the green and pink patterned shirt and tight blue jeans, before he was on you.

His large hand cupped the back of your head, and a second later you were kissing. Chief. Hopper!

Instinct took over, as your lips opened in submission to his. A whimper escaped your throat when he dove in with no hesitation, staking his claim and leaving no doubt as to who was in charge. He pressed his broad body up into yours as his other hand gripped the side of your waist, the scratch of his mustache on your top lip and beard stubble on your chin a reminder that this wasn’t some hormonal frat boy. There was no mistaking that Hopper was all man and, in return, he made you feel like a desirable woman. The fact that you had evoked this reaction in him was enough to make you light-headed...or maybe that was just the lack of oxygen from being kissed to within an inch of your life.

Using his larger frame, he herded you backwards, your body automatically following his command and backing up step by step, out of the dimly lit area and towards the shadows of the building. The hard surface of the brick wall pressed into your back, but you barely noticed, too fixated on the man in front of you. His mouth trailed downwards, and your head fell back into the wall as he sucked on the side of your throat. Gripping his shoulders to help anchor your suddenly wobbly knees, you moaned when he found a particularly sensitive spot where your neck sloped down into your shoulder.

You felt him smile against your skin, before he lifted his mouth to your ear and purred, “I’m not sure you know what you’re getting yourself into, baby girl.”

A shiver ran down your spine at his deep voice, his words causing puffs of warm air to ruffle tendrils of your hair. Struggling to make your last remaining brain cells function properly enough to respond, you whispered, “Then why don’t you show me, Chief?”

His answering groan made you mentally fist pump in glee, as well as tuck away the knowledge that the title was an apparent turn-on for him. His mouth descended on yours again, at the same time that his hands started untucking the bottom of your shirt. Thankfully, you had taken off the apron earlier while vacuuming, leaving you in a white button-down and slightly-above-the-knee black skirt. You didn’t even hesitate to lift your arms from Hopper’s shoulders when he pulled the shirt up and over your head. It was quickly followed by him also taking off the white cami you wore underneath, leaving you clad in just a light pink bra from the waist up.

You were about to lift your head for another kiss when you felt his hands at your back, and suddenly the bra was also being pulled away. He was wasting no time getting you undressed, and you suddenly realized that, unless you put a stop to it, he was going to fuck you outside and up against this very wall. You probably should’ve been shocked or offended by this, the thought of someone stumbling upon the two of you flickering in the back of your mind, but you were honestly too dead set on knowing what Hopper’s cock felt like inside you to care. Being the recipient of such intense male desire filled you with excitement, anticipation, and a bit of fear. The combination of emotions was exhilarating, and served to increase your own desire even further.

Once your bra was off and flung to the side, Hopper froze and slowly leaned back. Looking up, you felt your panties dampen further at the way he was intensely taking in every exposed inch of flesh, stifling a whimper when he licked his bottom lip.

You gasped softly when his large, warm palms cupped both your breasts, lifting and pressing them together as he stared in awe. “Look at you, baby. You’re so fucking pretty. What’s a pretty girl like you doing here, pushed up against a dirty wall and asking to be fucked by a man twice her age?” His voice was raspy with desire, and both that and the taboo words combined to ramp up your own arousal.

Your panting breaths must not have been enough response for him, because he pinched your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers until you let out a moan. Giving a slow, devilish smirk, he continued, “You like that though, don’t you, little girl? You want me to fuck you, to show you just how hard the chief’s dick can make you come. Isn’t that right?”

A harder twist to your nipples made you cry out with the pleasure-pain, your eyes darting up to lock onto his. “I said, isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Nodding frantically, you choked out, “Yes, yes...please…”

“Please what, baby? Tell me what you want.”

Brain foggy with arousal, you fought to string together the words needed to express what you wanted. What you needed. “I want you to touch me and fuck me...please, Chief...make me come. Please...do whatever you want with me.”

An anguished groan was his response, the primal sound making your cunt clench with desire, begging to be filled. It seemed your words were the catalyst needed to unleash the beast, as Hopper dropped his head to your breasts at the same time he reached one hand down under your skirt and pushed it up your thighs. A wordless cry left your throat when his lips wrapped around your left nipple, and you trembled like a leaf caught in the wind when he used both palms to push at your inner thighs until they were spread obscenely wide for him. A loud rip a few seconds later, followed by a cool breeze in an unexpected area, told you that he had torn off the flimsy fabric of your panties. This reminder of his size and strength only increased your desire to feel all that power between your thighs, to have him claim your body as his.

He used lips, tongue, and even teeth until your nipple was rock-hard and so raw and sensitive that you weren’t sure if the pathetic little noises you were making were a plea for him to keep going or slow down. He then switched to the other one, giving it the same treatment until you felt dizzy with the sensations. You were so focused on what he was doing to your nipples, that when he moved his hand up between your spread legs and ran a warm, calloused finger along your slit, it was all you could do to keep yourself leveraged against the wall and not fall at his feet.

As if sensing your impending inability to remain upright, Hopper lifted his head from your breasts and stepped in closer, his chest pressed into yours and hand cupped between your thighs possessively. When one thick finger pushed up into your dripping pussy, it was all you could do to remember how to breathe. After a few deep, slow thrusts he added a second finger. The slight burn as you stretched around his digits was yet another reminder of his size...of what even bigger and thicker appendage awaited you.

“Fuck, you’re tight. You sure you can even take my cock, little girl?”

Nails clutching his biceps through the shirt as he thrust in and out of your body, you panted, “Yes, I want it. Make me take it. Make me yours.”

A string of curses, followed by his hand speeding up its movements, served to make your thighs clench and head fall back against the wall. Caught between his large body and the hard brick, you were unable to do anything except stand there and take it. The wet squelch his fingers made with each thrust was a testament to how much his filthy words were affecting you, your body greedily sucking him in and voicing its protest each time he retreated.

You could feel your body ramping up to climax, muscles straining for release and walls beginning to flutter around his fingers. Then, suddenly, his hand was gone, a hoarse groan of need voicing your displeasure as the peak receded before you could reach it. Looking up at him in shock, you tried to form the words to ask why the fuck he had stopped. Instead, your breath hitched when he did something completely unexpected...and dropped to his knees.

“What…” your brain was unable to comprehend the situation, while every fiber of your body was screaming in excitement as he lifted one of your legs and draped it over his massive shoulder.

Gaze fixated on what was between your spread thighs, he growled out, “How about a little dessert before the main course?”

With that, he shoved your skirt even higher around your waist, leaned forward, and put his face between your thighs. The scratch of his facial hair mixed with his hot, wet mouth on your pussy served to make your brain stop working and body freeze in shock before instinctively arching towards him. His tongue tried to gather as much of the dripping wetness from you as it could reach, the feel of his tongue pushing inside you causing your legs to shake. When his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked, you were done for. Between being primed by his fingers, the sensations of his mouth, and the sight of the big, tough Chief of Police kneeling with his face buried in your cunt, it took a ridiculously short amount of time for you to once again be hurtled up towards the peak of pleasure.

Part of you wanted to try and make it last as long as possible, wanting this memory to forever be burned into your brain. The other part of you was too overwhelmed to do anything other than garble unintelligibly and pull at his hair as you hurtled over the edge. Shudders wracked your body as waves of euphoria radiated out from where his mouth was attached to your clit. The leg still on the ground started to collapse, but Hopper’s hands were anchored at your hips and kept you stable as he continued to work you through the orgasm.

When the shaking had reduced to tiny tremors and your over-sensitized clit begged for mercy, you pushed weakly at his head until he pulled back and looked up. His mouth and chin were shiny with your release, and his eyes darkened as a primal sound of need left your lips at the sight.

Gently removing your leg from his shoulder, he made sure you were steadied against the wall before letting go of your hips and raising to his full height once again. A flicker of uncertainty came over his face, as if he wasn’t sure whether you’d want to take this any further. Pfft, as if I’d stop just because I got to come already, you thought, and reached out to do what you had been fantasizing about for years: undoing Hopper’s buttons.

You were too focused on getting each button undone to see the relief on his face at your willingness to continue. Desire reignited between your thighs as each inch of flesh was slowly revealed, and it felt like both a second and an eternity before the buttons were all free and the shirt was hanging open. You pushed it off his shoulders and Hopper shrugged it the rest of the way off, letting it drop to the ground.

He appeared even larger without the shirt, if that were even possible. You hadn’t really seen his biceps exposed before, and they bulged with thick muscle that came not from a gym but from hours out in the field. He might not be one of the ripped meatheads that some women preferred, but there was a strength and size to him that spoke to you on a deep, primal level. His masculinity called to your femininity, and you wanted nothing more than for him to showcase his maleness in the most basic way possible: by fucking you until you screamed.

Obviously reaching his limit with letting you look your fill, he moved into action and started unbuckling his belt. Not wanting any barriers to get in the way, you quickly shoved the skirt, which was scrunched around your waist, down your legs and onto the ground with the other garments. Naked as the day you were born, you leaned back against the wall and watched Hopper with anticipation, eyes locked on the impressive bulge in his pants that was about to be unveiled.

His eyes were on you in return, scanning lewdly up and down your exposed body as he pulled down the zipper on his jeans. Pushing off both the denim and his boxer briefs in the same fluid movement, he kicked them to the side, leaving him naked before you.

And holy hell was naked Hopper a sight to behold! You were suddenly incredibly glad he had prepped you with an orgasm first, as it was going to take all the lubrication at your body’s disposal to take him in. He easily had the largest cock you’d ever been with, and you’d actually be pretty worried about the mechanics if you weren’t so far gone with lust.

As if reading your mind, he took the massive organ in his fist and started stroking up and down slowly. “Is this what you wanted, little girl?”

Mesmerized by his size and the way in which the reddened tip had a drop of fluid leaking from the tip, you felt any initial hesitancy float away. You wanted that cock inside you, and weren’t about to back out now. Nodding, you finally tore your eyes away from the sight and locked eyes with him, giving a raspy, “Please.”

Lips quirking upwards, he stepped forward, his naked body pressing into yours and causing you to gasp. He was so big and hard, making you feel tiny and soft in comparison. When his cock prodded your stomach, you were unable to resist temptation. Hopper groaned in agonized pleasure when your fist wrapped around him, and you only got in a few strokes before he pulled your hand away.

He reached down between your bodies, causing an instant shudder and your thighs to fall open instinctively for him. He gave a hum of approval, gathering some of your wetness on his fingers. You watched as he lifted the glistening digits to his dick and transferred the fluids, so that he was coated with your natural lubrication.

Too busy being mesmerized by the sight of your arousal on his cock, you were startled when he grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted. Body responding automatically, you wrapped your legs around his hips and arms around his neck. The fact that he could lift and situate you to his liking with barely any effort was sexy as hell, and you didn’t even notice the uncomfortably hard wall at your back since Hopper owned something even harder that held your attention.

His cock bobbed underneath your ass, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you were literally dripping onto it at this point, already overwhelmed by the feel of his naked and aroused body pressed up against you. When he reached down with one hand to grab his dick and rub it along your folds, you gave a needy whimper and squirmed in impatience. While you were glad he was taking the time to utilize all the lubrication available, you were about to scream with frustration if he didn’t fill you soon, the emptiness in your pussy an almost painful throb at this point. Giving a soft sob of relief when he finally positioned the head at your entrance, your thighs tightened around him in encouragement as he started pushing inside.

It quickly became apparent that, despite your arousal, this was going to be a tight fit. A shaky gasp was all you could manage when the flared part of his head stretched you with a slight burn. Pausing for a few seconds so that the two of you could catch your breath and regroup, he then pulled back slightly before pushing forward again. He was patient, but insistent, working his way into your body inch by inch until your world was narrowed down to the feel of his massive cock claiming you. When the stretch became too overwhelming, your nails dug into the back of his neck. It was a signal he thankfully acknowledged, halting again before pulling back and thrusting shallowly until you were better adjusted and ready for more.

“That’s it, baby, relax and let me in. I can feel your tight little pussy stretching around my dick, begging for more.”

His words made you dizzy with desire. The pleasure-pain of taking him in, combined with his primal enjoyment of conquering you to an extent that it was obvious no man had before, caused a myriad of overwhelming sensations and emotions. With a groan of satisfaction, he thrust the entire way inside, a slight shudder passing through his large body at the feel of you totally encompassing his cock. You clung to him, unable to speak or moan or even whimper, his cock filling you so full that it was as if it had reached up to your lungs and stole the breath right out of your body.

Your vocal cords decided to restart when he slowly pulled most of the way out and then thrust the entire way back in without pausing. Giving a needy cry, your walls involuntarily clamped down on him when he started to withdraw again, and he dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a wrecked moan. The sound shot through you, causing more wetness to coat his dick and your back to arch so that your hardened nipples scraped deliciously against his chest hair.

Gripping your hips tightly, he started up a steady and intense rhythm, pulling back until just the tip was inside before thrusting deep, causing you to stretch around him again and again. It was as if he was trying to recreate that initial penetration with each thrust, and the sensation of him claiming you over and over made your eyes roll back in your head.

“So wet, baby. So wet and tight for me,” he murmured into your neck.

Trying to also verbalize your pleasure, you got out a few garbled words before your voice broke at the end, “Yes...oh, god...so good...please.”

He must’ve gotten the message because his pace picked up a bit, the heavy drag of his thick cock hitting every pleasurable nerve ending until you were softly whispering please over and over without even realizing it.

“That’s it, baby. I like it when you beg for me.”

With that, he moved a hand downwards and placed two fingers on your clit. The effect was immediate, a hoarse cry echoing out into the night as the pleasure became almost unbearable. You were poised on the edge of something earth-shattering, and it was beckoning for you to fall over the edge and into the abyss.

“Fuck, yes. You gonna come for me, baby? Be a good girl and come on my cock.”

Those words gave your body the final push it needed. Your pussy clenched down on his cock as the orgasm ripped through you, teeth sinking into his shoulder to stifle your scream. These weren’t the typical waves or ripples of pleasure; your body was instead overcome with jolts of rapture so intense that it almost felt like an out-of-body experience. You felt the electric pulses race from your flexed toes to the top of your head, and everywhere in between. Your vision blanked out as the world narrowed down to Hopper and the bliss he was providing, as he continued to thrust and work your clit, intent on wringing as much pleasure from you as possible. A distant-sounding groan came from above you, followed by the warm gushes of Hopper’s own release, the added sensation causing you to gasp and tremble against him.

When your body came back down to Earth, muscles still randomly jerking with the aftereffects, you felt as though your entire body was humming with boneless contentment. Hopper must’ve been feeling something similar, as he had collapsed into you, pressing you so tightly into the wall that it was almost hard to breathe. But you didn’t mind; if being smothered by his naked, sweaty body was how you went out of this world then...well, no one could say you’d died unhappy.

After a few long moments of trying to catch both your breaths, he gathered his strength and lifted his weight off of you. Unwrapping your legs from his waist and biting your lip to stifle the whimper of loss when his cock left your body, you slid down until your feet were on the ground. A bit unsure what to do or say next, you were relieved when he leaned down and kissed you. It wasn’t as intense as before; instead, it was slow, gentle, and reassuring. The gesture let you know that he wasn’t going to turn into a jerk the moment his cock was limp and he’d had his fill of you, and you were grateful to him for it. Bending down, he picked up your bra and skirt, handing the garments to you while he fished his own briefs and jeans from the ground. It was a good thing it was late and there wasn’t likely to be anyone else around, since you both were going to have some hard-to-explain dirt stains on your clothing.

Once all of the garments were located and you were both fully dressed, you walked back inside the restaurant with Hopper following behind. Ever the protector, he scanned the empty space while you grabbed your purse and the keys to lock up, trying to ignore your still-shaky legs and the feel of your combined releases dripping into the crotch of your underwear. When the doors were locked and the building secured, he made sure to walk you down the block to your car. While the gesture was appreciated, you tried not to hide your disappointment when he didn’t even say goodbye as you got in and closed the door. However, once you had turned the key in the ignition, you heard a tap on the driver’s window. Glancing up, you saw that he was leaning down with one arm resting on the roof of the car and peering in at you.

Rolling down the window, you looked at him expectantly. He appeared almost uncertain at first, glancing downwards for a few seconds before meeting your gaze and giving a warm smile.

“In case I don’t see you beforehand...good luck with your senior year.”

Not expecting the kind words, it took a few seconds to respond. Trying to lighten the mood, you joked, “Well, I got to finish the summer by marking you off my bucket list, so I’d say luck is in my favor this year.”

You saw his eyes widen and eyebrows lift in surprise. “I was on your bucket list?”

Giving a saucy grin, you honestly replied, “Chief, you were the bucket list.”

With that, you leaned out of the window and gave him a peck on the cheek, causing him to give a boyish grin that made you feel giddy. He stood up from the car, allowing you to put it in drive and pull out. Looking into the rearview window, you saw him stare after you for a few seconds before turning towards his own vehicle. While there was a bittersweet part of you that wanted to wish for more, you knew that this was how it was meant to end.

One of these days, you’d find your own Hopper. A man who went out of his comfort zone to meet you at a fancy Italian restaurant, who wanted to wine and dine you…and then fuck you senseless up against a wall.

Until then, you had other things to focus on in life, and exciting adventures that awaited you outside of Hawkins. Not to mention you now had a new memory to replay over and over...the memory of what had been the best night of your life. Smiling to yourself, you turned up the radio just as one of your favorite songs came on, and sang along the entire way home.

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mxndoscyarika · 4 years

Text

Food Cravings (Mando x Reader)

Author’s note: This was inspired by a conversation I had with @thick-dick-daddy-mando last night! Special thanks go to her for specifically the second part of this oneshot ;) Love ya, baby mango!

Summary: Two times that reader tortures Din in public, and the one time he catches her in private.

Warnings: food, sexual themes, smut

Like my writing? Here’s my masterlist.

You couldn’t help it. The bustling market combined with the blistering heat and a long day of ship repairs was plenty of reason to wander off and find yourself a snack, right? It had been a while since you had felt the weight of a warm wrap in your hands, the aroma of smoky spiced meat and crisp vegetables drifting around you. Eating dry, bland ration packs satisfied your stomach, but it did nothing for your food cravings.

So you had caved, splitting off from Mando’s side and venturing to the row of food vendors lining the street. Stands of meat rotated over orange flames that sent bright embers flying towards the sky. What originally began as a sphere of pale dough quickly transformed into a flatbread of sorts that was pillowy yet strong enough to wrap around its meat and vegetable filling.

You returned to the mandalorian with the food quick enough that he didn’t even notice you’d disappeared. When he turned around, he tilted his head to the side.

“When did you get that?” he asked, bewildered. After all, he’d only spent a couple minutes buying some cloth for the child. The last he knew, you’d been right next to him.

Smiling, you answered, “Just now. We should pick something up for you and the kid before we leave; it’s not every day that we have this nearby.”

“Well we don’t have much time” he replied, looking further down the street. “Batuu is pretty calm, but you never know who’s around. Let’s just get what we need and head back to the ship.”

“Right right, I’ll just finish this really quick then.”

As you looked down at the somewhat oversized wrap, you realized that there was no way you’d be able to eat it all quickly or easily. Unless…

Carefully, you folded the excess flatbread over, turning it into a cylindrical shape. Though you were mostly focused on trying not to spill the filling onto the ground, you could feel Din’s eyes bearing down on you.

You met his gaze as you stuffed one end into your mouth, the circumference of it filling you to the point that you needed to inhale through your nose.

The mandalorian stood still as a statue. But his helmet remained tilted down towards you. Towards your mouth. His fingers twitched at his side, then stilled. If it weren’t so loud in the marketplace, you would’ve been able to hear his deepened breaths.

Warm spices and a creamy sauce coated your tongue, some of it dribbling out the corner of your mouth as you took a bite. Gripping the remainder of the wrap in your hand, you took your index finger and swiped up the straying liquid, sucking it clean from your finger with your eyes still locked with Din’s.

“It’s good,” you said, using both hands to push more into your mouth. Voice muffled by the food, you added, “We can keep going. It might be a while before I finish.”

“R-right,” he croaked, clearing his throat. He gestured to follow him, beskar glinting deliciously in the sun. “Let’s go.”

——��————————————————————

Look, you didn’t expect to end up on Weirlyn. You’d heard about it before, and the only thing you remembered was that it was ridiculously humid. For some, it would’ve been a perfect getaway from work. But for you? It was just a ridiculously hot jungle that happened to lead a ridiculously hot mandalorian to his next job.

“Are you sure you want to look find a job here?” you asked, unbuttoning your outer jacket and slipping it off. He’d landed the Crest a short distance away from a village, the top view of the ship only partially shaded. In the wet heat of the planet? The ship was very quickly becoming its own kind of oven. “There are plenty of other places.”

“This is a good place for us to relax for a bit,” he answered, flicking some switches into their off position. “Once I get the quarry, that is. The vegetation will conceal our ship, and the village seemed pretty hospitable.”

“You always work so hard,” you said, pouting. Though the ship’s air conditioning system seemed to be working overtime, the air temperature had risen enough that a thin sheen of sweat covered your skin. “So stressed. Are you not melting in the armor?”

He shook his head. “It’s fine.”

“You sure?” you asked, tilting your head. “If you get too hot in that, I wouldn’t mind if you took it all off.”

At that, a huff of air escaped the mandalorian. “I have a high heat tolerance.”

Humming softly, you stood from your seat and patted his bicep. “Alright, but you’re buying me something cold when we get to the village.”

Din quickly realized what a mistake that was. You and he had left the child in his quarters, which were away from the windows and would stay cool enough for the time being. When you’d both arrived at the village, you were greeted with carts of cold treats. Despite living in such a hot climate, those who lived there were able to find ways to make it more bearable.

You had turned down a bowl of bafta ice cream, which had come in many different flavors and had a bizarrely stretchy consistency, and opted for an orange frozen rectangle on a stick. It was sweet and sticky against your tongue, the taste resembling a fruit whose name you couldn’t quite place a finger on.

Noticing that it was starting to melt and drip onto your hand, you licked it from the base to the top. Turning it to the other side with a simple glide of your fingers, you repeated the action.

The mandalorian simply watched you, not even shifting as you met his eyes once again. Your lips wrapped around the top of the treat and sucked lightly.

This time, you heard his sharp intake of breath. Smirking a little, you tilted your head and sucked on the sides, cleaning it up. You let out a soft moan, though you were imagining a different flavor. Never did Mando’s gloves look more enticing, with their orange tips and worn leather. As you licked back up with the flat of your tongue, you wondered what he would taste like.

It was no secret to yourself nor Din that you both felt an attraction to each other, but neither of you had gone past subtle innuendos and teasing. You told yourself it was fine; that your relationship would develop at its own rate. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t give your Mando a little push.

Giving him a taste of what he was missing out on, you slipped the frozen remainder--about the two-thirds the length of your hand--into your mouth, taking the opportunity to wipe your hands off on your pants. Your lips were sticky with sweetener, cheeks slightly sucked in as you worked your tongue around the ice in your mouth. All while keeping your eyes locked on Din.

You pulled it out slowly, its surface shining and slippery. Looking up at him innocently, you asked, “Are you ok, Mando?”

He finally broke eye contact with you, glancing down as he shifted on his feet. The large tent in his pants partially obscured the ground. No, he thought. He was absolutely not ok.

———————————————————————

“Hey y/n, I brought something back for you,” a modulated voice said, disrupting your half-lucid nap. “I thought you’d like something different this time.”

Spinning idly in the copilot’s chair, you examined the dauntingly thick skewer Mando held out to you. The aroma of perfectly charred meat filled the cockpit.

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” you cooed, taking it from him. Up close, you realized that it was much bigger than you’d originally thought, the weight of it almost bending the wooden stick. You felt your cheeks warm as your mind strayed to the thought of Din giving you something else warm and thick.

Noticing your hesitation, Mando said, “I have a plate and some utensils if that’ll be easier for you.”

“Oh don’t worry, I’m used to big meat,” you reassured, winking at him. If he was blushing or not, you couldn’t tell. But he shifted and placed his hands on his hips, drawing your attention to the unarmoured area between his legs.

Keeping your eyes on him, you slowly stuck the tip into your mouth. Your eyes nearly rolled back as the combination of sweet and salty coated your tongue. Despite his typically low standards of food, he knew exactly what you liked.

Groaning softly, you tried to pull off a bite. It was stuck. Hoping you’d find better luck further down, you relaxed your jaw and went down another inch or so before trying again. You closed your eyes in bliss as more of the salty-sweet taste flooded your mouth, breathing slowly through your nose.

You opened your eyes to Din watching you intently, as he had many times before. Finally pulling it off the skewer, you let out a moan that had Mando’s brain shuttering. He wanted to hear it again, but he also wanted your mouth wrapped around something else. Something bigger.

When you finally swallowed and smiled up at him, he shook his head.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, cyar’ika,” he growled, a hint of amusement laced in his tone. The low rumble of his voice made your core tighten involuntarily, the food forgotten. You snapped out of your trance as you felt him pluck it from between your fingers and set it on the plate he’d brought with him.

“Din, what are you doing?” you asked, looking up at him from your seat. The mandalorian towered over you, the pauldrons of his armor making him look impossibly broad and strong. To some, he may have looked intimidating. But not to you.

“The better question is: what are you doing?” he responded, standing between your knees. Heat radiated off of him as you blushed and tried to play innocent.

“W-what do you mean?”

A shiver ran down your spine as he grabbed your chin and tilted your face up, the orange tips of his gloves caressing your jaw and passing lightly over your lips. Your breathing deepened as he pressed his thumb against your lower lip. It took every ounce of self-control for you to keep your lips sealed, wanting him to answer you before moving forward.

He chuckled softly, the sound nearly enough to make you moan. The dark visor bore down on you, making your cheeks warm. “You think I haven’t noticed, mesh’la? The beautiful sounds you make as you eat? The way you look at me, imagining it’s me who is filling you up?”

“Are you sure you’re not just projecting, Din?” you quipped, smirking. “If I remember correctly, you seemed to have an extra pulse rifle stowed in the front of your pants on Weirlyn. Or am I mistaken?”

He tilted his head. “Talking back now, huh?”

“What are you going to do about it, mandalorian?” you question, glancing down at the prominent bulge. Catching your bottom lip between your teeth, you wondered if he was as big as he looked.

“I’ll give you something that’ll keep your mouth busy,” he replied. His fingers left your face to unzip his pants and slip his hard cock out of its confines.

Your mouth watered as you took in the view. He was definitely bigger than you thought he’d be, but you weren’t complaining. Especially not as his glove hand started stroking slowly, causing a bead of precum to shine at his tip.

Smirking, you replaced his hand with yours and got to work.

#the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin #star wars #my writing

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gloves94 · 4 years

Text

Sunburn [Prince Zuko] 35

Warnings: Cursing Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Zuko/OC

Sunburn Chapter M A S T E R L I S T

My fan fiction M A S T E R L I S T

Presently, Toph, Katara sat on the edge of the beach house’s inner courtyard watching the three firebenders practice their bending skills from the comfort of a refreshing shade.

Tsai had been complaining to everyone about how much she hated Ember Island but when asked why she would just grumble and seethe in her own anger and frankly it was getting on everybody’s nerves. It’s not something she liked to talk about in particular. Of course, this time things were a lot better than the last time she was here. Not wanting to spend another minute inside of the house that brought such terrible memories to her she spent the majority of the day meditating by the beach in an attempt to ease her terrible headache. She presently wore a set of maroon traditional Fire Nation clothes similar to the ones that Suki and Katara wore.

She was currently walking back to the courtyard to sit next to the girls that were watching the boys train.

She watched as the three benders moved in perfect synchronization in elaborate firebending movements. Blasting arcs of flames and fistfuls of fire. She really wished she could’ve been paying more attention to where she was going but was more distracted by a shirtless body. Her eyes were glued to the prince’s toned torso. She looked at the way his perspired body seemed to glisten with the light as he moved swiftly. Had he always been that well-built? She knew he was strong from holding onto his arms so many times before, but his abdominals- Her mind went to an erubescent compartment of her imagination. Why had she never stopped to appreciate the royal sight before?

The three benders straightened and turned towards each other relaxing in their stances letting out a deep breath slowly.

Then it hit her. Literally. She groaned slightly when she ran face-first into one of the courtyard’s pillars making Toph laugh loudly from where she was sitting. She stepped back and glared in embarrassment as she walked over to where Katara and Toph were sitting.

“You’ve got something on your face.” Toph continued laughing.

The girl rubbed the red line that had formed across the bridge of her nose and prayed that hopefully it wouldn’t bruise. “Yeah, I hope it doesn’t bruise.”

“I meant droll.” Toph dead panned. Tsai swore she could’ve strangled her in the spot. Mortified that she had been caught in the act of checking out the Fire Nation’s former prince in such an obvious matter.

"Doesn't it seem kinda weird that we're hiding from the Fire Lord in his own house?" Katara suddenly said absent mindedly. Thankfully Toph seemed to be the only one to have witnessed her embarrassing run in to the pole.

“Think of it as hiding in plain sight. Besides, you think the Fire Lord is going to come and hang out here?” The red head explained raising both of her arms up in a casual shrug.

"Yeah," Zuko agreed from where he was sitting at the foot of a concrete fountain, rubbing the sweat from his hair with a towel. He said something. Tsai was certain she saw his mouth move when he was speaking but she wasn’t listening. Her teenage hormones getting the best of her.

“You guys are not going to believe this!” Thankfully Sokka interrupted her daydream. She shook her head shoving those red thoughts into a cranny in the back of her brain.

Sokka and Suki stood at the entrance of the courtyard both with excited looks on their faces.

"We were just in town when we found this poster." Suki explained with both hands behind her back. She nudged Sokka, "Show them, Sokka."

“There’s a play about us!” Sokka announced unraveling a parchment scroll he had been holding behind his back. He snapped it opened revealing a traditional drawing of Aang and the Southern Water Tribe siblings in fighting stances. Zuko’s face in the background. An image of the Blue Spirit’s mask hovering in between the two parties.

Everybody came in closer to take a look at the poster.

"Listen to this," Sokka said as he turned the poster back around so he could read it capturing everybody’s attention as he began to read out loud. "The Boy in the Iceberg is a new production from acclaimed playwright Pu On Tim who scoured the globe gathering information on the Avatar from the icy South Pole to the heart of Ba Sing Se. His sources include singing nomads, pirates, prisoners of war, and a surprisingly knowledgeable merchant of cabbage."

Suki leaned over his shoulder and read the last line, "Brought to you by the critically acclaimed Ember Island Players."

"Ugh..." Zuko groaned and made a disgusted face his shoulder’s dropping, "My mother use to take us to see them. They butchered Love Amongst the Dragons every year."

Tsai couldn’t help but snort a small laugh. She knew that Zuko was a fan of theatre. Go figure. It definitely explained his fanfare for dramatic antics.

"Sokka," Katara sighed in exasperation, giving her brother a bland look as she asked, "Do you really think it's a good idea for us to attend a play about ourselves?"

“Yeah,” Added Tsai crossing her arms over her chest taking a seat next to Zuko at the foot of the fountain. “We shouldn’t be slacking off. We still have plenty of training to do.”

"C'mon!" Sokka whined before looking at the two girls persuasively as he unrolled the parchment again and showed it to the group. "This is the kind of wacky, time-wasting nonsense I've been missing!" He smiled at them with an eager expression on his face. “And it’s until night! So, we’ll have all day to train,” He shot at the red head.

Katara rolled her eyes, crossing her arms and looking away with a baffled expression.

“Yeah, why not?” Mecha asked as he sat next to his sister. He rested an elbow on top of her head with the intention to annoy her. She slouched forward under the weight of his arm. “I’d love to see what trouble ya’ll have gotten into.”

She glared at her brother and pushed his scarred arm off her head.

She let out an exhale in defeat. "Sure, why not? How bad could it be?"

xxx

The theatre house was grand. Composed of golden arches and red roofs and ceilings which were traditional to the area. The theatre was packed, and the group shuffled into the highest and cheapest seats they found at the very top in a small private box.

Toph sat on the edge, next to her Katara, Zuko and Aang.

"Hey, uh..." Aang faltered as he was forced to stand back up. He rubbed the back of his neck and tried to act casual as he said, "I wanted to sit there." He said motioning to the spot next to Katara.

Zuko then lowered his hood and glanced at Aang strangely, "Just sit next to me, what's the big deal?"

Behind sat Suki, Sokka, Tsai and her brother both of them sipping on some Ember Island iced teas.

“I really don’t want to be here. There’s literally 1001 more productive things that we could be doing.” She complained to her brother. “Am I the only one that is aware that Sozin’s Comet isn’t slowing down?”

“Simmer down. You’re acting as if you’rethe Avatar” Sokka said with ease as he slid an arm around Suki’s shoulders. “At least one of us is!” She spoke sharply bitterly the edge of her eye twitching in frustration as she glared at Aang who didn’t hear her snarky remark. “You’ll have tomorrow to train and do your sun greeting meditations or whatever it is you do.” Sokka waved his hand indifferent to her attitude.

“Relax,” Mecha said to her. “This is just what we need. It’ll be a good way to get our minds off things.”

She sighed deflating a little.

“Besides I’m excited to see all of our parts!”

Aang fidgeted a little in the seats at the front as he struggled to find a seat next to Katara. "I was... just, uh..." Aang stuttered and glanced over at the brunette, who was peering at him oddly before looking back at the stage. He looked back at Zuko and cleared his throat, "I wanted to..." He sighed in defeat sat next to Zuko in defeat “Okay…”

"Why are we sitting in the nosebleed section?" Toph demanded, crossing her arms and leaning back in her seat at the end. The theater lights dimmed signifying that the show was about to start. "My feet can't see a thing from up here."

"Don't worry," Katara stated in amusement, glancing at Toph from the corner of her eye before focusing on the stage once more, "I'll tell your feet what's happening."

Toph didn't bother to respond, as she heard the curtain being drawn up.

ACT I Scene 1

Sokka excitedly grabbed his sister's shoulder and pointed between them as their actor portrayals were revealed. The actress portraying Katara was an older woman wearing pounds of rogue cakey makeup on her face. "Sokka, my only brother!" She exclaimed dramatically with a loud sigh as she pretended to row a canoe through the moving cut-outs of blue waves.

"We constantly roam these icy South Pole seas, and yet never do we find anything fulfilling!"

Sokka’s actor had an overbite and his wig resembled more of a broomsticks’ end. He spoke next "All I want is a full feeling in my stomach, I'm starving!" He drawled out. The audience all laughed at the joke.

"Is food the only think on your mind?" Actress Katara asked in melodramatically.

"Well, I'm trying to get it out of my mind," Actor Sokka retorted and pointed to his mouth, "And into my mouth. I'm starving!"

The crowd of Fire Nationers once again roared with laughter.

"This is pathetic." Sokka complained, leaning over his sister's shoulder and waving his hand towards the stage, "My jokes are wayfunnier than this."

Tsai let out a humorous snort as she leaned back into her seat, arms crossed over her chest. Her brother’s body language mirroring her own.

"I think he's got you pegged." Toph quipped with a laugh, and Sokka glowered at her in reply then sat back with a huff to continue watching the play.

"Every day, the world awaits a beacon to guide us, yet none appears. Still we cannot give up hope!" Katara’s actress placed her hand to her chest and began to sniffle dramatically, "For hope is all we have," Her voice wavered with choked tears as she collapsed over the side of the canoe in an exaggerated manner. "And we must never relinquish it. Even...Even to our dying breath." She burst into fake tears lowering her head. Actor Sokka looked at her blankly and continued paddling.

Katara huffed and crossed her arms without amusement, "Well, that's just silly. I don't sound like that at all."

The row behind Katara all sniggered quietly behind praying Katara wouldn’t hear them. Toph however, felt no need to hide her laughter as she giggled maniacally. "Oh man, this writer's a genius!"

Katara scowled at her and stuck her nose in the air, closing her eyes in indignation.

It seemed like all Katara’s actress did was bawl dramatically, moan, sigh and cry about hope and feelings. Moments later the boy who was trapped in the iceberg came to the stage.

The actress portraying Katara stopped crying and sat up, turning to stare at the iceberg prop with wide eyes, "It appears to be someone frozen in ice. Perhaps for a hundred years!"

"But who?" Actor Sokka questioned loudly, "Who is the boy in the iceberg?"

Aang leaned forward on his seat in anticipation at his character’s introduction and great reveal. The eagerness on his face excited unmistakable as he learned even further to see the respectable actor that would portray the Avatar. Zuko glanced over at him, he then looked over his shoulder and saw that the Fire Nation siblings were watching the play attentively both of their attentions completely captivated. That’s right. They probably didn’t know that any of this had happened.

Actress Katara climbed onto the iceberg prop quickly, Actor Sokka climbing it at slower pace. She made a slashing motion with her arm and cried out, "Waterbend, hai-ya!"

The silhouette disappeared from view as the iceberg prop split in half. Smoke spilled out of it flooding the stage. It was time. The big reveal. The Avatar leapt out of the smoke and landed between Sokka and Katara’s actors. The actor struck a playful pose placing a hand on his- her hip and winking at the audience. The actress wore cake loads of rogue blush and a bald cap with a blue arrow as well as Aang’s traditional Air Nomad robes.

"Who are you, frozen boy?" Actress Katara asked in awe, reaching out as if to touch the other actress while theatrically clasping her other hand to her chest.

The petite actress portraying Aang laughed and spoke in a high-pitched voice, "I'm the Avatar, silly!" She balanced on the toes of one foot then twirled around, holding her arms out with another cheery giggle, "Here to spread joy and fun!"

Aang cringed and closed his eyes for a second before leaning forward becoming almost deflated, his eyes practically bugging out of his head. He made a choked noise, "Is that a woman playing me?"

Aang scowled and sat back in his seat with an irate huff, crossing his arms and glowering at the stage.

“Is it me? Or does that look like Ty Lee?” Tsai said more to herself than the others.

A replica of Appa made growling and roaring noises before leaping off the iceberg prop, revealing the three actors wearing furry pants to represent the sky bison's six legs. The replica landed to the right of the stage and ran across to the left side then disappeared behind the iceberg prop again.

"An Airbender!" The Katara actress gasped in awe, turning to look at the other actress after watching the Appa run around. She clasped her hands to her chest and dropped down to one knee as she exclaimed, "My heart is so full of hope, that it's making me tearbend!" She sobbed dramatically clinging onto theater Aang’s leg.

"My stomach is so empty that it's making me tearbend!" Actor Sokka wailed as he threw his arms up hopelessly then dropped to his knees, clutching onto Actress Aang's opposite leg and starting to cry just as dramatically as Actress Katara. "I need meat!"

Giggling cheerfully, Actress Aang ducked down, putting her arm around both of their shoulders after they had let go of her. She pointed upward with a cheeky smile, "But wait! Is that a platter of meaty dumplings?"

"Where?!" Actor Sokka asked excitedly, shielding his eyes and turning away from the actress in search of the alleged dumplings. "Where, where?"

Actress Aang laughed and shifted so she was sitting on the edge of the iceberg prop, playfully swinging her arm around as she chirped, "Did I mention that I'm an incurable prankster?" She crossed her legs and smiled cutely winking at the laughing audience.

"I don't do that!" Aang growled irritably as the audience continued to chortle, "That's not what I'm like! And-and I'm not a woman!" He threw his hands up in frustration as he slumped on his seat.

Toph cracked up and turned her head towards Aang, "Oh I think they nailed you, Twinkle Toes!" She continued laughing when Aang growled at her, lifting his head up to glare in her direction.

Scene 2 The scene changed, and a Fire Nation warship appeared on stage, the actor portraying Zuko poised near the front of the ship, looking through a telescope while a large man that was playing Iroh standing in the middle of the ship.

“Is this when you come out?” Mecha said to his sister in his classic style which never failed to show he could not whisper to save his life.

“You know when I come out!” She said to him roughly. “Not yet!”

"Prince Zuko," Actor Iroh called out as he held up a whole cake minus one slice towards the other actor, "You must try this cake."

"I don't have time to stuff my face!" Actor Zuko, dressed in armor and with a long ponytail, snapped as he turned towards Iroh’s actor, lowering the telescope as he did so. He turned towards the audience and clutched his fist in an assertive manner, "I must capture the Avatar and regain my honor!"

"Well, while you do that, maybe I'll capture another slice." Actor Iroh stated then held the cake up higher before bringing it towards his face and proceeding to gobble it down noisily.

"You sicken me!" Actor Zuko spat in disgust, turning away haughtily to look through his telescope again.

The Fire Nation crowd once again laughed loudly. Zuko scowled and gestured towards the stage with his free hand, "They make me look totally stiff and humorless."

"Actually," Katara commented in complacent amusement as she crossed her arms, "I think that actor's pretty spot on."

He heard laughing coming from behind and turned to glare at the two Fire Nation siblings who were miserably failing at controlling their loud laughter. “They totally nailed you!” She couldn’t help but laugh loudly.

Zuko swung his arm out and protested, "How can you say that?" He asked looking back at them.

"Let's forget about the Avatar and get massages!" Iroh said.

"How can you say that?!"

Katara and the two siblings in the back smirked and looked at Zuko smugly. The backrow laughed even harder. Zuko grumbled and slumped down in his seat, frowning at the stage.

Several scenes passed by all of them portraying dramatically exaggerated personifications of Aang and his friends on their adventures as they traveled to the Eastern Air Temple and Ba Sing Se. Tsai and Mecha had been enjoying the play so far. They were learning so much about what the group had been through before they came into the story.

Scene 7

“Here’s where we come in!” Mecha nudged his younger sister’s arm excitedly as the last scene faded.

But- it didn’t happen. Yu Dao never came into scene. She looked at the stage before in disappointment their spirits faltering a little.

“Guess I’m not relevant enough to be in the play,” She sulked as she sunk into her seat.

Lights representing lightning flashed though the stage followed by fake sounding thunder as the Pohuai fortress came into view.

"The Avatar is mine!" Actor Zuko shouted triumphantly as he stood in front of a raised platform Actress Aang was tied to while several actors dressed as Fire Nation guards stood at the bottom. Actor Zuko looked to the left and pointed with a shout of surprise, "Wait, who's coming?"

A spotlight swung to the left, illuminating an actor wearing a massive Blue Spirit mask that covered his whole body. "I am the Blue Spirit!" The actor shouted as he clashed his dual dao blades together and tap danced in place, "The scourge of the Fire Nation here to save the Avatar!"

Waving his swords around, the Blue Spirit actor walked across the stage, the fake guards falling down as he past them. Actor Zuko ran around the platform and came up behind the Blue Spirit actor, throwing a red ribbon that was meant to be fire at the Blue Spirit actor's feet. The Blue Spirit actor jumped back to avoid the streamer then thrust his sword forward at Actor Zuko, who ran off stage.

"My hero!" Actress Aang cried out, pulling her hands from her restraints and leaping on top of the large Blue Spirit mask.

Zuko glanced over his shoulder Aang, the two giving each other embarrassed looks before quickly looking away.

The Blue Spirit actor continued to tap dance on stage before quickly spinning only to reveal an older actress with a tacky red wig standing on the other side of the mask.

“They’ll never suspect it’s me! The greatest traitor to the nation!” The actress who was wearing pounds of make-up and a promiscuous ochre colored kimono laughed loudly in a most irate laugh possible.

Tsai sprayed out her beverage like a whale and looked at the scene before in horror. She didn’t think she had ever heard her brother laugh so loud before. That’s right… The Fire Lord probably still thinks she’s the Blue Spirit. She facepalmed.

“This is such an inaccurate portrayal.”

Scene 8

A Fire Nation warship returned to the stage were Zuko’s Actor gazed out through a telescope once again and Iroh’s Actor played Pai Sho.

“Yoo-hoo! Boys!” Actor Tsai pulled out a hankerchief and waved at the warship with a sultry look on her eyes. “Wanna take me on a ride?” She giggled flirtatiously and winked at the audience.

“Hot Fire Pepper Flakes!” Actor Iroh gasped dramatically. “I guess we have to! What’s theworstthat could happen?” Iroh laughed heartily. As the actress with the red wig jumped on the ship gleefully.

“Uncle! This is not a cruise resort! I don’t want this colonial pest on my ship! Although… I can’t say no to such a vixen.”

“Is that really how it happened?” Aang quirked a confused eyebrow.

“It’s not!” Tsai cried out from the back with a red face leaning forward speaking between Aang and Zuko’s shoulders. “This play is so inaccurate! I mean- They paint me like some kind of whoozy!They totally missed the funeral. And my laugh does notsound like that!” “I think they got the annoying laugh juuust right.” Her brother sniggered earning himself a hard punch to the arm.

Zuko sat stiffly and brought a hand to his face to hide his embarrassment.

Scene 9

The backdrop was changed to that of the Freedom Fighters former hide-out in the trees and Actress Katara along with an actor portraying Jet, stood on a small platform attached to a rope that was hanging a few feet above the stage.

“Wait is that…” Tsai narrowed her eyes. “Is that Jet?” Her eyes went slightly wide. “You know Jet?” She whispered to Katara leaning over. “You know him too?” Katara whispered back with an embarrassed expression on her face. “Yeah, we had a thing-“She was interrupted by Zuko who loudly shushed the both of them not wanting to remember the little rendezvous Tsai had had with him. He certainly didn’t want to remember the two of them canoodling back on the ferry to Ba Sing Se.

Actress Katara began to mock sob loudly and Actor Jet, with a rose in his mouth held her close, "Don't cry baby. Jet will wipe out that nasty town for you!"He pointed at the stage briefly then lifted Actress Katara's chin up while a stagehand dressed in black pulled a large, blue sheet that was supposed to represent water, across the stage beneath them.

"Oh Jet," Actress Katara cooed in a sultry voice as the platform was raised, "You're so bad."

Katara blushed brightly and ducked her head, bringing her hand up to hide her face in embarrassment while Toph giggled unabashedly.

“Why are all the women in this play over-sexualized?!” A female voice in the back row protested angrily.

Scene 11

“Quit playing Pai Sho with my uncle!”

“As a woman from the colonies I can tell you, it’s notthe only thing we’re playing.”

“Ohohoho!”Actor Iroh laughed loudly and lecherously.

The audience roared with wild laughter at the vulgar stereotype of women from the colonies.

The girl hid her face behind her hands shrinking lower into her seat.

“That did nothappen…” She grumbled completely mortified. Not even wanting to see the weirded outlooks that the group was giving her. Her and Iroh had been close, but not like that!

Scene 12

“I can’t fight your bewitching spell any longer temptress! Kiss me!”

Mecha had a horrified look on his face as he watched the scene before where Tsai and Zuko’s Actors kissed on the warship. The girl had completely slid down her seat with a red face of mortification.

“That didn’t happen either, eh?” Toph snorted flashing the girl a teasing look.

“Not like that at least!” She roared out jumping out of her seat making several heads turn back to look at her. Zuko was wearing his black hood over his head back again he pulled it down so it would hide his equally embarrassed expression. He could almost feel both Katara and Aang looking down at him with teasing grins.

“That’s it! I can’t watch this anymore!”

“But Tsai- there’s about to be an intermission!” Her brother said sipping on his tea, regardless she exited the room and threw her own beverage away.

Some moments later after the Act I intermission the rest of the group joined her outside in outdoor balcony that lead to their private viewing box.

“I see what you mean by ‘they butchered Love Amongst the Dragons every year.’" Tsai grumbled blowing a hair out of her face as he sat on the steps leaning against the railing.

"So far, this intermission is the best part of the play." Zuko grumbled taking a standing on the steps next to her leaning his weight on the railing as well.

"Apparently, the playwright thinks I'm an idiot." Sokka complained as he walked down the stairs with a bag of spicy fire jerky, taking a seat next to Suki a few steps from the bottom of the stairs. "Who tells bad jokes about meat all the time!"

"Yeah," Suki drawled in amusement and a hint of sarcasm, "You tell bad jokes about plenty of other topics too."

Sokka bit off a piece of jerky and exclaimed around it as he chewed, "I know!"

"At least this Sokka actor kind of looks like you." Aang retorted from his seat on the bottom steps, Toph standing in front of him with an amused look on her face, "That woman playing the Avatar doesn't resemble me at all."

"I don't know," Toph quipped with a sardonic grin, "You are more in touch with your feminine side than most guys."

“Simmer down Aang, it’s supposed to be a satire.” Tsai explained calmly. “One written specifically to appeal the humor of the Mainland,” she said angrily covering her face with her hands. Aang scowled at the ground his pose mirroring hers. “Can you believe how they portrayed me? Just because I’m from the colonies!” She fumed at the stereotypical portrayal.

“Hey at least you’re in it.” Her brother rolled his eyes somewhat bitter he wasn’t even written in.

"Relax, you guys." Katara chided lightly from the top of the stairs, smiling gently at Aang when he looked up at her with a frown. "They're not accurate portrayals. It's not like I'm a preachy crybaby who can't resist giving overemotional speeches hope all the time." She frowned when the others just looked at her skeptically, "What?"

"Yeah," Aang muttered, rolling his eyes slightly as he sat back down on the step, "That's not you at all."

“Am I a whoozy?” The red head asked dramatically her voice raised in a lighter pitch. As her shoulder’s dropped to the side.

“No.” Scattered voices reassured her.

“I’m going to murder whoever wrote this junk.” Zuko grumbled under his breath inaudible for the others to hear. What was the name of the playwright again Pu On Tim?

Toph shook her head, amused at how bent out of shape her friends were getting over the whole play. "Listen, friends. It's obvious that the playwright did his research. I know it must hurt but what you're seeing up there on that stage is the truth."

ACT II Scene 14

"Well here we are in the Earth Kingdom." Actress Katara said as she stood with Actor Sokka, and Actress Aang. In front of a background painted to look like Earth Kingdom buildings.

"I'd better have a look around to see if I can find an earthbending teacher." Actress Aang chirped happily, opening up her miniature air glider prop and jumping into the air while a cable lifted her up.

Toph leaned forward eagerly, "This is it! this must be where I come in!"

Actress Aang flew around the theater and over the audience before landing back on stage.

"I flew all over town, but I couldn't find a single earthbending master!"

"Here it comes..." Toph muttered, clenching her fists in anticipation.

The boulder next to where the trio were standing beside on stage was held up by a hulking muscular man wearing Toph's outfit as he rose out of a trap door the rock prop had been covering.

"You can't find an earthbending master in the sky, you have to look underground." The man rumbled in a super deep voice as he threw the rock prop over their heads.

Katara clapped her hands over her mouth to hide her laughter, Suki mimicking her while Aang, Sokka, and Tsai laughed freely and Zuko dropped the play parchment he was holding in shock.

"Who are you?" Actress Aang asked as she pointed at Actor Toph.

Actor Toph spat off the side and rumbled, "My name's Toph because it sounds like tough." He flexed his muscles, "And that's just what I am."

"Wait a minute." Toph frowned and turned her head to the side, straining to hear the words before using her finger to clear out her ear canal, "I sound like a..." She made a shocked noise, "A guy. A really, really buff guy."

"Well Toph, what you hear up there is the truth." Katara commented snidely, smirking smugly at the blind girl, "It hurts, doesn't it?"

"Are you kidding?" Toph exclaimed as she grinned from ear to ear, "I wouldn't have cast it any other way!

"So, you're blind?" Actress Aang asked curiously as she waved her hand in front of Actor Toph's eyes, which were covered by his overly long bangs.

"I can see you doing that." Actor Toph laughed then gestured with his burly arms, "I see everything that you see except that I don't see like you do. I release a sonic wave from my mouth." He turned towards the trio and opened his mouth and screamed loudly at them, causing the actors to lean back and their clothes to flutter from the strong vibrations of the shout.

The entire audience grimace at the loudness of the roar. The backrow gazed in terror while Toph held onto the railings with an excited expression.

"There." Actor Toph said contentedly after he finished screaming, "I got a pretty good look at you."

Actress Aang giggled and clapped, promoting the audience to do the same while the other actors stared at Actor Toph in awe.

Scene 17

"Zuko, it's time we had thetalk." Actor Iroh said slowly as he stood on a metal bridge with Actor Zuko, who was now wearing a long-haired wig.

“I’ve had thattalk already Uncle.”

The audience laughed loudly.

Actor Iroh pointed at him, "About your hair. It's gone too far." Tsai’s actress sat between the two actors looking between the two with mock gasping expressions.

"Maybe it's best if we..." Actor Zuko flicked his hair as he turned his head away, "Split up."

He turned and walked away, Actor Iroh heading in the opposite direction.

“Oh no!” She gaped dramatically. “Will you stay if we have some tea?” She drawled on the last word coyly. Before letting out a loud high-pitched irritating laughter.

Again, cue for the audience to laugh.

Scene 19

It was the scene of Lake Laogai, but know with Actress Aang, Actress Katara, Actor Toph, and Actor Sokka, Actor Jet flailed around between the group, slashing his hook sword arm props around, while wearing a pair of crazy eye glasses, the tiny beads the represented his pupils spinning around to show that he had lost his mind.

"No, Jet!" Actress Aang exclaimed as Actor Jet spun around the other actors looked on with horrified expression. Actress Aang placed her hands on her cheeks and gasped, "What did they do to you?"

"Must." Actor Jet swiped his hook sword arm towards Actress Aang unsteadily, "Serve. Earth King!" He spun in place and swiped at Actor Sokka, who ducked, "Must...Destroy!" He fell to his knees and started making various agonizing noises as a rock prop floated down from above, and he crawled underneath it. "Oh!" he gasped as he fell onto his stomach, the rock prop covering his upper body before he pulled his legs underneath it.

"Did...Did Jet just die?" Zuko asked in disbelief, Tsai’s expression mirrored his.

"You know, it was really unclear." Sokka replied with a small shrug before going back to watching the play as if nothing had happened.

Scene 20

Actress Katara came to scene with a backdrop of the Crystal Catacombs behind. She smiled in a sultry manner as she approached Actor Zuko, "I have to admit, Prince Zuko, I really find you attractive."

A shiver went up Katara’s spine when she sensed a deathly glare coming from behind her. Zuko felt it too. They both did. Behind them Tsai’s eyes had turned into slits. Her jealousy getting the best of her the girl almost seemed to be emitting a dark green aura.

“Hey, um? You okay?” Her brother asked eyeing his sister oddly.

"You don't have to make fun of me." Actor Zuko spat harshly as he sat on a crystal prop with his legs crossed one over the other. His harshness caused Actress Katara to cringe before she batted her lashes at him.

"But I mean it." She sat down beside him on the prop, "I had eyes for you since the day you first captured me."

"Wait," Actor Zuko jumped to his feet and moved away from Actress Katara, "I thought you were the Avatar's girl?"

"The Avatar?" Actress Katara laughed coyly as she stood up and approached Actor Zuko seductively, "Why, he's like a little brother to me. I certainly don't think of him in a romantic way. And besides," She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, "How would he find out about this?"

"You're getting up?" Sokka whispered as Aang stood up and exited the theater. Tsai followed after him not particularly enjoying the present scene and not wanting to sit through what she already knew was going to happen next.

"Can you get me some fireflakes?" Sokka settled back in his seat and put his arm around Suki's shoulders before sitting up to loudly whisper again, "Ooh, and some fire gummies!"

“That didn’t happen right?” Mecha leaned his eyes bouncing between his sister and the actors. Sokka let out a raspberry laughing slightly at the absurd question.

Both Zuko and Katara looked extremely uncomfortable and were avoiding all eye contact scooched away from each other awkwardly.

xxx

“Stupid play.” Tsai grumbled as she entered the small balcony area sulking. She was surprised when she found Aang there leanings on the balcony’s railing.

She blinked twice in surprise.

“Oh, I thought you went to get Sokka’s fireflakes.”

Aang remained quiet, his head bowed to the darkness before him.

“Hey,” She said approaching him. “If you want, I’ll go get them. The gummies too.” She said cluelessly.

“Is it true?” Aang said in a broody tone his eyes were lowered as he brooded. It was then that she realized he wasn’t emotionally well. “What?” She blinked twice in surprise now leaning next to him.

He remained quiet and she thought about the scene that had just happened.

“Katara and Zuko? What?” She couldn’t help but laugh a little despite her rash jealous reaction. “He wouldn’t have lived to tell the tale.” She laughed a little harder at the thought.

However, Aang did not find it the slightest bit humorous. He remained serious a sadness lingering to his usually bright eyes.

“Alright, what’s wrong?” She nudged him lightly. “I know this play sucks, but you have to remember it’s not true. I’m not a whoozy just like you’re not girly.” She shrugged her shoulders slightly. Aang still remained silent. Maybe she had said something wrong... “And even if you were considered to be girly- that would be okay. You know? Nothing wrong with that. Girls are awesome. I’m all for everybody embracing their- “she had begun to ramble awkwardly.

Aang exhaled a tiresome breath, “It’s Katara,” he suddenly admitted. She blinked twice in surprise. She did not see that coming.

“You see, I like her, and I thought she liked me too. I mean we did kiss once.” Aang admitted bashfully. She leaned on her fist and listened attentively. “But now I’m not so sure how she feels about me.” He trailed off.

“Aang,” she said softy and he turned to look at her. “We are in the middle of a war. You arethe Avatar. You should be more focused on thinking about howyou’re going to take down Fire Lord Ozai. Not how to woo a girl.” She explained reasonably both of her eyebrows knotted together.

“It’s not fair!” Aang busted uncharacteristically and straighten out his back. “I never wanted to be the Avatar! I never wanted this!” He snapped throwing his hands up in the air a rare frown on his face. “And Katara is notjust a girl!”

She looked at him with an unfazed expression. This childish tantrum was nothing compared to Zuko’s old outbursts. She was silent for a moment allowing his anger to simmer down a little.

“I-I’m sorry,” he apologized before once again hanging his head down. This time feeling even worse about himself after snapping at his friend. “I’m just worried that all this time when she looks at me, she all she sees is a little brother.” She hummed slightly before turning to look at him once again.

“You know, my grandfather was the wisest person I knew.” She began. “He had a lot of sayings, but I think one of the most obscure ones was about love. How’d it go again?‘One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life: That word is love’”She quoted wisely. “He would also always say that ‘Our lives, too, are fleeting’, just like plum blossoms… If it really bothers, you that much you should just talk to her.” She advised. Aang quirked an eyebrow up and again turned to look at her as if saying easier said than done. “Katara obviously cares about you. Just tell her how you feel and ask her how she feels.”

He continued to look at her with that incredulous expression.

“You know, I’m actually going through something similar myself.”

She smiled at him faintly. Aang nodded a little in understanding. He was more than familiar about the amorous turmoil and ups and downs that she and the prince had had recently.

“I’ve messed up and - Spirits - You know Zuko’s messed up. I’m not expecting anything to happen, but I’m probably going to have to have this conversation with him soon.”

“What are you waiting for?” He asked.

“The right moment.”

Aang looked pensive for a moment before speaking. “I don’t think there’s a right moment.” He said wisely.

She sucked in her bottom lip and nodded while gazing out at the dark island before them. She hated to admit it but Aang was right. Didn’t have the time or means to set up some elaborate act to confess her feelings to him.

“You know, he really loves you.” She gave Aang a strange look. “I can see it. We can all see it.”

Xxx

"It seems like every time there's a big battle you guys barely make it out alive." Suki commented from her spot leaning cooly against the wall her arms crossed over her chest, "I mean, you guys lose a lot."

The group was currently on the intermission of Act II loitering around the corridor in between the balcony and the box seats dissecting their thoughts on the play.

"You're one to talk, Suki." Sokka retorted and he turned to look at her sarcastically, "Didn't Azula take you captive? That's right, she did."

Suki frowned at him and asked seriously, "Are you trying to get on my bad side?" She arched an eyebrow.

"I'm just saying." Sokka muttered in a smart-ass tone.

Katara walked into the corridor, looking around with a small frown.

"Does anyone know where Aang is?" Katara asked worriedly looking around the corridor for any sign of the young Avatar.

“Has anyone seen my sister?” Mecha asked as well as he finished his beverage.

"He left to get me fire gummies, like ten minutes ago." Sokka replied then pouted in irritation, "And I'm still waiting."

"I’m going to go check outside" Katara said walking away.

“If she comes back tell her I went to the restroom,” Mecha said over his shoulder as he left the group walking in an opposite direction.

Zuko remained sitting on the floor next to Toph. He looked up and observed as a boy dressed up as the Avatar came running out of a door down the hall, his arms spread out as he squealed happily pretending to fly.

Sokka stared at the boy as he ran past him and Suki and shook his head before looking over at his girlfriend leaning against the wall in front of him. "Hey Suki, what are the chances that you can get me backstage? I got some jokes I want to give to the actor me."

Suki straightened and stared at him with a deathly serious expression, "I'm an elite warrior who's trained for many years in the art of stealth." She said darkly. Her expression changed instantly, and she smiled brightly at him, "I think I can you backstage." She said cheerily.

Sokka blinked at her for several seconds then swallowed thickly and smiled at her nervously, "Great, let's go." She nodded and followed him down the hall, leaving Zuko and Toph sitting in the hall.

"Jeez." Toph shook her head in exasperation as she leaned against the wall between Zuko and the entrance to their viewing box, "Everyone's getting so upset about their characters.” She turned towards Zuko and smirked, "And you, you seem even more down than usual and that's saying something."

"You don't get it." Zuko muttered and he looked up at Toph with a frown that she couldn't see, "It's different for you. You get a muscle-y version of yourself taking down ten bad guys at once and making sassy remarks."

"Yeah," Toph snickered, "That's pretty great."

Zuko huffed and looked away from her, folding his arms on his knees and staring at the wall across from with an expression full of regret, "But for me, it takes all the mistakes I've made in my life and shoves them back in my face. My uncle...He's always been on my side even when things were bad. He was there for me. He taught me so much and how do I repay him?" He lowered his head to his knees and closed his eyes in shame, "With a knife in his back. It's one of my greatest regrets now and I may never get to redeem myself in his eyes…"

“And Tsai…” He ran a hand through his hair frustrated brining his hood over his head. “Everything I’ve done to her… Seeing it replayed all over again. And don’t even get me started on that stupid stereotype on women from the colonies.”

"You have redeemed yourself to your uncle." Toph stated matter-of-factly as she crouched down beside the older teen, resting her arms on her thighs, "You don't realize it, but you already have."

"How do you know?"

"Because I once had a long conversation with the guy." Toph replied, smiling a she remembered meeting Iroh after storming off and leaving her friends while they were being chased by Azula and her two friends. "All he would talk about was you."

Zuko lifted his head and lowered his hood, smiling slightly as he asked "Really?"

Toph snickered, "Yeah, and it was kind of annoying."

"Oh," Zuko looked away, but couldn't keep the smile off his face. "Sorry."

"But it was also very sweet." Toph continued. "All your uncle wanted was for you to find your own path and see the light. Now you're here with us. He'd be proud of you." She smirked.

“And Chili Pepper. Water under the bridge. Just talk to her.” Toph said encouragingly. “If you two suck it up I’m sure you’ll work out things and go back to making me want to barf my guts out.”

“How are you so sure?”

He wasn’t expecting Toph to punch his arm that hard.

"Ow!" Zuko hissed, rubbing his shoulder and frowning over at her. "What was that for?"

Toph smiled, "That's how I show affection."

“What are you guys up to?” Tsai suddenly approached them. It seemed like she was coming back from the balcony’s direction. She walked casually with her hands stretched behind her head seemed way more at ease than when she exited the Second Act of the play.

“I need to go wash my eyes,” she said bluntly using the fake excuse to leave the hallway and leave the two alone. “Hey,” Zuko stood up. “You okay?” He asked her concerned running a hand through his hair nervously. “The play… You know you’re not a whoozy. I don’t think you are either and I know neither does Uncle.” He nodded and paused for a brief moment. “And I think we should go backstage and teach Pu On Tima lesson.” He said determinedly popping his knuckle’s joints menacingly an angry look on his face.

She couldn’t help but smile a little and lower his hands at the suggestion of beating the living daylights out of the clown who wrote this trash. However as tempting as that was it would most definitely give them away.

The little boy form earlier ran out of the same door as before and stopped in front of the two of them. He smiled at the two and commented, “Awesome Zutsai costumes, but everybody knows Zutara is the superior ship.” The little boy said.

‘What the fuck is a Zutara?’She looked at the boy a perplexed look on her face.

“Also, your scar's on the wrong side." He pointed at Zuko’s face bluntly.

"The scar's noton the wrong side!" Zuko shouted angrily as the boy ran off. He yanked the hood back over his face with a scowl. She couldn’t help but bent over in laughter.

He turned around after shouting at the boy and turned to face the teen that was trying to stop her fits of laughter.

“And I don’t think your laugh is annoying.” He muttered cynically. Turning away from her. He suddenly felt hyper self-conscious about the ugly mark that scarred his face.

“Zuko,” she approached him with a loop-sided smile an endearing look in her eyes. She reached for the edges of his hood and looked at him before lowering it slightly. Aang was right. There would never be a right thing and this- this felt right.

“I love you.”

She wanted to say.

There was no embarrassment no crippling anxiety. It was just the honest truth. She successfully got halfway through the statement before being interrupted.

“What are you two dorks up to?”

An imaginary needle zipped on a record making a loud scratching noise that only the of them seemed to hear as they were brought back to reality.

She had never wanted to murder her brother as much as much as she did right now.

“Come on guys! Show’s about to start.” Sokka said casually. It sounded like he was munching on something.

Neither turned around and both heard how the rest of their friends all walked inside of the viewing box. They stood frozen in place not moving a muscle. Awkwardly petrified. She hadn’t even been able to lower her hands from the sides of his hood as she looked at him with a horrified bashful expression the color of her face blending with the roots of her hair. Zuko looked as if the air had been punched out of his gut. His eyes were large.

“Uh-“ She stammered and jerked her arms back to her side. “Act III is starting.” She said quickly before rushing inside to the viewing box before he had a moment to react.

“There’s no right moment.”She cursed Aang. ‘Idiot!’that was most definitely the worst advice she had ever received from anyone. Wasn’t he the Avatar? Wasn’t he supposed to be wise and all knowing?

She reached the box and stood aghast when she saw that the back row was full as Aang had taken a seat next to her brother and leaned forward sulking. Under normal circumstances she would’ve been concerned for her friend and presumed that the talk with his love interest did not go well, but she presently couldn’t care less. This was an emergency. She couldn’t sit in the front row next to him. Not after that – whatever the hell that had been happened.

“Hey,” she said quickly. “Can I-Can I trade seats with you Aang? I want to sit next to my brother.” She lied through her teeth.

Aang was too busy wallowing in his misery to do anything about it. “Tsai! Shhh,” her brother shushed her rudely. “Sit down, Act III is about to start I want to see if I come out towards the end.”

Zuko walked in and she felt caught like a deer dog caught in headlights. Instantly plopping down on the seat next to Katara who looked oddly at the girl that sat stiffly with her back at a perfect 90-degree angle.

She felt like she was sweating bullets and now she was stuck in this painfully awkward situation sitting next to him after his silent rejection.

She could’ve sworn she was sweating bullets. Even facing the Fire Lord hadn’t been this nerve-wrecking.

“Hey? Could you scooch?” Toph complained from the end before roughly pushing Katara to the side which pushed the two Fire Nationers against each other. “Much better.” Toph smirked triumphantly and sniggered lightly at the feeling of the rabbit-paced heartbeats of the two painfully awkward teenagers through the floor’s vibrations.

Tsai mumbled an apology before straightening out, he mumbled something similar.

Scene 22

Actress Katara stood on a fake submarine prop with Actress Aang, "I just want to let you know Aang, that I'll always love you." She placed her hands on her chest and sighed deeply with a wide smile, "Like a little brother."

"I wouldn't want it any other way!" Actress Aang chirped with enthusiasm taking Actress Katara's hand, both of them nodding at each other in a friendly gesture. Still beaming, Actress Aang snapped open her glider prop and raised it above her head as a rope pulled her up into the air while Actress Katara waved.

Aang gawked at the stage for a moment then flushed and yanked his hat down over his face, hiding behind his knees miserably. Katara glanced over her shoulder at him then looked away sadly.

‘What the hell was I thinking?’ Tsai’s mind was running a thousand miles an hour during her internal panic crisis. ‘He didn’t say anything. Why did he just stay quiet?’ She looked at him from the corner of her eyes his own golden orbs were attentively fixed on the play. A serious expression on his face. ‘He must think I’m crazy. Is it because I have a spirit in me? I’m so dumb. Why did I even listen to Aang? What the hell does he know about these things?’This was definitely the last time Tsai look love advice from a hundred and twelve-year-old.

She didn’t even notice that the scene was over.

"I guess that's it." Sokka commented as he stood up and stretched, "The play's caught up to the present now."

"Wait," Suki whispered, yanking Sokka back down and pointing towards the stage, "The play's not over."

"But it is over. Unless..." He trailed off and rubbed his chin thoughtfully before his eyes widened and he whispered in an overly dramatic and spooky voice, "This is the future!"

Scene 23

The stage was now pitch black. They all watched carefully as an actor portraying Fire Lord Ozai walked out from the darkness his sharp cheekbones and face being illuminated in a menacing lighting.

"With the energy harnessed from that comet, no one will be able to stop the Fire Nation!" Actor Ozai proclaimed evilly as an orange paper lantern was pulled across the now dimly light stage, the cut out comet passing over the throne.

"Father!" Actress Azula called out stiffly as she ran onto the stage and kneeled before oversized throne, "Zuko and the Avatar are at the palace! They are trying to stop you."

"You take care of Zuko." Actor Ozai pointed towards her and ordered harshly, before placing a hand on his chest melodramatically, "I shall face the Avatar myself!" He raised his hands and smoke filled the stage.

Actress Azula stood up as the smoke cleared, revealing that the Actor Ozai had disappeared. She turned just as Actor Zuko ran on stage from her left while Actress Aang was lowered to the stage floor.

"Aang, you fight the Fire Lord, I'll hold her off!" Actor Zuko instructed theatrically. Actress Aang nodded once and was pulled up by a rope out of the stage leaving Actor Zuko and Actress Azula alone on the stage.

Zuko’s eyes were fixed on the play but he wasn’t watching. Not really. His eyes bored straight ahead as he observed the stage confrontation between him and his sister. Something he knew was bound to happen sooner or later, but his mind was in a very distant place.

‘”I love-“ she had said. I love what? What was she going to say? Your face? Your costume? Wait- he wasn’t wearing a costume! Your jokes? Was it all a joke? Was she messing with his head?’ He looked at her from the corner of his eye. She sat stiffly her back completely straight. Her face twisted in an anxious expression as her eyes remained frozen starring at ahead at the play.

He would never know but internally she was having a meltdown. This had been a terrible. Terrible idea. Things had been fine! Well, not fine, but decent and now this happened?

His eyes lowered from her worried expression and he saw the way her hands were anxiously clutching and playing with the fabric of her clothes. He looked at them, the way her fingers squeezed her skirt and tugged at it.

"You are no longer my brother!" Actress Azula exclaimed, clenching her fists before flinging her arm out to the side. "You are an enemy!"

"No," Actor Zuko retorted and he pointed at Actress Azula, "I am the rightful heir to the throne!"

Actress Azula smirked slyly and narrowed her eyes, "We shall see."

He did it.

He placed his hand over hers. He eyed her expression from the corner of his eyes carefully looking for any micro emotion that might betray the mask she wore. Zuko felt as if it was the longest minute of his life when he felt her intertwining her fingers with his fitting perfectly. He saw the slightest of smiles bloom on her face. She turned to look at him from her peripheral vision and his expression mirrored hers. Both relaxed slightly at the gesture when their eyes met.

“HONOR!” Both of their attentions were once again captured by Zuko’s actor who raised his arms as if in pain after having been struck by one of Azula’s blue ribbons and wailed as he coiled into his destined fiery demise.

“And you!” He pointed at Tsai’s actress who had somehow entered the scene. “Scourge of the Fire Nation, the Greatest Traitor of them all! You will live the rest of your life in misery!”

Azula’s actress jumped and tossed the blue ribbons at her. “And you will neverhave tea again!”

Faux paper flames engulfed the actress as she also coiled in a fake fire wrap.

“Nooo! My tea!” She shouted reaching for the sky.

Actress Azula turned towards the audience and bowed along with Tsai and Zuko’s actors before being lowered through the stage’s trap door.

Tsai made a strangled noise as the audience began to cheer and applaud after Actor Zuko's apparent 'death'at the hands of Azula and the ‘imprisonment’ of the Fire Nation’s greatest traitor. Both starred in stunned disbelief at the stage.

This was their reality. Not hand holding in the comfortable darkness of a theatre.

Dread began to fill the group as they continued as the scene changed, the backdrop painted to resemble a red dragon's face.

Scene 25

The last and final scene of the play was the confrontation between the Avatar and Fire Lord Ozai. Like the rest of the play it had been depicted to appeal to audiences of the Fire Nation. In this version the Fire Nation triumphed over the resistance and defeated the Avatar. A terrible future which was not a distant reality.

"Nooooo..." Actress Aang wailed as she was circled with in a red cloth before the rope detached from her waist and she fell to the ground, the cloth spread out around her form symbolizing her consumption in flames. Ozai’s actor stood triumphantly above hovering from his throne with a cruel smirk plastered on his face. He then glanced over his shoulder as Actress Azula walked up behind him.

"It is over, Father." Actress Azula stated as she raised her arms triumphantly, "We've done it."

"Yes, we have done it!" Actor Ozai exclaimed and trusted a fist into the air dramatically before the space he was standing on began to rise up while papier mache and cut out flames surrounded him, "The dreams of my Father, and my Father's Father, have now been realized!" He threw his arms out and a massive Fire Nation banner unfurled behind him in a bold display of nationalism "The world is mine!"

The audience rose up with a vibrant cheer, loud applauding and deafening cheering as the audience clapped in a standing ovation over the triumph and victory of the Fire Nation over the world.

The group sat speechless in horrid disbelief at what they had witnessed. Aang swallowed the fearful knot that had formed in his throat and glanced away from the stage. Tsai felt her stomach churn uneasily as that haunting feeling of dread that kept her up at night returned to her. So much for getting their minds of things…

xxx

"That...wasn't a good play." Zuko muttered breaking the silence that had been lingering as the group walked down the worn path away from the theater.

"I'll say." Aang added flatly slouching as he dragged his feet away from the theater.

"No kidding." Katara muttered, crossing her arms and glaring at the ground. “Horrible,” Suki added from behind.

"You guys said it." Toph remarked with a scowl basically stomping her feet as she walked beside Katara. “I told you all it was a bad idea.” Tsai grumbled from the back. “But no- nobody everlistens to me.” She said dramatically. “I’ll give this one to you.” Her brother for once in his life agreed with her.

"But the effects," Sokka shrugged and waved his hand around matter-of-factly as he walked beside Suki, "Were decent."

xxx

Sunburn Chapter

M A S T E R L I S T

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junie-bugg · 4 years

Text

The Heartrender - Chapter Two: Embers

Hey everyone!

Here’s chapter two, in which a truce is struck, crude jokes are made, and we learn more of Peeta’s childhood.

You can read here on Tumblr or here on AO3 (I suggest reading on AO3 because I add a poem at the beginning of each chapter that I feel fits nicely with the story’s themes or the chapter’s plot.)

Big shoutout to my beta reader @nonbinarypeeta. You da best music💕

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Sexual Content

Relationship: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark

Tags: Enemies to Lovers, witch!Katniss, witch-hunter!Peeta, AU - Shipwrecked, AU - Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Explicit Sexual Content, Furs and Fires, Angst and Fluff and Smut, sexually experienced Katniss, virgin Peeta, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Loss of Virginity, Laughter During Sex, Blood and Injury, Imprisonment, Peeta has some prejudices to work out, Peeta also has an accent, Inspired by Six of Crows

Summary:

He hated her. He hated her for what she was: an abomination, a demon sent to tear at the fabric of the natural world. He hated her for making him want to laugh. He hated her for being so brazen and sensuous and everything the women of his country were never allowed to be. But mostly he hated her because he realized he didn’t hate her. Not even a little bit.

After a shipwreck has left an abducted witch and a member of the ominous Order bent on wiping out her kind stranded on the icy shores of an uninhabited land, the two must work together to survive or face tearing each other apart in the process.

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

ALSO, I made a map! Yes, I am that level of writer nerd. (If you look closely, there’s a little Hunger Game’s reference in there. Let me know if you see it, lmaooo.)

Chapter Two: Embers

His commander had gone into the city for the night, leaving the crew on standby at the docks. Their ship, lovingly named The Bloody Rose, needed tending and Peeta, an exhausted soldier running on three hours of sleep, needed a drink. He longed for a pint of proper ale. Not the bitter swill that the ship’s cook had distilled.

A chilled autumn wind whistled through the harbor, jostling netted shrouds and furled sails. The white and blue flag of Sjorkden snapped proudly above the crow’s nest where Thomas Jaclin quietly kept watch. There was a muted hush about the night, as if the world were holding its breath in anticipation, knowing something was about to happen. At this point, with his chores done and nothing left for him to do except lose another round of cards or go off to bed, Peeta wished something would.

He was nursing a cup of moonshine and chatting with his friend, Yasser Pjengo, when they heard the sounds of a scuffle. He and Yasser crossed the deck and looked down onto the dock that the ship was moored to.

There, struggling to drag someone up the gangplank, was the commander.

“Commander on deck!” Peeta announced with all the authority he could muster, hoping his voice carried down to the lower levels to rouse the men from their games. Peeta had only recently been promoted to lieutenant, and he was going to prove he deserved it. He felt a rush of pride swell within him when the crew emerged from their sleeping quarters, blinking both the mist of alcohol and the gleam of gambling from their eyes.

Commander Snow was of medium height with a thick beard and hard blue eyes. Though the hairs at his temples were gray, the way he carried himself was young. He spoke softly but commanded the kind of respect that caused listeners to lean in and catch every word. He now dragged a young girl with him onto the ship. Her red dress was torn and low cut, revealing the hollow between her breasts. A few strands of hair had been pulled from a tar-black braid to hang limply in front of her face. She had a blooming bruise on her jaw and a cut above her eye but otherwise seemed unharmed.

“Men! Say hello to our newest addition. From what I’ve seen so far, she’s sure to be a feisty one.”

Some of the crew had laughed and hooted, including Peeta, but the girl snarled as she twisted and spat in the commander’s face. In return he sent a heavy punch to her gut, causing her to whimper and double over in pain.

“I have to warn you all. This here is no ordinary witch. She’s a Heartrender.”

Peeta sucked in a breath and felt a chill pass through the assembled crew like a breeze passes through dead grass.

“A Heartrender…”

“One of her kind cursed my uncle. Turned his feet backward.”

“I heard they could snap your neck with a flick of a finger.”

“They don’t just stop hearts. They cut them out and eat them.”

Peeta had heard of Krellian Heartrenders. The rarest of the witches, Heartrenders could use their magic to manipulate bodies: peel the flesh from bone, collapse lungs, knot intestines, burst eyes in their sockets. He could only imagine what she would unleash upon them if her hands weren’t locked into those metal hand caps.

Snow cleared his throat to quiet the men. A hush fell over the deck.

“I see you’ve all heard the stories. If you let her out of those shackles, we’re all dead. I want at least one guard on her at all times.” His eyes shifted to Peeta in the front row. “Mellark, you take the first watch. Gerholt will take over at midnight, then Dawson, then Pjengo. This will be a rotating schedule. You’ll all get a chance with her before this voyage is over.” He twisted her arm, throwing her into the semicircle that Peeta and the crew had formed around them. She collapsed onto her stomach, a wilted heap of red dress and chains. “Now get her out of my sight.”

Peeta and a few others bent down to lift her up as the commander retired to his quarters, but she swung out her arms to ward them off.

“Don’t touch me,” she spat in Krellian.

“Get up and walk or I’ll drag you, witch. Your choice,” Peeta growled. His accent was thick, but he knew by the way her nostrils flared that she’d understood him.

She stayed crouched on the ground, her metal covered hands in her lap.

Peeta’s anger erupted.

“Fine,” he snapped. He wrenched her off the floor, threw her over his shoulder, and listened to her screams the entire way down to the brig.

During their slumber, the witch had commandeered his arm.

She lay sound asleep, his bicep propped under her cheek like a pillow. He only awoke when his hand had gone numb, the blood trapped, circling and pricking within his fingers like a swarm of wasps scrabbling to get out from under his skin. He watched the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the pulse that fluttered at her temple. She looked peaceful. Almost innocent. But he knew what she was really capable of.

Her head smacked the ground with a dull thud when he took his arm back.

“Ow!”

The witch glared at him as he massaged the feeling back into his palm. She made it a point to rub the tender spot on her head dramatically so that he’d feel bad.

It didn’t work.

“Get up,” he rumbled.

The witch turned over and curled in on herself. “Five more minutes.”

He rose from the nest of furs, grabbing one and wrapping it around his waist to cover his nakedness, then moved to sweep the curtain out of the doorway. From the watery yellow sun high in the sky, he determined it was noon.

“Get up,” he growled again, injecting more anger into his tone. “We need to keep moving.”

“Why? We found shelter,” the furry lump on the ground said.

“If we want to find civilization we’re going to have to move. We need to get home as soon as possible.”

She turned on her side and rested her head in her hand. Her eyes gleamed like freshly polished silver in the light pouring past the curtain. “You’re letting me go home?”

“I meant my home,” he corrected, allowing the curtain to fall and shrouding them in dusk-like darkness once more.

There was a tense moment where both knew the time to act was upon them. Either kill the other or let them live. Both were risks. If Peeta killed the Heartrender, he’d be left to fend for himself. There’d be no magic to keep his blood warm. But if he hesitated and let her live in the hopes that he could return her to Sjorkden and have her tried for witchcraft, there was a chance she’d kill him down the line. It would be so easy to reach out and crush her windpipe, deaden those bright eyes, neutralize the threat. She may have magic but she couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. Peeta had height, strength, and military training on his side. He was arrogant enough to assume the odds were in his favor.

He thought she was thinking along the same lines because she eyed his muscles warily. He was broad-shouldered and obscenely muscular, the product of a decade doing hard physical training at the academy. She couldn’t crush his heart if he lashed out and stalled her hands first. He may be heavy but he was surprisingly quick. After all, he hadn’t become a witcher for nothing.

She pursed her lips as if considering something. “I think we’d both sleep better at night if we made a truce.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Your word is as valuable as a campfire is to a fish.”

She scowled slightly, a deep line forming between her furrowed brows. “This isn’t a promise that I’ll never harm you, just as I know you won’t agree to never harm me. You are a witch hunter after all. Bloodshed is your life. But let’s make a pact that until we make it out of this, we help each other.” She paused a beat and looked away as if ashamed. “After that, all bets are off.”

Peeta had nodded, but this truce didn’t mean he trusted her to stick to it. In fact, it made him even more suspicious of her. What kind of demon agreed to the drawing out her own demise? He thought her gamble unwise and surmised she had some angle to play against him. He’d have to be especially careful from here on out.

They faced away from each other and put their clothes on quietly. She still wore the red dress, the one from The Bloody Rose. It looked looser on her now, but the sleeves were elegant, poufed at the shoulders, and fitted down to the wrists. The skirt was still full, even after she had spent so much time sitting in her cell and thrashing about in the sea. She would have looked ready for a party if the dress wasn’t so dirty and torn.

She caught him watching her and winked. “Like what you see?” She twirled and the skirt flared like the petals of a blooming rose, twisting and shimmering in the low light.

Peeta grunted as he did the last button on his dusky blue jacket. His undershirt was still damp against his skin. “It doesn’t fit you where it counts.” He gestured towards her breasts.

She had snorted then, happily surprised he was loosening up.

They set out with empty hands, only having the clothes on their backs and the furs wrapped around their shoulders. The witch had taken a liking to the black one. She stroked it between her thumb and forefinger like a child would clutch to a blanket for comfort.

The briny scent of the sea permeated the air and even so high up as they were on the cliffside, Peeta felt the fine spray of the waves collect on his cheeks. The constant rushing of wind blew his hair back and whipped the fur about his shoulders.

They had been walking for hours when the witch asked, “What do you miss most about home?”

Peeta wished they could just be quiet.

“A bed to myself.”

“Right,” the witch crowed wickedly. “I can feel how much you hate sleeping next to me. I felt it pressing into my hip last night.”

Peeta’s cheeks flushed scarlet. He had never been with a woman. He was a member of the Order: chaste until he earned his talisman and won the right to choose a wife. For his service to the Order he’d be allowed the hand of a nobleman’s daughter. Pretty, young Sjorkden maidens with hair of palest gold and soft, supple bodies. Daughters of the nation raised in the ways of womanly charm and domestic knowledge, basket weaving and child-rearing, dancing and singing and carving.

He had been dreaming of what his future wife would look like, what their first carnal encounters would entail, the holy honor in producing a child. As a father, a former witcher, and the husband to a woman with status, he would be granted an official seat on the council of Rjaka. His first solid foothold on the ladder of power. It was a lower rung, but it was a start. If only he could get back to his post and fulfill his service, then he would be given his freedom and permitted to marry.

Those dreams, full of glory, sex, and fatherhood, were the source of his arousal and frustrations, not the witch’s soft skin against his body. Her deep complexion and ebony hair were not of Sjorkden. Her lips were too large, her nose too wide, her body too slender and bony. She looked as if she had spent years scrounging about for meals, with ribs and hips that protruded like sticks in a canvas bag. He liked rounded women with pillowy bosoms, not scrawny little birds.

Or so he told himself.

“Why do you say such lewd things?”

“Because I can. And because I like when you turn red. It does wonders for that pale complexion of yours, valkrӕlla.”

Valkrӕlla.

Barbarian.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You like it,” she teased and continued walking, swaying her hips beneath the cloak of fur clasped at her throat and sweeping a glossy curtain of hair over her shoulder. Even here, in the permafrost fields of the tundra, she still smelled of moss and jasmine, as if the misty forests of Krell dwelled within her pores.

Peeta scowled. He hated her. He hated her for what she was: an abomination, a demon sent to tear at the fabric of the natural world. He hated her for making him want to laugh. He hated her for being so brazen and sensuous and everything the women of his country were never allowed to be. But mostly he hated her because he realized he didn’t hate her.

Not even a little bit.

They walked in the hopes of finding a fishing village, or maybe a trading outpost, somewhere with an inn they could stay at. But as the day dragged on and the sun dipped precariously close to the sea, Peeta started losing hope. The witch stumbled behind him, making her way over embedded boulders and paling tufts of dead brush sticking out from the snowbanks. She squinted against the burning red sunset staining the landscape in bleeding color.

“Maybe we should head back,” she said, though they both knew this wasn’t an option. They were many hours from the whaling camp and turning around now meant they’d just be back at square one, with no food and no fire.

Peeta hadn’t been hungry last night, but his adrenaline had burned off, leaving his body weak and watery. He salivated at the thought of rosemary crusted mutton and boiled potatoes, buttered peas in ceramic crockery, honeyed mead, and angel cake with lemon filling. What he wouldn’t give to be back in the vast stone dining hall of the academy, laughing with Yasser through full mouths of meat and drink. After a feast, all the boys would tell stories in large circles or spar each other for prizes. Peeta had been one of the best hand-to-hand fighters among his peers and as such had accumulated a treasure trove of their makeshift awards. The wishbone of a chicken. A fork with a bent prong. A pearl someone had found in an oyster. When he had tired of winning, he would climb the stone steps to his dormitory and sleep dreamlessly on a goose down mattress. He’d wake to the rising sun and Yasser’s deep snores and know that he’d have a day of training ahead of him. Advanced lessons in combat, weapons handling and upkeep, survival skills, sailing, and instruction on foreign languages. He was a well oiled hunting machine, as he was raised to be by the masters.

But that was the past, a boyhood he would never return to. Peeta was a man now, and nobody was coming to instruct him. He was on his own.

Well, not entirely. He looked back at the witch. Her skin glowed deep bronze in the fading light and her dark hair whipped loosely about her angled face. She caught his eye and winked.

No, he thought grimly. I am not alone.

Peeta had only been seasick once. It had been his first time on a ship, sailing from his birthplace to his new home. As the other boys “oohed” and “aahed” at the gray stone towers of the academy rising up from the mists, Peeta had vomited over the banister.

The others had made fun of him for it. Groups targeted him in the corridors, tripping him or pulling on his hair. Others mocked him, knocked him down hard in training, and then pretended to retch dramatically as he struggled to his feet, fighting to hold back tears. They called him ‘Greenie’, for the color of his skin on that first voyage.

It was better than ‘runt’ but he still resented himself for it, ashamed he had shown weakness. He trained hard after that, alone if he had to. Classes would be over, dinner would be served in the great hall, but the masters would find him in the training rooms practicing his punches on a dummy, or throwing knives, or moving through his stances with a blade. The hours of solitude paid off, and once the students were old enough to compete for rank in the sparring circles, no one came close to Peeta’s brutal technique or raw ferocity.

And after he broke Geoff Tonson’s leg, no one ever called him ‘Greenie’ again.

Peeta climbed down into the bowels of the ship, feeling the slight sway of the ocean lapping against the hull as he descended. The Heartrender had been on board for two weeks now and hadn’t earned her sealegs. He shriveled his nose as he came upon her cell. The acrid scent of vomit filled the compartment.

“Time to switch?” Wilhelm asked from his seat in the corner.

Peeta nodded. He hated guarding the Heartrender. She was in her own cell, isolated from the other witches he and the crew had captured. At least when you guarded the others you could eavesdrop on their conversations. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Wilhelm Larone, a fresh-faced recruit on his first-ever witcher voyage, rose and stretched languidly. He hadn’t been able to grow a full beard, but his top lip held some promising peach fuzz. “I thought a Heartrender would be more entertaining,” he said, his dark eyes sparkling as a thought occurred to him. “Hey!” He rattled her bars. “Lift up your dress.”

The witch slumped in the corner, her skin waxy and coated in a film of sweat. Her hair was matted and oily. She blinked slowly at the wall and ignored Wilhelm’s racket.

He sighed like a disappointed child at the zoo. “I thought the commander said she was feisty.”

“That was before she had vomit on her dress,” Peeta said dryly.

The witch responded to Peeta’s voice, turning her head slightly to watch him between lanky strands of hair. A chill ran down Peeta’s spine at the intensity of her gaze. They hadn’t spoken since the first night when he had thrown her over his shoulder and dragged her into this very cell, but she remembered him.

Peeta tore his eyes away.

Wilhelm had placed his foot on the lowest step, moving to leave when she croaked: “Water.”

“When was the last time she was fed?” Peeta asked.

Wilhelm turned, a confused look on his face. “I don’t know. Ask the commander.”

“At least get her a cup of water before you go to bed. We want to keep her alive for the trial.”

Wilhelm smiled wickedly. “I have a better idea.” He jumped off the stairs and sauntered over to the Heartrender’s cell once more. “You thirsty, witch? Here, drink up.”

Peeta watched in horror as Wilhelm unbuttoned his pants and began pissing through her cell bars. Wilhelm’s eyes, which Peeta thought were too far apart in his head, darted up to the older man’s face. “You owe me two gold pieces if I can get it in her mouth.”

The witch made a strangled sound of disgust and tried to move away, but she was already in the corner. There was nowhere to go and her dress was soon soaked a deeper red.

“That’s enough,” Peeta said, but Wilhelm’s stream only grew stronger. “I said that’s enough!” he barked and shoved Wilhelm away.

In his surprise, Wilhelm sprayed the wall. “Damn, Mellark. It's a joke. Dawson’s right. You are no fun.” He shook the last drops of piss from his cock and then stuffed himself back into his pants. He turned to the witch and winked. “Maybe next time you can drink straight from the source. If you promise not to bite of course.” He then fixed his uniform and lumbered up the stairs. Peeta watched him and his half-mustache go.

“Krą khiăh,” she whispered after the creaking of Wilhelm’s steps faded.

Thank you.

“I didn’t do it for you,” Peeta snapped. “It was unsanitary, and your kind deserves hellfire, not some quiet death on a ship.”

Peeta spent the remainder of the night sitting on the chair in the corner, breathing in the scents of piss and vomit and misery. He hid his annoyance when the witch started sobbing.

But the next time he reported for guard duty, he brought her a cup of water.

#The Heartrender #everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlark fanfic #everlark smut #thg #thg fanfic #Fantasy AU #witch!Katniss #witch-hunter!Peeta #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #the hunger games

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