#I didn’t care I couldn’t root for the Flames | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crazyoffher · 8 months

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TAKE YOUR PICK.

wednesday addams x fem!vampire!reader

summary: a werewolf attack leaves you in need of aid, though you find yourself aided in more than just your wounds.

warnings: smut (18+) — slight oral (r receiving), fingering, strap-on referred to as “cock” at one point, slight face-slapping, teasing, dirty talk, virgin!r, withheld orgasm. -> mentions of blood, wounds, werewolf attack, medical equipment, mentions of kidnapping, scarring, and dom!w + sub!r.

word amount: 6900+

a/n: yes you read that right, 6900+ words. i guess i beat you, didn’t i, my ⭐️ anon 😉.

“Our successor greets us with torture by this grouping.” Her words were dull, and as you turned to face her, you were met with her eyes boring into yours. You cocked your head to the side, easily bypassing a tree that would’ve hit anyone else. Your instincts were stressed by your venture into the woods with the murderous woman you labeled your enemy accompanying you.

Your skin itched. Badly. Though you would rather burn in the flames she created than take action for relief, you never dared to let the shorter girl win at her former pleas to have her partner switch, labeling it as having to not deal with your pollen allergy, but everyone knew of your rivalry.

It was no secret after all. You couldn’t count the number of times she tried to assist in your early death, ranging from simple pop-up attacks that your raging instincts guided you with to kidnapping you into the Nightshades library and torturing you—or more so, trying her best to—while reading latin incantations from a book that still scarred your mind to this day.

“You don’t have to tell me.” With your head shifted into it’s former state, staring straight ahead, you expected Wednesday to mirror your action. She hadn’t.

Your eyes darted all around the forest, searching for insects, animals, humans, or anything of the above that would pose a potential life-threat. Unlike Wednesday, you allowed yourself to feel fear because you actually cared for your life.

You and Wednesday were similar, which was the root of your rivalry. She eyed you as a copycat, but you had always been who you were since the day you were born, and nobody could ever change you. You thrived in academics and sports, taking part in three education-related after school clubs as well as fencing, track, and a modernized human sport known as “soccer” to Americans during the summer.

You easily got more praise for your contribution to the school’s image, while Wednesday held the slimy silver medal praising her for being in second place, and her mind raged at the remembrance of it every time. She wanted to be number one above all else, but she could never bypass you. Hell, you even bypassed Bianca Barclay, forming a small rivalry with her when you first arrived at the academy.

“Would you like me to send you a photographed Polaroid of myself with my signature on it, or shall you continue to stare at me and soon trip over a rock?” Wednesday’s eyes furrowed at the end of the sentence, unable to hold back a yelp when she inevitably did fall over a grounded rock and faceplant on the floor.

You halted your movement, turning your head to the side to catch a glimpse of Wednesday rolling herself on her back, a hand over her knee from a wound forming due to her ignorant choice to wear shorts. “We have thirty minutes remaining to collect all we need for our botanical project. I’d suggest you get off the floor.”

Before she could even comprehend what you said, she found herself looking up into your eyes as you towered over her. Once more, you cocked your head to the side, allowing a sly grin to form on your face at the sight of blood dousing her hand from the open wound. “And you tell me I’m the clumsy one?”

“You are.” She shot back immediately, her eyes narrowing at your facial expression of humor. You found humor in her; you always have. It was a key part of your romantic attraction to her, though that aspect had always been locked away as a secret, and your humor lied in her inability to keep up with you.

Whether Wednesday wanted to admit it or not, she had found her challenger. Someone who was undeniably better than her, someone who forced her to work harder to be the one at the top, though she knew secretly she’d always be trapped in second place.

You were better than her, and it annoyed her more than anything in the world. That’s why the discovery of her own attraction toward you scared her—the girl who dared not feel emotion. She blamed it on your well-behaved confidence and that stupid grin you flashed her from day to day.

A grin she wanted to kiss off, she thought once, and she contemplated throwing herself off the balcony in her dorm room when she allowed that sentence to linger in her mind.

You laughed genuinely, your grin growing wider at the sight of Wednesday stumbling to get up, her face crinkling only so slightly at the pain that coursed through the entirety of her leg.

“You’re unfit.” A huff came from her, head flicking up to meet your gaze, eyes lingering on your standstill grin—your pink-lipped mouth—for a second deemed too long before she lunged forward and pushed you aside.

The force of her thrust caused you to stumble back and fall on a pile of leaves, blowing and coughing out a crisp leaf that found it’s home inside your mouth. At the force of her thrust toward you, Wednesday found herself collapsed once more on the floor, her body not correctly stabilized from her injury.

“So, not only are you clumsy, but you’re also an idiot.” You sat yourself upright, hands laid down on the floor behind your body to stabilize yourself, all the while watching the conflict in Wednesday’s eyes over whether she should shoot back or keep quiet.

She kept quiet, eliciting a small, almost unnoticeable groan that Wednesday herself didn’t catch at first. You heard it, though, your grin finding it’s way back onto your face as you practically jumped up, brushing yourself off with a flick of your wrists to your neutral- colored clothing.

You furrowed your eyebrows to see Wednesday still sprawled on the floor, expecting her to have risen up by now, even if a limp tagged along. “The big, challenging girl who fought off the reincarnation of Joseph Crackstone years ago can’t get up because of a wound on her knee.”

You spoke in disbelief, and Wednesday turned her head over to you with might. “Don’t you ever mock my accomplishments.”

“Well, we can’t even accomplish the task of finishing our botanical sciences project if you don’t take your small ass up and off the floor.” You bit back.

Fumed with rage and annoyance due to her growing short temper, Wednesday lunged up at you with all the strength she had in her body. The next second, you found your hands wrapped around her waist as you held her upright from falling again, the girl collapsing into your embrace with a snake-like hiss emitting from her.

Another groan came from her, not even bothering to hide it this time, too preoccupied with the futile stinging of her wound and the warming position she found herself in with you. “Alright, back on the floor.”

Her back met the homing place that was the floor once more, shooting daggers at your inexistent attempt to lay her down carefully, seeing as you dropped her onto the floor without care. Her hand found it’s way back to her knee, coating the skin in blood once more, and you sighed. “Move your hand.”

“No.”

“Since when did you become so stubborn?” She raised her eyebrows at you. “Actually, that’s a dumb question, but I’m not going to ask you again. Addams,” your tone became firm, seriousness rising up amidst your former face of humor, “move your hand.”

Her teeth clenched, jawline protruding out, and her eyes were in their usual wide state, as if she were thinking, but her mind was blank. You found impatience creeping up on you, not daring to alert your eyes to her dark red, bloodied hand from her gushing wound.

With a twitch of your eye, your hand shot forward and clamped on Wednesday’s wrist, pulling it away from her wound with force, and she let out a small whimper that she immediately tried to cover with a cough. Your eyes darted up at her for only a second, having heard it, before looking back down at her wound, which was open and wide.

“I will take you to the Infirmary, and then come back and collect all we need for our project.” You said your plan out loud, your eyes darting back and forth between Wednesday’s open wound and the pathway from which you and the girl had just come. “I am fine. Besides, you would only get all the wrong things we need, seeing as how foolish you are.”

“Foolish is what you claim me to be, yet you’re the one consistently in second place.” Without warning, you sank an arm under her bent knees and another under her back, picking her up in bridal style, to which her eyes drastically widened. You felt her tense under you, muscles contracting, and you groaned.

“Oh, relax. Being tense will only cause your wound to bleed more, and before I know it, I’ll be carrying your dead weight.”

“Put me down this instant.” Wednesday fought, trying to wiggle herself out of your grasp as you started to walk back to the school grounds, leaving your grip on her to tighten. “No. And don’t presume that I care about your wellbeing either, because I don’t.”

She huffed, her leg jerking up when a low branch made contact with her wound. “Then why not allow me to continue with you?”

“If you haven’t noticed, we’re past the forest barriers that Nevermore set.” When she turned her head in response to your signal to the right, she noticed the wooden line fences that were more intended to serve as a signal for students to turn around than as a means of keeping them out.

“Throats get slit in this neck of the woods,” you continued, mindlessly drifting your eyes all over the forest in caution of any inhumane species. “I’d rather not have a Jason Voorhees copycat lunatic trying to slaughter us, and I can’t go far because you’re disabled.”

“It’d be your own death’s fault for trying to save me.” Her deadpanning words made you want to drop her and let her find her own way back to the academy, but you just let out an annoyed breath while gripping onto her thighs tighter. “Forgive me for actually having a beating heart, Addams.”

“You’re not forgiven, (Y/L/N).”

Soon enough, you found yourself back in the forest, with Wednesday’s presence long gone. You were kneeling down, collecting dirt into a small jar that you had sprayed with pesticides to clear it of any lingering bugs. You hadn’t noticed how the time flew past, the sun fading into the moon, and you took a moment to enjoy the stars, hands settled on your dirt-covered knees.

A sound rang through the forested area, causing you to snap your head in the direction of the noise. It was muffled, but it sounded too closely like the howls of the werewolves you’ve grown to make friends with, and that was enough for you to shoot up instantly from your kneeling position. With a sharp breath, you looked up at the moon, now taking on the shape of a full moon, and you gagged in growing fear.

You’re fine, right? They get locked in the Lupen cages; there’s no way one of them could’ve escaped theirs. Your mind raced for explanations as you crouched down to pick up all that you'd collected, ranging from dirt to plants, before taking steady steps in the direction of the academy.

You took precautionary halts so as not to make major noise, cringing in fear at the sound of a leaf loudly crunching under your foot, and you could hear the howls once more, closer this time.

You took another five steps before you could hear the thudding stomps of a figure inching closer to you with every second, and you thanked nothing else but your heightened senses as you dropped all of what you held and booked it.

You dodged tree logs and branches left and right, hands fumbling with your satchel to tear it off your body to release the weight it was holding, and your body shook at the thudding sounds ringing in your ears, inching closer and closer-

Until you woke up, spread out on the floor, and your hands dug around the surface of the floor to help you realize that you were still in the woods. Your body still shook, this time more violently as you gasped in pain, stings shooting all over your body and causing your muscles to tighten.

“Fuck!” You groaned out, clenching your stomach where it hurt the most to feel a liquid coating your skin of the same texture that dripped your hands with Wednesday’s blood hours earlier. Your eyes drooped, sullenly coming to the firm realization that you were bleeding out with a liquid you could not even view properly, the night still too dark.

You blamed it all on a werewolf not properly being contained, but if that was the case, why didn’t they kill you instead of merely injuring you? The thought of the beast not being a werewolf flooded out of your mind quicker than it came in. You could see the outline of large claw slits scarring the skin of your stomach, and you yelled out the most mind-scarring shriek as you forced yourself up.

You moaned out, “Oh,” in pain as you sat yourself on a log, scanning the dark forest for any signs of life, human or not, to which there were none, and you sighed in relief. You took off your jacket first before peeling the shredded, blood-stained white shirt off your body, leaving you with just your bra and an exposed, large wound.

Your eyes closed in despair, feeling the pain dull ever so slightly in your relaxing state. You bent over, to your body’s anguish, to grab your bag with a small first aid kit tucked into it. All the items within the mini-kit were dunked out on the log space beside you, and you hurriedly grabbed multiple anti-septic wipes and shredded open the packaging before pressing them onto your skin.

Fangs bared, eyes darkening at the severe pain, you dug them into your bottom lip and swished the wipes over your wounds before letting out a loud yell of agony. You threw the wipes to the floor when they were all left coated with a dark red, grabbing the bandage roll, and with all of your muscles tightening at the pressure, wrapping your stomach with the bandage that immediately turned red before sealing it with tape.

The aftermath was almost pleasurable; the pain was still there but lessened due to the lack of blood flowing out of you. Managing to stumble up, you discarded your bag on the floor before taking a step forward, your body hunching over immediately from the inability to stand upright, and you carried on in the form of a hunchback.

What Wednesday least expected on an early Saturday morning, 3:30 a.m. to be exact, was the sound of her doorknob snapping off from the door itself. Her eyes perked up, sensing danger, and she immediately dug under her pillow to grab the knife she stored there, pointing it forward with the sharp tip ready to plunge itself into whoever dared to intrude into her and Enid’s dorm.

She had only been released from the hospital a few hours prior, so it seemed as though her knee pain had subsided, but when she put her foot on the ground, it suddenly returned. She ignored the discomfort and advanced toward the opening door, ready to strike.

“Wed-” You threw the door open, stopping immediately when the tip of her knife bore into your throat, one step away from slicing into your carotid artery. Even in the harsh darkness, Wednesday could see the fear and agony in your eyes, the way you were breathing heavily and clutching your stomach, and the skin that your bloodied jacket had now covered.

In the dim light of her bedside lamp, she could see your black jacket with a huge damp spot covering it, clamped over by bloodied hands. Her eyes met yours, and you gulped. “I didn’t know who else to come to.”

Wordlessly, she stepped to the side, inviting you in, which you limped into, and she closed the door. Her hand met your shoulder, an odd warmth coating your body despite her cold figure, and she aided you to the bathroom, choosing to disregard the blood trail you were leaving behind.

A sigh left your mouth as you collapsed on the closed-lidded toilet, leaning all your weight on the material. Wednesday pulled out a medical kit from under the sink, one much bigger than the one you had previously used, and slammed it on the countertop. “So much for not trying to wake up Enid.”

“Do you want me to help you or not? Beside, if you even took a second glance around the room, you’d notice Enid is not here, but in a Lupen cage in form.” She spoke in hushed whispers, and you shut up immediately, shrinking under her gaze. You were better than her, yes, but that didn’t mean you didn’t get scared of her from time to time.

“Take off your jacket.” She said simply, still prepping rounds of wipes with anti-septic liquids on them for your bloodied wound, as the wipes you used earlier did not have much of an effect considering the size of them. Wearily, you zipped down your jacket, peeling it off of you with a grunt or two before throwing it away at the base of the bathtub. You laid yourself back, eyes burning into the side of Wednesday’s face, anticipating her moves.

After she had finished prepping the wipes, she grabbed a sewing kit from under the counter, and you gulped at the largely-sized needles that she pulled out along with them. “All I really needed was for you to clean it, Addams. I’m a vampire; I can self-heal.”

“This is merely a precautionary measure to not leave putrid-looking scars.” She placed the items needed beside you, removing her own jacket, and you noticed how she was still in what she considered “casualwear”, seemingly not changing out of her clothes before drifting off to sleep. “Odd coming from the person who has left me with multiple scars, and why didn’t you change?”

“What?”

Wednesday turned, giving you a full visual of her in a button-up shirt and vest, black slacks tucked in and still belted; sleeping couldn’t have been comfortable for her with a belt digging into her hip. “You’re still in your clothes.” You pointed it out, and she looked down at her choice of fashion before letting out a small huff and advancing toward you, taking up position to the right of you.

“I awaited your presence. I told you before that I wanted to get a start on the project so I would not have to do much with class dealing with you and your miserable antics of getting items confused. Not only do you show up empty-handed in the dead of night, but you are also scarred through your inability to defend yourself.”

She badmouthed you, all the while untangling her sewing needles with harsh movements, but you only focused on one aspect of her words. “You fell asleep waiting for me?”

At once, Wednesday halted her movements, giving you a dead look before turning around and grabbing the large anti-septic wipes, swiftly pushing them into your wounded stomach. You let out a long, loud gasp, groaning at the pain and taking hold of Wednesday’s wrist, trying to push her arm back but to no avail. “Don’t get cocky.”

Your head flew back in agony, your hand still clasped around her wrist with a bruising grip. “I wasn’t! I was asking!”

Wednesday glided the wipes along your scars, to your dismay, until there were little to no signs of blood yet, all the while mindlessly running her eyes over the scars on your body that she created.

It was the only way she could get her mind off your exposed torso and how your muscles gallantly flexed from the pain, unwillingly showing themselves off to her.

Your eyes were squinting, still a bit sore from the antiseptics, but when you noticed that Wednesday had not made any other moves, you let them go from your iron grip. Your gaze landed on her stance, lost in thought. “What?”

"I'm in the process of comprehending an attempt to stitch you together while you remain seated, while I, on the other hand, am standing." Her eyes glanced all around the bathroom, sighing contently as she tried to determine a possible way to play surgeon in a comfortable manner.

“Well, I’m not lying on the floor. Your bed?” You inquired, and Wednesday shook her head, her mind discarded by that thought. “I would like to go to sleep tonight in a bloodless bed.”

“Um,” you gulped. The first real situation droning through your head was one anybody wouldn’t dare share with Wednesday. It's a good thing you weren’t like anybody else. “Sit on me.”

Her head snapped to meet your eyes, yours innocently boring into hers, and she squinted. “What?”

“Sit on my lap. When I lean back, you’ll be able to stitch me up or... whatever it is that you plan on doing without breaking your spine.”

You could see the conflict in her eyes, and she took it into consideration, to your surprise. With a pinch to the bridge of her nose and a long, elated sigh, as a means of balance, she placed her hands on each of your shoulders before swinging her left leg over your body and sitting down on your firmly closed legs.

“Tell nobody about this, or more of these scars,” she said, pinching down on a drawn out scar that sat just right under your bra, “will litter your skin.” You gave her a hasty nod, eager to put your mind elsewhere while your sworn enemy found a seat on your lap.

Without a word of warning, she dug the needle into your skin, causing you to let out an embarrassingly loud yelp of pain. Your hands flew to her shoulders as a matter of instinct, and you half-expected her to shrug them off, but she prioritized her sewing techniques instead.

The further she got into sewing the deep claw marks, the tighter your hands gripped her shoulders. You’d be surprised if Wednesday woke up bruise-free, as you could almost feel your knuckles turning white.

Wednesday found... amusement? The way your eyes closed at her stinging touch, the way your hands buried themselves into her shoulders, and how your thigh muscles tightened under her ass with every swift movement. She loved seeing you defenseless and submissive to her more than anything, finding profit in the means of mocking you later on if you tried to boast about your betterness.

When she had finally finished her stitching, she found herself still lingering on your lap, her movements awfully slow, even for her, to grab a couple large medical bandages and place them over her work.

“Stay here.” Her voice was low while she slid off your lap, turning to leave the bathroom before returning a minute later with a baggy jacket in her hands. Your eyebrows furrowed as she laid the fabric on your lap, turning to wash her hands of any remaining blood.

You had a little trouble donning the jacket, which was made of Wednesday's fashion choice's baggy material but looked a little more fitted on you because of your lean frame. Your wounds, formerly the only thing clouding your mind, were long gone. You focused on the seriousness of your enemy’s actions, and the oddly warm jacket filled with her natural scent that was now clinging to your body.

“Why?”

“What?”

“When I came here, I fully expected you to push me away.” You leaned your body up on the toilet, hands running through your disheveled hair, and Wednesday directed her attention toward you. “But you didn’t, for some odd reason, and actually helped me—hell, you even sat on me—when you’ve been nothing but the cause of my terror ever since I’ve arrived at this academy.”

It was all nothing but the truth. Two years have passed since you made your flaunting arrival at Nevermore, head held high with nothing else on your mind other than the determination to be the best student the academy had ever seen, and so you accomplished it. Two years had passed since you crossed paths with the deadly Wednesday Addams, her mind still fresh from her praiseful battle with the former overtaker of Jericho.

Two years passed since you beat Wednesday’s boat in the Poe Cup; the Black Cats determined to win their second trophy in a row, and she swore you as her enemy that day when her eyes laid upon your smirking frame with the golden cup in your hand, sending her a wink of confidence that she mentally fumed at.

Two years had passed since Wednesday Addams made the dreadful discovery that, after all, her black, unbeating heart could feel love but that her taste was awful if she found herself attracted to her enemy. Now she found herself in the middle of her last year at Nevermore, freshly 19, and still rummaging in a cat-dog chase game with you.

Two years had passed since she found herself focused on nothing but her enemy, who was in front of her now, sitting on the toilet seat in her bathroom, all patched up, and looking at her with curiosity. “Are you going to continue to stare at me or answer my question?”

“I’m not required to reply to any of your inquiries.” Swiftly, she made her exit out of the bathroom, leaving you to stumble up on your feet and follow behind her like a lost pup. Your body felt awfully tired, though your mind was wide awake and racing with multiple thoughts at once, overloading and ready to explode any second.

“Add-”

“I’ve patched you up,” She moved to close the door to her closet, and in a rut of refusal to make eye contact with you, solemnly afraid that she’d instantly jump your bones- what? “So you may leave now.”

“I’m not leaving until you’ll answer my ‘inquiry’ on why you were nice, at least in my books, to me. You’re avoiding the question.”

You could see the clench in Wednesday’s jaw as she made her way over to her desk, tidying up the workplace in an attempt to distract herself from the conversation that lingered. “I’m unsure as to what you’re saying.”

“Addams-”

“Leave before I do something I’ll regret, (Y/L/N).” She snapped, finally meeting your gaze with wide eyes, and you furrowed your eyebrows. “Since when have you ever regretted something that included me? Did you not tie me to a tree on a full moon and bait me to the werewolves last year?”

Her eyes closed in annoyance. “That’s not what I mean.” And as she rubbed her face, you could almost feel the mixture of stress and uncertainty in her stance, almost as if she were holding back from something.

“Then what do you mean? I’ve known you for two years, and you’ve never failed to reply to me with a full sentence, whether it’s answering my question or barking out a snarky remark. Tell me what’s changed in tha-”

Your eyes were opening and closing rapidly in stress, causing you to not register Wednesday’s frame hurriedly marking toward you until you felt a body collapse into you and a smooth substance on your lips.

Huh?!

Your eyes shot open and wide. To confirm your suspicions, Wednesday’s arms were thrown over your shoulder while her body leaned into yours, and her lips smashed against yours almost desperately.

That’s what she presumed to regret.

But it was something you longed for, unbeknownst to her, and you made it known when your hands found their way to her cheeks, pulling her in deeper. You could feel her lips tremble slightly in shock, unprepared for you to be pulling her closer instead of pushing her away.

Wednesday’s legs grew a mind of their own, taking steps forward and causing you to step back until the backs of your knees met her bed, and she tore her lips away from you for a breather. You took the separation as an opportunity to sit yourself down on her bed, all while your eyes never left hers in the process, and the smaller girl hurriedly found her former position on your lap.

“The moon is fading. Enid could come back any minute now.” You spoke between kisses, shivering at Wednesday’s cold touch on your warm skin, her hands slithering underneath the jacket you wore to rub up and down your back. “Then she’ll leave again, because she’s not going to enjoy what she’ll see.”

Your body visibly shivered at her words, or maybe it was just her fingers dancing along your spine, but either way, you found yourself completely engulfed in her and just her. The claw marks, the time, the physical confession—all of it was gone from your mind as Wednesday mindlessly pushed herself even farther into you.

She took a push too close, her body pressing up against your wound, causing you to groan and bite down on her bottom lip, fangs bared from the pain. Your lips never separated, instead pushing farther into them at the feeling and taste of Wednesday’s blood filling your mouths from her punctures, only spurring the two of you further.

“Lay down.” You obeyed immediately, finding nothing more hot in the moment than the husk in the smaller girl's voice, and manuevered from under her plushy thighs on top of you to lay comfortably on her bed. You were engulfed in her natural scent once more—the same scent you had grown accustomed to for over two years now, the scent that followed you everywhere you went.

You adored it, just as you adored her behind your hardening gaze most days.

Her eyes were narrowed, and you would have thought she was tired any other day, but you knew her look was one of need and want. Lust, to put it short, and you wanted nothing more than to fulfill her need, even if it meant submitting yourself to her in a situation you'd never thought you’d willingly put yourself in.

Just as she had earlier, she slid off your lap with a lingering touch on your hips. “Stay here.”

And as quickly as she left, she returned, though this time with an item in her hand, and you knew exactly what it was. Your eyes widened, and your mouth drew open. Already?

“Yes, already.” Did you say that out loud? “You’d find me pathetic if you knew how long I have deferred using this. To use it on you.” Her eyes were filled with a dark, unmanageable lust that swam through her veins, and you could only imagine the scenarios that swarmed through your head. This wasn’t the Wednesday you knew, but it was one you anticipated figuring out.

“But I can’t just use this on you immediately, no.” A smug grin came across her lips—a sight that you, or really anybody else, rarely ever saw, and it was one you wanted to see more of. “No, I have to prep you, don’t I?”

“Prep me?” You asked, genuine curiosity lacing your voice, and her grin grew wider. “I’ll show you.”

Wednesday positioned herself back on your lap, putting the erotic object on her nightstand, within reach for later use, before pulling you into another kiss. It was bruising, and the kiss was ten times more harsh than before, but you would never complain about her being pressed up against you.

While you found yourself entrapped in her lips, her hands slithered down your body and toward your pants, grabbing the buckle of your belt and undoing it at a steady pace. That’s when it dawned on you—she was going to prep you for an object that withheld some... girth.

Your muscles tensed at the thought, and more so at the feeling of Wednesday pulling down your black jeans with ease, discarding your shoes in the process of leaving your bottom half in just your underwear. “Wednesday…”

She was simple. “Relax.”

On the down low, she knew that this was your first time engaging with somebody sexually, never failing to notice your soft rejections of the girls and guys that tried to woo you on and failed miserably. It was an aspect she enjoyed even more now, and she wanted nothing more than to rub in the faces of all you rejected that they couldn’t get you to agree to a date, but yet she had you writhing underneath her, moaning her name.

Your breathing grew heavier as the seconds went by, hitching when Wednesday moved your underwear to the side with a slow itch of her hands, and you wanted nothing more than to grab her by the head and bury her in your heat. The lack of restraint you were feeling was lethal and ultimately surprising for a girl who rarely ever even masturbated.

“Such a possessing view.” She murmured in a low tone, her eyes dancing all around your core, and your cheeks flushed at her staring. Her eyes locked with yours, her mind racing at the sight of your eyes narrowed and staring down at her with silent pleads, and those pleads she fulfilled when her tongue darted out to take a swipe at your folds.

You whimpered in a tone around an octave higher than your usual voice, and your eyes widened at the sound that unwillingly left your mouth. It seemed to spur Wednesday on, allowing her to dart her tongue out once more and flick it over your clit, the nub that she wanted nothing more than to swell up with her mouth.

You let out another whimper—louder and needier this time around. “And sensitive. I can put that to use.” She dove her head farther into your heat, her lips wrapping around your clit and taking a harsh suck at the nub. Your thighs shut around her head, eyes never leaving one another, while she feverishly sucked your clit, needing to hear more of the high-pitched whines that left your mouth.

She pulled away soon after, to your dismay that you showed through your pleading whines, to allow a bead of spit to drip out of her mouth and onto your entrance, before taking her finger and rubbing her spit around the area. Your hips instinctively bucked up at the sensation, feeling yourself clench around nothing, and it made Wednesday want to elicit a laugh.

“The way I’m touching you now is a major privilege alone.” Her finger sank into your entrance, and she bit down lightly at the plushness of your thighs when she felt your velvety walls tighten around her. “I adore watching you like this underneath me; you make me want to fuck you braindead.”

She sank her finger into you until her knuckle bared against your heat, curling the bony stature inside of you and eliciting a light moan out of you. You already found yourself on edge from her husky words alone, and the curl of her finger inside of you didn’t help you from almost cumming embarrassingly fast.

“Already close? What a shame; I wanted to have fun toying with you.” Her mouth against her core made you moan from the vibrations, hands flying to grip her head menacingly and push her farther into you, almost crying out for the whole hall to hear when she slipped a second finger into you.

Her fingers picked up pace, thrusting in and out of you with force while the squelching sounds of your slick covering your walls made Wednesday feel a pit of need start to boil in her stomach, one that she desired to fulfill.

The two-on-two action on your core made you clench impossibly tight on Wednesday’s fingers, the ravenhead finding difficulty in her repeated movements. “Want to cum, yeah?”

You nodded profusely, your face growing red from your need for release and the way she released her lips from your clit with a pop. A small grin formed on her face when she pulled out of you, relishing in your whines of despair.

Eyes closed, heavy breathing—you were too blissed out, despite not achieving an orgasm from her underlying teasing, to notice Wednesday sliding off you, strapping the former item in her hand to her core. Her eyes never left your face as she strapped the item on, feeling more than fired up to make you scratch down her back with pitiful whines leaving your mouth.

And so, that’s what she achieved, eyes closing from the burning pains of your nails digging deep into her shoulders down to the middle of her back. Her own mind felt foggy watching the way her silicone became drenched in your arousal, the strap pumping in and out of you with ease, and the way you moaned straight into her ear—god, she regretted never taking your submissive state for profit more early.

Your thighs clenched around her hips when she bottomed into you, settled on her knees, and bent over slightly to curl the strap inside of you, hitting an unfamiliar spongy spot that had you sinfully whining with a hand clenched on Wednesday’s head. “If the entirety of humanity could merely glimpse you in your current state, they would swiftly recognize your rare moment of submissiveness,” her lips dove down, meeting your ear, “all submissive just for me.”

Her movements grew hard, her hands gripping your skin with a bruising force while her hips drove into you with no relent, finding a need for her own release. The so-called “devil” found herself groaning heavy breaths into your ear, all the while slipping a soft moan or two in that she couldn’t hold. The feeling of you finally beneath her, pleading and scratching at her for release, felt ethereal; all of her senses were on cloud nine, and it ignited a burrowed-down spark.

One of Wednesday’s hands removed from your skin, leaving behind darkened marks that would worsen with time to connect with your cheek, the slap making you roll your eyes back at how dirty it felt. “No connected nerves, and I can still feel you pulsating on me; you’re driving me crazy with it.”

Your moans were muffled at the feeling of the ravenhead’s fingers shoving deep into your mouth, bypassing your uvula, causing a gag to ensue. Your lips wrapped around the digits, absentmindedly biting on them when the pit in your stomach started to burn like wildfire, making you tighten around the raven’s strap and force her to slow her movements, though still managing a speedy pace.

“Don’t cum.”

The words you wished never left her mouth made you whine around her fingers; your body was too sensitive from your lack of sexual activity and masturbation over the years, making it almost impossible to fight your orgasm off. Her fingers briefly exited your mouth, only to slap your cheek once more before returning to their original location. “Just for a bit.”

The hold-off was tortuous; the muscles in your body tightened incredulously while your mouth pathetically sucked on Wednesday’s fingers in a pathetic attempt to tear your mind away from your orgasm. It didn’t work.

The overloading, burning sensation in your stomach was almost uncomfortable; the fire burned longer than it intended to while you made putrid eye contact with the roof, Wednesday’s head snug to the side of yours while she drew herself closer to her own orgasm. The words that made you sigh in relief, your body shaking after seconds of torture, finally came past the girl’s lips, and you adored them.

“Cum for me, la mia dolce metà.”

You obeyed immediately, allowing your muscles to untighten, and Wednesday’s fingers left your mouth, allowing you to spew out a large moan that, without a doubt, woke the entire hall up. Your hands dug into her shoulders, feeling her shudder over you from her own orgasm, though the only thing that left her mouth was heavy pants.

Alas, she pulled out of you after seconds of relishing in one another’s embrace, making you feel empty compared to just minutes ago. The tip of Wednesday’s cock directed to your swollen clit from her previous oral actions, pushing down with enough pressure to make your toes curl and a breathy sigh leave your mouth.

Wednesday had pulled herself up by now, and it was only then that you noticed the girl taking a mental screenshot of your body, more specifically your core and the way your cum leaked out of you at a snail's pace. She licked her lips at the sight, her eyes flickering up to meet yours, and you gulped.

“La mia dolce metà,” she whispered, hands running down your body and to your hips, “I’m not done with you just yet.” The edges of her lips tugged ever so slightly when she dipped her head down to meet your core, leaving you to moan with delight as your hand found it’s way back to her hair.

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monstas1ut · 7 months

Text

Empty Headed

BYAKUYA KUCHIKI x black!reader

Summary

__ +18 bratty!black!reader gets her guts rearranged after finally ticking off her husband, now she’s all dumb off of her husband’s dick with drool coming out of her mouth and eyes rolled in the back of her head.. and Byakuya could care less.

Content

__ black!reader, female!reader, rough!Byakuya, reader makes Byakuya a meanie pants, choking, choking with a tie, dirty talk, squirting, doggystyle, clothed sex, dumbification, oral, “good girl” once or twice, choking, overstimulation, no condom y’all are married, lace front malfunction :(

___ brown skin can be dark, light, medium color.. whatever. brown is brown.. and it's gorgeous

A/n

__ I’m back, my bad y’all

Those prominent veins were like tree roots deep in an ethereal forest. The way they connected, the raised texture of them, and the way they felt against your brown skin was heavenly. Byakuya Kuchiki had the prettiest attributes, and his veins were one of them. And as his perfect little wife, you’ve managed to memorize all of the Kuchiki heir’s perfectly natural attributes. The way his hair felt, the way his face showed little to no expression even when happy, and the way his veins would flex even more when he’d get all angry…

Who knew that the veins on his cock also protruded when his anger released above the surface. And as a perfect little wife, you had to memorize that too.

But that wasn’t all that hard when his pretty cock was stuck in the back of your throat.

The sweet taste of Byakuya’s slick precum edged you on as your tongue felt the underside of his unforgiving cock. Proportionate, long, and pretty. Those three words summed up your husband’s cock. It was pale, a contrast to your pretty brown sugar kissed skin. It was a contrast to those dark lined, glossy lips that were wrapped around it. And Byakuya loved it. Truthfully, he couldn’t get enough, and this was the exact moment to take advantage.

“Prove to me that you will cease every bit of attitude when I’m done with you, and If I sense anything other than obedience, I will corrupt your body without any remorse.”

Only loud breaths remained. Ropes of slimy saliva connected from the pink cock tip to your plump lips. Arousal hit right between your legs once Byakuya spoke to you in such a manner, and you couldn’t help but make it worse. And with bared lips and a brattish expression, you completely ignored his efforts at cutting this short. You’ve already sparked his flame at a formal event, and now you’re playing this absurd game.

Byakuya didn’t have time for it.

“Such blatant ignorance. You absolutely disgust me when you act this way. No matter, you won’t be able to act in such a manner when your pretty head is empty am I right…?” Byakuya’s voice rumbled from the depths of hell. His care and regard for your feelings dispersed into thin air the second you agreed with your conscience on being a slutty brat. The royal didn’t care anymore, he only cared about setting his woman straight, because she’s obviously lost her mind.

And with a cocky smirk etching onto your face, all while you were on your knees, you managed to try to talk. Even if you were being disciplined in this thin-walled hotel room, you still managed to conjure up the audacity… “Fuck-..”

Unfortunately it was cut short, and the thin lace that was glued to the skin on your hairline felt an enormous amount of tugging when Byakuya’s large, elegant hands gripped at the long, wavy hair. Both sides were balled up in his fists, and he pulled you forward as if you bore horns. Then, his pretty pink cockhead forced its way into your wide mouth just to shut you up once again.

“It was a rhetorical question, darling… or are you already more empty headed than before…?”

Cold as his words were, you definitely decided that you deserved this. After the raunchy attitude at the main floor, Byakuya managed to shoot a few looks your way. These looks did nothing but make it worse, and in all honesty, you knew what you were doing. But you figured the Kuchiki heir was going to drop it and go on about the day.

Being dragged back to the luxurious hotel room only to be brain fucked wasn’t anything you would’ve thought of. Byakuya’s mentality wasn’t like that, but as you drooled and breathed in with much trouble, you were obviously wrong. The feeling of Byakuya’s rock hard cock slipping down your throat with each passing thrust was exhilarating. It brought life to your pussy in many new ways. The roughness, the way he spoke, and his eyes. His dark colored eyes showed dominance that made your e/c irises turn into plump hearts.

“That’s a good girl… There's obviously potential for you to act sensible.” Byakuya hissed, his eyebrows only slightly furrowing with pained annoyance. Yet, watching you gag on his well endowed cock was soothing it oh so slowly but surely. He adored the way your eyes would squeeze shut with tears. He adored the way it sounded when his cock would hit the back of your throat. And to be honest, he’d love to hear more of your pathetic struggling. But the formal celebration needed him to speak soon, and Byakuya couldn’t miss it just for your behavior.

In a snap, you felt like you could barely breathe. The urge to gag and choke was so intense that you began to whine and flail just a little. Byakuya is usually so gentle when handling you, but the fact that your lips were touching his pelvis was indescribable. His long cock was digging deep into your soul, and you felt so dumb for liking it. Your pussy was so wet right now that it seeped through the white sundress that caressed your curves. It was a simple pairing to Byakuya’s suit which was black and white.. and he looked damn good when he finally released your bundles and leaned back to watch you struggle to breathe with saliva and precum spilling softly out of your mouth.

“Contain yourself.. speak and you will not leave this room today..” His words were like knives, but the way he said it felt like a shadow monster waiting to strike. It had given you trembles, and you obeyed him graciously. While sitting there on the cold floor, you were already regretting your actions prior. With how Byakuya’s cock was still leaking precum and pulsating.. you were in for it.

Those same bulging veins greeted you with dangerous intent. Byakuya’s soft, lengthy fingers pulled lazily at his black silky tie before he began removing his suit jacket. The idea wasn’t to completely wreck you, but as the taste of your suffering touched him, he wanted more.

“Clean it up, love…” Your husband was practically chuckling even if he didn’t fully express it. His hands gripped at his tie with thoughts roaming his filled brain. Lustful eyes stared down at you while your pretty acrylic nails glistened around his cock. Your mouth slurped up the naughty combination of precum and spit while bobbing your head eagerly. This caused Byakuya’s spicy moan to release from his throat. He’s been keeping quiet, but as he neared his orgasm, he couldn’t resist.

Byakuya didn’t want to cum just yet though.

Both of your hands were around that pretty cock, saliva dripping down your chin once again as your lips caressed him up and down. You barely even noticed the silky fabric that was being wrapped around your neck. However, the feeling of being forced off his cock was surprising. It made you gasp loudly as the thick cock slapped against your face once you let it free.. your hand eventually made its way back around it before you started to caress it against your face.

“Want it…Baby please…” it sounded like a purr, and Byakuya couldn’t resist. You might’ve been a brat today, but as he looked at you with your struggling lace, dried up spit on your chin, he only wanted to be inside of you. “Beg once more…” Byakuya’s voice sounded even more husky than before, his sharp eyes staring deep into yours.

“Please.. Baby, I want your dick so bad..”

Byakuya truly loved when you’d talk dirty to him, he absolutely loved it. He didn’t know for sure if it was the fact that you were bold or if you really just turned drunk over his cock. Either way, he loved it so much that he decided to stand up. His eyes didn’t leave you, especially since you looked so tempting while looking up at him like this. But with swift movement and your arms reaching up, Byakuya’s picked you up and took you to the hotel bed that was just the right height…

Now, Byakuya rarely puts you in doggystyle, it’s not sensual to him. However, he still wanted to teach you a lesson. So as you put your knees on the bed and leaned forward into a sweet arch, Byakuya’s hand already grabbed the tie that was still around your neck… and to think you forgot about it.

The feeling of your oxygen slightly being cut off made your pussy drool even more. His body was right behind yours and he didn’t hesitate to slide the long dress up to your torso. It revealed a pretty black thong that disappeared nicely in between your cheeks. To be honest, Byakuya didn’t care about body.. but the way your pretty brown skin was under this light… and the way your ass jiggled. He barely could contain his excitement. The heir couldn’t even control how fast he pressed his tip against your clit when he pulled the fabric to the side.

“I am going to fuck you. I am not going to make love to you because you do not deserve it… However, I do love you my dear, even if it’ll feel as if I think of you as nothing..”

Each word gave you a shock through your spine, each word felt like spikes under your feet. It all felt scary in a way because you’ve never heard your husband speak this way.. and frankly, he’s always called sex : ‘making love’. Byakuya saying he was going to fuck you made this experience all the more blood rushing. But you had no choice but to keep your back arched and control your breathing, because as Byakuya pulled you back by that silky tie, you slid right onto his pale cock. Your brown pussy opened right up for him, and your eyes widened before hazily staring at the bed frame in front of you.

“Don’t… Dont move” As calm and relaxed as Byakuya may seem, he cannot explain how hard it was to keep his orgasm at bay. Everytime he slides inside your tight pussy, he finds himself fighting against his own cock. It caused him to tighten the tie, which caused a chain reaction to your insides which also gripped around him. “You only make things more difficult… but yet, I am still married to you because I have a tendency to gain a high from your actions..”

Byakuya sounded ashamed of himself, but it went away in a swift fashion before the gushy sounds of your cunt started to echo. That sweet, pale cock was slowly maneuvering through you in slow strokes. The tiny ring of pre-cum was at the fair base of Byakuya’s cock now, however it was getting worse. With your wet pussy leaking all between your legs and his cock, the bed was slightly soaked.

“A-Ah~…B-Bya… kuya… fuck”

With a moan following the harsh swear word, Byakuya wrapped the tie around his fist once as he slightly leaned back to watch your fat brown ass take over his pelvis each time it would hit it. “Won’t my bratty wife talk filthy to me…? I’m sure she will.. yes?” With furrowed eyebrows, Byakuya shivered. His cock felt the pulsing around it, and the moans exiting from you made him release his own husky moans. His pretty, long, raven colored hair draped over your ass as he watched it bounce.

“Yes~… choke me more~… M’gonna cum so fuckin’ hard on that Dick… just keep… keep chokin’ me please~…” So pathetic you sounded, and Byakuya loved it, he ached for you to sound slutty. Sure, on the outside it seemed as if you both were all so classy and expensive, but when that door shuts it’s completely different. Byakuya urges you to lose it. He adores watching your pussy stretch out for him, and he loves when your pretty e/c eyes roll back before whining… because that’s when he knows you’re going to cum all over him.

And Byakuya loves a good mess.

“You do know it’s not over until you make a bit of a mess… right?” Byakuya practically demanded you to agree at the end, his breath running away from him as he let go of the tie, feeling as if it wasn’t doing as much justice as he wanted it to. And those elegant hands of his took hold of your neck, both of them. Oh did your pussy squirt the second he squeezed and pushed your head into that bed.

“Ah! Ah!… S-Stop… Fuck! Oh fuck~…”

Nothing but hearts were in your eyes, again. It felt like you lost vision and lost all ability to breathe as Byakuya’s cock went almost lightning fast. His hips snapped against your tight core, fighting against the pressure as your pussy gushed the honeyed substance on his cock and the hotel bed. Byakuya was purposely overstimulating your poor pussy as you struggled out moans. He didn’t care if you were all worn out and tired from the extreme orgasm, it just began.

“As you should remember… you have no authority to tell me to stop as of now. I also remember asking you to stop being a brat. You failed to listen, my dear..” Byakuya might have been a little harsh, but his words didn’t falter. He immediately turned you over on your back, his hands pulling down the top of your dress to show your pretty, darker brown areolas.

“I now will fail to listen to you as I use you like a pathetic toy” Byakuya’s voice smoothed over your ears as he leaned down gently. His hands slowly ran under your thighs before pushing them forward very harshly. Byakuya couldn’t help it, your pussy was so gorgeous like this, your body looked so precious like this. And the way his eyes trailed over your body, it made you feel just like prey. “It’s in my fucking guts… kuya…” you sharply moaned as the feeling of his cock slid right back inside of you. He pushed your legs open more with his arms as his hands were now against the bed.

“Byakuya~” with hazy eyes and drool sliding down your face, you listened to everything. Everything sounded absolutely raw. The bed frame hitting the wall, your skin slapping together, your whiny moans, his light groans, and your sloppy pussy all made this better. Curling your white toes as they stayed in those pretty open heels , golden just like your brown skin. This was the most submissive you’ve ever appeared, and the Kuchiki heir loved it.

“Damn it…” although rare, Byakuya did have to curse, it slipped merely because of your existence. He couldn’t fathom being with someone else even with your bratty little attitude. You just needed his cock, and it straightened you up. All you needed was to be pounded into, breasts bouncing prettily all with your mouth open. His veins up against your walls was all you needed right now. It made you feel dumb because that’s all you could think about.. your husband and his veiny pale cock that was beating your pussy in.

Byakuya’s cock never went this fast inside of you, and it was evident because you couldn’t handle it. With unstable moans and the constant looks at Byakuya waiting for him to give you a break, it was obvious. You kept holding your head up with a pleading face, your legs could barely stay open by themselves which is why his arms were there for support. You couldn’t even tell what was going on anymore. Everything was going blank and your mind was cock filled.

You were dumb off his cock.

Your pretty eyes rolled with furrowed eyebrows, giving Byakuya a rush. He knew he himself was close to cumming, and he could feel your insides trying to push him out. “M’gonna cum… M’gonna cum all over that fuckin dick , kuya…” you gasped in between, unable to try and stop your orgasm from peaking so hard. “Let me feel it..”

There was no need in telling you another time. Your next orgasm came rushing as you squeezed hard around him. His jaw clenched before letting out a string of clearly heard moans. His white, thick cum splashed your walls that color, and it was so far inside that when he filled you up, barely any came flowing out. His cum was so sticky and he had a good amount that came out.

You both continued to ride this high, and your whines and whimpers made it hard to not gain another hard on.

“I’m sorry.. I’m fucking sorry Kuya, baby…” you pleaded as you finally took that last heavy breath and you laid back completely. Your thighs were now able to be closed because he let you. His heart was racing just as fast, mainly because he couldn’t believe he treated you like this. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but he still felt a tiny bit bad.

That was mainly because you looked a bit messy now, gorgeous, but you couldn’t go back to the event looking this way. Not with a lifted lace, broken nail, and a dripping mess… but it made him smirk nonetheless.

“Apology accepted. Now, I’ll be going back to give out my speech. Behave, and do not move… I’ll be back… and if you listen, I’ll make love to you..”

#anime x black!reader #black reader #ambw #bwam #bleach x black reader #bleach scenarios #bleach x poc reader #bleach x reader #byakuya kuchiki #byakuya kuchiki x reader #byakuya x reader #bleach headcanons #bleach x female reader

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aemonds-sapphire · 1 year

Text

Weakness

Summary: Aemond can’t afford to care about you. Life has long taught him that he’s underserving of such feelings. It’s safer this way. Right?

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort. Mentions of blood and neglect/abuse. Aemond’s POV.

A/N: I’ve been wanting to explore Aemond’s mind for a while now. From his POV. This feels very personal and even though it’s somewhat different from what I usually write, I hope you can still connect to Aemond somehow and that this feels true to his character.

Word count: 1k

Aemond knew the pits of rejection far too well. It had become second nature to him. It consumed him whole and it had morphed into something way darker as he grew older.

He was certain that if there was driving force behind his thirst for revenge then that the fear of abandonment was the root of it all.

Feelings were doorways to suffering. However, Aemond had learnt long ago that some doors are better left shut. Allowing himself to care for someone was a weakness he simply could not afford.

It was a nuisance.

A dangerous one.

Slowly, he lifted one hand and brought the pads of his fingers to trace the rough edges of the scar that ran across his face.

A painful reminder.

No. Just a reminder.

Pain had forsaken his thoughts. He had made sure it stayed that way.

His body was now a reminder of what happens when one allows feelings to overcome reason.

He was a vessel of hatred and revenge, fully committed to having thise who had wronged him pay for it.

Even his beloved mother had forsaken the idea of changing his mind, devoting herself to praying for him in the hopes that some invisible force might rein him in.

He had several cuts across his face from the practice he shared with Criston Cole earlier that day. Aemond made him swear he would not hold back and he complied, unleashing all the swordsmanship knowledge he possessed.

Flesh heals and these were evident wounds that he was still not as skilled as he had hoped.

In truth, he could always ask you to aid him, but the mere thought of having you so close made his stomach turn.

No matter how strong someone was. How well trained they were. How disciplined their mind was. There came a time when something — or rather someone — slippped through the cracks and managed to become a weakness.

Much like the sun insisted on shining through the curtains of his bedchamber. Or much like the drops of blood that eventually found their way down his face and were as tears.

You were a weakness he couldn’t afford.

Deep down, in the depths of his heart, Aemond feared that he was not enough.

That he was broken beyond repair and no one wanted to be left with having to fix both his body and his mind. He utterly feared that if you turned him down it would awaken something darker inside him. That he would feel as small and insignificant as he did when he was younger.

When they all laughed.

When he lost his eye.

When his father demanded no justice for his loss and was willing to have him questioned for the depravities of others.

Aemond Targaryen was ten years of age when he realised he was but an afterthought on his father’s mind. Someone who was supposed to love and care for him unconditionally, saw him as an insignificance.

He could feel another bloody droplet streaming down his face, prickling the skin along the way.

Unconsciously, he brushed it clean before examining the red stain tainting the pad of his thumb.

It was the closest thing he had to tears these days.

He no longer cried. There were days the flames of hatred raged deeply within him, but it was never enough to bring him to tears as before.

Aemond had far better control of his mind now that he was older and wiser.

Truth be told, he didn’t mind that at all.

And he’d rather have it this way.

Suddenly, there was a faint knock on the the door.

It was you.

“Aemond… can I come in?”

He wanted to say no. He needed to say no.

His body had become so numb to physical pain that he only realised he was gripping his knees too tightly when he saw his knuckles turn white.

Another knock. “Aemond…”

“Leave,” he firmly said.

“Do not push me away.”

He had to.

“Please,” your voice was but a whisper, but it was enough to cause his heart rate to quicken. “Your... wounds… I can help.”

He scoffed. You really had no idea that his fixing was beyond skin-deep. That was why he couldn’t stand being near you anymore. You triggered so many feelings within him.

Feelings were weaknesses.

You were a weakness.

He couldn’t afford having one.

He had promised himself that he would be a good son to his mother, a good brother to his sister Helaena and brother Daeron, and that he would tolerate Aegon. But that was as far as his courtesy would extend.

Aemond cared not for others.

Or so he tried to convince himself.

You.

He cursed you for haunting his thoughts. He cursed you for being you and for being so...

“I do not need your help. Leave.”

His words betrayed his heart, but he was used to it.

The doorknob rattled briefly. “I’m not scared of you.”

You should be. He could easily burn you to the ground if you kept on pushing him.

With one swift motion, the door swung open.

There you were.

The newfound source of his turmoil, standing quietly and determined to defy him.

Aemond briefly considered demanding you to leave at once, displaying the unpleasant side him that he had honed over the years.

However, surely enough, the moment you started pacing towards him and knelt at his feet with that loving face of yours resting on his thighs, he knew he had no will left in him to push you away.

“Good morning, dragon,” you taunted him in a low voice, offering him the sweetest smile.

A smile he most certainly did not deserve.

“Hmm,” he mumbled as he allowed his hand reach your cheek.

You immediately closed your eyes, welcoming his touch.

“Let me help you,” you said after a moment, brushing your lips across the palm of his hand. “Please…”

Help? Did you even know what that proposition entailed?

Before he could measure his words, Aemond spoke, “Help with what?”

You opened your eyes and kept them locked with his.

“Fixing you.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond fluff #aemond x you #hotd imagine #aemond imagine #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen x female reader

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nicolesainz · 1 year

Text

take it off and maybe we’ll get along (cs 55)

Carlos Sainz x f!reader

Warnings: smut, sexual themes, sub reader x dom carlos, minors dni, foreplaying, angst, 2% of fluff

Summary: things tend to get heated when your and his favorite team play against

“Mi amor, are you coming down soon? We’re going to be late!” Carlos shouts from the living room as loud noises echo from the television.

“Okay! I’m ready. We can go now” I show up from our room, with my bag on one hand and my hoodie on the other.

Carlos and I have been invited to a bowling game that Charles organized with Lando, George, Alex, Lily, Pierre and Kika. We agreed that it would be nice for the boys to take some time out and for us girls to have fun altogether.

Carlos stands up, closing the Tv. As he turns around his smiley face darkens and turns into a serious, deadly one, as if I had done the most unearthly crime ever.

“Cariño, what are you wearing? He comes closer to me and I can clearly understand why he asks me that question, following his sudden change of expression.

“What? Don’t I look nice? I thought, since we won’t watch the game, I could root for my team by wearing my jersey” Carlos’s eyes scan me from head to toe, with flames flaring out of them.

At some point his eyes get fixed at the place in my chest where the badge of the team is standing. His index finger starts tracing it slowly, whilst his eyes rise and lock with mine. The soft brown that used to light has been taken over by a darker shade, sending shivers all over my body.

“What are you doing?” I let out with a shaky breath, almost whispering the words as he continues to shape each letter that is on my shirt and hits beneath my chest. His hand goes back up and lands on my heart that is currently beating very rapidly.

“What makes your heart beat faster? A single touch of mine or a glorifying win of your team?” At this point my nipples had gone hard, even through my bra and they were visible enough to his eyes. Also me tiptoeing to reach his height made my answer more clear.

I couldn’t utter a single letter and only deep breathing would come out of my mouth. Carlos knows that under certain circumstances has me wrapped under his pinky and I could never say no.

“How about, we took this shirt of yours off and test my theory, huh?” Before I even replied, his hands had gone under my shirt, caressing my skin. My eyes were shut and enjoying the sensation of his fingertips leaving tingles and sparks.

“Carlos, we need to-“ his mouth softly landed on my neck, started leaving wet kisses and sucking my skin, caressing with his tongue the spots he would leave his mark on.

“How about, you let me take care of my baby for tonight?” He whispers breathing deep on my neck and causing me to let out a soft groan. I didn’t have to agree or say anything. This was more than a confirmation to him.

“Wonderful” Carlos picked me up with one hand and with the other removed my shirt, pulling it from the hem and tossing it away. His lips attach to mine in a hungrily way, as both of his hands now, make their way towards underneath my thighs, holding me firmly.

I can feel his arousal growing against me and my excitement skyrockets. Breathing seems like an unnecessary task when all I could do is kiss him until my very last moment.

We reach our bedroom but instead of landing on the bed, he guides us to the bathtub. He helps me land back on my feet and starts playing with the hem of my leggings. His finger grabs the lace of my underwear.

“Strip for me amor. Strip until I fall on my knees for you. Strip until you start begging for forgiveness” he commands and I place my hands on my thighs, slowly pulling down my leggings. Carlos unbuckles his trousers and tosses them next to the bed. I have never seen him remove his Real Madrid jersey so hastily.

His beautifully strong built body, is a sight for sore eyes. The v-line showing off makes my eyes roll and I am slowly unbuttoning my bra, leaving myself exposed and extremely aroused.

“Leave them on baby. I wanna have the pleasure of striping you fully” he refers to my underwear, as he places me on the stand of the sink, separating my legs from one another.

His mouth lands on my thighs, kissing and licking them furiously, until he reaches the hem of my panties. His eyes make their path towards mine and as I am trying to control my breathing, Carlos exhales softly,

"I want eyes on me cariño. I want you to see how good I can make you feel. Until you drop on your knees for me" the seductiveness in his voice sends tingles all over my spine, causing me to bend more and open up my legs.

His teeth grab the hem and fiercely pulls down my panties, revealing my full names body to his eyes, which are sparkling once they take a good look of my embrace. The only person that can make me feel good about myself is Carlos. His words, his touch and kisses are my addiction, that I never want to give up.

"Qué belleza eres" (what a beauty you are). Do you remember our safe word, amor? I need to make sure I can worship you properly. And that consists any possible ways of fucking you and making you cum" my brain almost shuts off by his words, expecting the unexpected from him.

His fingers slowly creeped inside my already wet core, making me bite back a moan I was holding on for dear life.

“Oh how I adore this wetness of yours. Always ready for me” he mumbled against my lips, as his tongue was attacking mine, dancing softly against each other.

The pace became faster and faster making me clench even harder than before between his fingers. It was just the beginning and I needed more.

“Oh my darling, what do you desire?” Carlos took another quick look at my nakedness and flushed cheeks because of his touch. A smirk was shaped on his lips, casing my eyes to roll back again. I was trying to catch my breath but my fists were too occupied with the bedsheets.

“You. Forever you” I managed to let out, when I felt my hands being removed from the sheets, and being placed onto Carlos’s bare ass.

“I want us to cum together. I want you to touch me and be in command” his words shocked me as he usually was the one with the upper hand.

I kissed him once more softly, deepening the moment as much as I could, whist my hands were running all over his cheeks and thighs, pushing him inside my womanhood, wanting to fill my pussy at its maximum.

“Fucking hell. Keep up Y/N. I need you baby” Carlos breathed out as he was forcing himself even deeper inside of me, hitting my soft spot, earning a loud moan of his name that echoed through the room.

“Oh my word! Carlos!” I was in the seventh heaven, with his fingers playing with my aroused and hardened nipples. My fingers though were running through his long hair that had grown since the last Grand Prix.

“I’m so close cariño. You’re making me feel so good” he groaned in between licking my nipples and I was on the verge too. Love making with Carlos was one of my favorite things to do with him.

“I need you to get up and look at me” he commanded as his thrusts were getting faster and faster, because we couldn’t keep up anymore.

My legs were curled against his waist and I could feel his entire length inside me, filling me up with with every single of his juices, while I was covering his cock with my cum.

Carlos’s hands roamed through my hair, before landing back on my cheeks, caressing then softly with a kiss along the way. I always loved this version of Carlos. Soft, tender and angelic.

“I hope I didn’t hurt you, my love. You were amazing” his eyes were full of concern and my heart fluttered against his chest.

“You could never Carlos. You’re only making me happier as days go by!” I gift him a big smile and he wraps my entire body into a an equally big hug.

“I think we missed the date with the guys” I let out giggling, seeing all the texts from Kika and Lily worried as to where I am.

“And I think that we found a better way to spend our afternoon. One that we both enjoyed much more” Carlos winked at me playfully, earning a final giggle from me, before we restored to our calmness and peace against each other.

#carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz one shot #carlossainz55 #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz x reader

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http-paprika · 6 months

Text

All American Bitch / Alex Keller

my submission for @glitterypirateduck ‘s Alex Keller Challenge, with the prompts I don’t care what they say, you can do better than that, are you flirting or starting a fight, and is this what you wanted

wc 1260 / pairing alex keller x f!reader / warnings swearing, suggestive content but nothing graphic / reader's digression advised

summary after being snubbed countless times by your supervisor, alex decides to help you alleviate your rage.

notes yes the title and fic are inspired by the olivia rodrigo song. alex refers to reader as boss but she's not his boss. he still works with the CIA in this fic and i have no idea how the CIA works, so, inaccuracies. also, i wrote this on my phone while i had nothing to do at work, so it’s not edited.

It had been a long day, nauseatingly long as you finally managed to escape meeting after meeting, brutal briefings and overall snubbing you received from your supervisor. Your case, the one you’d spent months meticulously gathering intel, fighting tooth and nail to be given the resources needed to get off the ground, had been snatched right from under you. And all in favor of your supervisor’s asshole of a son who had spent the day gloating over the fact that it was now his case, and you would have to answer to him.

You fumed with rage, having forced yourself to hold it all in, you didn’t need to be punished further. The CIA had already beat you up enough, denying you promotions and undermining your work. And were it not for Laswell convincing you to stay, and your pretty boyfriend, you tell yourself you’d leave. It was clear enough that you were replaceable, they might not say it out loud, but your employers make it known. It didn’t matter how long you’d been there or how hard you worked, it was never enough for them.

“Hey! I finally got that report you asked for, was a little difficult, had to use some of my Keller charm but I—“ Alex enters your office— the one you shared with a co-worker who never showed up but still had his job— freezing and dropping his signature grin when he spotted the hot, red anger that painted your face.

“Give the report to Aarons.” You snap back at him, a little too harshly. Quickly, you reel yourself in, apologizing profusely to Alex. Because a girl like you always had to be forgiving and kind, even if you were angry at everything around you.

“Why’d I give it to Aarons? It’s not his case, you’re the leader, he’s just a glorified desk jockey.” Your boyfriend chuckles, dropping the manilla folder down on your desk while he leans against it. “Can’t even speak Arabic, the only reason he’s got a passport is so he can vacation in the Bahamas. The hell would he do in Urzikstan?”

Alex’s points only added fuel to your growing flame, reminding you that it was by name alone at Aarons had been handed over the job. The man was inexperienced, prideful, and would throw anyone under the bus to save his own ass, and with your horrid luck, it would be you if the mission went south.

“What’s wrong, boss? Why do you look like a firecracker that can’t explode?” He sobers up, wanting to find the root of the problem, like always. You’d compared him once to a loyal golden retriever and the image stuck in your mind since. It was almost endearing how eager Alex was to help you and keep you happy.

“Aarons is in charge of the mission from now on, they didn’t even say anything to me until this morning when they announced it to the whole team. I got fucking blindsided!” You exclaim, letting the anger seep into your words before recollecting yourself. “Sorry, I’m sure you don’t want to hear my complaining.”

If anyone else heard the complaining or the loud, violent anger, you knew you’d get written up. Giving your supervisor even more of a reason to take what you’d fought for and give to his trust fund son. And that pissed you off, you couldn’t have anything anymore it seemed, you couldn’t do anything without it being seen as wrong. Even your relationship with Alex had been criticized by your employers for being unprofessional, despite how many of your other co-workers dated around the office.

“Aren’t you the one who tells me I shouldn’t be making assumptions? So how do you know I don’t want to hear it? Come on, boss. Hit me with it, give me your best shot. I can handle a bit of anger, I’ve seen worse.” The last sentence made you raise an eyebrow, coming to realize that he was purposefully riling you up. Alex wanted to get under your skin, make you kick and scream until you’d blown off enough steam.

“I’m not doing this,” You state, annoyed by his proposition. The antics he could get away with, you didn’t have the luxury of. Alex was the star operative, he could do no wrong in the eyes of your supervisors. And sometimes, it rubbed you wrong.

“Aren’t you sick of being the better man, boss? Letting them walk all over you, taking away your credit? Come on, where’s your backbone? You can do better than that.” Taking deep breaths, you try to ignore him as he starts impersonating Aarons, waiting to see how long it would take you to finally let loose and scream. Alex knows you too well, knows how you swallow back your words and attempt to stay the picture perfect operator. Knows that despite your countless attempts, they wouldn’t see how talented and wonderful you were, not like he would.

“I told you, I’m not doing this.” Still though, you held back even as your anger ebbed away at you. He shook his head, amazed by your stubbornness and moved around the desk so that he was now behind you. His large hands resting on your shoulders, messaging them and loosening your tightened muscles.

“One way or another, I’m gonna get that frustration out of you boss. You’re just gonna decide how you want it.” His voice is like honey, the warmth of his breath tickling your ear before he moves his mouth down, peppering kisses underneath the collar of your shirt, leaving small marks where no one else but him would see.

“Alex—“ You groan, knowing the problems that could arise because of his behavior. “Someone’s gonna see.”

“So? Let them, boss, I don’t care what they say. They’re jealous of you anyway, how smart you are—“ He says, sucking on your tender skin, causing you to reach up and grab onto his hair. “—How talented you are, how fucking gorgeous you look when you’re working. You make me the luckiest man in this whole goddamn place.”

His instant praises continue as he moves his hands to the hem of your shirt, squeezing and running his hands over your soft skin. You can feel the tension easing, your head spinning as he kisses along your jaw. “Feeling better yet, boss? Or do you need more?”

You bite back a moan as his hands grip at the sensitive skin, moving them up under your bra and kneading. His mouth never lets up, staying attached to your neck, alternating from biting and kissing. After you squeeze your eyes shut, you think you’re seeing stars right there in your office, and when he abruptly stops you let out an annoyed huff.

“Is this what you wanted?” You ask him, having come completely undone and turning into a panting, shivering mess. Your body aching for the warmth of his hands.

Cupping your chin, Alex makes you look up at him, his pale blue eyes gleaming along with a smirk on his face. “I don’t know. Did I instill enough confidence in you to go get what’s yours?”

“Is this an attempt at flirting with me, or getting me to start a fight with Aarons?” His smirk manages to grow bigger at your question, and he bends down pressing a kiss on your lips.

“I support women’s rights. And wrongs, boss. Give him fucking hell if you want.”

#alexkellerchallange #alex keller #alex keller cod #alex keller call of duty #oh the things he could do to me #gpd challenge #call of duty fanfic #call of duty mw #alex keller x reader #alex keller x y/n #alex keller x you #i’m a mess #song inspired fanfic #all american bitch #olivia rodrigo inspired

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twogyuu · 11 months

Text

When the Sun Kisses the Moon

Pairing: Wonwoo x fem!reader

Synopsis: Home was neither here or there, but with him.

Genre: Fluff, angst but in a bittersweet way, forbidden relationship kinda, atla!au, of flames and fate!couple, bit of Romeo & Juliet (but they are problem solvers and not dumb 😀) firebender!wonwoo, leuitenant general!wonwoo, bounty hunter!wonwoo, outcast!wonwoo, waterbender!reader, southern water tribe princess!reader, earthbender!jeonghan (he's old), jeonghan is oc's caretaker, Lady Rin is a kyoshi warrior

Warnings: Mentions of food, smoking, and weapons; oc has a specific image, banter b/t oc and jeonghan, earth kingdom marriage traditions/rituals based off of this post by @atlaculture

WC: ~2.5k

A/N: My attempt at being poetic 😀 I went from 0 to 100 with this drabble relative to the last one. Sorry 😅 Bonus points if you catch the hint of where this is going?

the original drabble || nameless

. . . .

The early hours of twilight were serene. The weather was just right, with a breeze to quell the lingering heat of the day. The moon shone just enough to guide the sleepy workers home. The first few stars blinked into the night as Jeonghan stood on the balcony of his room that offered a grand view of Kyoshi Island. Silently, his finger toyed with the stem of the white lotus he had plucked from the pond earlier. Blossom season had already passed on Kyoshi Island; hence, flowers were scarce. This was the least he could do for you to decorate you for your special day.

He sucked harshly on his pipe, letting the smoke fill his lungs as he closed his eyes, letting himself drift into the memories of the past. It had been a while since he had lived in such luxury after assuming your care.

He almost forgot, he was an elite soldier of the Earth Kingdom at some point.

Oh how he used to long for spacious bedrooms, silk sheets, and geese-feather pillows all those nights he had to squeeze himself onto a bamboo mat and thread-bare blankets under a shield of towering trees. Though they felt familiar, it not longer felt right. He snorted, not believing the way he preferred gruel to fine dishes now.

Times have changed, he guessed.

The screen door behind him suddenly slid open – Jeonghan didn’t have to open his eyes to know who it was. He could tell it was you from the heavy and rigid footsteps. Wonwoo’s were swift and quiet.

Jeonghan smiled to himself. It was unfortunate that you didn’t develop the swiftness of a waterbender. However, he couldn’t help, but feel a small piece of joy, knowing his earthbender roots sank deep into your development.

“Y/N,” Jeonghan spun around to greet you. Immediately, his gaze softened at you in your wedding garment: a simple fitted, long-sleeve white robe with deep green detailing along the hem and the waist. Light makeup dusted your features, your hair donned into a simple, neat bun. “You clean up nice, kid.”

You snorted, slumping over in your posture and made your way to stand beside him. You made a point to bump his shoulder. Jeonghan only chuckled, reaching up to tuck the lotus in your hair.

“What’s that?” you reached up to feel the soft petals.

“A white lotus,” Jeonghan explained, “It represents mental purity – not exactly what I have in mind as romantic for a wedding, but alas, it seems like the last flower growing on this floating piece of dirt they call an island.”

You nodded, amused. “Didn’t take you to be a flower guy.”

“There is much you don’t know about me, kid,” he made a point to secure it extra well, earning a small wince from you at the pressure. “Never underestimate an old man.”

“Noted,” you shifted to stand next to him when he finished.

The two of you stayed like this a while longer, standing side-by-side and admiring the way the village below lit up, one building at a time. A simple view, but calming nonetheless.

“What’s on your mind?” Jeonghan asked, breaking the silence. You were normally talkative – he had raised you long enough to know that something was wrong when you grew quiet.

You only shifted from one foot to another, face contorting as you tried to find the right words to voice your concerns.

Jeonghan took one last puff of his pipe before turning to you and casting it aside.

“You’ll die sooner if you keep smoking that thing,” you said abruptly.

Jeonghan chuckled, crossing his arms. “So kind of you to worry about my health when my head is about to be on your father’s table for handing you to the enemy.”

At this, you shrank back, any last words of banter suddenly evaporating from your tongue.

“A-are you sure about this?” you stammered. You peered up at him, nervously.

“About what?” Jeonghan asked. “Finally getting you hitched so I can get you out of my hair?”

“Jeonghan,” you said sternly, taking a step towards him. He glanced at you from the side and offered you a warm smile to help ease your worries.

“I’ve lived a long and dangerous life, Y/N,” Jeonghan explained. “There’s not much that scares me anymore – not even death, itself.”

You gulped, feeling tears pricking your eyes.

Today was supposed to be a happy occasion, but here you were on the verge of tears – and for what? An old man who teased you on the regular and smacked your wrists and ankles when you messed up a stance.

“Then, what does scare you?” you asked hesitantly.

“There’s a reason why I agreed to all of this, you know?” Jeonghan started. You were so . . . puzzled at how someone could look so serene in a situation like this. “You may not have been my child by blood, but in some ways, I feel more like your father than your father himself.

“He doesn’t know you hate anchovies. He doesn’t know that you can fix most things, but not sew. He doesn’t know you can’t sleep at night unless there’s a lantern on because you’re still scared of the dark,” Jeonghan paused, returning his gaze to the village. “You are my child and there’s nothing more a parent fears than losing them.”

You felt the first tear spill from your inner corner, trailing down the side of your nose.

“But,” Jeonghan sighed, reaching over to swipe the tear from your cheek, “Even if he is stubborn, emotionally constipated at times, and most certainly your birth father’s last choice as a suitor . . . I trust Wonwoo. He will protect you, be it bandits on the road or his own people even.” Though he was smiling, melancholy laced his features, settling into the wrinkles on his forehead. To lighten the mood, he joked, “And I guess, he seems to like you enough and he makes you happy, so who am I to take that away from you – and vice versa.”

You managed to choke a small chortle amidst the sniveling. You shook your head, your heart filling with somber feelings that drowned you ability to even be upset and worried for him.

“Oh my, Y/N,” Jeonghan cooed. The pads of his thumbs swiped away at more tears. He then squeezed your cheeks together, your lips puffing like that of a fish. “Don’t cry so much – you’re gonna ruin your makeup! Can’t look ugly for Wonwoo or he’ll run away and I’ll be stuck with you forever!”

“You talk too much, old man,” you grumbled as you launched yourself into his chest. Jeonghan’s arms were quick to wrap tight around your shoulders, rubbing soothing circles into your back.

He was glad the two of you were positioned like this where you were facing opposite directions – you wouldn’t see him cry.

You didn't have to voice it for Jeonghan to know it.

“I love you too, kid,” he muttered into your crown.

. . . .

What if the sun kissed the moon?

An eclipse merely meant the two heavenly bodies were aligned in parallel: one blocking the other from view every few decades. It was similar to the one or two seconds in which two strangers in the streets of Ba Sing Se passed one another. The irony in which two seemingly similar events were viewed in such contrast. One event was of essence, determining the fate of humanity; the other was blissful ignorance.

Yet, this was the way of society – the way of the universe: the moon and the sun were fated to be strangers who merely passed each other every few seconds in the infinite cycle of time.

They weren’t meant to be close to one another; but they also weren’t meant to be too far from one another.

So, what if the sun kissed the moon?

A kiss meant . . . a collision.

Chaos.

Catastrophe.

Disorder.

Yet, they yearned for it more than anything.

He who harvested his energy from the sun and she who felt the most powerful when the moon was full and bright. Yet, it was she who made his flame burn brightest and he who commanded her tides into hurricanes. They were worlds apart, but like the lovers of Omashu, they chose to reside in the fragile in-between, dancing an equally delicate dance and playing a game of push and pull to see who would leave first.

But neither of them did.

Your wedding was kept simple: a bowl of rice, the jade hairpin from the Festival of the Badger Mole, and Jeonghan’s prized dagger. Lady Rin and Jeonghan bore witness to your marriage.

Cheeks stuffed with his half of rice, Wonwoo passed it to you to be finished. You couldn’t help, but giggle at him a little – it wasn’t every day the fierce warrior looked like a chipmunk. As if he read your mind, he was quick to turn away from you and hide the growing sheepish smile. The tips of his ears were tinted pink, your smile transforming into a grin. You wondered if he was going to get the hiccups with how fast he was chewing.

Gingerly, you accepted the red bowl with both hands and held it to your lips. Though he was too shy to meet your eyes, you gave him one last look, sucking in a slow breath to engrave this memory of him in your mind. His face was clean of dirt and ashes that often smudged his cheeks, making him look seemingly more youthful than previous. You even noted how his hair had grown a little, the tips skimming his sharp brows. To match your outfit, he wore a beige tunic with deep green detailing – four buttons were aligned along his collarbone, strips of fabric were tightened around his wrist and forearms.

Neither of you were earthbenders, yet in their kingdom and draped in their traditional clothing, you both felt more like yourselves than you ever did in your own respective nations.

Here, he stumbled upon you (quite literally).

Here, he became the companion you didn’t know you were missing.

Here, without realizing, you built a safe haven.

He may not have known you your whole life, but he was there when you collapsed from overtraining trying to create a water whip. He was there to cheer and hug (though it was unintentional at the time) you when you first drew water from the leaves.

But better yet, it was the little things with him that made you love him the most.

Doing laundry was surprisingly entertaining – he was still getting the hang of the washing process, slipping more than once into the river. His hand in yours in walks in the market brought comfort and reassurance. He complained you about your bland cooking, but for some reason still ate it happily - it gave you all the more purpose to keep doing so.

A warmth bloomed in your chest, not out of unease, but rather certainty. Perhaps it was not the fate society predestined for the both of you, but it felt right.

This wasn’t a blind and impulsive decision as most would’ve thought. You both pondered on it, fought over it even, over several days and nights. Tossed and turned on the inn mats, gave one another the silent treatment when the pressure became too much, only to relent a day or two later, apologizing for your actions and quickly falling back into old habits.

Alas all of it to arrive at only one conclusion: love was more than enough.

You never imagined it to feel quite like this – something stronger than gravity, something you needed more than food and water itself. Now that you knew it, without it felt like you were floating away; without it you felt hollow.

Amidst all the decisions in your life, choosing Wonwoo was the only one you were sure of. You could only hope he felt the same having agreed to marry you.

“Hurry up,” you heard Jeonghan hiss.

You scowled at him playfully, but he continued to usher you to finish your half. Opening your mouth you emptied the rice from the bowl, chewing it slowly. It was now Wonwoo’s turn to snicker at your demeanor, but he always took it a step further than yourself.

“Cute,” you heard him whisper under his breath. He reached over to pinch your cheeks.

Heat bloomed across your face. You shrank back from him, bringing a hand up to cool your skin to no avail. You resorted to the next solution of looking away from your lover, but only to be met with Jeonghan’s shit-eating grin.

“Look at this,” he nudged Lady Rin annoyingly. “Young love!”

The proposal ritual was quickly followed by the exchange of gifts. They weren’t new or expensive per se, but they were cherished possessions.

You tucked the dagger in Wonwoo’s waist belt and he spun you around to place the jade pin next to the white lotus in your hair. He glanced at Jeonghan, figuring this was the elder man’s doing. You were never really into flowers.

“I don’t believe in fate,” Wonwoo commented as he pushed the pin into your bun, “But this must mean something, right?”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“It’s Kyoshi tradition for the groom to give the bride a hairpin,” Wonwoo explained. “Kind of like . . . rings in the Fire Nation or necklaces in the Northern Water Tribe.”

“Are you saying you were proposing to me then? At the festival?” you snickered, turning around to face him. Your hands settled on his waist, mindlessly toying with his belt.

Wonwoo reached for your hands, encasing them in his own. The rough pads of his thumb grazed across your knuckles.

“You didn’t refuse,” he teased back.

Taking him by surprise, you let go of Wonwoo’s hands and reached for his collar, gripping the stiff fabric into your fists. He winced, breath hitching at how close your faces were. If he just tilted forward a little more –

“I was a fool not to,” you joked quietly.

He knew you didn’t mean it.

“You can’t take it back now,” he noted, voice equally soft.

Wonwoo wasn’t sure who moved first, you or him. With how the gesture felt like a reflex, perhaps it was him. He could care less about Jeonghan teasing him later this evening about being too eager – fleeting moments of embarrassment were quickly pushed aside. The truth was, Wonwoo was eager – eager to seal this union, eager to officially call you his, and eager to show the world what couldn’t be.

Kissing you always felt like the first time: a spark that tingled his lips, followed by a familiar warmth that embraced his chest and the sense of ease ensued. He didn’t dare tell you, but it was probably his new favorite feeling: the rush of adrenaline and the gentle float down from cloud nine, greeted by the fact that you weren’t just a dream.

A collision of worlds and phenomenon of what was forbidden come true: Jeon Wonwoo and you were an anomaly the world was never prepared to face.

But perhaps amidst the segregation, war-torn nations, and unrest regarding the avatar's disappearance, perhaps you both were what the world needed.

They just didn't know it yet.

And neither did you.

#wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo angst #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #seventeen angst #if you got this far and read the tags . . .#basically they're supposed to become the founders of the white lotus :')

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rockingrobin69 · 6 months

Text

half-baked

“Drac—” voice cracking, then a soft, “oh.”

Turning, slowly, from where he’d been kneeling, trying to stoke up the flames in the stubborn fireplace. Harry was early—never mind, this would work too. Already was working, if the slack in Harry’s jaw was anything to go by, the way he gulped and gulped and his hands started absentmindedly petting the doorframe.

“Yes?” blinking coyly.

“You’re… erm… they’re new. The panties. I’ve never, seen them before.”

Each word lower, voice getting huskier, eyes hungry. Coming closer in slow, careful steps, and the smile Draco kept trying to swallow burst, too fond to keep.

“You like them,” he said as innocently as he managed. Stayed on the floor, on his heels, not showing off but—all right, showing off. They were expensive, and Draco a simple man. Harry couldn’t quite keep his mouth closed.

“Like,” he nodded. Almost at the fireplace now, palms stretching wide. “I, yeah, I like them. A lot.” Fingers running delicately over soft silk. “You look—”

He gasped when Draco slid forward, head in a perfect position to mouth at Harry’s trousers, at the place where he was clearly getting quite interested. An ear-shattering Draco as his tongue traced the hardening proof, then a half-moan, a breathy sound.

Harry took Draco’s chin between thumb and forefinger. “Love,” swallowing. Draco did his best to give him a sultry look from under his lashes, to sigh, only a little helplessly, nuzzling into his palm.

“Let me,” he begged, desperate already, “please, Harry, fuck,” and Harry laughed, incredulous and dear.

“Sweetheart,” fingers threading in his hair and the light in his eyes. “Always,” with that tone, the one that went stretchy and melty and roasting hot. “You know I’ll always indulge you.”

“Hush,” Draco admonished, flushing and already far past his ability to, ah, think, coherently. With a warning lick to the root of Harry’s palm: “May I?”

Referring to the fingers already fixed in Harry’s belt loops. Harry took one, bent down to give it a kiss, then grabbed a fistful of Draco’s hair, used it to pull his head back.

“Let me look at you a little first,” he whispered, raspy and perfect. “You did go to all this trouble.”

“Harry,” breathlessly.

“Yes,” smile dripping with approval, “just like that, darling. Show me.”

Draco made himself swallow. Panting he followed the directive, tilting his head back as far as he could go, stretching under Harry’s firm hold so his body was on display, all the way down to trilling laces. “Harry,” again, tightly.

“You’re perfect,” Harry said. “Come here.” Pulling him up and instantly attacking, less kisses more an attempt to devour, and his hands, running up and down Draco’s sides, his belly, his back, the soft, smooth fabric of his new panties.

“You drive me mad,” Harry murmured into the crook of his neck, biting and licking. “You sweet, sweet thing,” and Draco could only whimper in response, already half-melted and frantic in his arms. Rubbing his bare skin on Harry’s neat suit, feeling, feeling, rabid with it, sticky and sweet.

“Ha—rumph,” desperate cry only turning more desperate when Harry picked him up, entirely in the air, kicking and squirming, and slammed him back down on the mantlepiece. Sitting him with his legs spread and Harry in between them, bending so he was level with Draco’s new, wet panties.

Ruined beyond repair, probably, just like Draco, just like him, and “Please,” he somehow managed to say, “Harry, ah, ah,” and Harry planted his face in Draco’s crotch and inhaled, a deep, mad laugh of a sound.

“Yes,” he kept saying, sprinkling little kisses on Draco’s weeping, silk-covered cock, “yes, I did promise, hmm, didn’t I, you perfect, perfect creature,” and Draco’s breathing had gone ragged, had gone, gone, and he was—he was—

Leaning back, hitting his head on the bricks and begging, probably, but not with words, just mindless little thrusts of his hips, and Harry was still laughing, laughing, laughing.

Looking up at him, oddly serious and entirely earnest: “I like it so much,” and Draco, helpless, pushed back up to kiss him.

It worked, was the half-baked thought in the back of his head, unclear and colourful like hard-boiled sweets. Kept rocking his hips till the friction was just right, kept making these terrible sounds, open-mouthed and high in his throat. And Harry was all around him, was Harry, firm and chuckling and warm and terrific, just hard enough, just—ah—so very—

When Harry finally let him down (oh god) and when he finally, finally let Draco use his mouth on him (oh god) and when he pulled him back up and petted him, kept saying “Draco, sweetheart, oh, my darling,” like that, it was all just deliciously, stupidly, frantically sweet.

(For flufftober day 26. Find the soft AO3 collection here).

#drarry fic #rated E #draco in expensive lingerie #begging #somewhat of a d/s dynamic #things get heated fairly quick #flufftober2023 #prompt: fireplace #it had to get hot with this kind of prompt right? right??#rockingrobin69 #800 words

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oumaheroes · 11 months

Note

Hi so I’ve seen you answering some asks and I thought I’d send one myself. I know you don’t do much of soft Arthur and Alfred but if you could that would make my day. Maybe something with a delirious!Al and comforting!dad!Artie? I just need like a tender moment between those two, where they’re not fighting.

Thank you so much 😘😘

ALRIGHT.

You've all been asking for long enough- here's the start of a multipart mini story that has taken me longer than I'd care to admit to get going (three almost full attempts, to be exact)

Characters: England, America

-------

Wreckage: Part 1

The smoke was metallic: sharpened acid and modern warfare.

‘Hello!’

England pulled at the wreckage, bare hands flinching at the searing pain of handling too-hot metal. He wished he’d worn his leather gloves, wished he had thought to put them on a mere few minutes ago when the crunching whirr of broken engines and crashing trees had woken him, but they lay useless and forgotten back at his campsite.

‘Can you hear me! Allô! Pouvez-vous m’entendre!’

The plane wore allied colours. It was a British make but that didn’t mean anything these days- the pilot could belong to any of the allied official or resistance groups. All England knew was that there was to be a drop coming, they were in the middle of nowhere, and that it all had apparently gone horribly, horribly wrong.

‘English! French! Polish! Czy ktoś mnie słyszy- is anyone alive in there!’

The door to the craft was stuck shut, parts of the top hinges warped and buckled from impact. He gave up on opening it to try for the window, pounding at the thick glass with the butt of his gun in fool’s panic (that, at least, he had been sensible enough to bring). He could see someone inside through the thick black smoke, an outline of shoulders and head that seemed to be moving slightly whenever the flames behind them near the engine choked.

This was occupied French territory; the nearest village was a while away but not that far. This crash would be noticed and investigated all too soon. The least England could do was to get in there and end the pilot’s misery before whoever shot them down came looking, there was no help for them out here.

That, and to be sure that there was nothing incriminating to be found.

‘Hang on! Almost there.’ Stepping back, he scanned the forest floor wildly for something better to use and caught sight of a large stone, half buried in the ground by the roots of a tree. It had rained recently, the ground was soft, and England tore into the dirt impatiently to work it free.

‘If you can hear me, sit back!’ Raising the rock above his head, he brought it down with a crash in the lower centre part of the windshield, hopefully far enough away from the pilot’s face. A hairline crack appeared, nothing more, but it was enough. England raised the rock again, choking as the smoke whirled about him, and kept going until the glass had splintered into delicate, cobweb-like lines.

One last hit made a hole. Smoke billowed out immediately and England worked quickly before the flames grew too intense on the new oxygen supply, hacking away until the hole was big enough to push an arm through. His fingers found material, sticky with something England didn’t want to think about, and a weak hand that gripped him back.

Taking a last breath of mostly fresh air, England pushed his upper half through to get to the cockpit, groping about blind until he felt the pilot’s seat straps. The heat was ferocious already, fire just behind where the poor man was trapped, and England fought not to take a breath or retreat to the safety of the cool night air. He couldn’t keep his eyes open, couldn’t see, and the glass bit into his stomach and arms when he leant more of his weight on the frame. It was a struggle but he pushed through, fingers groping by muscle memory to where he knew the clasps were, where he’d need to unhook an arm from the straps to pull the man free.

It would have been far easier to shoot the poor bastard.

It would have been quicker, kinder, than this certainly. No matter what happened, England wouldn’t leave him to die naturally. To die that way- encased in smoke, lungs desperately straining for clean air that wouldn’t come, flames against your feet- was one he knew all too well. It was a horrible way to go, one that he wouldn’t wish on anyone, but cruel though it was to make this child suffer needlessly, the engines hadn’t exploded yet and he couldn’t risk it.

Get him out first. See what message he had to give, if he could give it. Then let him go quickly and cleanly, the knife against England’s thigh waiting and patient.

It took three return trips for air, each one making his lungs burn more and more until he felt light headed and dizzy, but eventually they were free. Pilot cleared from his seat and legs thankfully clear, England hooked his arms under the man’s armpits and heaved them backwards out of the cockpit. There wasn’t far to go, the plane had nosedived onto its side in its final crash from the now broken trees, and they rolled backwards easily onto the forest floor.

The pilot screamed shrilly as they came free and gripped tight on England’s clothes to then sob piteously in his arms.

‘It’s alright.’ England sat up as carefully as he could and gently rolled the man off him to lay on his back. ‘You’re alright, I’ve got you.’

The pilot was a mess, aviator goggles and hair under his cap blackened by soot or oil or both. There was blood all over him, smeared across his neck and front that likely came from his head- England couldn’t tell. There wasn’t the time for it, and it wouldn’t matter soon anyway.

‘Give me your name.’ he asked urgently, struggling onto weak knees to sit over him, ‘Your ID and nationality, I’m-‘

He stopped.

Later, England couldn’t quite say what it was. He hadn’t noticed in the rush what he could feel now- the itch of someone like himself close by. But there was more, perhaps something about the pilot’s body that was familiar, or something deeper than that which ran through them both like the unbroken lines of history. An indescribable connection of family that mortal language couldn’t quite explain.

Fingers clumsy with sudden, familiar, terror, England tugged at the goggles which covered the pilot’s eyes and pitched forwards breathless and horrified at what he found.

‘Oh Jesus- Alfred.’

-------

AN:

The historical research that has gone into this is minimal, so please be kind to any inaccuracies that you see.

#hws england #hws america #aph england #aph america #hetalia #historical hetalia #hws #aph #arthur kirkland #alfred jones #alfred f jones #heroes writes #arthur parenting

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marnerparty · 1 year

Text

moth to a flame

Mitch Marner x reader x Auston Matthews

warnings: mentions of sex, infidelity

————————————————————————

The first time it happened was supposed to be the only time. Y/N told herself that she truly did love Mitch. After all, there was a reason that she was marrying him.

But then there was his teammate. Auston.

And as much as she hated to say it, she couldn’t help but gravitate towards him. And now anytime she was around him, she couldn’t say no.

“Like a moth to a flame, I'll pull you in”

———

“This is so wrong.” Y/N sighed as Auston’s lips found the sweet spot on her neck.

“Then tell me to stop.” He threatened as his mouth moved lower and lower. All Y/N could do was look at the ceiling of the empty conference room. She wanted to stop. To tell Auston this was a bad idea, and that they shouldn’t be doing this.

But this was the best she’d felt in a long time.

“Don’t stop.” She said, her voice barely above a whisper. Auston momentarily stopped his actions as he looked the woman in her eye.

“Are you sure?” He asked as reassurance, knowing her relationship with her fiancé, and his relationship with his best friend, could be over. She shook her head ‘no’ before leaning in and kissing him.

———

All was quiet in the house except for the buzz of the hockey game on TV. Y/N watched intently as the Leafs were taking care of the Candiens just fine.

She would usually travel wherever her fiancé, Mitch, would be, but that drunken night with Austin weeks ago, and all of the times after that, stopped all of her travel.

She knew she should be rooting the most for Mitch, but whenever the camera panned to Auston, her heart fluttered.

The ring of Y/N’s phone pulled her from thoughts. She wondered how long she’d been spacing out as she looked up to see the game was over. The Caller ID on her phone read the name of her fiancé, and a small smile grew.

“Hey Mitchy.” Y/N breathed out. She could practically see his eyes role at the nickname.

“Hey babe.” He responded easily. “How’s my girl?”

His girl. Was she his girl?

“I’m good.” She said as she cleared her throat. “I watched the entire game. It was amazing, I’m so proud of you! 98 points now!” Y/N said sincerely. He laughed on the other side of the line, no doubt blushing.

“God, I love you, Y/N. I can’t wait to make you my wife.” Y/N nodded to herself, unsure of how to react. She should be happier than ever- she’s marrying the man of her dreams. The boy she dated when they were young. The kid she grew up with.

“Y/N? Still there?” She heard Mitch ask as the tear she didn’t know escaped rolled down her cheek.

“Right here love. Sorry, just, uh, thinking.”

“God, I know.” He said. “I’ve been doing so much of that. I can’t wait to have the perfect wedding. It’s still so surreal.” Before Y/N could get another word out, there was commotion on the other line. “Sorry, Y/N/N, but I gotta go, babe. There’s a couple guys flying back tonight so we have to leave early for them. But I’ll see you in 2 days, okay? I love you.”

“I love you too, Mitch.” She responded before hanging up the phone. She hated constantly lying to Mitch. While she’d only hooked up with Auston once, there were many times they’d see each other to hang out or talked to each other until early hours of the night.

“But does he know you call me when he sleeps?”

———

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours? You’ve been quiet.” Y/N heard Auston ask through the phone. She sighed as she played with the strings of her hoodie.

“What’s wrong, Auston.” She said a bit harsh. “Is the fact that I could be sleeping with my fiancé right now, but instead I’m having a secret conversation on my couch with his best friend and teammate because that’s what I’d rather be doing.”

Y/N knew Auston was smirking on the other side because of the hold he had on the girl.

“So he doesn’t know we talk eh?” Y/N rolled her eyes.

“You know he doesn’t. How could I tell him that?” She complains as Auston lightly laughs at her frustration.

“I’m just teasing, you know that.” Auston says before sighing. “I don’t like this either. It makes me feel like shit. I think I lo-”

“Stop!” Y/N says a little too loud. “You can’t be saying that, Auston. I can’t be-” Y/N heard the bedroom door open as the soft stomp of Mitch’s footsteps filled the house.

“Babe?” He asked through the dimly lit living room. Auston could hear his voice too as he tried to hang up, but stayed on to hear what was said.

“I’m sorry, Mitch.” Y/N responded. “My sister needed to talk. She’s been drinking.” He nodded, too oblivious to not believe her. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He shook his head and made his way over to kiss Y/N’s head.

“It’s not a big deal love. Family comes first. I’ll head back to bed and wait for you.” Y/N smiled and nodded watching Mitch walk all the way back before putting the phone back to her ear.

“So now I’m your sister?” Y/N hoped Auston couldn’t hear, but knew she wouldn’t be so lucky.

“You’re my nothing, Auston. We carried on this little relationship, and it was clearly a mistake. End of story.”

“If it’s the end of the story then why are we here on the phone right now?”

———

Y/N was taking advantage of Mitch at this point. That was clear. Taking advantage of his relationships, of how close he was able to allow Y/N to get to the team, and most of all, his time away.

Mitch wasn’t one of the guys coming home a day early from the roadie. But one of the players who was? Auston.

Y/N hadn’t known he flew home early until she was tanning by the pool in the back of her and Mitch’s house when she heard the gate open. She knew she put the lock on it, and knew Mitch wouldn’t be coming home, so she jumped up from her spot and grabbed the nearest item.

She tiptoed over to the side where she could see the gate, and she let out a breath when she saw was Auston walking in.

“What the fuck, Matthews?” Y/N yelled. “I thought someone was breaking in!” She huffed walking back to her chair. She became aware of the small bikini she was wearing and tried to pull it down in the back before Auston could stare.

“I’ve already seen it all, princess. No need to hide.” Y/N rolled her eyes as she tried to get herself comfortable again.

“What’re you doing here Auston?” Y/N asked in a flat tone. He took the opportunity to come up next to her and sit down in his own chair.

“Well, I know Mitch won’t be back until tomorrow, and you’re all alone in this house …” He trailed off, hoping Y/N could catch on to what he was insinuating. She took this time to pull off her sunglasses and get a good look at him. His facial hair was slightly longer than usual due to them being on a long roadie, and the tank top he was wearing showed off most of his tattoos, which Y/N was a sucker for.

“Haven’t I made it very clear that we aren’t going to sleep together again?”

“But why!?” He fired back. “We already have this weird thing, and it’s not like either of us want it to stop! I get that you care about Mitch, but-”

“There can’t be any buts, Auston! He’s my fiancé! We’re getting married for God’s sake. And he’s your teammate! Don’t you respect him more than that?” Y/N asked fully turning to face Auston. His gazed stayed fix on the girl, thinking of anything to say.

“Are you really telling me you don’t feel anything else for me?” Y/N stayed silent. She knew she was lying to herself. She felt amazing with Mitch, but Auston made her feel … different. He made her feel like she was perfect.

The silence was all Auston needed to move from his position in his chair to hovering over Y/N. She didn’t cave in as he leaned in close to her ear and whispered.

“If you feel nothing else for me, then you’ll tell me you don’t still have those Polaroids.”

“But does he know the pictures that you keep?”

———

Y/N didn’t know how she managed to do it, but while they were vacationing in Mexico with a few of the guys, Mitch believed her when she said she wanted to go shopping as some alone time.

What shopping really meant was that she was sneaking away to Auston’s hotel room.

Y/N truly felt bad. Mitch was about to become her husband and all she’s shown is how to be a piece of shit. She knew whatever was going on between her and Auston had to stop, but right now, she needed him.

When she arrived at his room, she made sure there was nobody around to see her go in. She knocked quietly and within a second the door flew open. She couldn’t help but smile when she saw the man in nothing but a pair of shorts.

The lights in the room were off besides a small lamp beside the bed. A soft hum of music came from the bathroom as Y/N entered to see a bubble bath filling up.

“What’s this Matthews?” She asked as she wrapped her hands around his neck. He leaned down and gave her a kiss before pulling back with a smile of his own.

“I thought we could just hang out, but, you know, naked.” Y/N couldn’t help but let a laugh escape her lips at Auston’s bluntness.

“I’d like that.” The pair got undressed, stripping away all of their clothes, before Y/N got in first. She poured 2 glasses of the champagne Auston set out before telling him to join.

“Wait.” He said, shifting his mood. He seemed almost nervous as he reached into his bag and pulled out a Polaroid camera. “If I promise no one will ever see these, will you let me take a picture of you?” Y/N couldn’t help but find his nervousness sweet as she giggled and nodded.

“As long as you don’t kill me, sure.” She joked. He then rolled his eyes and snapped a couple of pictures of her in the bath. He couldn’t help but admire her beauty as he began to remember she really wasn’t his.

“I wanna take one of you.” Y/N said through the silence. Auston immediately shook his head.

“Look at me, Y/N. I’m out of season, so I’m not as buff, and my hair’s a mess, the facial hair is out of control-” Y/N abruptly stood from the bath and tracked water across the floor to get to Auston. She grabbed the camera from his hands and set it down before giving him a sweet kiss on the lips.

“I think you’re gorgeous.” She whispered, looking him dead in the eyes. That was all she needed to say for Auston to kiss her again with everything he had.

“If you stand in the mirror with me I’ll let you take it.”

———

Y/N never got rid of the pictures. She couldn’t. She loved them. She loved Auston. But there was no way she could do that to Mitch. It would be worse to break up with him for Auston.

“I have them.” Y/N admitted to the man. She could hear him swallow hard, clearly not expecting her answer. “I want you right now, Auston. But this has to be the last time.” He didn’t hesitate to pick Y/N up in a quick motion and bring her inside. He all but ran to her bedroom where they wasted no time tearing off each other’s clothes. The kisses they shared were full of hunger, and lust, and passion.

The exact opposite of what Mitch’s kisses were like. They were loving, and gentle, and sweet. Everything Y/N wanted, but sometimes not what she needed.

When the night came to an end with her and Auston, they lied in her bed in silence.

“What are we doing?” Y/N spoke. Auston let out an airy laugh.

“We’re fucking behind your fiancé and my best friend’s back. And he doesn’t deserve that.” Y/N nodded but stayed quiet.

“This has to end.” She said, not fully believing her own words. Auston nodded knowingly, but not wanting to accept it.

“One more night?” He asked facing the girl. She turned to face him too, taking in how peaceful he looked in the moment. She sighed. If she wanted her relationship with Mitch to work out in the long run, it needed to end. And although it wasn’t what she wanted, she made a commitment to Mitch first.

“One more night.”

#nhl #hockey #hockey imagine #auston matthews imagine #mitch marner imagine #auston matthews x reader #mitch marner x reader #auston matthews #mitch marner #maple leafs

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strangerdangerwrites · 1 year

Text

twin flames | L.S. (Avatar: The Way of Water) - Chapter One

Summary: You meet the people who were once your clan’s enemies.

Lo'ak te Suli Tsyeyk’itan x Ash People Na’vi!Female!Reader (Uses she/her/hers pronouns; No use of Y/N)

Warning: None

Chapter Masterlist

In the eyes of the flames, everything is one and the same.

Within you is the fire, the urging desire…

to cause destruction, all because of the ember's seduction.

Mahuika is a beauty. After all, it is your home, the warmth of the sands on your feet, and the scorching ashes dancing through the air never bothered you.

The kiss of the breeze on your skin was what you love most, the warm embrace of home.

The marui surrounded by magma, spouting its embers into the air.

The tarākona that roamed and rested among the large rocks, your bonded creature forged in fire.

The children watched the flame dancers during the eclipse in glee.

Your clan, happy as another group of warriors, celebrated victory in conquering the leap of faith in Mount Valko. The burn marks on their skin tell their own tale.

Your sisters dance among the fire, as you cheer among their grace.

Your Olo'eyktan, your mother sat among her people smiling.

And the most sacred place upon Mahuika is the large tree that sprouted among the volcanic grounds with golden luminescent leaves and white roots and trunk; it almost looked like it was burning, The Roots of Life.

Your heart longed and ached for your home.

But now you are surrounded by blue and green. Water, the enemy of the flames.

How ironic, your enemy— no companion— no savior… had been basking in the clear blue seas. At first, you would've thought he looked like the depth of the ocean, the unknown. Yet as much as you looked at him clearly, he didn’t resemble the clans who resided in the waters; perhaps he is one of the forest dwellers you thought.

On your journey toward Awa’atlu, the place where his family had already considered their own, you revel in silence while the tulkun tries its best to carry your wounded tarākona. A place where you could rest, rest before heading back to your shattered home.

The cinders still remain and a simple flick could easily ignite it all. You’d heal and when all is done…then what?

You were silent while both of you rode his ilu back to Awa'atlu, you held your bleeding arm across your chest, untouching. Even if there was a fine line that made you understand one another, you cannot trust him completely; you are still wounded by the scars of the sky people. You only hold onto his waist with one hand. But when you shivered as every wave slapped your arms and legs; your teeth chattering loudly he couldn’t help but turn around, and with you bleeding profusely, you can feel your eyelids grow heavy.

You were too tired. Too exhausted to even be conscious of your surroundings.

His ilu stopped midway, while Payakan continued his way among the seas he knew.

“Would you like to stay at the front? I can—shit— I could warm you up?” He moved away from his ilu, ready to go behind you while you looked at him with your intense glare. Even if you were bruised and shivering in the cold, you still looked at him with this cold glare making him cower.

Lo’ak almost smacked himself in the back of the head with how he worded it out, but you slightly shifted to the front of his ilu and left him space behind you. Lo’ak gently placed himself behind you, at first giving you the distance that you needed while you held your bleeding arm across your chest.

When he commanded his ilu to go forward, slowly you leaned against him making his breath hitch. Lo’ak felt like he was stepping on eggshells with how careful he wanted to be with you; he didn’t want to overstep his boundaries and toy between the line of what this is and what you are to each other.

This was oceans that are not traversed and Lo’ak is simply dipping his toes in the waters, testing…waiting.

He can smell the faint smell of smoke, fresh spice…from you. You were warm, not too much that he would sweat, just the right amount of touch for physical contact. You fit right beneath him perfectly, still shivering while he held his ilu’s reins.

Throughout the whole ride, Lo’ak never heard you talk, only after your fight earlier. Even Lo’ak was silent, he could’ve just left you there alone but he didn’t. The bitter understanding of the taste of loneliness painted on his lips.

He knew your darkest secrets without needing to know you that long. This blind trust you have with each other makes him feel things he never had… it makes him feel wanted… depended on at long last… that he is worthy of trust and responsibility.

This would probably do both of you good, you were both alike, weren’t you? Lo’ak thinks.

How bizarre it is to think that you bare your fears and pain to a complete stranger? There would be once-in-a-million chances for you to meet and yet here you both are.

Every line becomes muddled with uncertainty.

Lo’ak only realized that you’ve been leaning on him completely when he lowered his hands, you were sleeping. Your drowsy state, trying to open your eyes when you saw the faint light of the fire.

The urge to close your eyes was too strong, and so you did. Putting your complete faith in the na’vi that you almost considered the enemy into safety. After all, what else could you lose?

When the both of you reached the island surrounded by roots of mangrove-like trees, there are multiple campfires and lanterns open. Right in the distance, Lo’ak could see figures he knew too well, looking out into the ocean.

Looking for him.

‘The boy has returned!’

When Lo’ak tried to shift you awake, your eyes remained closed and your head lulled backward. His ilu guided him towards the white sands, people had gathered to look at the boy and the figure he was carrying.

“Where were you?!” Jake came barging right in front of Lo’ak, anger and fear littered on his features.

Neytiri, his mother looked at him with panic in her eyes, muttering ‘my son’ in the wind. Neytiri’s hand placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, scanning her son’s body for further injuries when she realized the figure he was carrying, a bloodied na’vi with ash blue skin, the large feathers and bones that adorned your frame told her that you are the same age as her son.

Payakan had pushed your tarākona towards the shore, the crowd gasped at the large creature slumped right behind Lo’ak. It hissed in pain and the eyes of the Olo'eyktan narrowed as soon as he saw the creature trailing behind you, almost making a protective barrier with its large body. Preventing even his family from even coming close beside him, with the tarākona protecting you both.

“A tarākona.” Ronal hissed. There is only one clan that tamed this monstrous beast.

Lo’ak kneeled, gently placing you in the sand yet refusing to let you go. You were still bleeding, he cannot afford to pass any minute with you being dead to the world. You were running out of time.

The sole reflection of his pain, the only person who’d understand is lying here waiting until Eywa would take you as hers.

“I-I found her drifting across the sea…and I… help her please.” He begged the Tsahik, looking at Ronal with a pleading stare.

Metkayina’s Tsahik was cautious as she did not trust the Sully family at first. And Lo’ak was at the last on her list of good graces, Lo’ak brought nothing but trouble and yet here he is presenting another problem to the Metkayina’s home.

A na’vi from the Manawa Wera Clan, an enemy of their own clan.

Manawa Wera had their own beliefs and cultures that are far too different from the Metkayina. If they believed in The Way of Water, your clan believed in The Seeds of Fire.

For the Metkayina, the sea is a better ally.

For the Manawa Wera, fire is judgment

If the water is eternal, the fire begins with a spark and ends in ashes.

If the sea is your home, the flame is a lover who is erratic. uncontrollable, unforgivable, everything and beyond.

If the Metkayina can learn acceptance and forgiveness, your clan on the other hand would burn everything in ash and cinder.

A fire cannot be contained or trained, they ran havoc in destruction.

Because no amount of water can quench the fire that resides within.

“You have no idea about the child you brought here, she is from Manawa Wera.” Ronal growled.

Lo’ak feels helpless and he can feel his own anger rise upon the accusation just because of your own upbringing. He could almost see himself in you, untrusted, enemy… just finding solace and comfort only to be pushed away. You showed no signs of threat and just like his first time with the Metkayina Clan, he is being ridiculed, scorned, mocked, and shamed.

The anger in him slowly crept up in his veins. He felt his eyes twitch.

Like a calculated venom, he spat out the following words: “If you are no help then maybe you don’t deserve the title of the Tsahik.”

Ronal's intense stare wavered, as Lo’ak parents scolded him. He held his ground, looking at the Tsahik in front of him.

Tonowari held his mate’s arm softly, looking at her as if talking with her with only his eyes.

“It is a child…” Tonowari whispered, looking at Ronal softly and back towards their own children. Ronal knew the feeling of a mother, and how she didn’t want her own children to be separated from her own family; When the Sky People had posed a threat far greater than what they could fight.

Your own mother must be out there, worried about her own child's loss in the sea. Ronal couldn’t do that even with the former enemy.

Metkayina’s are forgiving, and if the sea had brought you here then there must be a purpose. Because if not, you should’ve drowned a long time ago.

Ronal exhaled defeatedly conceding to her husband’s request.

“Bring her to me.” Ronal demanded, and with that, the healers of the clan carried the girl away from Lo’ak’s hands.

Leaving Lo’ak standing there with his family looking at him worriedly. Kiri carefully stepped around the tired creature, looking at it in wonder. It was majestic in her own eyes, far too different as its muted red color scales glinted in the moonlights.

“You disrespected her and our family. Do you understand that?” Jake scolded looking at him in anger.

“Lo’ak, you do not talk to the Tsahik that way!” Neytiri scolded, only for his mother’s eye to fall right into his bloodied chest. His mother’s breath almost caught in a hitch, it reminded her of another most recent loss far too great for a mother to experience.

Neytiri’s hand wavered in front of his son’s bloodied chest, she could almost feel the cold embrace of her guilt when Lo’ak slapped her hand away.

The pain in the eyes of the mother did not go unnoticed by Jake and Lo’ak.

Lo’ak reassured his mother: “I am fine, mother. It’s just a scratch.”

Lo’ak own erratic breathing was pulsing with anger, but when Jake place a comforting hand on his son’s head Lo’ak realized that he was back to directing his anger to what was in front of him. Just like what he had done when he met you.

“Where have you been?” Jake asked, this time he lowered his tone. Wary about how it would sound in the ears of his child.

“Ma Jake, you ask questions later. Your son is bleeding.” Neytiri softly said, grabbing her son’s shoulder tightly, as if Lo’ak would disappear as soon as she closed her eyes. “I apologize… let us go and I’ll heal you.”

Walking side-by-side, the tarākona shifted awake, looking at Lo’ak, and followed him begrudgingly. Its forked tongue hissed in the air, while Kiri remained intrigued. It was a beautiful creature, it looks to be a bonded creature of a warrior.

Kiri noticed there was a prominent burnt scar on the tarākona’s neck. Far too calculative to be just a mere coincidence, like it was meticulously placed there. Even with its tired state, the creature followed its own owner; not even bothering as it slithered away from the watchful eyes of the na’vi who were far too curious about the said creature.

Lo’ak looked behind him, watching as the light in the pod of Tsahik glow as they healed you. In the dim light of lanterns, it gave your sleeping figure a heavenly glow.

You looked serene, peaceful… perfect.

Māori Words Used: Manawa Wera - Manawa (heart), wera (hot) means “being fervent of heart and passionate”. In the case of the story, it is the Clan of the Ash People, the Fire-Dwelling Clan. Taglist: @okaylorrainee, @destinylb

A/N: I SPENT A GOOD TIME RESEARCHING GOOD NAMES THAT FIT FOR ASH PEOPLE CAUSE JAMES CAMERON WOULDNT PROVIDE ME WITH ONE.

Also, I would like to give credit to the recording artist, Ria Hall, I was listening to her album named “Manawa Wera”. Also "Set Fire to Rain" by Adele is one of my looped songs for writing this. Also if you go back to the prologue you would notice something, there is now a header! This is a reminder that the plot belongs to me, except for the characters of the Avatar Franchise. This is only for fictional purposes.

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yacinthemorning · 3 months

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Tailored to Your Liking

Chapter 5

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Summary: Tumble Town attracts all sorts of misfits looking for a fresh start on the frontier, but everyone still needs clothes. Be it extra limbs or high temperatures, Jimmy caters to every hybrid's needs.

Ships: Jimmy/Tango (slow burn romantic), Grian/Mumbo/Scar (romantic), Joel/Lizzie (romantic)

Warnings: Implied traumatic events, awkward flirting

Typically, Jimmy had learned over the past years, carrots could be harvested a few weeks before the sweet potatoes. This year, however, would not give him a break. Late planting, no sun, and then too much sun, gophers, and finally just plain bad luck with growth. He glared down at the pathetic yellow vegetable, hardly two inches in length compared to its towering leaves.

It would be his luck, after he’d bragged about his carrot cake to his house guest, for this to happen. Of course, he could always buy carrots from Martyn, but that wasn’t the point. Jimmy sighed, rolling back onto his behind to stare up at the sky. Did he leave them be and hope they grew a bit more into a usable size? Harvest them anyways? They couldn’t all be so small. There was no harm in leaving roots in the ground, though, if not for the gophers.

The back door swung open, letting out a puff of smoke. Said puff of smoke coughed and shook, until a face blinked out at Jimmy. “Oh, there you are!” Tango chirped.

“What did you do? I hope you didn’t get any of that in my workshop.” Jimmy clambered back up onto his feet, picking up the watering can on his way. Tango shook most of his soot off like a dog before Jimmy was able to slap the dipped kerchief onto his cheek. The blazeborn yelped, hair flickering from the shock and turning the liquid into steam. Jimmy didn’t stop until at least his face was cleared. “Look at you, it’s like you never left the mines.” He huffed.

“A minor incident may have occurred while doing some repairs.” His muffled voice explained while he tried to bat Jimmy away. “But it’s fine, I swear!” He managed to wrestle the cloth away to finish his own cleaning.

Jimmy laughed, “If you plan on working with heavy machinery you should go to a forge.”

“I wasn’t! I was just trying to reshape a part in something hot. See, Scott at the parlour gave me this ice-cream maker that wouldn’t crank, and while I was repairing it I noticed this one piece-”

“Where on earth- Tango did you use my stove for your metal work?”

Tango hunched over with a guilty grin. Jimmy groaned, rushing inside to make sure there was no major damage. His stove was open, a pair of iron tongs left half inside, with a rapidly cooling hunk of metal sitting on a brick on his stovetop. Most of the soot seemed to have wound up on Tango, both to Jimmy’s relief and annoyance. He spun around, hands on hips, and glared. “Are you daft?”

“Look, see, it’s not that bad-”

“You could have burnt the house down!”

“I took the necessary precautions! I just needed to reshape a small piece.”

“Then why didn’t you simply- you know?” He flicked his wrist and Tango’s sparking hair.

Tango’s face twisted, grabbing the hem of his shirt and fanning it. “Because the whole- you know?”

It was certainly rude, but Jimmy supposed the man knew more about his own flames than an avian. With a conceding wave, Jimmy groaned and began walking towards the cleaning closet. “See here, just…” He grumbled to himself as he tried to pull the mop out, only to find it caught on something out of sight. Just his luck. “If you’re going to be doing metalwork and the like then at least build a shed or something for it in the yard.” What all did such a task need? He didn’t know and he didn’t especially care at the moment. Maybe when he calmed down he’d happily listen to an explanation, but right now he was trying to keep his heart from beating out of his chest.

So busy attempting to untangle the mop, Jimmy failed to notice the silence behind him. Not until he’d turned to his companion in search of absent assistance and was instead met with wide, red eyes. Something like wonder swam in them, along with far too many other emotions that made Jimmy tense up in his confusion. “You would let me build that?”

An ‘ of course? ’ nearly fell from his lips without thought, before he absorbed Tango’s words. Before it occurred to him the implications of his own.

Many things in Jimmy’s home had changed in the past two months. A sewing machine and new lights were gifts. Redstone tools and work boots filled spaces that had been empty before and could be emptied at any point. The extra seating in his shop and the new bed in a guest room which was formerly storage were accommodations for a second presence, but they were without character.

But a work shed…

Feathers raised on end. He turned away, focusing back on the mop, though he suddenly felt the energy to clean abandon him. “Or at least go to Impulse’s if you intend to blow up an oven.” He said instead of any of the thoughts darting around his mind. He was not his brother, he was most certainly not his brother. “I’d rather keep my house.”

Tango gaped like a fish, ready to say something, but ultimately snapped shut. He walked up, giving a small nod for Jimmy to step out of the way, and bent down into the closet. Within a few seconds the mop was in his hands and the door was closed. “I’ll clean up.”

Jimmy took a deep breath. “Okay.” A tightness encased his chest. There wasn’t time to think about it. He needed to finish gardening, then he needed to put the last touches on Lizzie’s dress before she picked it up tomorrow. Then-

“Hey, Jim?” Tango called just as the avian reached the back door. “I need to go pick some redstone up from Joe for a job.” His tail twitched, “Do you need anything?”

“Just… Pick up my order from him. And ask him when the next train shipment will be in.” Jimmy said, nearly too quiet, pulling his wings in close to his back. “It should have your nether fabrics.”

Woven straw thudded hard against the wood bar counter from the weight of the raw redstone and metal plates within. Tango’s forehead followed, groan escaping as he wrapped his arm around his face. Cold seeped into his skin from the wood for a brief moment before his own high body temperature heated it faster than it could cool him.

Heavy steps approached, and a glass was placed down next to his elbow. “Rough day already? It’s only noon.”

Tango lifted his head just enough to pout at Impulse, who smiled back. He grabbed the glass given, to discover it was only seltzer. Of course his friend would be responsible when he least wanted it. His face twisted. “I think I upset Jimmy.”

“Oh no, what did you do to the poor fellow this time?” There was more amusement than anything in his voice.

“I might have used his oven as an impromptu forge.”

“Tango!”

“It wasn’t that bad!” He knew he couldn’t defend his poor choices. “I just wanted to get the job done as quickly as possible.”

Impulse’s expression softened before he turned back to cleaning a plate, tail sweeping up in sympathy. The saloon was practically empty at this hour, all the miners back to work and most everyone else busy for another few hours. Skizz was off collecting from the brewery and Zed had run off after some bird he’d seen, leaving the two men alone. Thank the heavens, because Tango wasn’t sure he could deal with their energy at the moment. Once Impulse set the plate aside, he asked, “How much do you have saved up now?”

“Not enough.” Was the only real answer. “Less than I made at the mine in a month, and it’s not exactly reliable. I need to find a real job.”

Impulse hummed, glancing down at his bar. “You know if I could only afford it, I’d hire you.”

“I know you would, buddy.” He sighed, leaning back. “And no one wants another redstoner with Mumbo in town, not when they barely need one. The options out here are somehow both limitless and incredibly limited.”

“You could become a rancher.”

“And compete with Beef?” Tango threw his hand in the air, raised his eyebrow. “The man feeds this and every town within several days travel twice over. Best I could do is beg him to be one of his cowboys, and that ain’t exactly better than the mines pay-wise.”

“Then what about a bandit?” Impulse joked.

“Right, yeah. Because I’d be great with a gun, and I don’t personally know bounty hunters who could hog tie me before I ever sniffed a single copper.”

The two men had a good chuckle simply imagining it before the bar fell silent again. Tango fiddled with the seltzer, taking a small sip now again, mulling over his situation in his head over and over. “Maybe I should just go and beg Fwhip for my job back.”

The last clean plate was placed away, and Impulse turned his full attention onto his friend. “Even if he agreed, then you’d just be back in their barracks, wouldn’t you?” He tilted his head with a knowing smile. “You might as well move back east and get yourself an engineering job at a factory.”

Tango turned away, hiding his warming face behind his palm. “Shut it. It’s not like I can live with Jimmy forever, anyways.”

“You might, if you stopped fooling around and properly courted the fellow.”

“But that’s part of the problem!” He hissed, pushing out of the chair to throw his hands out further. “I can’t just court someone I’m leeching from. Jimmy’s real kind, but he ain’t stupid enough to accept a beggar relying on his money and home, who almost blew up his kitchen. Even a blind man can see how bad that looks.”

Impulse shook his head and dipped into a cupboard. “Well, it’s better than being a gambler or an alcoholic.”

“Setting the bar real high for me, there.” Tango slumped against the bar, glaring at his friend’s back. “One step above rock bottom. Real catch I am.”

“Downright irresistible.” A small bag was placed on the counter in front of the blazeborn. Though full, it gave way easily, and Tango suspected he knew its contents before Impulse explained. “Before you go, would you mind asking Jimmy to alter these before the dinner party? Skizz and I ordered them by catalogue but there wasn’t an option for tail or wing accommodations.”

A common story, Tango had come to learn. Catalogues often had several options for measurements and colours, but couldn’t be bothered to offer even the slightest alterations to the actual patterns. Not when they were paying some poor homebody copper on the diamond to make several a day. Normally most folks would do such small alterations themselves on work clothes. Impulse was never one too good with a needle and thread, however, and for such nice clothing it was best to leave it to Jimmy. Tango collected both the bag and grocery basket, downed the last of his seltzer, and dropped a copper before heading out. “I’ll see what he can do.”

“Don’t worry so much about Jimmy.” Said Impulse as he left. “You know he doesn’t see it that way. Take his advice and focus on getting things together. I’m sure there’s a place for you in town, whatever you want to do.”

If only life were that kind.

Jimmy had made an irreparable mess of everything.

That was the conclusion he’d come to after all these hours alone. He’d made a fool of himself making a fool of Tango and chased him off for good. Shown his true colours. Chosen his house over his housemate. All but told him to pack his bags and get out over nothing, he’d be surprised if he bothered to return. Which, in all fairness, it seemed he wouldn’t be, given how long it’d been since he left. It didn’t take three hours to shop, did it?

Well, perhaps on occasion it did, but it wasn’t as though Tango had a long list when he left. A list that, at Jimmy’s request, included the task of checking to see how much longer Tango would be in his hair. No, he had certainly made an utter mess of it all.

It was evening when Tango returned, around when Jimmy was thinking of closing up and returning to his living room to wallow in his idiocy. “I’m back.” Tango declared, distracted with balancing his acquisitions. Jimmy placed down the pattern he was cutting to rush over and help just in time before a case perched precariously fell to its doom. A true heroic moment, given the amazingly tiny gears it was filled with, spotted when they had everything placed down on the table and Tango checked it hadn’t broken open.

Jimmy didn’t bother peeking at the rest, collecting the few vegetables bought and bringing them to his cleaned kitchen. By the time he returned Tango was already sorting his redstone into the small workspace Jimmy had afforded him. His face had screwed up in concentration. A tension hung in the air for too long, Jimmy’s feathers raised on end as he waited for Tango’s usual chatter. It didn’t appear it would come. “You’re a bit later than I expected, honestly.” Stuttered Jimmy.

Tango wiped his redstone-stained hands on his pants. “I ran into Cleo on my way home. There was something jammed in her printing press. Turned out to be a frog she accidentally gazed at.” There was no need for proof, but Tango produced the small stone frog with a grin. It was, admittedly, very cute. Jimmy let his shoulders ease some, which Tango took unfortunate notice of. “What? Did… Did I miss supper?”

“No! No, I haven’t even started yet, honestly.” Jimmy assured, reminded once again of his carrot-predicament. “It, um, we’ll actually not be having cake today either. An issue came up with… ingredients.”

He got an odd look, but eventually Tango shrugged it off. “So, what’s wrong, then?” Tension now built in the blazeborn as well, his tail jerking in agitation.

Well, there was nothing else he could do now. Jimmy had been building up the nerves ever since he checked the kitchen and found it spotless. More honestly, it had been mulling in the back of his mind since he last saw Tango. Thoughts that had distracted him while doing careful work and forced him on his feet to pace out the stress. Grian always said he had a habit of shoving his foot in his mouth, but Jimmy never felt so painfully aware of it until now.

“Jimmy?”

He took a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize for shouting at you this morning. I was just… No, I shouldn’t have. There’s no excuse for you to be treated that way.”

Tango’s eyes widened in shock. “Wh- No! What are you talking about, I completely deserved it?”

But Jimmy shook his head, wringing his hands nervously. Oh, he couldn’t keep still. “You absolutely did not. I panicked and didn’t listen to you. I…” He swallowed. I don’t want you to leave. How could he say that? Or any of the other thoughts that had built themselves into mountains in his mind through the day, only to crumble into nonsense now that Tango was here in front of him again? He closed his mouth before he could humiliate himself.

“I’m the one who should apologize.” Tango said weakly. He put down the frog and approached. “You’ve done so much for me, and all I’ve done is dick around, distract you, and make a mess of your house.”

“I like your mess.” The words tumbled out of Jimmy’s mouth before he could stop them. Every pin feather on his head raised, the skin under turning bright red. The universe truly despised him today.

Tango seemed unsure how to react, a nervous laugh replacing whatever he intended to say. He took his time pulling himself back together, a period in which Jimmy only marginally managed to recover himself, and walked back to the table. “I, um, got your order. And Impulse asked me to bring these suits for you to modify before the party.” He rambled, messing with the edge of the cloth.

Jimmy could work with that. He took a deep breath and let his mind shift back into work mode. “Let me see.” The clothes were laid out, both looking over what needed to be done. “Well, alterations for tails is the most common I’ve had to do, after wings.” He mused aloud, tugging at the fabric. “But if it’s for formal-wear we should make it as presentable as possible.”

Tango’s tail curled around himself, bending awkwardly to try looking at his own work pants. “You just leave a gap in the top of the seam, don’t you?”

“For your tail, perhaps.” Jimmy reached out and tugged between two fingers at the tufted end when it waved past. An affronted squeak escaped the blazeborn, his tail yanking itself away from the light grip. “It’s so thin, you don’t have to worry about your undergarments sticking out, or an embarrassment while removing them. You could have a tail sleeve if you wanted to be especially unfashionable.” He chuckled at the mental image. “Impulse’s tail is considerably thicker and less flexible, however. And those scales of his love to catch on delicate fabrics like this. It’d be best to give him a button clasp.”

“Having to make such completely different adjustments even for the exact same limb…” Tango groaned. “You’re a saint.”

“It seems like much more work when you’re unfamiliar with it.” He waved him off, reaching for the needle he’d had Mumbo modify for undoing stitches. It was so far and above using a random needle or razor. Invaluable in this day and age of mail order and mass production, but Mumbo had insisted it was a silly little gift and turned his attention to his more ridiculous inventions, in Jimmy’s humble opinion. Perhaps some other folks could stand to be a bit more reverent about Jimmy’s work like Tango, actually, or at least offer some respect. “Much of tailoring is the same task in different shapes and combinations.”

Impulse had always had similar issues with clothing as Tango- that is, the acidity in the oils from his scales loved to eat through most fibres, so his selection was limited. Wool was the best common option, of which the jacket was at least made of. Better than attempting to find Void-sourced leathers. Trousers, and the base of the tail especially, were vulnerable to deterioration and staining due to direct contact without the protection of undergarments. Jimmy contemplated if he should line it, or if it would ruin the quality. He was no high-end suit maker who confidently placed his stitching on display to the world, and he likely lacked matching material. At least he was not tasked with making hats for the drake.

He moved on to Skizz’s suit. It would be much easier despite requiring entirely new openings. Though he was not an avian, his flightless wings were feathered like theirs, only requiring minor adjustments to accommodate their motions. There was little he could do to get around the awkward way they would distort the outfit’s silhouette when in motion, the current popular fashions were not made with winged folk in mind.

“It seems crazy, with how many there are.” Tango mused, and only then did Jimmy realize he’d been narrating his thoughts while he worked. A habit he’d grown over the last several weeks.

“Yes, well, numbers aren’t especially meaningful when it comes to setting trends. It’s not the common man on the plates they display in advertisements and magazines. It’s required to look presentable, even if their form cannot fit.”

Tango’s tail twitched, his head tilting to the side. “You know, sometimes you talk like you aren’t much of a fan of your work.”

“I love my work.” Jimmy quickly defended, placing the suit back down. “It’s simply frustrating attempting to modify clothes like this to accommodate everyone it was not made for, rather than creating clothes made for them. Most people aren’t brave enough to wear something that might stand out, and I can’t blame them. You would think living all the way out here might help with that, but ‘polite society’ finds its way everywhere it seems.”

Truthfully, he had only occasionally had such thoughts until recently. Most often while working on preparing the patterns for when Tango’s fabrics got in, which had leaked into his time working on Lizzie’s gown, then retroactively in quiet moments when contemplating the work he’d done for Bigb and Ren. Tango had said so himself, Nether clothing had been draped. Why didn’t he make something similar?

Perhaps he’d taken it a bit to heart recently.

Which reminded him…

“You collected my order from Joe?” He asked. Tango perked up and ran over to the cabinet. He brought over a set of vibrant wool fabrics, placing them down spread out across the desk. Jimmy’s wings fluttered behind him.

A rich violet was lifted up by Tango. “I’m surprised you could afford these. I thought this type of thing was expensive?”

“Normally, yes.” Jimmy admitted, sorting through the shades. “These are new, though, made with a special dye. They call this one mauveine.”

Surprisingly, Tango’s eyes shone with recognition and excitement. “Oh, that was in the newspapers and magazines a few years ago. They created it accidentally from aniline. The first of its kind, they’ve started trying to make all sorts of dyes synthetically from aniline now.”

“Yes.” Jimmy replied, a bit dumbfounded. “Well, it’s becoming quite popular, and more than a few people in town are fond of these bright colours. I bought a few I could find to try.”

“They’re the way of the future.”

“That’s what Mumbo says.” He rubbed his thumb into the fabric, eyeing it with suspicion. “I’m not so sure, though. I’ve heard they fade quickly, and how safe could it be? One made recently left burns.”

The blazeborn only shrugged. “I mean, if they’re selling them even all the way out here, these ones have to be safe.”

“Or it’s the only place left where they can scam customers out of their money, like Scar.” Jimmy snorted. “You would be surprised at some of the ridiculous things I’ve seen people purchase simply because it had a lovely advert in the paper, or heard about from their second cousin in the city who insisted it was the big new thing.”

“What can I say, aren’t new inventions exciting? The mistakes are the fun part, anyways.” Came the response, followed by a cackle when Jimmy’s face twisted. “These seem to be fine, though. Your hands are as pretty as ever.”

“I change my mind. Why are you still in my house.”

Tango’s laughter only roared louder until Jimmy could no longer keep the smile off his lips and joined him. When the pair calmed down once more he pushed the mauve fabric to the side. “This isn’t quite the shade I want, though. I’ll save it for Lizzie.”

“This one’s nice.” Tango picked up another, redder shade. Next to him it certainly was, matching the fiery golds of his hair and red eyes. That was all Jimmy needed to make up his mind.

“It is.” He said, taking it from his companion. “I think I’ll use it.”

“For what?”

“Secret.”

Tango made a whine, but Jimmy held strong, only putting his finger to his lips before walking the fabrics back to the cabinet.

“How about we go make supper? Since my oven is now usable again.”

Hands flung into the air with a groan. “You mess up one time! I swear!”

“Yes, yes.” He cooed, shooing Tango off to the kitchen. “Let’s go, my little genius, you can use your blacksmithing skills on the potatoes.”

#jimmy solidarity #tangotek #solidaritek #team rancher #rancher duo #trafficshipping #mcyt #traffic series #hermitpires #alternate universe #western fantasy #fluff #hurt/comfort #slice of life #fanfiction #sharing a slice of cake

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oubliette-odette · 7 months

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The Reluctance of Love Pt. 6

Orc Male x Half-Elf Male, Fated Mates, Forbidden Love, Slow Burn Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 Word Count: 2148 (average 16 min read) Content Warnings: mention of mating, nothing happens....yet ;) All orcish is from orcishdictionary.com, created by Matt Vancil. Not beta-read. Criticism is welcome, but be sure to distinguish criticism from hate.

Altan POV

It had been ten days since Drunrag left to find a way to stop lordhovid. I didn’t want to tell Drun and worry him, but I was becoming restless with him gone and things got progressively worse for me. The first few days he had left, I felt like I was able to stay composed rather well. I would visit the markets and spend my evenings in the tavern below my room, sometimes playing my lute which helped me to pay for the extra nights that I hadn’t planned on staying there. Some of the patrons would comment on my flushed composure, but I chalked it up to being new in town and unfamiliar with the warm temperature and that I was sensitive to the fire from the giant hearth in the tavern. But there eventually came a boiling point - for lack of a better word - where I would wake up with a flame inside me that was insatiable. There was nothing that could abate how utterly starved I was to be near Drun.

I spent the latter days in my room at the inn, the door locked. The bedsheets were on the floor because they were too much for me. I would try to read or play or write music, but I usually ended up lost in a heated daze, caught between daydreams of Drun and the fuzzy reality around me.

I still felt that hunger in our dreams, though thankfully not as strong. I would see him, see his beautiful austere visage all nervous and quiet. He looked like his skin was cool and I wanted to press my hand to his and let my burning flesh be cooled by his. But he would always hold back. He was so gods damned respectful of my space. And I honestly wish he wouldn’t be. I was dying to be touched by him. I wanted to know what his tusks would feel against my skin as he kissed my neck. Or how those rough hands would run coarsely against my waist.

Gods, I was a mess.

I knew my father would strike me if he ever caught the sight of me during that time. I was overheated, over aroused, and desperate to be touched by a man - an orc no less. All of those things were unacceptable to him.

He could honestly go fuck himself for all I cared.

Those nights, dreaming with Drun were the moments I held my breath for every night. I liked seeing the way his eyes struggled to meet mine, but when they did, he seemed to struggle looking away. I like how when I said his name, his eyes would also grow wide for just a few moments and his lips would twitch to a dazed smile. He was easy to please, incredibly shy and hard to get him to say more than a few words. But I loved asking him questions, I loved watching how deeply he thought about each question, taking his time and pondering. He reminded me of a tree sometimes. He was large like a tree trunk and tall, but he was deeply rooted and not in a hurry to rush to the next thought. Meanwhile I felt like I was nothing more than a squirrel that climbed up and down his limbs again and again and again at rapid speed. Every minute in his presence had my brain whirling at what to say next, to resist telling him how handsome he was to me, to not talk too fast and overwhelm him.

I learned how patient and kind Drun was through those conversations, and it started to make a little more sense each night why this mating situation was so hard for him. For him, he really needed to think things over and really mull over his decisions. Lordhovid took away the chance to think about his choice from him and it really affected how he viewed his people’s culture. I could tell he struggled with the reality that his way of thinking was so different from his family, but I couldn’t help but admire his devotion to his own personal truths.

I never pressed him on how he was doing in his journey. I dreaded to know if he was close to finding a way to stop lordhovid and there was secretly a hope that maybe all of these dream conversations would help him change his mind.

So I didn’t expect it when one afternoon I was laying my head against the pane of glass in my room when suddenly I felt my body temperature reduce - like a fever had broken - and I lifted my head, sensing the clarity and focus I had lacked for so many weeks. Everything was suddenly in intense focus and I looked around my room - an absolute disaster - and realized that I was fine. I was…normal.

I didn’t know what my reaction was at that time. It was stuck between relief at finally being free and my muscles loose from their tension, but also stunned and sad.

Drunrag did it. He had managed to rid himself - and me - of the mating instinct that kept us tied together.

It also meant that Drunrag now had no reason to ever see me again. Nothing was pulling him to me like before. I realized that with a sense of dread and hopelessness. He was so determined to not sleep with me. So determined to be rid of our connection.

Doubt crept in almost immediately - maybe Drun had only been nice to me because he could distract me while he removed lordhovid. Maybe he was only nice to me because I told him he was my first real friend and he felt bad for me. Maybe he won’t come back now that he’s rid of me. Maybe he hated how easy I was to be wanted by him, just like my father hates me for it. Should I wait for him? Do I tell him everything I felt for him?

I shut my eyes tight and willed the thoughts away. No, Drun would come back and we would be…friends.

I sat, stunned in my room. I looked around and groaned at the disaster I had lived in for the last week while Drun had been gone. The sheets, sweaty and crumpled on the floor, next to a pile of unwashed clothes. A pile of plates that needed to be returned to the tavern downstairs was sitting at the small table in the corner.

I sighed. There was nothing I could do about Drun right now. I uttered a small prayer to Alunis - the Sun God - that Drun would return to me safely and I got to my feet and set about getting my life back in order. I would wait for him, my Drun, to return to me. I had not planned to stay here as long as I had, but I would be careful. I promised not to do anything stupid while I waited.

I gathered the sheets and the clothes and with a few extra coins and a smile, I gave them to the innkeeper’s wife to wash. Her services were thorough and as she took my linens in a basket to a counter behind her, she looked me up and down and told me I was too thin and in need of a good bath. She shoved a plateful of food into my hands and sat me down. I felt her eyes watching me, making sure I took every bite before she lifted me by the collar and pushed me out the door with a token to the bathhouse to get myself cleaned up.

I wandered the streets, still dazed. I wasn’t used to feeling so normal yet. For the past almost three weeks I had been in a state of feverish tension, and my muscles still felt the soreness of being caught in that state of tension for so long.

The bathhouse was quiet during the middle of the day and there were only a few other patrons there. I had never experienced a public bathhouse before. Having the father I did meant that I lived in constant privilege which included private baths. The man at the entrance took my token and guided me to a room to leave my clothes, before stepping out into a large room with a pool of hot, steaming water. I glanced around nervously, catching nobody’s gaze as I stepped into the steam-filled room naked and shivering. It was commonplace for these folk for everyone here to be nude, but I found myself unaccustomed to it and unsure where to keep my eyes.

Once in the water though, I felt my body relax and I breathed deeply, letting the steam fill my lungs with that wet, humid air. This was heavenly. I sighed and sunk my head into the water. My hair had been neglected these past few days and I apologized profusely in my head to the old woman who used to care for it for me.

I kept my eyes closed and I let the warm water wash away the sweat and the history of the last few days from my body. I reveled in being myself again, as much as it caused me angst to know what that would mean next. I stayed until my fingers and toes were wrinkled and I stepped out, dripping and wet and padded back into the room where my clothes sat. I reached for a clean towel from a pile and tousled my hair dry and padded myself off. My clothes were still not clean - but I suffered the experience of putting them back on with a promise that I would wear clean clothes as soon as I got back to my room.

I turned to step out of the bathhouse when I bumped into a large, sturdy chest. I yelped and stepped back, blinking in alarm.

I saw the red phoenix insignia on his chest before I saw his face and I felt my body go cold.

No, I thought, my mind racing, they found me, they found me, they’re going to take me away from Drun.

I shook my head, panic already settling into my bones.

“Altan Hilmar, son of Archduke Taliesin Hilmar?” The man asked. His voice was low, unfeeling and commanding. He looked to be in his fifties, with a full beard and brown eyes that looked down at me as if I were nothing more than a petulant child.

I shook my head again.

He didn’t react to my reluctance to answer, instead he continued, “You are to return to Berdusk where your father will enact the proper consequences for running away.”

“Please.” I breathed, “I can’t go back to him. I won’t go.”

“My orders are clear, young Hilmar, you will come with me to Berdusk.”

“Have you no mercy?” I pleaded. “I will not cause my father any dishonor, but please don’t make me leave. I have to stay here.”

“I am a patient man, Hilmar.” The man continued. “But I also will not tolerate bargaining. I only obey one master, and that is the honourable Duke Hilmar. Now, after you.” He gestured to the door, I looked out and saw that there were two other armoured men with the same insignia on their chests waiting for me.

I couldn’t bow my head in defeat, I couldn’t cry. Not in front of these men. They all watched me closely, carefully. I’m sure they all saw me as some spoiled, rich son of the duke who ran away to be reckless and ungrateful. They probably saw me as weak and useless without any notable skill, but I would not let them see me shrink under their stares. My mother told me my strength was different. I raised my chin high and regarded the man before me. “I will need my belongings.” I said.

“They have already been collected from the inn you were staying at.” The man answered. “Now, move along. We’re taking you home.”

There were too many thoughts in my head as I walked between the line of guards that led me through the walking streets until we arrived upon the stable where a carriage was waiting. I looked down one road, knowing that it led to Drun’s forge. I felt a stutter in my heart as I realized that Drun would return to find me gone.

It was then I could no longer hold my head up strong. I had no way to tell him where I was going. That I wanted to stay. That I was so fond of him, and I admired him and was so grateful that he trusted me and that we were each other’s first friend.

I wish I could have told him that I was falling in love with him.

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demons-and-demigods · 11 days

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Demons and Demigods Part Twelve: Written Scene #7: The Storm

Sorry for the long wait, my darlings, but it is finally here! This part got a little away from me, I will admit. But! I had a lot of fun writing it (even though it took me so long) and I hope that y'all have fun reading it <3 Thank you for being patient with me, and I hope this part makes up for the wait (at least a little)! Now, enjoy 8.7k words of everyone getting a little fucked up 😈

A storm raged around them, violently rocking the boat as the wind and the waves savegely tore at them. Somehow, Jason managed to drag himself above deck to join the rest of his friends (save Hazel, who was busy trying not to hurl her guts out). He swept his gaze across the ship, trying to account for everyone. Leo had lashed himself to the control console with a bungee harness of some kind, Annabeth and Piper were trying to save the rigging, and the gorilla that Jason assumed to be Frank was trying to untangle some broken oars. Even Festus the dragon head was trying to help, spouting flames at the rain, though it did nothing to discourage the storm.

The only person who seemed to be having any luck at all was Percy. Which, yeah, made sense and all, but it was still mind-boggling and more than a little disconcerting to see Percy standing there in the middle of the deck, completely dry and unbothered by the raging squall while everyone else was barely hanging on.

It was mesmerizing, almost, to watch Percy. He stood with his eyes closed and arms outstretched to either side, palms up. When a wave crashed into the hull, Percy would tilt his head and another wave would rise up on the opposite side of the boat to level them out. He’d curl his fingers as a large wave bore down on them and an even larger wave would grow to swallow it up and stop it from reaching the deck. He jerked his chin, and the rigging Piper and Annabeth were working on righted itself. He flicked his wrist, and the broken oars gorilla-Frank had been trying to detangle went flying.

Jason had the sudden realization that if not for Percy, the Argo II would have been capsized or smashed to bits almost immediately. It was not looking good for them.

Jason staggered his way toward the center mast, praying that he wouldn’t get knocked off his feet before he got there. Leo saw him and shouted, probably telling him to get back in bed or something, but it was impossible to hear over the storm. He just waved.

Thankfully, he managed to reach the mast without being sent overboard by the violent rocking of the ship. Percy opened his eyes and grinned at him as soon as he got close, almost like he had somehow known that Jason was there. It was a little creepy, but Jason couldn’t care less.

Percy was the only one who didn’t start treating him like fragile glass after his injury. Percy treated him just as he always had, seemingly trusting him to know his own limits, and Jason was beyond thankful for it. It made him feel less like he was on death row.

Jason smiled back at the son of Poseidon and then made a frantic grab for the mast when the ship gave a sudden, particularly violent lurch. Though, to his surprise, Jason found himself rooted to the spot, unable to move. The ship lurched again but Jason remained right where he was. He tried to take a step only to find it impossible to move his leg.

His limbs felt leaden, and he realized he couldn’t move at all. It wasn’t just his legs that had locked up, but his arms and head too. Jason panicked. What the fuck was happening to him?

But then, just as suddenly as it had happened, it was over; the ship rocked again and Jason stumbled forward, no longer frozen in place. He latched onto the center mast, panting as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

He glanced at Percy and found the other demigod watching him with concern, though there was something else in his expression that Jason couldn’t quite figure out. (He shrugged that off, though. Ever since he and Annabeth had come back from the Pit, it wasn’t unusual to find Percy with an unreadable expression on his face and some strange emotion swirling behind his far away gaze. It was always disconcerting to see his usually grinning face wear such a tumultuous expression when he thought no one was looking. Jason didn’t know if anyone else had noticed, but he’d been allowed little else to do besides watching his friends. Shit, if Jason hadn’t been injured and practically put on bedrest by his girlfriend and best friend, he doubted that he would have noticed anything going on with Percy either.)

Jason waved off Percy’s concern with a thumbs up and a shaky grin. Percy seemed to take that to mean that he was fine and started gesturing.

“—THING . . . UNDER . . . STOP IT!” he shouted, though half his words were lost to the wind as he pointed over the side of the boat.

Jason cocked an eyebrow at him and gestured vaguely at his ears. I can’t hear you, he mouthed.

Percy huffed and rolled his eyes. He pointed first to himself then to Jason, and then over the side of the ship again. He mimed diving into the water and pointed at the two of them again.

Jason tried to convey ‘You want me to go with you? Are you sure?’ and ‘I can’t breathe underwater, dude’ with his expression.

Percy rolled his eyes again and pointed at the storm clouds roiling above them, then took a running leap and dived overboard.

Jason looked up to see Piper and Annabeth giving him matching ‘Are you crazy?’ looks, to which he just smiled and shrugged. He turned his attention to the storm and his eyes widened as he sensed angry venti swirling around up there. How the fuck had Percy known they were up there before he did?

Whatever, that would be a question for another time. Right now, he needed to find a way to follow Percy.

Jason stretched out his arm and imagined his will as a rope of wind, flinging it into the swirling mob of venti. He sought out the nastiest ventus he could find and snared it with his wind rope, tugging it down to form a cocoon around him as he jumped into the water.

Immediately, he was surrounded by an eerie silence, his own breathing nearly deafening in comparison. It sent a shiver down his spine, but he forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

He scanned the water around him through the filter of his personal cyclone. (Which, thankfully, allowed him to breathe. The air smelled strongly of ozone and the ventus was definitely not happy with the arrangement, but at least it was breathable air and Jason was strong enough to force the wind spirit to remain in place.) There was something about the ocean that had always set Jason on edge, more than the Roman’s hatred of it and his father’s rivalry with Neptune.

It was similar enough to the sky, Jason supposed, in that they both stretched as far as the eye could see. But the sky had nothing to hide. Even full of clouds, nothing could remain obscured in the sky for long. The ocean, however, Jason shuddered. There was so much they didn’t know about it, more than just mythological beings and creatures evaded the notice of everyone who sought to know the oceans. So much was still unknown and unexplored, and the light only reached so little.

Anything could be lurking in the depths of the oceans. Anything could be waiting just out of sight, hidden by the cloying darkness of deeper waters.

In the sky, Jason felt secure, always aware of everything around him, cocooned in a blanket of wind and air. But underwater, Jason felt horribly exposed. His senses couldn’t expand into the area around him like they could in the sky, and he couldn’t sense let alone see all of his blind spots at all times. He was just out in the open, unprotected and unprepared; he would have no clue if something snuck up behind him, no time to react if something came hurtling out of the dark to attack him.

Thalassophobia, Jason thought he’d heard it called before: the fear of large bodies of open water; although ‘fear’ didn’t feel like the right word, didn’t quite cover the absolute terror that gnawed on his bones.

And here, floating in the middle of nowhere in the open ocean in his little personal tornado of lassoed air, a violent storm raging on the surface above him and who knows what waiting who knows how far below him.

With nothing but dark, gloomy water surrounding him, Jason was terrified.

But then, he spotted Percy.

The son of Poseidon hung suspended in the dark water, illuminated only by the soft bronze glow of his sword. His long, inky black hair seemed to leach the light out of the water surrounding him as it floated around his head like a dark halo, dancing in some imperceptible current. His outline flickered, his form broken in places and replaced by dark, writhing masses of tentacles and stark, bony protrusions. He looked both unimaginably large, as ancient as the oceans themselves and just as monstrous, and like his skin was stretched too thin over bones that were too long with edges too sharp to be wholly human. He was dark and all-encompassing, filling the water with an inescapable presence, yet he was also pale and haunting, skin near translucent as it gave off an eerie glow.

His body was threatening to rip apart at the seams, unable to contain the esoteric power lurking just beneath the surface. An arcane aura leaked from his ruptured mortal form, permeating the ocean around him and filling Jason’s mind with static.

The eldritch creature playing at mortality turned its head to look at him and Jason realized that he had never felt true terror until that moment. Its face was that of nightmares; it had no lips, just thin, bloody ribbons of flesh stretched too far across a dark, gaping maw filled with rows and rows of razor-sharp serrated teeth. Its eyes were unsettlingly vivid, as though the saturation of the creature’s eyes had been dialed up to eleven, swirling blue-green voids that lacked sclera and pupils. Within those effervescent eyes, Jason swore he could see all the world’s oceans at once; raging storms and roaring waves, plunging trenches and abyssal depths dark enough to drive one mad.

Its very presence emanated a dissonant, distorted screeching that Jason could feel vibrating through his bones, filling the surrounding water with static. Jason thought his eardrums might burst with the intensity of the high-pitched ringing and feared his insides might liquify from the infra- and ultrasonic frequencies he could feel quivering through his flesh and bones.

Jason felt his mind begin to fracture as he stared at the being before him, pressure built behind his eyes and limbs seemed to have turned to jelly. He knew he needed to look away before his mortal body exploded or something, but he was powerless to make himself move, trapped in the vortex of its aura. He felt drawn to the creature, unable to bring himself to avert his gaze. He had no control over his body, locked in place by the deity’s whirlpool eyes.

A scream built in his throat, but he had no breath with which to voice it. He teetered on the brink of madness, but he had nothing to grasp at to pull himself away from the edge. Something in the back of his mind screamed at him, but he couldn’t hear it over the static filling his head. He wanted to claw at his ears until it stopped and left him in blissful silence, he wanted to scratch out his eyes to relieve the pressure that had made a home behind them, he wanted to tear himself open to assure himself that the pounding in his chest was that of his still-beating heart and not some vestigial part of the monster looming before him. He needed to fill the yawning, cavernous void that had taken up residence in the place where his lungs should have been.

His blood moved sluggishly through his veins where they burned beneath his skin. He was coming apart, his atoms threatening to fly apart, on the verge of disintegrating. He was nothing more than a tiny pest to this primordial of the seas, barely worth the effort it took this eldritch horror to kill him. His being was infinitesimal in comparison to this primeval monster, little more than a speck of dust floating through its waters. This was all the waters of the earth given form, and it was enraged at their treatment. And in that moment, he knew.

He was going to die.

Then, everything snapped back into place and Jason gasped.

Air, sweet, ozone-scented air, filled his lungs and Jason could have cried. He clutched his chest and heaved frantic breaths into his aching lungs. He looked up and saw Percy hovering in front of him with a worried expression on his now normal-looking face. Jason’s heart pounded in his chest as he searched Percy’s face for any trace of the Lovecraftian nightmare that had been clawing its way out of his skin just moments before.

“Jason, hey, are you alright, dude? You with me?” Percy said, though Jason had no idea how he could hear him so clearly under the water. He nodded slowly and ignored Percy’s puzzled look.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good, man. Sorry, just not a fan of the open ocean I guess,” Jason said and tried to laugh it off.

Percy’s eyes narrowed, his gaze intense and searching, boring into Jason’s soul as though he could pluck the truth from Jason’s psyche if he stared long enough. Thankfully, though, before Jason could buckle under the strength of Percy’s gaze, a beam of bright green light split the darkness in front of them like a spotlight before it disappeared, coming from the depths of the chasm Percy had been hovering over the edge of.

Percy snapped his head around to stare over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. “I was waiting for you before going to check it out, but I’d bet that whatever is causing this storm, is also the source of that light,” he said, glancing back at Jason. “Come on, let’s go.”

As they sank deeper and deeper into the chasm and fell further and further away from the sun, Jason couldn’t shake the horrifying vision from his mind or the sense of unease in his stomach. It grew darker and darker until the only light came from Percy’s sword.

Though, if Jason looked too long at his friend, he could swear that Percy began to glow too; an eerie, pale blue light seemed to emanate from strange markings on his skin, as though he was bioluminescent or something. A handful of his scars shed golden light into the water as his eyes illuminated the way ahead of them like headlights. It was fucking creepy, Jason thought, if kinda fascinating. (He wondered if Percy knew that he glowed, if Annabeth knew. He wondered if Percy only became bioluminescent underwater, or if he would light up in a dark room, too. Despite his curiosity, though, Jason couldn’t bring himself to say anything to the other demigod, the image of the savage creature tenuously caged beneath his skin still too fresh on Jason’s mind.)

Eventually, the water began to lighten around them, and Jason saw the glowing ruins of a palace or something appear out of the dark haze before them. As they drifted toward the remains of a partially collapsed dome, Jason stared around the ruins with wide-eyed amazement.

“What do you think this place was?” Jason asked reverently, yearning to reach out and run his fingers along the crumbling structures but unwilling to risk breaching his ventus cocoon just yet to do so. “Atlantis?”

Percy snorted and waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, Atlantis is just a myth.”

Jason squinted at his friend. “Uh, don’t we literally deal with myths like, everyday? Aren’t we technically a myth ourselves?”

Percy rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue. “You know what I mean, dude. Atlantis is a made-up myth, not, like, an actually true myth. Plus, Plato never intended anyone to believe in Atlantis, it was only ever meant to be a parable, to serve as an allegory to the hubris of nations and a cautionary tale warning against its dangers.” He shrugged. “All that flew over a lot of people’s heads though, and the original purpose of the Lost City of Atlantis was overshadowed by a bunch of idiots and their desire to find a place that was never real.”

Jason gave Percy an incredulous, wide-eyed stare.

“What?” Percy asked, defensive. “My mom is a published author, my stepdad is an English Lit teacher, and I’m dating Annabeth who loves ancient Greek philosophers and playwrights. I pick up a thing a two.”

Jason often forgot that Percy was a lot smarter than most people gave him credit for, and he was pretty sure that was something Percy did on purpose. It was something he’d noticed about the son of Poseidon before, but he played the part of ‘dorky fool’ so well that it was nearly impossible not to fall for the act. Though he was never sure if it was an act that Percy himself actually believed or not.

But rather than bring that up right then, Jason just shrugged and held his hands up in surrender. “Fair enough, Jackson,” he laughed. “But if not Atlantis, then what was it?”

“I don’t know,” Percy said, face scrunched up in concentration. “But it feels familiar, like I’ve been here before or something . . .” he trailed off, leaning in to study some markings carved into the domed roof in front of them.

“Maybe you have,” Jason said playfully. “Maybe you saw it in one of your weird-ass dreams; I’ve been told that they’re a lot more intense and prophetic than the average demigod’s.”

“Oh, shut up, Grace,” Percy snarked back. “My dreams suck ass, but they’re not anything special. Besides, I always remember my dreams. This is something else.” He reached up to ghost his fingers over one of the markings.

Then, that brilliant green spotlight flashed directly beneath them, blinding Jason for a moment.

He dropped like a stone until his feet hit what felt like solid marble. When he finally managed to blink the spots from his eyes, he realized that they’d found the source of the storm.

An ethereal woman in a flowing green dress cinched at her waist with a belt of abalone shells hovered before them. She had to have been close to twenty feet tall, though she shrank to something closer to ten at their startled entrance. Her skin was a soft, luminous white, mirroring the fields of algae covering the underwater ruins. Her hair fell across her shoulders in gossamer strands reminiscent of jellyfish tentacles, some swaying as though caught in a gentle current. Her face was as haunting as it was beautiful; her eyes too bright, her features too delicate, and her smile too cold, as though she’d studied human behavior but hadn’t quite managed to master replicating it.

Before her stood a tall, marble pedestal, atop which rested a large, mirrored disk. Her long, slender fingers danced along its edge before she sent it spinning, and the green light cut through the water again. The water churned, shaking the palace ruins. Shards of stone from the domed ceiling broke off and slowly sank down to settle on the marble floor.

“You’re causing the storm,” Jason said, careful to keep the accusation from his voice.

The woman laughed, a sharp, violent sound like the crashing of waves. “That I am,” she said. Her voice was melodious, though it had a strange resonance, one that reminded him of the horrible ringing sound the creature clawing its way free of Percy’s form had emanated, like it extended beyond the range humans had the ability to process. That same, static pressure built up behind Jason’s eyes and his sinuses threatened to explode.

Percy, both thankfully and annoyingly, appeared unaffected. He just tilted his head and squinted at her. “I’ll bite,” he said, and Jason saw a flash of that dark, gaping maw full of razor-sharp fangs. “Who are you and what the fuck do you want?”

A manic glee sparked in the woman’s eyes and her smile sharpened, sending an involuntary shiver down Jason’s spine. “Why, I am your sister, Percy Jackson. And I wanted the chance to meet you before you die.”

Percy tilted his head and squinted at the goddess. Jason tried to resist the urge to reach up and massage his sinuses which still felt like they were about to explode.

Percy hummed and crossed his arms. “Y’know, I’m not super well-versed in mythology involving Dad, so I’m not sure who all my godly siblings are, but . . .” he gave the goddess a long, considering look before he nodded. “I’m gonna take a wild guess here and say you’re Kymopoleia, goddess of violent sea storms if I remember correctly?”

The goddess’s eyes widened slightly in shock. “Most have never heard of me, little brother. I am surprised, yet none-the-less pleased that you do know me.”

Percy shrugged. “At some point after I accidentally blew up Mount St. Helens—”

Jason choked on air and started coughing. “After you what?” he asked incredulously, but Percy and Kymopoleia ignored him and continued on as though he hadn’t said anything.

“—I’m pretty sure I heard Dad mutter something under his breath like, ‘I pray you never meet Kymopoleia,’ and I got curious, so I looked into the name.” He shrugged again. “Oh, and I’m just gonna call you Kym. Kymopoleia is a bit of a struggle and also it takes too long.”

Jason watched the interaction carefully. Percy spoke so casually to the goddess it kind of freaked Jason out. But he’d heard enough stories to know that it was common practice for the son of Poseidon to be so irreverent.

For her part, Kym appeared amused rather than angry at least.

“I’ll consider it an honor to get a Perseus Jackson nickname before you die,” she said with another spin of her disk.

“I don’t suppose catching our ship in your massive storm was an accident, was it?” Percy asked with a resigned sigh.

“No, no it was not,” she said.

“And there’s no chance that you’ll cut it out if we ask nicely?”

“Not a one. Though I am rather impressed that your ship has held together this long; excellent workmanship.”

Sparks flew along Jason’s arms and into his ventus tornado. He thought about Piper and Leo, Annabeth and Frank and Hazel up there frantically fighting to survive the storm. He and Percy had left them defenseless up there. They had to end this and they had to end it soon.

“My Lady,” Jason broke in before Percy could say anything to potentially aggravate the goddess, “Is there anything we can do to get you to change your mind and let us get on our way?”

Kym turned her faintly glowing eyes to him and tilted her head. “Son of Jupiter,” she said dryly. “Do you know where we are? What this place once was?”

“Uh,” he said, glancing at the crumbling structure around them. “These ruins? Uh, maybe it was a palace at some point?”

Percy snapped his fingers. “That’s it!” he exclaimed. “Dad’s new place in the Atlantic looks pretty similar to this. Last I was over there, it was almost done.”

Jason gave Percy an incredulous look. He’d actually been to his father’s domain? To his palace? What the fuck was with this guy and the gods?

Kym made a frustrated noise and crossed her arms. “I wouldn’t know,” she huffed. “I’m not allowed in our father’s court. He finds my presence disruptive,” she hissed, and gave her storm-disk a harsh spin.

“I can’t imagine why.” Jason gave her a skeptical look as the ruins shook and more pieces fell slowly through the water around them.

“I know!” she threw her hands up in exasperation. “I am an absolute delight to be around! I’m certainly better company than my total bore of a brother Triton,” she pouted and crossed her arms again.

“Ugh, definitely!” Percy agreed. “I’ve met Triton and honestly, he’s such a pain in the ass!”

Kym smiled. “Finally!” she said. “Someone who sees sense! He is such a πομπώδης μαλάκας!”

Whatever that last thing meant, Jason had no idea as the Ancient Greek didn’t come to him, but he could only assume it was some kind of insult because Percy laughed.

“Exactly! He never shuts up! He’s all ‘I am Father’s heir’ and ‘Father only likes you because you’re useful’ and it’s just like, ‘look, you absolute douche-nozzle, you’re both immortal! You’re not gonna inherit shit, ass-wipe,’ I mean, honestly!” Percy said, presumably mimicking Triton with comically furrowed brows and a fierce scowl, his chest puffed up and chin raised to look down his nose at an imaginary person.

Kym burst into giggles (which reminded Jason of the clicks and whistles of dolphins). “Oh my—He sounds just like that!” she said, doubling over and clutching her stomach as she laughed. “Oh, that is just perfect,” she snickered. “I can see why Father hoped we might never meet, Perseus. You and I would have gotten along splendidly.”

“Just Percy, please,” Percy said with a playful bow. “Only my enemies call me Perseus and I’d really prefer if I didn’t have to fight you.”

Kym let out a dramatic sigh. “I don’t want to fight you either, little brother,” she said. “Unfortunately, Gaea really wants your blood, and she’s made me a wonderful offer that I just couldn’t refuse.” she shrugged and flashed a shark-like smile. “Gaea will allow me to wreak whatever havoc I please once she has risen so long as I help her and her children destroy the gods.”

Jason tensed as the water around them seemed to shudder, he saw Percy do the same. He pulled his gold coin from his pocket and flipped it to summon his sword.

“Now, I believe there’s someone here who is just dying to see you again, Percy. I do hope you can forgive me.” Kym gave them a faux-apologetic look.

“PERSEUS JACKSON!” a thunderous voice boomed, sending ripples through the water and making the ruins tremble.

Percy’s face twisted into a dark, angry scowl.

“Do you know who that is?” Jason asked, tightening his grip on his sword.

“Polybotes,” Percy snarled. “The anti-Poseidon. I’ve already killed him once; I guess he really wants a rematch.”

Just then, the Giant rounded a corner ahead of them and Jason barely stopped a disgusted noise from escaping him. He’d thought the other Giants he’d met had been ugly, but Polybotes might just take the cake.

Even underwater, the guy managed to look greasy and oily, like he had never heard of a shower before. He was absolutely massive, towering close to thirty feet or more in height if Jason had to guess. Like all Giants, he had scaled reptilian legs. His hair hung like shriveled up seaweed around his face. His skin was a murky blue, like the color of poluted water. His eyes were sharp and cruel as a hungry smirk spread across his harsh, mottled face. When he shook his head, basilisks fell from his hair and began circling in the water, hissing and letting out little bursts of flame.

“I hunted you through Tartarus, son of Poseidon, and you managed to escape me then, but there will be no escape for you now!” Polybotes laughed cruelly.

Percy snorted and raised his sword. “I killed you before with only a river to lend me strength; what makes you think you stand a chance against me here in mY dOmAIn?” Percy snarled, lips curled up in an equally cruel grin. His voice reverberated through the water the same way that eerie ringing that emanated from that creature hiding beneath his skin had. It shuddered through Jason’s bones and the pressure that had finally begun to fade from his sinuses returned with a vengeance.

Polybotes barked out a laugh. “HA! Whether you are stronger here or not, little demigod, you cannot kill me without the aid of a god. And there are no gods here willing to aid you, sea scum.”

Percy’s grin turned sharp and deadly as his form seemed to ripple, the monstrous horror lurking within his flesh straining at the seams to get free. “WHaT maKeS YOu tHiNk I NEeD a gOd?”

He lunged.

A few of the basilisks hurled themselves at him, but Percy turned them to dust with one sweep of his sword. Polybotes swung his trident through the water and left an arc of some thick, oily looking substance in its wake.

Percy barreled right through it without slowing down and the smug look on the Giant’s face turned to shock then indignance before settling on rage.

“I will torture you under the sea! Each day the water will heal you, and each day you will suffer worse than the last! I will bring you to the brink of death and beyond the edge of mortal agony until you beg for me to kill you, until I have reduced you to nothing more than a quivering mass of flesh desperate to die.” Polybotes snarled. “But you will only know the relief of death when your blood is drained from your wretched body to awaken the Earth Mother. You will die with the knowledge that your last act has brought about the violent end of everyone you love.”

By then, Percy was on top of the Giant, fighting like a man possessed. He growled low in his throat and swung his sword in a vicious arc, leaving a deep gash on the Giant’s leg when he was too slow to block the attack.

Polybotes howled and swung his trident. It slammed into Percy’s chest and sent him hurtling through the water to crash through a wall. He recovered quickly enough and shot towards the Giant, spearing through the water faster than Jason could track. Sword met trident and when their weapons clashed it sent a shockwave through the water.

Jason gripped his own sword tightly and prepared to jump into the fight to help his friend, but before he could do so, the remaining basilisks zeroed in on him. The poisonous, fire-breathing snakes circled around him, hissing and snapping at him. Anytime one of them got too close, Jason managed to cut off its head. But the serpents grew bolder, swimming closer and closer to him. They stopped attacking one at a time and tried to rush him.

Jason closed his eyes, sent up a prayer that he wouldn’t fry Percy, himself, or Kym, and lifted his sword toward the sky. He called down brilliant arcs of lightning and let out a breath of relief as they struck the dozen basilisks swarming around him. The snakes went belly up in the water before crumbling to dust.

Percy and Polybotes continued their death match. Percy seemed to be doing just fine, ruthlessly attacking the Giant, slicing and stabbing relentlessly; but Jason could see the smoke curling off his skin as it blistered and sizzled. Whatever substance had spread from the Giant’s trident, some sort of poison or acid if Jason had to guess, was affecting his friend. And despite Percy’s, frankly unnerving, claim, Jason knew he’d need a god to kill Polybotes and there was only one available to them at the moment.

Jason turned to Kymopoleia. She was watching Percy and Polybotes fight with a fascinated look on her face, totally enraptured by the carnage her half-brother gleefully unleashed on Poseidon’s Bane.

“Kym,” he said, “What if I make you a better offer than Gaea did?”

The goddess hardly acknowledged him, merely letting out a noncommittal hum.

“She promised that you could cause raging storms to your heart’s content, but Gaea and the Giants are going to kill every mortal and demigod, wipe them off the face of the earth. What good is it to finally be able to ravage coastlines and annihilate shorelines when there’s no one left to cower and tremble in fear of you?” he cajoled her.

“I do like cowering,” she said absently, not tearing her eyes from where Percy had dropped his sword and begun to cave the Giant’s face in with his fists. Jason winced at the sharp, resounding crack of Percy breaking Polybotes’ nose.

“Yes! If Gaea and the Giants win, no one will be left for you to terrorize! If you help us, I-I'll make sure you are worshiped! I’ll build you a temple at each camp and-and I’ll do the same for all the gods and goddesses pushed aside by the Olympians,” he said frantically, watching Polybotes slam Percy to the ground with one massive hand wrapped around his torso, no doubt crushing his ribs. He winced when Percy let out a strangled cry of pain and turned desperately back to Kymopoleia to try and gauge her emotions on his offer.

“Polybotes, does Gaea have a counteroffer?” she called to the Giant, face impassive.

Polybotes turned his head to give her an incredulous look. “Counteroffer?” he sputtered indignantly. “Mother Earth does not need to make a counteroffer to the inane ramblings of a puny half-blood! She is offering you unfettered control of the seas! You will be allowed to let your storms rage to your heart’s content!” he said, affronted.

“Yes, but will there be demigods or mortals or really anyone left to cower in the face of my storms or worship me in hopes of appeasing my wrath? Will I get my own action figure?” Kym said evenly, raising an eyebrow and looking down to inspect her nails which Jason only just noticed were colored a pale, florescent pink.

“Well, no, bu—” Polybotes started, only to cut himself off with a cry of pain when Percy managed to free himself from the Giant’s grip by maneuvering his pen out of his pocket and uncapping it so that the blade of his sword sprung out and impaled itself right through Polybotes’ palm. The Giant snatched his hand back to cradle against his chest and Percy lunged after him with a feral snarl.

Percy moved so quickly, Jason was barely able to piece together what happened. The son of Poseidon reached out and it was like the water solidified into an extension of his will, yanking his sword from Polybotes’ hand and meeting it halfway. He wrapped his hand around the hilt and shot straight for the Giant’s face. He plunged the bronze blade down and buried it to the hilt in one of Polybotes’ acid green eyes.

The Giant howled in pain and Percy yanked his sword free, quickly backing away as Polybotes reached up to clap his hands over his bleeding eye.

“You will pay for that, half-blood sum!” he roared.

Golden ichor wept from his numerous wounds, seeping steadily between his fingers from his damaged eye and the hole in his palm. It saturated the water, hovering in shimmering globules. The Giant stared Percy down with his one good eye, pure hatred simmering behind his gaze.

“Please,” Jason pleaded with Kym. “Only a god and a demigod working together can kill a Giant. Please, help Percy finish him off before it’s too late!”

Kymopoleia merely shook her head, lips spreading in a feral grin as that spark of manic glee glinted in her eyes again. She cackled, a sound like cracking stone being split apart by an enormous earthquake, and it sent a shiver down Jason’s spine.

“I do believe my little brother would beg to differ, Jason Grace,” she said, tone carrying a hint of that unhinged, feral excitement he could see spread across her features.

Jason whipped his head around to stare in horrified fascination as all the ichor in the water began to flow in one direction, condensing into one quivering golden orb. Ichor seemed to flow from Polybotes’ wounds faster than it should have, like it was being pulled from his veins in thick rivers of divine blood, drawn towards the glittering ball. Polybotes sank through the water, hitting the sandy floor with a dull thud as his knees gave out on him. His hands fell from his face, as though he no longer had the strength to hold them there. Jason could see as the color leeched from him, seeping away with the ichor as it fled his body. Polybotes seemed unable to move, frozen in place where he knelt.

The temperature of the water dropped several degrees and Jason shivered.

“Wh-what is this?” Polybotes bellowed, feigning outrage, but the undercurrent of fear in his voice gave away how scared he truly was. He stared at Percy, one good eye wide and afraid.

Jason turned to his friend. At first, he thought it was just a reflection of all the ichor in the water. But then, Jason came to the terrifying realization; it wasn’t a mere reflection. Percy’s eyes glowed a vivid gold, the same color as the ichor he was draining from the Giant’s veins.

His face was dark, his features standing out sharp and cruel as he appeared to loom over Polybotes. That monstrous, ancient nightmare slipped through the seams of Percy’s flesh, leeching away all light until all that was left was the eerie glow of Percy’s golden eyes.

His teeth flashed in the dark, long and curved, reminding Jason of the Cheshire cat’s grin. Jason swore that he could see things moving in the dark; massive, undulating limbs and sharp, ghoulish protrusions. Bones that snapped and cracked as they moved, gnashing teeth and glowing eyes where they didn’t belong.

“YOu sAy tHat yOu FOLlowEd mE THrouGh tARtArUs, aNd yEt YoU HAvE nO iDeA WHaT i lEaRNeD tO DO dOwN THerE, whAT I wAS fORcED tO PIcK uP IN oRdER tO sUrvIVe?” Percy barked out a cruel laugh as his voice seemed to be coming from everywhere at once, sending tremors through the ocean floor. It was so deep, Jason could feel it vibrating through his bones and hollowing out his chest. Yet it was also so high, it sent his ears ringing and made his head feel like it was about to explode.

Jason recalled the time he had been too slow to close his eyes and had, for just a moment, witnessed Juno’s true form. That had felt like he was on fire, like his skin was about to slough off his bones as his eyes melted out of his skull. It had felt like his cells were imploding and withering away into ash.

But this—

This felt like drowning on dry land; it was like he was being ripped apart from the inside out, his lungs had disappeared and the hollowness that had forced itself into the space where his heart should have beat was slowly filling with water. His mind was being pulled into a black hole, fraying at the edges and threatening to tear apart at the center. His eyes were being pushed from their sockets to make room for steadily mounting pressure building in his skull. He could feel water bubbling up his throat, choking him, forcing its way out between his lips and flooding into every empty space it could find. Water began to leak from his nose where it had filled his sinuses, began to stream from his empty eye sockets and gush from his busted eardrums. His mouth fell open in a silent scream, his voice lost to the torrent of water that eroded blood and bone until all that remained was a flimsy shell of decayed and rotting flesh.

He swore he could hear a roaring, but that made no sense as he had to have gone deaf with the water pouring from his ears. Pressure built and built and built past the point of unbearable.

There was a primal, agonized roar followed by an ear-splitting pop. And then: blissful silence.

Calm swept over him like a warm breeze, and he felt like he was being wrapped in a silky blanket. He sighed and let himself sag into the gentle hands wrapping the blanket around him. He soaked in the quiet, peaceful moment languidly. After a moment, he slowly opened his eyes and immediately flailed around.

Jason let out a rather undignified squawk and scrambled to pull away from Kymopoleia, who was looking down at him with an amused expression. The silky blanket he thought he’d been wrapped in was actually a gauzy, membranous shawl the goddess had pulled from her own shoulders and the gentle hands had been hers as well. He noticed with a start that his ventus shield had disappeared and slapped a hand over his mouth and nose as he instinctively gasped.

Only when he heard Kym chuckle did he finally realize that he was, in fact, breathing and not drowning due to a bubble of air surrounding his head and neck like a diving helmet.

He glanced to the side and saw Percy watching him with a worried frown, wringing his hands together. Jason returned his wide-eyed stare to the goddess and continued to gape for a moment.

Eventually, Jason shook his head in an attempt to clear it and gulped, biting his lip as his gaze flit between Percy and Kym, both watching him quietly, one with concern and the other with bemusement.

“Uh,” he said eloquently. “What, um, what happened?”

Percy ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, but before he could say anything, Kym spoke up.

“Nothing you need to worry about, Pontifex. Polybotes is dead. And I have decided to accept your offer.” Kym looked down at him smugly and for a moment, Jason was confused.

Offer? What offer? And—had she called him Pontifex? What was that abou—

Oh. Right. He had offered to build shrines to all the minor deities and make sure they were all worshiped. (And—was he remembering right?—I also promised Kym an action figure, I think? What the fuck, Jason thought.)

“Oh, uh, awesome. Thank you,” he said somewhat falteringly.

“I expect a truly magnificent action figure, Jason Grace,” she said. “One of those articulated ones and it had better reflect my stunning beauty. I’d be happy to visit and model for reference.” Kym’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes and Jason fought the urge to fidget.

“O-of course,” he stuttered, and honestly, what the hell are you supposed to say to that? Cut him some slack, it’s a weird ass situation he has found himself in.

“Wonderful,” Kym said, and turned to Percy, making Jason look at his friend too.

Percy was wringing his hands nervously and biting his lip, gaze flitting around like he couldn’t bring himself to look at them. Jason frowned. He was about to ask Percy what was wrong when Kym spoke up again.

“It was wonderful to meet you, little brother. I look forward to getting to know you better if you survive this war. I believe we could have much fun together.” She reached out and ruffled Percy’s hair with a laugh when he swatted her hand away.

Percy gave Kym a small smile in return but still didn’t quite meet her eyes. He turned to Jason, expression tensing a little.

“We should probably get back,” he said, gesturing vaguely upward. “Now that the storm’s stopped, before everyone starts worrying about us too much. If we’re not back soon, Annabeth will probably jump overboard to come looking for me.” he shrugged. He was still avoiding Jason’s gaze, and it looked like his skin was still smoking in places.

Before Jason could say anything about that, Percy said, “Come on,” and shot toward the surface.

He turned his startled gaze to Kymopoleia, wanting to ask her for more answers. She must have seen it in his eyes because she gave him a melancholic smile.

“Percy is far more powerful than he likes to let on, Pontifex,” she said, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. “He has more power than a demigod should, and I believe that he is finding it harder and harder to control. Both he and Polybotes mentioned him having walked through Tartarus. I imagine something happened down there to push him over the edge.” She glanced upward, tracking Percy’s receding form through the water for a moment before continuing. “My brother is an impossibly good person, Jason Grace.” she fixed him with an eerie, unwavering stare, her overly bright eyes flashing. “But there is something damaged in him, something that broke down in that Pit. He has crossed a line that he cannot come back from even if he wanted to. I’ve heard that his fatal flaw is loyalty, so you have no need to fear him, nor do any of your friends. But remain wary, son of Jupiter, else you get caught in the crossfire of his rage.”

With that final, ominous warning, Kymopoleia disappeared in a whirl of bubbles and froth, leaving Jason to slowly begin the long swim back to the surface. When he finally reached the opening of the trench, he found Percy waiting for him, floating peacefully in the water.

Jason swam up beside him and waited quietly for what Percy would say.

After a moment, Percy twisted his head to face him. “Sorry for leaving you behind like that,” he said. “I forgot you didn’t have your personal tornado to help you keep up,” he joked half-heartedly and gave Jason a weak smile.

“It’s alright,” Jason said, smiling back. “I wanted to say goodbye to Kym first, and you seemed like you really needed to get out of there.”

Percy sighed. “Yeah, I did.” he crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders, drawing in on himself slightly. “Speaking of Kym, what’s the deal with the action figure she mentioned? And why did she call you a car?”

Jason snorted. “Not Pontiac, Pontifex. The Romans used to have someone called the Pontifex Maximus, a high priest who took care of the gods’ temples, made sure they were all recognized and worshiped, given proper offerings and things like that. While you were fighting Polybotes I made Kym an offer, to try and convince her to stop the storm and help you kill him. I promised to make sure temples were built for all the gods deemed ‘less important’ than the Olympians. The action figure idea just kinda happened? I don’t really know where it came from. I was kinda frantic, just saying whatever came to mind that I thought might sway her.” he shrugged. “You were holding your own just fine, but you looked to be in rough shape, too. Whatever that stuff Polybotes created that you swam through was, your skin was sizzling. You’re still smoking a little, too, by the way.”

Percy glanced down at his arms, tilting his head at the new, quickly forming burn-like scars there. “Yeah, it was some kind of acid, I think. It hurt like a bitch, and definitely didn’t help my lungs any.” he shrugged and uncrossed his arms. “But I’ll be fine. The water’s already taken care of the worst of it; a little nectar or ambrosia and I’ll be all healed with a few more scars to add to the collection.”

Percy rolled his shoulders and straightened, glancing up where Jason could see the shadow of the Argo II floating in the water above them. “Now come on,” Percy said. “I think Piper and Annabeth are getting ready to jump overboard.”

Jason laughed, letting the topic change slide. If Percy didn’t want to talk about what had really happened with Polybotes, Jason wouldn’t force it. He just hoped Percy knew that he could come to him. Their fathers may have a rivalry to end all rivalries, but he didn’t want that for him and Percy.

This time, as they rose through the water, Percy propelled Jason up alongside him. As soon as their heads broke the surface, Jason saw Annabeth getting ready to swing herself over the railing and drop into the water with Piper barely half a step behind her.

“Percy!” Annabeth called when she spotted them, proceeding to dive off the ship. Jason raised his arms to shield his face as she hit the water with a truly impressive splash. Percy just laughed and swept her into his arms, lifting her half out of the water and spinning around. Annabeth laughed in delight as Percy threw himself backwards and they sank just under the surface.

Jason wasn’t worried, though, having learned about Percy’s little air bubble trick, and instead began to paddle his way towards the rope ladder Piper had tossed over the side of the ship.

When he finally swung up and over the railing, planting his feet on the blessedly solid deck of the Argo II, Piper threw herself at him, muttering angrily in Tsalagi, no doubt cursing at him for acting like an idiot. Jason just smiled and hugged her close, pressing his lips to her dark hair when she buried her face in his chest.

After a moment, she pulled away and wiped angrily at the tears in her eyes, glaring at him.

“What is wrong with you?” she cried, smacking his shoulder. “You can’t do that to me! You can’t just-just jump overboard in the middle of a massive storm like that! Especially not when you’re severely injured—!” she gestured at his stomach, frustration and fear coloring her tone.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, Pipes,” he said, interrupting her gently. “But Percy needed my help, and I’m fine, I promise. No further harm done. See?” He lifted his shirt, stepped back, and spun around, letting her look him over for any sign of hurt. Honestly, he felt fine; great even! Hell, he felt better than he had since Michael Varus had run him through.

When he finished his little one-eighty, he noticed Piper staring at his stomach with wide eyes. “What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked, glancing down to try and figure out what she was seeing.

His bandages had come loose in the water, sagging a little to reveal the upper edge of his wound, only . . . only there was nothing but smooth, tan skin where there should have been torn and reddened flesh. His mouth dropped open and he carefully tugged the bandages away, letting them fall to the deck of the ship after the soggy material tore.

Both he and Piper stared in wide-eyed shock at his unblemished abdomen for a moment. Piper reached out to ghost her fingers along the spot where the wound had been, her feather-light touch sending a shiver down Jason’s spine.

“You’re healed,” she whispered, voice filled with awe. “How are you—what happened down there?” she asked, laying her hand flat against his stomach for a moment before looking up at him with those dark, earnest eyes he loved to get lost in.

“A lot,” he said. “Though I don’t remember much of what happened towards the end.”

Piper nodded slowly and grabbed his hand, starting to pull him across the deck towards the stairs.

“Fill me in once we’re downstairs,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m getting you to eat something.”

Jason laughed brightly and allowed his girlfriend to tug him towards the galley, more than happy to let her fuss over him.

He tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut that hadn’t left him since he came to wrapped in Kymopoleia’s shawl, and the dread weighing heavy at his heart that it had something to do with Percy and what had really happened to Polybotes.

#dndv #demons and demigods verse #dndv scenes #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #annabeth chase #jason grace #piper mclean #kymopoleia #polybotes #sadly frank hazel and leo are only briefly in there so I'm not gonna tag them #dark percy jackson #dark percy #eldritch horror percy jackson #uhhhh I should probably tag these w/#tw body horror #shouldn't I?#I'll try and remember to go back and tag the other ones where Percy gets eldritch-y with that too #i think that's everything for this part but please let me know if you want me to tag anything else #ugh i miss my spn boys i'll probably check in with them in the next part #maybe hit on/rewrite ghostfacers to include the boys worrying about percy+co #maybe the next part will be long too and i'll do a rewrite of jus in bello and then hand-wavey transition to ghostfacers rewrite too #yknow what i doubt i'll get many or any votes but i'll make a poll and let yall have the chance to vote on what i do next

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